(Probably Not) The End

I wanted to embed this, but that option has been disabled on this clip. It is so well-done, the work of a real artist. The whole trilogy is easily one of the greatest movies of all time. There is no sense of strain either in the story or the filming, every scene once it has been accomplished seems obvious, as if anybody given a camera and a scenario ought to be able to produce something at least proximate to. But of course virtually no one can. There is pity in this too.

Given the difficulties I have been having coming up with even passable material for this blog in recent months, and my increasingly sour attitude whenever I sit down to write in recent months, I have once again been giving some consideration to trying to close down the blog again. After all, I have been at it for 4 years now, which is quite a long time--many celebrated literary magazines of long ago days had much shorter runs than that--and I have not managed to make much of a splash in any way. This consideration aside, the quality of the operation can no longer be said to be consistently improving, and the contemplation of it is not usually a cause even of private pleasure to its author. The temptation to carry on will almost certainly prove too much however. The great dreams, of an audience, of popularity, of respect, of conceiving oneself an author, even of producing some halfway decent bit of writing, are yet too strong, and there is no other convenient way of indulging them.

Surprisingly, I have not had my usual summer depression this year. It has been a very good summer, with lots of outdoor activities and sun, which was unusual for me in my earlier life. Indeed my private life overall is quite happy, and whatever shortcomings I have are with great tactfulness not emphasized or alluded to therein at all unless I force the subject of them myself. I have also been less affected by the usual worldly worries and disappointments than I have been for many years. Having turned forty it is as if a certain amount of anxiety has finally cleared off from my mind. I was always pre-occupied with youthful desires and youthful markers of success, which, finally being utterly unattainable, I have noticed these anxieties starting, albeit slowly, to be evaporating somewhat. One still wants to be active and useful and important in some way, of course, but so far the middle-aged versions of the failure to be these things seem to be much less traumatic to my imagination than their youthful incarnations were. Perhaps it is because I am already accustomed to not having a public identity, and so do not reasonably expect to ever have one now. Whatever the cause, my state of mind as regards much of the world is usually calm but strangely empty and detached at this time.

But if you have not seen the clip I linked to above, I highly recommend taking the three minutes to look at it, it will be well worth the time. It is very beautiful.