When I was reading about him online this morning, I came across a tour company in Los Angeles that runs a "Real Black Dahlia" bus tour, which takes mystery fans around to some of the spots related to the real-life Dahlia, Elizabeth Short. Among them are the lobby of the Biltmore hotel, one of the last places she was seen alive, and Leimart Park, where her grisly remains were found. This tour sounds like it's not for the faint of heart! The next one is taking place this Saturday, August 16th.
--Joni Rendon

-Charles L. Thomason

Poire d'Angoisse. "The Pear of Anguish." As the name inplies it was ..pear shaped.  Inserted into the mouth, vagina, or anus; the torturer would turn a screw that would open the four leaves. This was rarely used as an execution, more just as a punishment. It could simply tear the skin or completely destroy that orifice. 

Flaying, or skinning alive.  Generally, the removal began at the face and the victim was often dead before the flayer reached his waist. This is one of the oldest methods. and as pictured, even Michelangelo depicted it. And this may be incorrect, but I actually don't think so. Michelangelo often inserted himself into his paintings. I believe the flayed victim is a little self portait.

The Brazen Bull. This one was an execution device invented by the ancient Greeks.  A huge hollow copper bull with a door in the side. The condemned was shoved inside and the door locked.  A fire was then built underneath and the poor bastard inside was roasted to death.  During the Greek times, they rigged a complicated series of tubes to channel and amplify the victims screams into the sound of a raging bull to further entertain the spectators.

Rat Torture. To me, this is probably the most horrifying.  I could literally cry if I think about it too long.

"During the Dutch Revolt, Diederick Sonoy, an ally of William the Silent, is documented to have used a method where a pottery bowl filled with rats was placed open side down on the naked body of a prisoner. When hot charcoal was piled on the bowl, the rats would attempt to escape by "gnaw[ing]] into the very bowels of the victim"

I took that straight from Wiki cuz there was just no better way to say it. An effective rat torture for me would just be to *show* me a rat. and i'd fall victim to psychological torture.

Cheshire Grin or Glasgow smile.  The victim is cut from the corner of the mouth to the ears, forming a caricature of a huge smile. The Black Dahlia murderer gave her one. I couldnt find any other example of one,so i used one of her autopsy photos.

The Rack. Often said to be the most painful device, it was often an effective torture device when not even used. Making someone watch someone else being pulled apart on it, was often enough to get the confession. Generally, they still got the rack, tho.  You would lay on a flat surface with two ropes tying your ankles and two more pulling your arms over your head. the torture would tighten the ropes , stretching your limbs, and often pulling them off completely (arms especially)

The Judas Cradle, a terrible medieval torture where the victim would be placed on top of a pyramid-like seat. The victim's feet were tied to each other in a way that moving one leg would force the other to move as well. The triangular-shaped end of the judas cradle was inserted in the victim's anus or vagina. This torture could last, depending on some factors discussed below, anywhere from a few hours to complete days.

The time it took someone to die varied enormously from individual to individual. Torturers would sometimes add weight to the victim's legs as to increase pain and hurry the victim's death. Other torturers would place oil on the device which increased pain considerably.

This device was rarely, if at all, washed. If the victim did not die quickly enough, or their painful execution was interrupted, they would invariantly die from an infection.

~Medievality.com

Quando um filme ou um jogo cria a possibilidade de expandir um mundo interativo [video game] sempre chegam com critícas. E na maioria das vezes tanto o filme como o jogo são "banidos" como seres medonhos de uma secundária criação.

Ou o filme sai muito distante da idéia do jogo ou o jogo é muito criativo além do filme. A idéia é que ambas mídias sejam mesmo distintas. Sempre queremos que um jogo seja igual ao filme, até que seria uma perspectiva bacana de se ver. Mas explorar na interatividade um conceito e na exibição outro é o que torna muitas vezes o VG ou filme com um conteúdo ou perfil cheio de contrastes, muitas vezes distorcidos da realidade original.

Filme Resident Evil (1,2,3)

Vou incluir os três, pois só ouvi falar de crítica até o segundo. Todos falavam mal da construção do filme. Na minha opnião ele foi bem feito. Se seguisse o video game seria um filme muito bom também. A questão é que viram o filme com olhos do video game, então a questão originalidade sempre irá acontecer - não é igual então é ruim.

