Aktywne Wpisy
Mieszkamy z niebieskim od trzech miesięcy razem w mieszkaniu dwupokojowym, drugi pokój stoi wolny, robi za składzik i pokój gościnny jak ktoś przyjedzie przekimać.
Pisała dzisiaj koleżanka, że rozstała sie z chłopakiem, z który mieszka od X lat i pyta czy mogłaby się wprowadzić do nas do tego pokoju.
Z jednej strony spoko bo będzie łatwiej o kompana do planszówek czy na wyjście, z drugiej jednak boje się, że sporo stracimy na
Pisała dzisiaj koleżanka, że rozstała sie z chłopakiem, z który mieszka od X lat i pyta czy mogłaby się wprowadzić do nas do tego pokoju.
Z jednej strony spoko bo będzie łatwiej o kompana do planszówek czy na wyjście, z drugiej jednak boje się, że sporo stracimy na
EvilToy +263
TO NIE FEJK XDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDR
plotki jakoby Wipler sterował Mentzenem (i przy okazji dogadywał się z PiS-em) coraz bardziej wiarygodne ( ͡º ͜ʖ͡º)
#neuropa #bekazprawakow #polityka
plotki jakoby Wipler sterował Mentzenem (i przy okazji dogadywał się z PiS-em) coraz bardziej wiarygodne ( ͡º ͜ʖ͡º)
#neuropa #bekazprawakow #polityka
Zauważyłem zwiększone zainteresowanie jednym z najgorszych filmów wszech czasów czyli The Room, przebić w #!$%@?ści Trolla 2 to jest spora sztuka ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) Podejrzewam, że renesans tej produkcji spowodowany jest premierą filmu J. Franco The disaster artist.
Zostało w nim niestety pominięte parę wątków w stosunku do drukowanego pierwowzoru. Pewnie dlatego też Tommy go zaakceptował w przeciwieństwie do książki.
Książkę samą w sobie też polecam, ale rozumiem jeśli ktoś nie chce czytać 200 stron Tommym Wiseau ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
Poniżej wrzucam fragmenty, które przekonały mnie na 90%, że ten reżyser/scenarzysta/aktor/wizjoner, pochodzi z naszego pięknego kraju nad Wisłą. :)
Uwaga, będzie ściana tekstu po angielsku.
Tommy has built around himself are too entrenched. When trying to express the parts of himself he seems to have lost access to, Tommy offers up fantastical, sad, self-contradictory stories. I’ve heard these stories many times. One of them begins like this:
Long ago, on the far side of central Europe—Communist Bloc Europe—sometime after the death of Stalin, a young boy, T——, is born to a mother who loves him. T—— has a brother and sister; he is the youngest or second youngest. His father is abusive, largely absent, alcoholic, and dead early, or was never there at all.
Seventy-nine percent of T——’s hometown was destroyed in World War II. He inherits nightmares from this ruined landscape, this ravaged country. Life is hard. His family is poor. Sometimes he sees Soviet soldiers, the closest thing he has to reliable father figures.
Very early T—— becomes determined to do something so simple and yet so impossible: travel to America. He goes to the library every day and looks at those few books about America that the Communists have neglected to remove from the shelves. T—— touches the pictures. He sees something in them, something he can’t fully explain. He knows he belongs there. With the death of Stalin, little by little, things begin to change in his country. By the late 1950s there are Disney movies in the cinema, though his family is too poor to afford tickets. Nevertheless, the gray, bombed-out world around him is replaced by something more glorious, more Technicolor.
One of his first memories is of standing outside a cinema, watching 101 Dalmatians through a crack in the door. He’s chased away, eventually, but that night he dreams of being among those tiny spotted dogs, safe inside Disney’s reality. Occasionally, his schoolmates will have American magazines—as precious as food or contraband—and he begs to hold them, just for a moment. He defends America to his peers and teachers who tell him terrible lies about life in the place he loves. For this, T—— is beaten up, picked on, mocked for being a traitor: the scar under his eye derives from one of these valiant early fights. They call him Americanski, Johnny Americanski, as he walks home from school. He doesn’t have friends. He goes to the Catholic cathedral in his hometown and prays to be allowed to visit America. He cannot confess this sin of wanting to be different, to forsake his homeland, to any priest. He worries he’ll be reported. He feels alone.
