i've been watching the netflix french potboiler marseille (a sleazy-fun view: dallas for francophiles), starring gerard depardieu, my favorite crazy actor. he might be a nut, but can he emote more with his nostril & small wince of porcine eye than can most any other actor? certainement! and his voice: i've fallen in love w/various males largely because of their pipes (well, & large frontal lobes). only twice did i have boyfriends (ha!) of uninteresting, even annoying vox, & each time it was fubar enormous... it's always fascinated me -- maybe you, too? -- great &/or gorgeous men who go to pot: orson welles, elvis, marlon brando, oliver reed, even: maybe being that spectacular is too much for the human flesh bag to contain. no one since brando has puffed up & weirded out quite like depardieu, i don't think, but yet he allures...
then there's the experience that resembles depardieu: something ugly in which one must root out beauty, like an easter egg or junk store jaunt or exploring abandoned places or doing seemingly unending research... these experiences can be so much more rewarding than the new & "perfect," in my opinion, when they reveal beauty/revelation/discovery. and that's why i always will love bakersfield, which long ago i realized is like a bad relationship, so often dissatisfying, disappointing, even heartbreaking, but the moments when it is beautiful shine brighter than sunlight because of their rarity.
james tells me most places are "bakersfields," like even the places i used to think "if only i were THERE..." i think he's right. i can't demonize bakersfield anymore: nearly every place is bakersfield. there IS that thing called the bell curve, yknow, which, while not applicable, i don't think, to racial or SES matters, IS pertinent in our human cultural world, which maddeningly seems to slide toward the mundane, even stupid.
oh heck, i forgot why i got on here. oh yeah; something beautiful in bakersfield:
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