A série REVIL sempre foi boa. Mas não existe obra que não tenha alteração, que seja minima em sua estrutura. E se não houver esta alteração, do que adiantaria ter dois produtos com o mesmo resultado, um com ator e outro com personagem 2D/3D?Seria redundante.

Eles conseguiram pegar o clima do jogo. Lembrando que o jogo não consegue simular a realidade entre humanos de verdade, colocar a real emoção que ser humano teria ao encontrar seres monstruosos. Sem falar do tempo que se leva para fazer um filme, considerando o tempo de esboço mental são 4 anos no minimo para ser jogado á parede como um filme barato de um jogo bom. Se relevar a parte que o filme deve ser igual ao jogo ou vice-versa, então não existe nenhuma boa adaptação.

Adaptar é criar um ambiente semelhante com situações semelhantes. No caso do REVIL não mudou em nenhum contexto o vilão e personagem principal da série - Umbrella. Foram incluídos outros elementos da saga como Jill Valentine,Claire Redfield, simularam a garotinha do REVIL 2 como a Angela do segundo filme. Então recriar o jogo na tela seria interessante, mas seria exaustivo ver duas visões iguais do mesmo conceito. É o mesmo que obter duas cópias de um mesmo título sendo um normal e outra edição especial.

Obs: Existem é claro excessões de adaptações. Algumas não são consideradas nem adaptações são novos conceitos num mundo totalmente diferente.

Superman:

Quando o superman foi criado em 1938 ele passou por diversos canais de comunicação que lhes deram um perfil diferente daquele ser que viera de outro planeta em iminente destruição [fisica] e [ideológica]. Seu conceito seria livrar os seres humanos de uma idéia restrita de poder para o de conhecimento equilibrado, mas durante os anos, a obra de superman não só acudiu esta linha de raciocinio. Vi uma vez, no site do omelete quando fez um especial do superman [ou algo parecido] que mostrou no tempo da segunda-guerra mundial(1939-1945) uma revista com o superman sem paraquedas com a roupa do exercito, incentivando os jovens ou leitores da revista se alistarem.

Ou seja o uso da imagem positiva de um heroi que luta por ideias para dar esta idéia. Seria uma adaptação.

Para os videos games, na minha opnião, nunca foi dado um título decente ao superman. Em todos ele é um mero humano, onde todos na terra tem um estoque de kriptonita para mata-lo. O único jogo que chegou perto, mas ainda tem de melhorar o conceito, arte gráfica e linha é o superman returns lançado em 2006.

Você voa,tem poderes é invencível. Mas basta um poste da rua ser atingido e você morre. [A cidade é sua barra de energia, se ele levar muito tranco, você morre]. Até ai teria uma lógica, mas é muito restrita aos poderes que o superman tem. Mas até agora foi a unica adaptação que teve uma caracterização dos poderes mas o superman returns não tem nada haver com a história do filme. Quem jogou deve ter percebido que só tem cenas do filme num contexto que nada tem haver. Durante o jogo você luta com robôs, e quando passa de fase você vê uma cena do filme como estivesse vivendo aqueles fatos.

Mas não vemos um terremoto causado pelo continente criado por Lex Luthor, não salvamos a Lois Lane com aquele avião acoplado ao onibus espacial. O jogo apanha os inimigos e personagens da saga superman anterior ao filme. Por mim o jogo deveria se chamar "Superman Chronicles" e não "Superman Returns".

E os demais jogos ilustram o mesmo superman "humano". Havia um jogo de luta da liga da justiça para SNES não lembro. Que o superman levava soco do batman e apanhava. Existe uma história em quadrinho que superman deu um anel de kriptonita para o batman caso ele ficasse mal, mas isso não acontece neste jogo.

Até em League Justice um jogo de RPG para PS2\GC[creio] o superman é mais fraco que os demais personagens. Ele é um mero humano, e se bobear é mais fraco que um bem treinado. Então não representaram ainda um superman como é descrito na revista e no filme.

Até hoje, o unico superman que não foi bem concebido por mim, foi o 4. Os demais estão muito bem feitos. Especialmente o ultimo.

Black Dahlia

Do caso real á vida literária e para o jogo e depois o filme. Não tenho o minimo interesse de ler documentos históricos do caso e do livro, já que eles retratam um crime. Mas conheci a história apartir de um conto ficticio do jogo Black Dahlia, que narra alguns acontecimentos reais. Misturando uma pedra mágica. Na qual ao invés de Elisabeth Short receber o apelido\aka Dália negra, é a pedra quem recebe.

