A Ghost Story – The paradox of living with love separated from the adored one’. #davidloweryaghoststory

-trip

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After dashing madly about the Cinema Nova in Carlton, Melbourne from the wrong pitch-black-cinema screening the wrong movie lurking out into the shadows and chatter of the right cinema – its seats filling with the right audience of media with their right glasses of red wine and roasted popcorn, I squirrelled myself away to sit back and be mystified by  David Lowery’s film, A Ghost Story.

And this big screen movie experience is definitely unlike anything I have met before.

In fact I had a really hard time what to make of it.

But through the perfect timing of an incredible birthday trip to the Mildura Writer’s Festival  mere days later – to be surrounded by friends, old and new – one, Australian acclaimed poet Les Murray (Les convinced me to eat his ‘tripe’ – a dish specially prepared at a candle lit feast cooked by Stefano, washed down with incredible wines, all on the banks of the Great Murray River.

To be honest the tripe was delicious, kind of comforting in a toasted marrow fat kind of way – I like marrow and I love lamb’s fat but I have years of child-tripe-protestations-saying NO, never ever eat tripe again! I think a cousin must have teased me about it being stomach’s lining – as an older, wiser taunting cousin does.

But here surrounded by the majesty of the Murray River I found what I needed, the space to let this movie imprint it’s haunting imagery upon me.

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The Beauty of the Murray River.

 

Written and Directed by: David Lowery A Ghost Story

Producers: Toby Halbrooks, James M. Johnston, Adam Donaghey

Cinematographer: Andrew Droz Palermo

Starring: Rooney Mara and Casey Affleck.

A Ghost Story invites us into the tender space of young love shared by Rooney Mara and Casey Affleck and the tragic aftermath of grief as a fatal car crash leaves C dead and transformed as a ghost throughout the movie.

Landlocked by love in one state of being and one place, C remains beneath a sad and forlorn sheet with cut out holes for eyes, to witness time and his lover change without him.

Lowery (Pete’s Dragon, Aint Them Bodies Saints) had been wanting to tell a ghost story for years with the classic iconography of the bed-sheet ghost and with Affleck as no ordinary ghost he achieves that.

Lowery sets the visual tone that this is not a traditional motion picture by shooting the film in the 1:33 aspect ratio, meaning the image width is only slightly greater than its height.  This film technique enabled Lowery to create a towering presence of the shrouded ghost, a still and dominating presence within each scene.

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The cinematography is pared back with the glare and grit of everyday realism and it is in the familiar and the known that Lowery captures us.
Through doorframes – a fascination of Lowery’s – both dark and functional, they frame Affleck and Mara in ordinary rooms of no import, but it is in their lack of adornment where the intimate confrontations and revelatory keypoints are revealed without massive movement or violence.

There is something to a movie with long stretches bereft of dialogue, we remain in the stillness as the ghost does and without distraction we sink further into the tragedy of love lost without goodbye and time moving forward where the loved one occupies no space only in memory.

In an unforgettable scene, Mara’s luminous distinctive features convey all the profound grief you thought you’d need dialogue for. In isolation, she stuffs an entire family size chocolate pie in a single four-minute take. The body of food is ill equipped to replace her loss of C.

In a later scene, we witness the profound pathos of love and of lost hearts craving connection through the ghost’s presence.

A Ghost Story

When M finally leaves their home, she embeds a lover’s note into a door frame. The repetitious scratching by a ghost without hands is both tragic and beautiful and as he seeks to unearth the note oblivious to the passage of time without him, we are reminded his sense of identity is derived from his attachment as the beloved.

As I left the cinema into the noise and bustle of my ordinary world, I was unsure how I felt about the movie, in fact I had to sit with it for a few days.

I felt haunted by the film’s imagery of tender grieving and the paradox of grieving a love torn apart by unforeseen tragedy of living with love separated from the adored one.

Through the art of film Lowery poses the aesthetic as a response of grief and catastrophe.

A Ghost Story penetrates as a poignant reminder that the blessing of our good luck is to sit in witness to an event that is possible to each of us.

Our shared humanity wants to vouch safe the journey of love and for it not to leave us ill-prepared for the space that remains in the absence of the loved one.

Read my full review of A Ghost Story by David Lowery, published here for Go Movie Review X

via A Ghost Story — Go Movie Reviews

 

My beautiful work space for the day – at Cinema Nova, Carlton Melbourne.

