The film diaries of Jonas Mekas, 1970-1999, was shot on jittery, mellow 16mm color-reversal stock. I saw happiness and pain in your eyes and reflection of the Paradises lost and regained and lost again, that terrible loneliness and happiness, yes, and I reflect upon this and I think about you, like two lonely space pilots in outer cold space, as I sit here this late night alone and I think about all this.Jonas Mekas, As I Was Moving Ahead Occasionally I Saw Brief Glimpses of Beauty, 2000, still from the filmĪs I Was Moving Ahead Occasionally I Saw Brief Glimpses of Beauty I saw it in your eyes, in your love, you too are swinging towards the depths of your own being in longer and longer circles. I am walking like a somnambulist waiting for a secret signal, ready to go one or another way, listening into this huge white silence for the weakest signal or call.Īnd I sit here alone and far from you and it's night and I'm reflecting on everything all around me and I am thinking of you. I must be very open and watchful now, completely open. There must be something, somehow, I feel, very soon, something that should give me some sign to move one or another direction. Thus I change my course, going inwards, thus I am jumping into my own darkness.
Now I want to shoot my own way through myself, into the thick night of myself. Now I want to leave others alone, they have their terrible fates to go. There were times I wanted to change the world, I wanted to take a gun and shoot my way through the Western Civilization. It took me long to realize that it's love that distinguishes man from stones, trees, rain, and that we can lose our love and that love grows through loving, yes, I've been so completely lost, so truly lost. My life has become too painful and I keep asking myself, what am I doing to get out of where I am. But I have come close to the end now, it's the question will I make it or will I not. It is at forty that we betray ourselves, our bodies, our souls, by either staying on the surface or by going further but through the easiest decisions, retarding, throwing our souls back by thousands of incarnations. It's at forty that we die, those who did not die at twenty. Because deeper there are terrible decisions to make, terrible steps to take. As long as I don't sum up myself, stay on the surface, I don't have to move forwards, I don't have to make painful and terrible decisions, choices, where to go and how. This feeling of going nowhere, of being stuck, the feeling of Dante's first strophe, as if afraid of the next step, next stage. I've never let you down, world, but you did lousy things to me.
My heart is poisoned, my brain left in shreds of horror and sadness. So I vomit out broken bits of words and sintaxes of the countries I've passed through, broken limbs, slaughtered houses, geographies. There are brief glimpses of clear sky, like falling out of a tree, so I have some idea where I'm going, but there is still too much clarity and straight order of things, I am getting always the same number somehow. The deeper I swing into the regions of nothingness the further I'm thrown back into myself, each time more and more frightening depths below me, until my very being becomes dizzy. I've seen bit of lost Paradises and I know I'll be hopelessly tryng to return even if it hurts.
As I was moving ahead occasionally I saw brief glimpses of beauty
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