No jogo com ambientes panorâmicos com movimentação esquerda\direita 360°, você é James Pearson, agente da COI (antiga CIA) em idos de 1941. Retrata o ambiente noir dos anos 40, e a história. Cheio de puzzles e uma ideologia de política militar da epoca.Espionagem e guerra.

Quando o filme foi anunciado esperava que algo fosse no conceito do jogo. Mas em minha visão, chega a ser igual a temática do livro, que não deixa de estar certo, mas não agradou.

A idéia é que um livro ou um videogame é na verdade um esboço. E sabemos que mesmo um esboço bom é aproveitado parte dele, e não todo. Se copiarmos o livro\video game iremos simplesmente torna-los diferente para exibição, mas teremos a mesma coisa sem uma alteração de perspectiva.

Esta é a idéia da adaptação.

Em breve parte (2)

Parallelgesellschaften zeichnen sich durch Ihre Absetzung vom offiziellen bürgerlichen Kontext aus. Sie können enklavisch strukturiert sein, ohne nach außen abzufärben, oder auf eigene Faust gezielte Systemkorrekturen vornehmen. Zum letzteren Typus gehört Ad Vice, eine Spezialeinheit des LAPD, die sich ihrer ganz eigenen Methoden der Gewaltenteilung bedient und dabei vor allem auf die Ökonomie der Mittel Wert legt. Denn wo die Polizei selber zur Judikative wird, spart man sich ebenso kostspielige wie langfristige Justizverfahren – von sinnlos milden Urteilen ganz zu schweigen. Zu den besonders konsequenten Anhängern dieser Vorgehensweise gehört der sichtlich aus der Spur geratene Detective Tom Ludlow (ein direkter Seelenverwandter von Vic Mackey), für den ein notwendiger Schusswechsel schon einmal zur aktiven Hinrichtung werden kann. In solchen Fällen bedürfen seine Fahndungserfolge für die Öffentlichkeit und die internen Überwachungsorgane zwar nachträglicher Tatort- und Beweismanipulationen, doch da ist er sich der schützenden und machtvollen Hand seines Captains sicher, der alle Spuren verwischen kann und so der Funktionsweise der Truppe den Rücken freihält. Dass ein solches System, das sich auf der Logik der Selbstjustiz gründet, irgendwann kannibalistische Züge entwickelt, liegt in der Natur der Sache. Wer überlebt, entscheiden andere.

„Street Kings“ entstammt der Feder von James Ellroy, und daran lässt der Film auch keinen Zweifel. Überhaupt ist der Topos des Polizeiapparates als korrupter Parallelgesellschaft mit mafiösen Zügen eine der zentralen Koordinaten im Kosmos dieses Autors, der gerne von sich selber behauptet, mit seinen Geschichten in erster Linie Entertainment für die Manson-Familie zu liefern (Charles, nicht Marilyn wohlgemerkt). Mit einer Vita, die sich liest wie einer seiner Romane, und einem Image, das so egoman und hardboiled auftritt wie Norman Mailer in den 70ern, steht Ellroy für eine Sicht auf die Mechanismen von Recht und Ordnung, die in einem solchen Maße korruptionsgetränkt und machtbesessen ist, dass sie alle zivilgesellschaftlichen Bemühungen wie hoffnungslose Anachronismen aussehen lässt. Vieles davon ist vermutlich ebenso Methode wie die mit wilder Drogen-, Alkohol- und Muttermord-Vergangenheit ausgestattete öffentliche Figur des Autors, der sein Publikum gerne schon mal mit einem schnoddrigen „Hey motherfuckers“ begrüßt und auch literarisch eher auf Stakkato als Legato setzt, in der Gesamtheit allerdings stimmig genug erscheint, um seinen Ruf als bedeutendstem Sex-and-Crime-Chronisten der Gegenwart nachhaltig zu zementieren.

