Where is the pistol?

Friday, August 23, 2013

I didn't think I'd come to a standpoint where my 21 year old self would require some kind of public wankering, explaining my disgust towards humans I attend an institution with.

Never have I been so wrong.

You ask, why are 'they' idiots (and not me)?
I work with four other 'kids' from class, clubbed together because we fell in the same number group categorized by a 'brown' woman who believes she is Italian (don't ask me). If that's not surprising enough, you ought to know one of them kids is over forty and I can't explain how my disgust towards slackers (connect for fifty points).
It's because they don't think through before speaking.

I wonder if this is the cream (or the privileged class) that beat me at the ruddy entrance, what was the rudimentary lot that was left out? I also wonder in absolute silence about the ideas my classmates came up with for stories. I'd think better in a state of comatose than what they did collectively and individually when we 'brainstormed'. This rant is outrageous and extremely condescending but if you were around and heard the ideas for the story we're suppose to shoot with the pre-requisite conditions, you'd understand why this post is called for.

After having been given three different situations to begin with and a set of conditions, we are suppose to translate that matter to film. Film cameras are the end of me. Arriflex BL 16 mm defines my horror. Them cameras are thirty years old. Working with them is exactly like knowing what part of the camera has to be treated with what kind of touch. It's like getting to sleep with an old woman, you would never know where to touch and what to do, leaving you awkward in bed. Here, the old woman will die if you manhandle her. That's the state of camera. The staff is like that old woman's husband. They've been with the equipment for a while to know how does it respond to different touches. Unless you know you're a beast in bed, you can never ace this woman. Exactly how it's like with film camera. The guy explaining the machinery to us today slipped in a little trivia. Inspite of having been manufactured in Munich, they are more Chandni Chowk, thus everything is not as it seems. That being the undercurrent of this institute. Be it the people you work with, the staff or for that matter people you befriend. Think twice before doing anything. Under such conditions when people recite their ideas for movie, without thinking twice as to how will be work the technical details out, it baffles me to no extent.

Coming back to some of the conditions given to us: to be shot in day-light only. Silent exercise, which means visually evocating three minutes worth of matter on screen. Translating mechanical energy to visually pleasing shots have been harder than dealing with the theory of aesthetics presented by motherfucker Indian aesthetician we studied in third year Philosophy (won't name the fellow). Speaking of 'aesthetics', what really bothers me to no end is the limited, rather half baked knowledge people possess towards the discipline. Fuck that, here, getting spot on enunciation is too much to ask for. People can't seem to enunciate the word the way it's suppose to be. I understand there is hypocrisy; even I pronounced it as 'es-thetix'. However, spoiling it to be used as 'ass-thay-tiks' is just preposterous and, obviously, it kills me at all points.

It explains why I was at the bottom of the fucking wait list. It's because I can never find a job or career prospects after giving two years and all of my best effort at a film school. The people who will succeed from here are the ones who claim to know 'ass-thay-tix' and them people who know they can translate the sketch off their mind onto film using magazine and shit film equipment. Me? I am never going to be able to satisfy that old woman or the viewers who are into that kind of porn. I am and have been, asexual to such women and their bodies.

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