Pleasures of the Flesh #2 a.k.a. Bad Blog Post#3

So there we were... if there were a dictionary of all the feelings a person could conceivably feel you would be hard pressed to find just what we felt. Had our thoughts been facial expressions, they’d be an odd mixture of disbelief, admiration and fear. It happens to everyone doesn’t it? When you see something so beautiful it scares you just a little?


Stuffed like sardines. Elbow room only. You can literally hear your neighbours’ breathing pick up pace when assaulted by an all too candid scene. But only just (you are perhaps pre-occupied with concealing yours?).


Oh G7, how I love you! Cold samosas, stale popcorn, overpriced coffee... all of us 48, collectively seduced by celluloid.


The screen has a row of tiny bulbs all around it. All glowy and festive. Like an absurd PG advised diwali.


Each movie hall has its own private little loo.


The people next to me... how I wish they would find an alternative venue to express their affection for one another. The idea of discretion is obviously alien to their culture. They seem to have a terrible amount of ground to cover during the short span of the movie. They are all passion. And all arms and legs. Its like sitting next to an extremely fidgety octopus. One that makes annoying “puch puch” sounds.


So there we were... we felt our heads swell with ideas. Stuffed to the brim with the stuff of other peoples’ dreams. And to the dreams of these others we entrust two hours of our lives. We argue, make love, start a revolution, become a legend and die. All 48 of us.


And on our way home, just before the magic wears off we all make a little movie in our heads. Mine never gets beyond the opening score. But there are those who have plotlines in place, dialogues penned down, lighting, camera angles... maybe even the odd award acceptance speech.


*


This post is dedicated to Gargoyle and the erstwhile Duke of Puke.