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Yikes! I’m at my first school parent’s party and everyone’s a Swinger, but me.

Somewhere in Bondi, on a street leading to the ocean, a black lacquered door throbs and music and a golden doorknob beckons.

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A band of navy Italian lace silk fringing falls from my hips, skimming my thighs. 

I suck my belly button back to my spine, check my boobies are still bound inside my bandage top, shoulder roll my men’s pinstripe blazer and reach for the curve of the golden orb.

The golden knob slips from my grasp as the door swings wide.

My confronted eyelashes tremble under the welcoming wink of an oiled navel and golden G-string.

The greeting is unexpected and magnificent.

I offer up my invitation in the sobering event that I am definitely not expected at this party. I have been invited by parents of a five-year-old friend of my daughters, our daughter’s new friends at a private co-ed school in Sydney. I don’t think golden knobs and G-strings are part of the mixing and mingling at that party.

PARTY INVITATION

On a smooth high gloss 9 by 20cm photographic card dance three naked woman, texture and movement supplied by their 70s’ styled pubic hair fullness.

Dress code: Sexy cool

Theme: 007 meets Barry White

Champagne pops my gaping mouth shut. I’m in.

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I pad across the wide oaked black Japanese Oak floors on my tippy toes – I really don’t want to puncture these floors with my heels – to a tram carriage, embedded flush in the cavernous rooms right wall. I discover this is the host’s dining room – the carriage sits empty and waiting like the rest of the party, awaiting new conductors and passengers.

It is  spectacular.

I am excited and nervous all at once and I shiver like Christmas Eve with silent promise for the night.

The World is Not Enough

Bond: “I was wrong about you.”
Christmas Jones: “Yeah, how so?”
Bond: “I thought Christmas only comes once a year.”

Beyond the room a sail clothed canopy hangs above an outdoor DJ, circling a tinkling bar with a throb of clustered bodies.

A dancing lunatic pulls me on to the dance floor.

I am completely ill at ease.

A handsome stranger rescues me.

I am completely at ease.

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This shot taken of me completely at ease with friends a night before.

In fact the party is full of throbs of people really at ease. As I elbow beat off  a throng of strangers – who are now intimate with the size of my facial pores – I watch the room.

The room is full of clusters of people, really into getting to know people they have just met.

I look at the wad of business cards that have been pressed into my hand by all of my new friends and contacts at this party.

For some strange reason I feel like the main course.

There are no leery eyed stares, just people enjoying a luxurious party with all the trimmings, fresh delectable canapés, chilled golden flutes of erupting French champagne and two-legged predators with smiles of inarticulate longing.

As I walk upstairs to find a bathroom, candle lit water bowls with floating frangipani dot paths to the King size beds.

A strange little man jumps from the shadows and pulls me towards a bed.

I break free in an ugly jig to the stairs – trying to look cool and stride two stairs at a time, away, away from my creepy little leaping guy. 

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This party is for a select group of people, with a select group of rules.

Swingers.

Swapping loved ones and partners and sharing sexual pleasures with strangers with consent from your other half.

I’m not good at sharing and know I’m not playing. From the dance floor fringe shadows hover close and I know I’m not the only one feeling this way.

A woman I know embedded  in the shadows, watches her husband get it on with another on the dance floor. And as her loved one shows his moves to another she doesn’t look excited, turned-on or angry, she looks sad.

I turn and  head for the golden knobbed door – perhaps all that glitters is not so golden after all.

007 house rules, to kiss without telling and like 007, I leave early.

Sex, is a game best played by choice.

Remember to choose which game you are playing, before the game you are playing chooses you.

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Johnny Depp.

‘If you love two people at the same time, choose the second.

Because if you really loved the first one, you wouldn’t have fallen for the second’.

 

A Guest Contributor – Beauty secrets – Tips and Tricks of a Cross-dressing Beauty Queen

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As a 50-year-young woman I am excited to share a beauty secret, one I have known for 30 years!

The beauty secret is my friend Jas.

Jas is and has been my mirror and my accomplice in keeping it ‘pretty’ when life was hard and my mirror and accomplice when life was full of fantastically horrible ideas and adventures.

