Artsy shit people find brilliant...You not so much.

Larry Clark ... that's the director ... anyone see Ken Park? ... supposed to be really graphic and sick, some incest, weird shit ...
never got a proper release in the US, even though it is from here
 
MFJ said:
For the record: Dick's poetry is some of the best stuff I've read in my life.


:lol: Apparently you haven't read much! But thanks anyway... :)


RiA and CB: I'll send you the same stuff I sent Nate when I get back tomorrow. Howzat?
 
cthulufhtagn said:
apparently the blade runner director's cut is like massively, massively better than the theatrical version? maybe i should check that out cuz i saw the "normal" version and was far from impressed, though i like the concept...

The Harrison Ford overdub totally kills it for me, the director's cut is truly where it's at. Great soundtrack too, I'm listening to it right now.
 
downloaded Ken Park last night... skimmed throught it ... so far I have seen real threesome sex with teenagers, complete with blowjob ..,
 
I'm looking over the Boris - Mabuta no Ura cd cards and I found this on one of the cards, and I immediately thought of you, Tully :lol:

"It has begun to rain. The boy is looking at the painting, which has been left on the veranda. Raindrops keep striking against the painting, which has now begun to melt. The blurred blue, green, and grey in the background are eating each other. The woman's idea is her deed, so the boy is just watching the watered painting are being washed away. It is melting, bleeding, swirling, outside of the window. There are a colourful shadows of umbrellas and a swirl of laughter, but there is no one on the bench. The grey tree just stands there, wet with rain, and shone by the weak sunshine. One of the paint tubes scattered on the floor strikes against his toes, when he picks it up, the colour of white emerges from the tube and drops onto his fingers, he opens the window . Raindrops are hitting against his arm. He picks up the wet painting and brings it inside to lay it on the floor on the now colourless surface a new trace of white is melting from his fingers for a moment he thinks about the airplane which he saw last night."