As a teenager, he sells posters of Marilyn Monroe, James Dean, and John Wayne in the city square. Maybe he sees in one of those contraband American movie magazines a photo of something he’ll have a hard time forgetting: John Wayne standing outside what T—— imagines to be a great Hollywood movie studio, Birns & Sawyer. His countrymen buy his posters, of course, but some of them criticize him for selling American propaganda. He doesn’t care. In his head, he’s left already.
Sometimes he wants to be a movie star. Other times, a rock-and-roll musician. He schemes about how to get to America. He knows he’ll have to visit somewhere else first, like West Germany or France. He doesn’t much like the sound of either place. Decades later he’ll tell a friend, disgustedly, “America is so much better than your stupid France, your stupid Germany.” He tries to learn English by reading English-language books at the library, willing himself to understand the words. He makes lists of English words he likes. Maybe he waits with his mother in the bread-buying line, saying words to himself: Bread.Street. Movie.
He becomes a young man. He’s strong, quick, and wily. His cousin is like him, hates the Communists, and desires nothing more than to escape. They ask around, investigate. They hear of a small French city whose police are said to tolerate illegal immigrants. Someone, after all, needs to do the terrible jobs French people are unwilling to do. He and his cousin scrape together the money needed to bribe the right people and suddenly they’re on a bus. It’s dark. No doubt there are many people on this bus from other Communist countries, and maybe T—— has the feeling of being involved in some endeavor much larger than himself. He’s no longer alone. Other people feel the way he does. This must make him happy.
After a connection in Berlin, he and his cousin get off at Strasbourg, an Alsatian town known for its cuisine. He knows nothing of this. He’s told to report for work at a restaurant in the middle of town. He thinks he has known belittlement and cruelty—but he knows nothing. The work is terrible: unclogging toilets, washing dishes. T——, much later in his life, will refer to it as “black market” work. He eats food from dirty plates when no one’s looking. He lives in dark, subterranean spaces. This is not the life young T—— imagined for himself when he boarded that bus. He learns French. The name of the restaurant in which he works is L’Amour, and soon he knows what that word means. It seems like a joke.
His cousin is caught, sent back. T—— is never clear as to why or how this happened. Nor is T—— clear on why he is allowed to stay. Maybe some of the women in the restaurant protect him. He’s a hardworking, innocent young man and they like him; perhaps his progress with French especially amuses the women. The chef of L’Amour, though, is terrible to him. One day he chases T—— out of the kitchen with a butcher knife. He calls T—— “le rat.” What has T—— done to deserve this? He’s asked the chef if he can have Sunday off. T—— stops complaining when it’s made clear to him that he will find himself back in the wild East, just like his cousin, if he doesn’t watch his step. He’s frightened. Some nights he weeps upon his dark basement bedroll. He worries he will never leave Strasbourg. Here he is, in the West, and he’s living in terror. To young T——, this makes no earthly sense at all.
T—— is calling himself Pierre now and often receives compliments on how quickly he’s learned to speak passable French. His situation has in many ways improved—he’s living in a hostel a few streets away from Strasbourg’s Gothic cathedral—but he’s still working in a restaurant. One freezing December night the Strasbourg police raid Pierre’s hostel. Drugs are being sold on the premises, but Pierre knows nothing about this. All the same, he’s nabbed during the sweep. Of course, he has no papers, and two officers cuff him and bring him to the Strasbourg police station.
They take his fingerprints and sit him down in an interrogation room. The officers are pure French-German Alsatians and, in T——’s mind, embody the worst of both nationalities. They call Pierre an “Eastern invader” while he maintains his innocence. Then he’s slapped once, twice, a third time. The police officers are laughing. Pierre can tell they are enjoying this.
The officers put a written confession before Pierre, which they demand he sign. Pierre refuses. More slaps. They strip him to his underwear, leer, and say something sinister about “checking inside his ass.” Pierre is shivering now; this interrogation room is scarcely heated at all. One of the men unholsters his gun and hits Pierre on the forehead with the butt. Pierre is crying; he’s terrified by the appearance of the pistol. “Maybe we’ll kill you and put you out on the street,” the man who struck him says. “No one here cares about you, do they?”
“No,” the other man says, unholstering his own pistol. “Let’s make this more fun. Let’s play Russian roulette.”
Pierre begins to pray out loud. “God, protect me,” he says. “God, protect me.”
“God won’t help you here,” one of them says. “God doesn’t help Communists.”
Pierre tells the men he’s Catholic and is struck again on the forehead for this impudence. His forehead has broken open now; he’s bleeding. Pierre makes the sign of the cross.