Bis heute sind die Versuche, die bemerkenswerte Sonderstellung seiner Romane auf die Leinwand zu übersetzen, eher lauwarm als heißgekocht ausgefallen. Ellroy selber hält sowieso nicht allzu viel vom Medium selber, was ihn aber nicht davon abhält, seine Verfilmungsrechte teuer zu verkaufen und sich durchaus auch zur Bereitstellung von Originalstoffen hinreißen zu lassen (und zwar 2003 für „The Plague Season“ / „Dark Blue“, Ellroys erster Zusammenarbeit mit Autor und Regisseur David Ayer). Neben den weniger bekannten Filmversionen von „Blood on the moon“ (1988 unter dem Titel „Cop“ mit James Woods) und „Brown´s Requiem“ ist vor allem „L.A. Confidential“ mit seinem Namen verbunden und bisher die meistbeachtete Kinofassung einer Ellroy-Vorlage (auch wenn der Autor selber nach anfänglichen Zufriedenheitsbekundungen später wieder zurückruderte und John Boormans „The General“ im Vergleich deutlich besser wegkommen ließ). Eher ernüchternd fiel Brian De Palmas mit ziemlich großer Erwartungshaltung und fatalen Finanzierungsschwierigkeiten begleitete Verfilmung der „Black Dahlia“ aus, deren einziges Highlight der kurze aber einprägsame Auftritt von Rose McGowan als Starlet mit unerfüllbaren Ambitionen blieb (und so in einer einzigen Sequenz mehr über Psychologie und Funktionsweise der Industrie aussagen konnte als der ganze Film).

„Black Dahlia“, Ellroys populärster und archetypischster Roman, war eine ganze Weile im Fokus von David Fincher, bevor dieser sich dem Zodiac-Killer verschrieb, und das Gleiche gilt auch für „Street Kings“ (damals noch unter dem Titel „The Night Watchmen“). Beide Filme hätten sicherlich von Finchers Faible für Stufenmodelle der Barbarei profitiert, und sein Konzept einer Schwarzweiss-Version des berühmtesten aller Hollywood-Verbrechen klingt so reizvoll, dass De Palmas Fassung in Relation noch bedauerlicher erscheint. Nicht ganz so düster sieht es für David Ayers Film aus, zumal die Vorlage keinerlei Erwartungshaltung mit sich bringt und so ein vergleichsweise unvoreingenommener Blick möglich ist. Überhaupt steht vor allem Hauptdarsteller Keanu Reeves im Vordergrund der Wahrnehmung, und die Verlegung der Handlung in die Gegenwart zielt eher auf das Publikum von „Training Day“ und „The Shield“ als von „L.A. Confidential“.

Dies im Hinterkopf erweist sich „Street Kings“ als straff erzählter Copthriller, dessen Spirale aus Gegengewalt und Korruption seine Hauptfigur fest im Griff hält. Glauben darf man hier niemandem, denn die Chancen, dass der erste Eindruck früher oder später kippt und sich als gefährlicher Trugschluss offenbart, sind in den meisten Fällen ziemlich groß. Sieht man von einigen allzu aufdringlichen Besetzungsentscheidungen ab (bei denen die unvermeidlichen Hip-Hop-Cameos immer noch akzeptabler sind als der assoziativ allzu vorbelastete Hugh Laurie), harmonieren die Darsteller schlüssig, und Keanu Reeves fügt sich nicht nur besser in die Rolle des kompromisslosen Detectives als man vielleicht erwarten würde, sondern bietet auch einen interessanten, da trotz aller forcierten Gewalt desillusionierten Gegenentwurf zu Forest Whitakers machtvoller Ziehvaterfigur mit einnehmender Präsenz, die trotz nur weniger Auftritte den gesamten Film überschattet.

Dass übrigens im schwarzen Ghetto von L.A. offensichtlich nichts ohne großformatige Flachbildschirme geht, deren Programme am liebsten popkulturellen Rassismus verbreiten, ist eine Erkenntnis, die anhand von Symptomen aufzeigen kann, wieso die Straßenjustiz des Films eine logische Konsequenz aus struktureller Ohnmacht darstellt, die sich nach oben wie nach unten haltlos fortsetzt und letztlich Recht und Ordnung zwangsweise und langfristig durch Bruderschaften, Gangs und interne Ermittlungsbehörden ersetzt. Umkehr ausgeschlossen.

(Was, nebenbei bemerkt, den deutschen Verleih wohl dazu bewogen haben mag, ein Plakat in Umlauf zu bringen, das offensichtlich versucht, die Geschmacksnote einer fragwürdigen DVD-Premiere zu reproduzieren, bleibt vermutlich ein besser gehütetes Geheimnis als alle Korruptionsnetze des Films selber.)

