How might annoyance be made more palatable? Toward a stratagem in current art. (Or this: Can moderate annoyance be confectionary?)
Keller Pennethorne, A New Domesday Book.
“The methods do not work. Believe me, Carla, we have tried them and tried them.”
Tyler Bardwell, Heading West.
April 19, 2021. A crucial addition to my ever-expanding list of putrid words: “expert.”
Reginald Boyington, Dear Dreadful Diary.
The twelve of them are tramping through a forest [framing shot from behind of a line of men, loosely two abreast]. The sun is just beginning to rise on a gray day, showing a standing mist close to the ground and a faint glow ahead. [Shot begins to track forward, following the men]. A fiddle is droning. No one speaks a word.
James Clay Archibald, Motion Picture Moments.
“I found the crime scenes to be fascinating. I admit that. I mean, sometimes, I found myself being almost obsessive about it. Carefully sorting through cabinets and drawers, canisters, hampers, luggage. Even books. All that intrusion.”
Allison Cowling, The Night of the Detective.
“No, Susannah. This is all part of my secret plan. You’re not yet smart enough to understand it all. Just be patient. Just you wait and see!”
Talbot Smalls, Barnacle Bill in Macao. (1933)
It’s that they didn’t think they were being clever. That’s what makes some of the old serials such enjoyable movies.
Logan Nygaard, A Treatise on Amusement.
“Crime is an abstract term,” announced Elizabeth, “and it really means nothing.”
Tyler Bardwell, Heading West.
“Yes, but in those movie serials, rope is quite useless.”
Fate Hollis, Hand Me Down.
“But what were his final words?” “They told me that he said the word rubbish. Just that one word.”
Fate Hollis, Hand Me Down.
dennis scharnberg 