to move up and down
who decides whether a photograph is just blurry or purposely unfocused?
yesterday i had one of those existential driving moments where the world seems to be a bit distant and i thought about my life and stuff and everything is quite nice really
and as i stood by the sea and tried to watch non-existent waves, so did cerra.
i think the one conclusion we came to is that morecambe is depressive, and the main thought throughout was ‘who owns those boats that are stuck in the sand?’
in the many times I have visited morecambe I have yet to see the tide reach the promenade, so i have come to the conclusion that it never does
i think this is a metaphor for something but I don’t know what just yet
single minded duality and multi-track recording
Experiencing advertising from both sides of the phenomena, it’s really easy to see that looking at an advert there is only one single-minded emotion running through the piece, but flip the lens round and a paradox occurs where the audience is trying to understand the simple thought you thought the audience were anticipating you to drive them to…
we are now 90% of the way through the filming as we attempt to knock up our first advert. its quite an exciting milestone really, and after the easter break it’s time to hit the edit room and get OCD over sound
i want to film the final shot of the advert using the slate, for all those heroes before us pioneering the speed, rolling, lights, action method of shooting
i’ll keep you posted
as promised
and then it goes off
today we are embarking on a journey to the trafford centre with marketing. we will study customer relationship management and the impact this has on customer loyalty. we may have to break off for a cheeky nandos.
the taps at university remind me of the excitement of arriving at a hotel in spain as a child and noticing the taps made water frothy, unlike at home, and wondering why. so far this is the only feature of university which reminds me of arriving at a hotel in spain.
one sink, two taps, one red hot, one freezing cold. you can’t fill the bowl, how do you wash your hands?
the flame
As Winston contemplated the unspoken horrors that surely awaited him in Room 101, in that same, cold, neither distinguishably light or dark room in the Ministry of Love, the one incomprehensible event beyond the control of the party doctrine had happened.
Unaccompanied by the usual shriek of fanfare from the telescreen, as events of any significance in Oceana could usually be found, something had happened which truly defied logical reasoning – or logical reasoning as Winston presently understood it, despite the fact that in his own mind he was uncertain as to whether logic concerned itself with the principles of doublethink, or the opposition of it. Just as he began to give up hope, just as he remembered that O’Brien had told him that reality exists inside of one’s mind and forgot his prior logical perception that destiny can be controlled by an individual’s actions, which subsequently act upon external reality to be recorded in history forever and concealed in memory until death, his acceptance of O’Brien’s fact made absolute sense. In effect, doublethink reversed itself, because if reality existed in his own mind, then he was in control and Big Brother held no power over him. At this moment Julia burst into his cell in tears, wrapping her arms around him in a tighter embrace than ever before.
She pulled back and looked into his nearly empty eyes, filled with incomprehension of the figure that beheld him. He watched her eyes as she flitted between both of his, not knowing where to look and rushing between the two as though to not miss any event of significance which took place in one eye but not the other. At that moment, Winston understood that reality did exist in his own mind, and in his reality time appeared to slow around him. He felt a lump in his throat as the two of them realised that neither of them betrayed the other, no matter what torturous violence they were subjected to throughout, and in that moment, the pain he had felt in his varicose ulcer faded away. Nothing mattered. Once again the two of them were together and that was the only thought which entered his consciousness. But what about the telescreen? Winston knew this cell was laden with telescreens watching his every movement, as were the corridors which Julia must have walked up to get here. They would know. He could hear the boots marching up the corridor. He plucked up the courage to look at the telescreen, knowing it was about to bark orders at him, but it was blank. The boots marched closer. The screen remained blank. How could it be blank? It had never been blank since he could remember, the telescreen was the one constant of the party doctrine. Whether the party was at war with Eastasia or Eurasia, the telescreen would display the same messages of propaganda and play the same patriotic songs every single day.
The boots were so close now, maybe five seconds away. This would be the end, the thought police agents would enter and silence Julia and Winston with the same bullet. As he contemplated the bullet piercing through both of their skulls he thought, at first, that perhaps this would be a release. If they died like this they would be free, they had betrayed the party and remained together until the end. They would die martyrs to their cause and although every fragment of their tiny existence would undoubtedly be removed by one of the tens, hundreds or thousands of people doing the same job as Winston himself had before he was captured, in the place where reality really existed, Winston was sure, in their own minds, they would know of their freedom. Perhaps then, freedom was slavery. Secondly, he considered the thoughts Julia might be having as she continued to hold onto him like never before, but this was quickly dismissed as the boots marched too closely to consider anything else.
It was O’Brien.