I met Jas when he was 15 as he sauntered in to take on the position of apprentice chef in an Art Deco Hotel in Auckland. At the time I lived upstairs with my then boyfriend, one of the Hotel’s two Managers.

Jas and I became instant friends, downstairs in the Hotel kitchen over shared sneaked-breakfasts of still-warm, metre-long-crusty-bread-sticks, halved, smeared with lashings of butter, sliced hot eggs, crusted in rock salt, garnished with globs of freshly made hollandaise – deeelicious!

 

Daz xxx

Every girl or 50-year-old woman should hang out with or at least have one of these friends in her world, one of these friends who helps her to look her absolute best.

In his opinion what he thinks is your absolute best may differ from yours.

He convinced me once to don Black hot pants, a madonna Vogue bra, and a blonde bobbed wig with thigh high suede boots for a club night out in Melbourne but equally he loved me wearing red suede flat shoes, no make up, my natural curly hair and a simple tee shirt dress out to club nights as well.

There is safety in having a wonderful man like this growing up, partying in clubs – you never have to worry about any mistaken sexual signals.

He is gay and I am straight. 

Fun times, simple.

Jas knows how to dress as a woman, so he gets it, he gets what we need to do to get pretty, to get ready to go out.

He loves me being and feeling my best and he has amazing beauty tips – amazing beauty tips, I never thought of, that work!

 

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This is Miss Gay Venezuela 2015 receiving her Beauty Queen crown. Beautiful.

 

So I asked Jas to write a piece here for me and for you all – his secret little nips and tucks that make us look our absolute best … natural with a little help.

Fun times, fun secrets.

Like the transformative wonders of a rolled pair of socks for your cleavage or his new tip, the restorative features of ‘fennel tea’.

He sent me an early morning confirmation email today

Ok sexy tits,

   ‘Just came up with an idea to centre my first piece around, so now that I have a starting point, I most likely will start filling in the blanks latter today’. 

Grab your seats and your socks, because he has agreed to share!

What tips and tricks do you have? Do you have a best friend like Jas in your life?

I’d love to hear!

 

 

How do you find love, passion and yes, more sex, now that you are single?

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High noon blazed across the barren landscape of my bedroom. My opponent and I stood stiffened spine to stiffened spine. Now that I was single, the bedroom showdown had begun.

Like a cattleman’s whip loneliness stings my curiosity and I turn to the brutal crack of reality.

My opponent turns low, palms sweating, hands drawn and twitching, matching my speed, my centre-part and right-cheek mole.

Yep I’m playing Cowboys and Indians, in my bedroom mirror, alone.

Single and no chance of any Cowboys or Indians on this horizon. Not anytime soon. Damn!

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What was my first thought when I found myself ‘single’?

I would like to say my first thought was gracious and altruistic.

It was not.

It was, ‘Oh no. No more sex for me’.

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Then I remembered the ‘super secret’ tucked in my bedside cabinet. 

Sunlight probed the tortoiseshell cabinet and with one lone-fingered-nudge the drawer shuddered open.

To reveal one bar of chocolate and one gaping space. My vibrator! Gone!

Between moving house, tossing the – ‘things that no longer spark joy’, down-sizing my relationship status and child -proofing mummy’s side of the bed-I had rubbished my vibrating friend.

I tore open the chocolate bar and popped it sideways into my mouth.

On my tongue the sweet slide was … wanting.

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I know vibrators have limitations … they come without Ryan Gosling six-packs and their midday shadows will never loom tall, with Clint Eastwood smiles, swaggering ‘do you feel lucky, well do you?’

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I needed a replacement. But how? I was enroute to Uni and my morning class with hot lecturer.

A little bit of History: Today more than 70% of women own at least one vibrator. 

Just think, we owe our favourite buzzing companion’s invention, to the over worked hands of 19th century Doctors. 

Medical hand jobs were the only cure for 19th century ladies suffering from Hysteria. 

Unable to keep up with the demand and with chronic hand fatigue – Doctors required assistance.

Ask and it will be given – a gift from the gods.

Squished on a peak hour train, fast-track to Uni, between Miss Unfriendly and Mr Too Friendly a sign from the gods’ flutters on my nike airs.

The newspaper’s red letters leap – SALE/BUNNINGSsavings on bulk purchases of AA batteries.