Artikel © 2008 Thomas Lenz. Alle Rechte vorbehalten.
Filmplakat: Twentieth Century Fox of Germany GmbH

This brings me to Mr Paradise. Tony Paradiso is an aged lawyer who hires a call girl and a friend to perform topless cheerleading while he watches recordings of football games. One night he is gunned down in his own home by an apparent home invasion. The police are called and quickly can see that they can clear up a number of seemingly unrelated crimes in one fell swoop. Such a seemingly simple story is told beautifully in Leonard's spare style. No words are wasted, every sentence feels as though the author spent time examining them to see if they fit with the rest of them. This is deceptively simple writing which makes the story come alive.

Leonard writes contemporary stories, but his style makes these books appear to be set in the Roaring Twenties or Thirties. You can easily imagine any of the old time black and white movie stars bringing the books to the screen. It's only when he mentions something modern - a music group or album, a film or TV show - that you realise that it's set now. It's odd, but all of his books seem to take place in a limbo, where gangsters and straights mix while wearing fedoras.

If you enjoy crime/detective thrillers and haven't come across Leonard (and why not?) I recommend picking up at least one of them. My first foray into his crime writing was the excellent "The Black Dahlia" and I haven't looked back.

From the director of Scar Face, the writer of L.A. Confidential, and the most famous unsolved murder mystery right here in Hollywood, there’s only one thing to think: “I have to see it!”

September 16, 2006, the picture was released to Friday night movie goers who were sold on the sensationally eerie marketing campaign. The radio spots mentioning,“The body was cut in half,” and “The most notorious murder mystery”. The release of non-fiction books about The Black Dahlia revealing disturbing photos from the actual crime scene, autopsy, and investigation. Most photos so disturbing that I would have to cover them with my hand just to look at the neighboring page. This impact of the case and inhumane cruelty Elizabeth Short went through forced me to want to learn more about her, the case, the monsters behind her murder, and possible cover ups. So when September 16th rolled around, I just had to see the movie. Maybe it would reveal more facts about the case that weren’t in the book. Due to the uncontrollable desire to get to the bottom of the case and make sure the murderer was put to justice, many audience members may have gone to the movie with a misunderstanding of what the movie was about. Even though the TV spots marketed the detective’s story to the audience, the audience wanted to find out one thing and one thing only … who was the monster?

As stated above, I became very interested in the case and who could do such a thing and why. As a result, I entered the movie theater hoping for something that wouldn’t be there. Not a great ending, not great acting, but an answer. This might have played against the film in an extreme way. Many audiences say they ‘hated’ the film, but that’s a little too tunnel-vision for me.

Looking back at it, the movie was a fantastic murder mystery. Lets pretend the case wasn’t based on The Black Dahlia case and that it was all pure fiction – great murder mystery! Great acting, maybe a little mis-casting maybe not, great twists, great ties, this movie had everything we as an audience could want … except the one thing we went for – the truth. The movie might not have had a better gross if the marketing entailed the “fictionalized” aspect to The Black Dahlia story, but it might have saved the movie from bad reviews, which may eventually hurt the DVD grosses.

All in all, the movie was good, but another Black Dahlia story needs to hit the screen, one revealing the truth, the secrets, and the legend.

Last year, when running the Plattenspieler blog, I ran a book club between myself, Betty and Tommy with the basic outlined challenge of reading at least 52 books over the entire year. The categorisation of what constituted a book was very open indeed and therefore allowed for some leeway to be taken by all of us as regarded the length of books read. Otherwise, in all honesty with our busy ol' lives and hectic schedules of working and socialising, we just couldn't fit it all in. Unfortunately, we still didn't quite manage it but both Tom and I got through over 40 which is still not bad for us.

This year, no such rules are being imposed on the competition. We are keeping it all nice and easy and, unfortunately also, I'm likely to be the only on participating. So this year its a case of reading anything and everything I can and everytime a tome is finished, I will deliver some reportage on my opinions on the work and maybe even call upon by previous reading knowledge to recommend some other works for those who enjoy. It's all very up in the air right now but today I'm just going to give a quick run down of the books I've got through this year so far, what I'm reading right now and a couple which will be next up on the radar. I also warn you that I read a number of books at a time normally so which one gets reviewed next will depend entirely on my reading moods.

