The King is Always Above the People - Ardeshir Mohassess (1977)
The physicists believe in their peculiar way in a “true world”: a rigid systemization of atoms in necessary motions, identical for all beings. The “apparent world” for them is therefore reduced to that side of the general and universally necessary Being which is accessible to every being in its own way (accessible and in addition adapted—made “subjective”). But by doing so the physicists got lost: the atom that they take for granted is constructed according to the logic of the perspectivism of consciousness - it therefore is itself a subjective fiction. This physicalist image of the world which they thus project is not at all different in essence from the “Subjective-World-Image”: it is only constructed by our senses extended into thought, but still with our senses… And finally they omitted something in the constellation without being aware of it: just the necessary perspectivism by virtue of which each centre of energy - not only man - constructs the world by itself, i.e. measures it against its own energy, touches it, forms it… They forgot to include this perspective-giving energy into the “true Being.” To say it in the language of Academia: they forgot the “Subject-being.”
La Pianiste (dir. Michael Haneke, 2001)
There’s a race of men that don’t fit in,
A race that can’t sit still;
So they break the hearts of kith and kin,
And they roam the world at will.
They range the field and rove the flood,
And they climb the mountain’s crest;
Their’s is the curse of the gypsy blood,
And they don’t know how to rest…
Robert W. Service - The Men that Don’t Fit In
The ontological fallacy of expecting a light at the end of the tunnel, well, that’s what the preacher sells, same as a shrink. See, the preacher, he encourages your capacity for illusion. Then he tells you it’s a fucking virtue. Always a buck to be had doing that, and it’s such a desperate sense of entitlement, isn’t it? Surely, this is all for me. Me. Me. Me. I. I. I’m so fucking important then, right?
Un Lever de Rideau (2006)
I feel you there, in every pore. Your silence clamors in my ears. You can nail up your mouth, cut your tongue out — but you can’t prevent your being there. Can you stop your thoughts? I hear them ticking away like a clock, tick-tock, tick-tock, and I’m certain you hear mine.
I cannot argue.
It’s not that I’m afraid of being hurt again:
Nothing again can either hurt or heal.
I have thought at moments that the ecstasy is real
Although those who experience it may have no reality.
For what happened is remembered like a dream
In which one is exalted by intensity of loving
In the spirit, a vibration of delight
Without desire, for desire is fulfilled
In the delight of loving. A state one does not know
When awake. But what, or whom I loved,
Or what in me was loving, I do not know.
And if that is all meaningless, I want to be cured
Of a craving for something I cannot find
And of the shame of never finding it.
Can you cure me?
Even in childhood I watched the hours flow, independent of any reference, any action, any event, the disjunction of time from what was not itself, its autonomous existence, its special status, its empire, its tyranny. I remember quite clearly that afternoon when, for the first time, confronting the empty universe , I was no more than a passage of moments reluctant to go on playing their proper parts. Time was coming unstuck from being—at my expense.
Solaris (1972) dir. Andrei Tarkovsky.
…No, it is impossible; it is impossible to convey the life-sensation of any given epoch of one’s existence - that which makes its truth, its meaning - its subtle and penetrating essence. It is impossible. We live, as we dream - alone…