A grinch like grin stretches the slick of my Chanel lacquered lips and sneers off all leery lurking commuters.

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My eyelashes batter off the armpit tendrils of  Mr No-Deodorant-Wearing, Hairy Armpit.

I whip out my phone and tap purchase.

I raise my phone triumphant above my head to screen save my checkout basket.

Lit from above, an unearthly fluorescent-pink-sheen illuminates myself and all my fellow commuters.

We stand, bathed pink, by the formidable full screen selfie, of my new vibrator.

I wish I were Spock calling Scotty, ‘Beam me up Scotty, to a galaxy far, far away’.

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The number one reason I found myself single: I forgot to love myself first. She loved life and it loved her right back.

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Once I remembered who I was,  I forgot about looking outside of myself for love. 

In being alone I remembered I loved being me.

 Yes I found love again but if we want more love, passion, pleasure and sex in our lives, we must learn to love ourselves first.

 

  All images from Pinterest. You can find me on Pinterest here.X

The Friend. Fiction/Thriller/love story

Ta da’  said Connie as she smacked the bouquet the size of a mini haystack into Elvi’s nose. Monkish heads bound in black tissue jostled, their fragrance bruised, brutal, raw like the choice to leave a lover  too-hard-to-let-go.

 Oriental lilies, Elvi’s favourites -Elvi hated them on sight

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‘Thank you’, Elvi said ‘they’re gorgeous.’

How the hell did Connie find her.

Elvi’s lips jutted forward and kissed Connie, twice – a life skill over developed.

Twice, one kiss on each side of her face, keep your friends close and your enemy’s closer flickered beneath Elvi’s lashes.

‘ You shouldn’t have,’ said Elvi.

Connie drew a shallow breath, then another.

‘To be honest, I didn’t,’ she said.

 I had to give them to you,’ she said, ‘you looked like a Christmas puppy all eager and fluffy waiting to be loved’.

‘They were here on your doorstep’.

 

‘They were on your doorstep’, the flowers quivered fresh.
Elvi pushed past Connie and squinted into the blazing sun,down the ocean road and back into town … ‘Fluffy and eager,’ she and Connie were never going to be friends.

The road was littered with the ant-trail pageantry of gleaming black 4WD’s. Expensive 4WD’s, driven by the dishevelled Nike branded army of kids who surfed every day and ate with double jointed credit cards.

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Who am I kidding, I’m looking for one 4WD, I’m looking for him.

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Elvi dragged her glazed eyes from the sunset – looking for him hurt.

Connie stood before her with narrowing eyes shutting the light retaining every detail of Elvi’s pain and escape.

Connie’s grin widened to the footsteps Elvi heard approaching behind her.

‘Jeff, long time no see stranger’,  said Connie. And she brushed past Elvi into Jeff’s arms.

‘I saw these flowers’ said Connie as her fingers danced across Elvi’s wrist and down towards the quivering stems. ‘I saw these flowers’ said Connie – the monk headed bouquet froze ‘well I told your wife here they were for her but you know I bought them for you.’ she said as she reached up and kissed him.

Jeff laughed, “Come in Connie, we’ve missed you.’ he said  Elvi felt the tenderness of his hand and turned from the shame of his love.

“Come ladies, let me fix us something sparkling’ he said.

Images from Pinterest and my picture gallery

Fast Love, how far do I have to get up, to get down?

FAST LOVE

I don’t even want to waste your time

Lets just say that maybe

You could help to ease my mind

Baby I aint Mr. Right.

But if you’re looking for fast love.

GEORGE MICHAEL

Fast Love, how far do I have to get up, to get down?

I love meeting people, their vulnerable quirks, their first, their second impressions and all their unedited shades in between.

How far do I have to get up?

I shiver in the chase of old-fashioned good manners.

I get up and introduce myself to a great smile, I get up to be present in my life without uploading my stats online. Without expectation I welcome the unknown.

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In the past, love found me when I wasn’t looking.

 

 I don’t date online; like fast food it has it’s moments but it’s not something you want to eat every day for happy ever after.

Like fast food, dial and deliver, online dating has a place in our lives. Fast, immediate, convenient, dialled when the cupboards are bare.

I have friends and family who love online dating and who have had great success and spectacular failures – it’s just not for me.

