Cloud Atlas

I just found out that I need to re-do part of the massive editing project I’m working on – that I’ll submit as the class final in a week and a half – and I don’t see how I’m not going to lose some of the fixes that I’ve noticed the need for since the midterm, and I’ll be very lucky if I remember to re-do them all.

 

… And I have just realized that a clever way to solve the problem easily will not work.

 

I should really get right into it, but, being the weak, addled shell of a human being that I am, I’m going to take a few minutes to breathe deeply and write an entry while I emotionally re-steel myself. Nerves of adamantium, me.

 

***

 

Since this last Sunday, I have already made the mistake of urgently recommending Cloud Atlas to an Australian when it won’t in fact open in Australia until the spring. (What is the deal about not opening movies everywhere all at once as much as possible? There are probably reasons, as with most real things, but I do not understand. Anyway.) So, antipodeans should put a bookmark in for spring of 2013.

 

I had a very, very good day with my girl.

 

When I first found out about the movie Cloud Atlas, I had to carry my laptop out to Gwen’s grave so that I could show her an video ad/trailer that the movie’s three directors (yes, three directors) had recorded in addition to the main trailer. One reason I had to show it to Gwen was that the three directors are the Wachowskis, who wrote and directed Bound and the Matrix trilogy, and Tom Twyker, who did Run Lola Run! That in itself might have been enough. Or, the film they were describing, that Gwen might want me to take her to, might have been enough. But the third thing was Lana Wachowski – the Wachowskis can no longer be called the Wachowski brothers, because Larry has transitioned into Lana and has the best hair I’d seen that month. :o)

 

So I carried the laptop out there, and … had to try lying on my back holding the laptop above me, so that the glare of the bright day on the screen wouldn’t make the video completely invisible. There was a bit of contortionistic physical comedy here that raises many questions. When I go out to Gwen’s grave to tell her about things, I assume that the spot is a meeting place. I make the assumption that she can hear me through voice or mind or however. But, when I show her a video – what is her equivalent of sight? Does she see through my eyes? Or is her perception not a matter of normal light and sight, so that she can perhaps perceive what’s on the screen even if the reflection of the sky or the grass blinds me to it?  What should I be assuming for the occasion?

 

I writhed around on the lawn thinking about this, doing my boyfriendly duty, and finally, in the shadow of my legs held over my head with the screen facing straight down, I was able to show her this video: (if it doesn’t show up or it lags in showing up, you can view it here)

 

 

 

 

 

 

So.

 

This last Sunday, I went in the morning to see Cloud Atlas. I caught a bus that I hadn’t used before and therefore had grave doubts for almost all of the way, it dropped me off across from the cinemas outside Lloyd Mall, I went in, bought my ticket, and then, in the grand foyer with all the theaters branching off of it, I closed my eyes and called Gwen. "Gwen, be here with me."

 

And then I (we) went in. Front row center as usual; she sat to my left. We saw Cloud Atlas. And I got the distinct feeling, for one thing, that Gwen would like to see it again very much. 🙂

 

That kind of thing. I could see/feel/? Gwen digging it.

 

Now, all of this happens under the very conscious aegis of my… handling. I have no idea whether I am only, purely playing games with myself. With practice, or at times, I’m okay with that.

 

But afterward there was… a possible clue that I wasn’t imagining things.

 

:o)

 

And, I know, there are all manner of ways in which the following can be explained, all of them very easy to think of and ready to hand. I know. But.

 

Well, we were strolling out of #7 and up the foyer, full of the haze of movie satisfaction.

 

I was smiling gently, holding her hand in my squeezed hand, thinking, that’s why I go to movies. DAMN I got to take her to a good one.

 

So we’re headed out the direction we usually go, with the restrooms and then the exit doors.

 

And I said to her in my head, "*laugh* I’ll take care of the restroom stop this time."

 

And, without thinking about it, I glanced at the signs to check which restroom was which, and and then, accordingly, damn near walked straight into the women’s.

 

I chuckled inside and jokingly chided Gwen, "Habit, dear, habit," as I went in the men’s. … And then I thought about it.

 

And that was exactly what it had felt like. Like I had been reacting on habit.

 

I don’t know. But… it was like a hint that I did have the passenger that I was talking to, who had loved the movie.

 

I got a big glow, walking out through the wet parking lot holding her hand and talking with her in my head…

 

… and with the first clue that, whether or not I can ever discern her thoughts or anything… she might be in here with mine. 🙂

 

A parking lot full of puddles under a gray sky can sometimes look like a whole new world.

 

Oh.

 

Hi.