)(( hannah mello ))(

Untitled.

It all started with a movie. ...
For me, it often does. ...

No, actually, it was before that.

**

October 2004-- the fall after I graduated college-- it was my first trip overseas. I thought I was to do it accompanied. It ended up being alone. I was 21, wearing my black leather Danskos, sitting in the Elephant House in Edinburgh. I was there because of the recommendation of the behind-the-desk boy at my hostel. A locals spot.

An English breakfast before me (a biscuit/muffin thing with some kind of cream and jam, coffee, and some meat), and my journal... My journal being what made me present in the moments I spent alone in the magic.

The magic was the stone castle atop craggy rock there through that cafe/bar window. The magic was the hilly city-- the bar swirling with students that were there to learn about life, not just history... The magic was in my experience of the magic. My subjective-- the housing of experienced objectivity so far beyond that moment and my own skin. I was outside of my insides.

I was writing and then some songs came on that became more than ambiance-- they were my soundtrack. My life soundtrack. The rhythm and melody and lyric to that moment. After 2 or 3 songs I started to get angry. Literally. I was angry. Who is this singing that knows me so well?! Who is this that dares to loudly speak out what only my deepest soul whispers barely to myself?! I leaned over the counter at one point and asked the dish washer what CD was playing. He told me. Bob Dylan's "Bringing it All Back Home" B-sides.

When I made it back to England, somewhere in bustling London (a far cry from all that Scotland inspired and meant), I paid way too many pounds/dollars/what-have-you for that record. I had to have it on that soil-- on that island/island-group called UK-- and I had to bring it home with me. I had been understood there and I wasn't going to let myself get away.

<> So, that's where it started. <>

For these past years, I haven't replayed that record more than occasionally or piecemeal-y. It hasn't become my anthem. Dylan hasn't become my voice's stand-in.

But then,
I saw a movie.
I saw a movie that I wish could be made for every person that ever lived. And when I say "lived", I mean-- the people who didn't just breathe. The people who lived. "Lived" like the word was meant to mean. Why? Because there are so many layers to a human life. So many layers to a human story. Not just plot, context, character development in linear form. We are not essay as people. We are not story. We are 1,000 short stories happening in every moment of "real time". That's what the movie captured. The reality happening under so-called "real-time" in a human life. A human life that LIVES.

<> So, I left that theater and stumbled into the lobby bathroom
and ended up in conversation outside of my own head--
with a woman who was there.
She was there in that "real time" period that segment of a generation--
the generation before my own.
Conversation started because of a passing comment and then passed into substance of
measureless value.
She talked about hearing from my generation-- hearing from actual mouths with
her actual ears.
She talked to me and I talked to her about
my generation-- my generation that needs
needs needs
a voice like Dylan's.
A voice that's above powers.
Aside footsteps on the road ahead-- maybe a voice that carves those footsteps
as if it's feet themselves.
...

I saw the movie.
I talked to the woman.
We emailed. I am still chewing.

Some weeks later, along with titles accumulated from men I admire and movements/causes I'm a part of, I bought way too many books on Amazon. They, being purchased from the cheapest vendors, have arrived piece by piece. The last of which arrived today.

One of the books-- "Bob Dylan: The Essential Interviews"-- I've been carrying with me on trains. I sat in the coffeeshop in my building on my lunch break with that and The Economist yesterday and read like I have been reading. Reading intensity with intensity. Reading ideas with ideas. Matching up every line with my own desire for what's between the lines-- between his lines. Not profundity necessarily. (Dylan always seems to be talking about how he just says what's in him, not trying to make a point or be deep about something around-the-bush...).

Tonight, I watched what I bought that day on Amazon also. I watched 1/2 of it. The Scorsese DVD "No Direction Home".

And

Something came up.

Some words came up in the film.
Words like "the pulse", "the spirit of a generation", "passing the baton onto a generation".

<> There's a Hebrew word that appears only in the one particular book of Psalms in the Hebrew Bible. It's only in that one book. I have heard it a lot and thought about it a lot and asked a Jewish friend of mine who's pretty religious what it literally meant. She didn't know. She hadn't even heard of it. Maybe that's why it's such a great word. "Selah" ... It's like what the ellipsis is in punctuation I think... You can find it after the poet/songwriter says a big line-- a line with many or few words that has weight of implication. Selah. Just once it's written and it's a pause bigger than a breath-taking space between lines. I'd like to think it's the call to engagement-- engagement with the reality in all its nuances and layers and non-linear/non-plot-focused (kind of like the film "I'm Not There") truths and mysteries...

I really am going somewhere with that :)
...

I also bought a bio on Sean Penn because of another film (... :) ...) that instigated thoughts on Living (the kind of living that could be written with a capital L... not the common noun of "living" but the proper noun of "Living"....)--- and it's all oral statements by people that know him. The whole "biography" is written that way.

<>

So... with Dylan
the movie
the lady
Selah
Living
creative oral & filmed story-weaving verses story-telling
... I have a strong sense of hope.

Hope that perhaps,
perhaps
Perhaps the existing zeitgeist of my generation can be expressed somehow.
In song perhaps <> in story-weaving <> in film perhaps <> maybe in words or poetry...
I don't know. It's not a complete thought...
It's not a thought at all actually. It's more a desire.
A desire that my generation would have a face (identity) of its own
a voice that carves footprints on the path of humanity as if its feet themselves.

I often end posts with toasts ... :)
a toast to something inspiring or a take-away thought to hold onto or ruminate on or chew on more... but I can't with this one.
It's not evolved... It can't be summarized... But, maybe, it can be built upon.
Maybe there's some story to be woven with these things... maybe
maybe.

All I know is that I see so much plot, so much context, so many characters and yet there isn't a STORY quite yet for my generation. Maybe because we need more layers-- more nuances-- more voices-- more players-- maybe more pulse/spirit/zeitgeist in creative forms.

Selah. <>
...

posted by )(( hannah mello ))( @ 6:13 PM