Youngest kid of six with an inferiority and black sheep complex, but determined that God saves not just his soul to heaven but the remainder of his manic-depressive life, so others won't say he became a Christian and remained a jerk.
i won't be transparent before i'm opaque. and you'll get to know me starting from the small things: who my favourite bands are. what kind of movies i like. who are my heroes.
I’m convinced that when confronted with sincere, real love, the Jesus factor will become obvious. But let’s not plant the cross before we carry it. I’m not trying to con you.
Some dreams are meant to be achieved. I know that. But maybe other dreams are meant to drive us, privately. Never known to anyone but ourselves.
It is a sadness that, when choosing between crying and sighing, will choose sighing. I'd almost say that melancholy is being sad about sadness itself.
On memory and nostalgia
It saddens me when life moves forward and people decide that certain things are worth forgetting.
I've learnt that the word irregardless is filed as a non-standard word in the English language. That's a lexicographer's way of saying it's not a real word.
Crowds are fickle things. So when we stand in the thousands and cry against the present government, do we know who we're actually crying for?
People always want the best for themselves. But I want to sometimes take second or third or fourth best, just so that the loser down the road doesn't always have to come in last. It must feel like shit to always come in last.
On growing old
Leasehold property make me feel sad. It doesn't matter how old the family photos are that you put on your wall. It's your family but it's not really your wall.
I ask you, if God loves everyone, and if God is also incapable of loving evil, how can there be such a thing as an evil man?
On a daily basis
One line quips, like this.
Thursday, May 17, 2007
HITCHCOCK'S TICKING BOMB
To illustrate the simplicity of the art of suspense, the great Hitchcock set the scene of two people sitting at a table talking. they talk and talk and talk and then without forewarning, the table explodes and both men are blown to bits. this, Hitchcock taught us, was the first error in creating suspense - the audience only knows as much as the protagonists.
but assuming the two men were talking at a table. and the audience has a glimpse of a bomb beneath the table. they talk. the bomb ticks. they talk. the bomb ticks. and the more they talk, the more the bomb ticks down till that very last transition, the audience is left gasping. the bomb goes off. the two men are blown to bits. and everyone is taken for the ride.
Hitchcock was right. a bit of omniscience can go a long way in making one's climactic moment a lot more savoury. and it's fair to say that pretty much every one will appreciate the fact that the master of suspense knows better to show his audience cutaways of a ticking bomb.
of course, there are exceptions. the jerk at the table, for instance... what does he care if you see the bomb or not? granted your cinematic viewing is enhanced, the guy still gets incinerated without the slightest inkling of his impending comeuppance. that sucks man.
some days, i feel like that jerk.
Labels: arts, defeat
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