Hestia and Home by Hollywood – 11/3/11

I will speak a bit more about the home in which I chose to live, and more. I have mentioned that I chose to live in this residential hotel room, independently, away from family, and in the thick of Los Angeles.  I have mentioned how the Hollywood stars used to stay here, and how now, it is very cozy, but very haunted by the various dramarama that has gone down here.

The light outside my door.

The light outside my door.

As I was moving, Luken told me to check out the movie Barton Fink.  Now, I may feel quite far apart from Luken now.  I feel he was very hateful towards me.  Though I would be friends with him, I cannot be his lover, though he has tried.  He is just a great big ball of negativity for me.  It seems to me like he is always trying to bring me down.  But I would rather focus on the positive.  And I do love him, insofar as I love every being.  And I think he is very smart, even if I do not think he is very in touch with his heart.  Typical of a bad sort of Aquarius, one might say.  So, I heeded his advice.

Now, if you have not seen the movie Barton Fink, or Sunset Boulevard, perhaps you should not proceed in reading this post, as there will be spoilers.



Luken told me that Barton Fink was a movie about a playwright who, despite his great talent and success, was down and experiencing writer’s block.  He ends up coming to Los Angeles, where he chooses to stay in a slightly run-down hotel so as to be among the people and receive inspiration.

Hello déjà vu hallway.  I think I've seen you somewhere.

Hello déjà vu hallway. I think I’ve seen you somewhere.

Yeah, this totally doesn’t remind me of me at all.  And the rest of the movie totally wouldn’t either….

Anyhow, it soon happened that there would be a double feature showing Sunset Boulevard and Barton Fink.  One of my new lovers and I decided to attend.  This lover is quite good at making me feel like the wondrous goddess I am.  He is a Jewish pianist, which I find quite charming.  He took me to a kosher restaurant first.  I felt a bit out of place being the only lady in pants, but I quite liked it and had a good time.

Then we went to the features. I mentioned before on this blog how, sometimes, it feels as though something one is experiencing- of whatever medium, be it a play, a book, or a movie in this case- was just created for oneself for that very moment.  It is as though it never existed in all the world before that, and then suddenly, God said, “Let there be this movie!” And it was so.  And for you, it is good.  It was so with these two movies and myself.

First, we watched Sunset Boulevard.  It seems so strange that an actress such as myself, who has spent so much time in the entertainment industry and in Hollywood, had never actually seen this movie.  Perhaps I am a bit like that guard on the lot who did not recognize Ms. Desmond.  But oh, how I identify with her, with Gillis, and with the whole film.  I now agree, of course, with the U.S. Library of Congress, who deemed this film “culturally, historically, or aesthetically significant” in 1989, and I deem it personally significant as well.  And how interesting it is to watch it for the first time after being so familiar with the locations seen in the movie!  To see the way they looked so long ago.

How I felt it as the unsuccessful B movie writer came between a rock and a hard place, and, facing failure in Hollywood, suddenly found himself magically in possession of a patron.  How drawn in he was to his fate, good or bad, and so have I been.  How much did Norma Desmond focus upon her glory, and how could one not, the way she was such a glowing actress that a Rajah killed himself with her nylon stockings!  I have had men react similarly to me, and it certainly has an effect on the ego.  But oh, such things are illusions… and she could not come to terms with it.  To watch her delusions play out before me was a sort of uncomfortable warning, a sort of both prescient and humbling experience.

Then came Barton Fink.  Barton Fink was, as I had said, a talented and successful playwright who went to Los Angeles and rented a slightly run-down hotel room.  He wanted to write about the common man for the common man, though he was totally pretentious, oblivious, and out of touch.  Okay, I’m with him so far.  I watched him sitting in his room with his typewriter trying to write.  I thought of myself sitting in my room silently with my laptop.  It had everything right down to the bloodsuckers.

And then, finally, at the end of the movie, it takes a completely twisted little turn.  It veers from hypnagogia and other such vaguely dreamlike states, with religious symbolism spattered here and there, into a completely paranormal real-life nightmare.  It turns out that this hotel was Satan’s home… and Barton Fink sees him rampaging down the hallways in all his violent, fiery, unholy glory.

Being that this movie had so much reminded me of myself, I knew I would have nightmares that night.  And so I did.  I dreamt of Satan again.  He popped out of my closet here in my hotel room and then he went on a killing spree.  He spared me, of course.

And, so, when I woke in the morning, I promised not to complain about noise unduly.  Or to complain about anything if unwarranted.  I promised not to come into Satan’s home- Los Angeles, as many say, is Hell- and complain.  I promised to listen, as Barton Fink had been chastised for not listening (and as a result not writing).  Yea, for I am also damned to stay here in Hollywood and Generate all of Creation.

“And the king, Nebuchadnezzar, answered and said to the Chaldeans, I recall not my dream; if ye will not make known unto me my dream, and its interpretation, ye shall be cut in pieces, and of your tents shall be made a dunghill.” – Something like the Beginning of Daniel 2.

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~ by korakaos on November 4, 2011.

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