Online dating is too public, a girlfriend called me with an online dating link to my ex-husband. My ex’s profile photo was one we had photographed overseas together – on our pre-wedding honeymoon. The edited version was cropped to exclude me – it was a great photo.

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How far do I have to get up to get down?

I am confused by the need to maintain a dating profile, I prefer to be still and have found I make better decisions when I am in this state.

“I try to stay in a constant state of confusion just because of the expression it leaves on my face.”

― Johnny Depp

FAST LOVE  – OPTION 3

FADE IN:

1.EXT. CAFÉ – MORNING

Simmon, athletic, in her 40’s is seated at a table ducked behind an upside down newspaper. Amy in her early 40’s, approaches swings a custard croissant and rubs the rock on her engagement finger.

AMY

Hey, I thought that was you behind that upside down newspaper. Are you here alone?

So you dating anyone? You really need to get back up on it.

SIMMON (Option 1)

Smile and wave like the penguins on Madagascar.

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SIMMON (Option 2)

No, here alone, dating myself.  My next great love is on his way.

AMY

You are too funny … but god, you must be missing it?

SIMMON

Sex? As for sex, yes I have sex, whenever I want with myself

2.EXT.STREET – MORNING

Whirring roar of a helicopter landing

Chairs and tables fly past the café as a Helicopter lands on the street. Cars and pedestrians stand still in shock.

The helicopter door swings open and three cloaked men jump onto the street. They remove their hoods and Liam Hemsworth or an incredible single, available look alike and Johnny Depp saunter into the café.

3.INT.CAFE – MORNING

Liam and Johnny stride across to Simmon’s table. Behind them Amy sits on top of her custard croissant in shock.

JOHNNY AND LIAM

 baby we are here but your’e too busy looking at your phone, dating online.

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A loud explosion shatters the café window behind them. Standing in the rubble a small man who looks nothing like his online dating profile, shuffles forward. He clears his throat and wipes his nose with his sleeve. He inspects what his nose has left on his sleeve and approaches Simmon.

SMALL MAN

Hi do you know where I can find Simmon. I am her perfect match.

SIMMON

Yikes, Is there an Option 3?

FADE OUT:

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Quotes and images with thanks from Pinterest

A NAKED WOMAN IN PARIS.

Featured

 

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Alone on a balcony in Paris, she stretched, her limbs folding forward, taut and naked she perched.

Hidden across the street, 5 storeys high, my eyes following her every whim, hidden behind a curtain, I watched her.

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In the shadows behind her a homicidal love nest of tossed bed sheets, knotted promises and abandoned clothing.

The spoils of a front line, where she the victor had prowled like a predator and won.

She swung her entire frame from the black wrought iron rail like a gothic raven with the ability to fly and cocked her head off centre to survey Marais street walkers, five balconies below.

Come to the edge, Life said.
They said: We are afraid.
Come to the edge, Life said.
They came. It pushed them…
And they flew.”

― Guilliame Apollinaire French Poet

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Hidden behind my silk curtain, I watched.

A finger of smoke drifted from her balcony, dragging me forward. I stepped forward from the darkness.

I could have stepped back, but I didn’t.

I was in Paris with my now ex husband and my darling daughter, both were asleep as I stepped out onto that balcony. 

I needed to stay.

In Paris alone on my balcony I needed to watch her.

The naked woman on the balcony unearthed me parts I had lost.  Me parts that in trying to conform had been broken.

I needed to wake up and reclaim myself, I needed some time to be disheveled, naked and alone.

Paris woke up and undid me.

I stepped forward, she waved.

I waved back.

She was comfortable being herself, her nudity was part of who she was in that moment and she was content and present.

The naked woman on her Paris balcony represented to me, a woman living in her own freedom.

Glorious, naked and real.The qualities at that moment in my life I too wanted to express.

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Above the street, an amber light and ocean darkness slipped from the naked woman on the balcony’s room and following her lead I sunk into bed.

The gentle roll of my now ex-husband’s snore and the vulnerable trust of my daughter’s love slept.

Timing is everything when you have plans to reclaim yourself and exhausted like the naked woman in her room, I fell asleep.

My life was about to change again and I needed rest to be ready.

DCF 1.0
DCF 1.0

The woman who follows the crowd will usually go no further than the crowd. The woman who walks alone is likely to find herself in places no one has ever been before- ALBERT EINSTEIN

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