“Okay,” one of them says. With that, he shoves his pistol into Pierre’s mouth. Pierre gasps and chokes. His face is wet with tears and blood. He can’t stop shivering. The man removes the barrel from Pierre’s mouth as roughly as he stuffed it in and shows him that there is, in fact, one bullet in the chamber. Pierre looks down at the man’s shirt and sees a name: FREDERIC. The man realizes that Pierre has seen his name. He leans close to Pierre and says, very quietly, “If you say a word about this, I’ll kill you and your entire family. Don’t worry—I’ll find them.” Pierre knows that he would hunt down Frederic, and Frederic’s entire family, and make them all pay for this night if he could.
When Pierre describes this story many years later, he will weep. He will say he survived two rounds of Russian roulette, and even maintain that one of the officers fired his pistol into the wall to frighten him, though it’s hardly credible that anyone would discharge his weapon in a police station interrogation room.
In the end Pierre is pushed out into the night by the laughing police officers. He stumbles home, bends down to grab a handful of snow to hold against the cut on his forehead. France is no better than some Communist police state. He knows he has to leave France. But how?
He is taken in by an older gentleman. That is all Pierre will say. “Taken in”: It could describe a dozen varieties of human interaction. The man lets Pierre use his phone and, sometimes, sleep in his apartment. Then, one night, the older gentleman approaches Pierre, who has just hung up the man’s phone. The man lets Pierre use his phone and, sometimes, sleep in his apartment. Then, one night, the older gentleman approaches Pierre, who has just hung up the man’s phone. The gentleman is naked and offers Pierre several francs to suck him off. Pierre will later say he took the money, ripped it up, and threw the pieces into the stunned gentleman’s face. As Pierre is leaving the gentleman’s apartment, he sees an ornate mirror. He bends down, grabs a heavy knickknack from a coffee table, and hurls it at the mirror, which shatters. As with so many of Pierre’s stories, it’s hard to know precisely what to believe of this or what’s really being said or admitted to.
Pierre is broken. He lives on the street for a while, does things for money he will never fully describe or reveal. Then he learns that his uncle Stanley, the brother of his deceased father and a World War II veteran, is living in America. Pierre, desperate, contacts him. Could he come to visit? Please? In a series of negotiations that, Pierre will later say, somehow involved the Red Cross, he convinces his uncle Stanley to sponsor him. First, though, he must make some money. Pierre heads off to Paris and works in a sex shop in the Pigalle district. He sells handcuffs and lingerie and mops up the floors of private rooms. Pierre is apparently written up in a French newspaper by some journalist whose eye he catches. In the article about his struggling, odd, nocturnal life, Pierre will be called the Night Owl. This is just the first time in Pierre’s life that he will become known as a strange local fixture in a cosmopolitan city. Around this time, Pierre goes to see a film called The Rocky Horror Picture Show. He will say it had no particular impact on him.
A certain kind of strangeness follows Pierre to Chalmette, however, and he will describe being offered a gold chain by an older man in exchange for sex. Of course, Pierre spurns the offer. When he can afford it, Pierre takes the bus to New Orleans, a city he comes to love, and walks around the French Quarter. On one of these visits, Pierre meets a young French guitarist named Jean Luc. Pierre sits with the young man sometimes, listening to him play, and other times drinks with him in bars around town. They have many “strange experiences,” Pierre will later say. Walking down Bourbon Street, surrounded by tourists, Pierre confesses to Jean Luc that he’s not fulfilled in Louisiana. Pierre confides in Jean Luc because he, too, is an artist. Pierre’s real dream, he says, is to be an actor or a musician. Jean Luc tells Pierre, “If that’s what you want to do, you should really be in California.”
California. Pierre likes the sound of that word. To Pierre, California is America—and Chalmette is a fetid swamp.
“Actually,” Jean Luc tells him, “I know the perfect city for you. The perfect city! You should go. You will love life there. As soon as you can, you should go.”
“Where?” Pierre asks.
“San Francisco,” Jean Luc says.
#film #theroom #ogladajzwykopem i trochę #czytajzwykopem
Chyba najbardziej pasuje mi do niego określenie kosmita-paranoik :)
Człowiek z dużą ilością kasy i czasu, za to bardzo samotny. Popsuty jakąś traumą.
Szczerze, to nie chciało mi się jeszcze raz tego czytać, bo historia jest dość przygnębiająca. Miałem porobione zakładki w ebooku, więc wrzuciłem kopiuj-wklej. :)
To są jedyne fragmenty o jego domniemanej przeszłości,
Jak chcesz, to po południu wrzucę fragment książki.