“…we always want a tragedy with a happy ending.”

from Surviving Desire, Hal Hartley

In another moment, Jude, the main character, is laying in the gutter, a woman has gutted him, he’s asked if he’s okay. There’s a moment where he thinks about it then replies, paraphrasing, “I’ll be okay. I just need to keep my head in the gutter for 10 minutes.”

I wonder if I’m the only person who wishes he could write like Hal Hartley and Charles Bukowski combined into a crazed drunken over-intellectualized amalgam.

Hartley’s moments of filmic poetry make me burst with envy, wonder and delight.

Bukowski’s moment of written poetry make me burst with envy, wonder and delight.

I saw Hal Hartley speak after one of his films. Bukowski would kick his ass and Hartley would deserve it.

But, fuck, that bastard pre-creates the thoughts I’d have if I were smarter and that is so fucking annoying. Yet every few weeks I pick up a Hartley film and I marvel at the beauty.

Charles Bukowski would kick my ass too if he were alive and we were drinking together. And I’d deserve it.