Oh, go there, go -- pov.vtheatre.net !
I am not to rewrite the old texts, I am not Tolstoy.
We write new!
We replace it with more "new"...
Since we know it, we don't have to work too hard on anything!
Oh, the devil take you!
Mefisto or Mephisto [sp]?
"In Doctor Faustus, Mephistopheles acts as a guide to Faustus. Mephistopheles is not only a speaker for the devil, but he is also seen as a possible lover to the character..." (!)
Yes, SELF is the book to read before you read POV. What? I will come back to explain the postmodern terms later!
next book: Tech
Theory of Spectatorship aDiary + Film-North Album (new)
"Dispassion, distance and integrity in coverage are vital." --good journalism
confusion: disorientation and synthesis
The term "confusion" denotes a loss of direction, orientation, or sense; yet also a weaving, or fusing together, of differences. Confusion operates in a site of contradiction, scrambling accepted perceptions while unifying disjointed experience. To be disoriented is to have lost one^s way, one's senses; yet it is also to be oriented otherwise, toward different horizons or histories. To synthesize is to reinvent material against nature, to re-conceive the artificial, working in excess of natural possibilities.
^ disorientation ^
- dulling, nulling, or extension of the senses (drugs, Bacchanalia) / confusion of the senses (synesthesia) / "nonsense" (Dada, experimental literature and poetics)
^ synthesis ^
- medicine and pharmacy, in culture, philosophy, and art (Prozac/Ecstasy, the pharmakon, Damien Hirst)
SummaryI do not know where is the page, where I wrote about the difference between Lucifer, Devil Mefisto and the rest of them.
QuestionsWho is responsible for movies, Holywood? You, Mefisto?
NotesAnatoly, thanks for graphics, but I don't need it. Love, Lucifer.
Bad Subjects, Wrong Theories
Mephisto : another face. After midnight. No, the place is time and time is space. No smell, no smoke, no special effects. Seriuos business. My immortal soul is at stake. The papers, his copy, one copy only! I sign. No date. And the fricking guy burns it right away!...
[ Preface in POV ]
"Anything else I have to sign?"
"No, that was enough."
Maybe he wasn't Mefisto, but I had to give him some name.
"So, what is next?"
"This is it."
"What do you mean? What about the rest?"
"What about the rest?"
"The world, the travels and women?"
"I don't know what you are talking about. This is your copy, keep it for the records."
He gives me the ashes and his cellular goes on!
[ each of us play multiple roles -- do we know when Lucifer becomes Mefisto? ]
Mefisto was much more formal. He was ironic, mabe cynical. Always dressed well and never look into my eyes. Maybe Lucifer was changing his appearence depending on his mood -- we all do. When Mefisto talked, he would loomk away. Everything he say was like an information. But I still believe that he simply was hidding his emotion. After all, it was my Lucifer under the great three-piece... Look, when you trust, you have to accept the moods. This is what any friendship is about.
Well, the two are, nevertheless, separate, and Mefisto serves Lucifer. If you understand the mystery of Trinity, you know what I mean. Being independent doesn't mean being equal in power. I never saw them together and I don't know do they have conflicts or not. BTW, I didn't see any horns or tails either. Of course, I wanted to ask them, you know, the private questions -- do they have genitalia? -- and they knew that I wanted. They read your mind very much like the angels do... He smiled at my thoughts.
* 2008 -- ...
texts: ... semio
in focus: Tarkovsky, film as philosophy
reading: Film Art (textbook)
@2001-2004 film-north * NEXT: Lucifer *
FAUST A monologue from the play by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe NOTE: This monologue is reprinted from Faust. Trans. Bayard Taylor. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1898. MEPHISTOPHELES: Poor son of Earth, how couldst thou thus alone Have led thy life, bereft of me? I, for a time, at least, have worked thy cure; Thy fancy's rickets plague thee not at all: Had I not been, so hadst thou, sure, Walked thyself off this earthly ball. Why here to caverns, rocky hollows slinking, Sit'st thou, as 'twere an owl a-blinking? Why suck'st, from sodden moss and dripping stone, Toad-like, thy nourishment alone? A fine way, this, thy time to fill! A blessing drawn from supernatural fountains! In night and dew to lie upon the mountains; All Heaven and Earth in rapture penetrating; Thyself to Godhood haughtily inflating; To grub with yearning force through Earth's dark marrow, Compress the six days' work within thy bosom narrow,-- To taste, I know not what, in haughty power, Thine own ecstatic life on all things shower, Thine earthly self behind thee cast, And then the lofty instinct, thus-- [With a gesture:] at last,-- I daren't say how -- to pluck the final flower! Yes, thou findest that unpleasant! Thou hast the moral right to cry me "shame!" at present. One dares not that before chaste ears declare, Which chaste hearts, notwithstanding, cannot spare; And, once for all, I grudge thee not the pleasure Of lying to thyself in moderate measure. But such a course thou wilt not long endure; Already art thou o'er-excited, And, if it last, wilt soon be plighted To madness and to horror, sure. Enough of that! Thy love sits lonely yonder, By all things saddened and oppressed; Her thoughts and yearning seek thee, tenderer, fonder,-- A mighty love is in her breast. First came thy passion's flood and poured around her As when from melted snow a streamlet overflows; Thou hast therewith so filled and drowned her, That now thy stream all shallow shows. Methinks, instead of in the forests lording, The noble Sir should find it good, The love of this young silly blood At once to set about rewarding. Her time is miserably long; She haunts her window, watching clouds that stray O'er the old city-wall, and far away. "Were I a little bird!" so runs her song, Day long, and half night long. Now she is lively, mostly sad, Now, wept beyond her tears; Then again quiet she appears,-- Always love-mad! Thou fool, go in and comfort her! When such a head as thine no outlet knows, It thinks the end must soon occur. Hail him, who keeps a steadfast mind! Thou, else, dost well the devil-nature wear: Naught so insipid in the world I find As is a devil in despair.http://www.monologuearchive.com/g/goethe_003.html ©2004 filmplus.org *
2005-2006 Theatre UAF Season: Four Farces + One Funeral & Godot'06
Film-North * Anatoly Antohin
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