A Quiet Belief in Angels by RJ Ellory
A part of the Richard & Judy bookclub for the year, this one is not too bad in the beginning but tales off towards the end as the chronology speeds up. The 'twist' too is far to easy to guess and as it plays such a major part of the narrative framing device, it loses some power. The early scenes though are written with graceful, if slightly busy streams of prose and the characters all feel strong if not always entirely likable.

The Looming Tower by Lawrence Wright
A truly astounding achievement of exploratory narrative journalism, this work on the seeds of Al Qaeda's rise and the principals character involved in the 9/11 attacks is stunning. It won a Pulitzer and no wonder. It's evocation of time and place, it explanations and characterisation are just wonderful and the book is written almost in the form of a thriller. It's depressing sure, but it really is an essential modern work.

The Black Dahlia by James Ellroy
Gruelling crime drama that further renders its recent film adaptation into ignominy. Ellroy's attention to detail gives the story a realistic and grisly tone and the story itself is an intruiging exploration of criminal minds, the capitalist greed of LA and also a smaller depiction of how obsession and desire to win can harm the lives of good police.

Currently reading: Then We Came To An End by Joshua Ferris

Coming Up: The Yiddish Policeman's Union by Michael Chabon, Imperial Life in the Emerald City by Rajiv Chandreskan, The Time Traveller's Wife by Audrey Niffenegger.

Le Grand Amour ("Great Love") by Pierre et Gilles.

I've been eying this book for quite some time. Published in 2004, it was limited to 3000 copies worldwide. I picked it up for US$70, which I am ecstatic about considering I've never seen it available for under $200.

If you're familiar with the Black Dahlia case, the artwork may make more sense.

Now the first thing I notice about the two above teams is the color schemes. They are both Red, White and Blue. Maybe having recently spent some time following the eLLUMINATI blog has unduly influenced me, or maybe it has jump-started my synchromystic clock to some degree.

Two days ago, while attending my friend Yvonne's last night singing at the local club, I was monitoring the tennis match on the plasma screen. Normally, I wouldn't have much interest in the sport, but the two hot Russian girls playing are probably what kept my eyes on the screen long enough to notice yet another patter of Red, White and Blues squaring off against each other.

Were I an interior decorator, I could easily justify my disinterest in today's big game, but I am equally turned off by what the two coaches stand for. The Patriot's Bill Belichick stands for elitist Corporatism run amok. Do whatever it takes to meet that bottom line. In regards to the NFL, that would be winning. The other coach, Tom Coughlin, is modeled after old world Fascism. He is an unapologetic dictator and treats the grown men on this team like fresh recruits into his own little Waffen SS.

Hm? Fascism vs. Corporatism. According to Mussolini, they are both one and the same. We the people lose either way.

All season long, I've suspected that there was something wrong with the Patriots undefeated run. How did they sign all this talent and stay under the cap? Why was the game they got caught cheating on not forfeited? Why was it, that week after week, when their massive pool of talent couldn't pull of a blow-out win, the referees would call the close games their way, even going so far as to make a different call on the same "juggling a catch in the end-zone" play in two successive weeks, one in their favor, the other against their opponent.

You just couldn't have Brett Favre of the Packers playing in today's game. He represents good old American values. Those "old" values include the Bill of Rights, including the now unpopular Freedom of Speech, and especially the Right to Bear Arms. And you just couldn't have Tony Dungy of the Colts coaching today. He represents common ground, rule by consensus. Another outmoded methodology that flies in the face of our planned totalitarian future.

Just who is the big name hero who'll be stepping onto today's "field of battle?" Tom Brady. The scripted future ideal. A perfect specimen of a foot soldier. Young, physically talented, unemotional, good-looking, and more importantly, takes orders and speaks when he's spoken to. Does not speak his mind about matters unrelated to the game. And what is his reward for being such an outstanding citizen (think Robert Heinlein)? Überbabe Gisele Bundchen. Not only is she Brazilian (which should be good enough for anyone), but she's also a supermodel. How "perfect!" A perfect babe to go with a perfect season.

Is it a show? Is it a staged-game? Well, fixing game results would be nothing new in the NFL. But, maybe it's a combination of the former and plain old synchromysticism. A sign of the times.

Does anyone remember who won the Super Bowl the year after 9/11? Yes, it was the Patriots. Another parade of Red, White and Blue mockery raining down on the real patriots of this country, shortly after the very unpatriotic Patriot Act was passed.

I seem to recall George Carlin talking about how entertainment was used to dazzle and manipulate us, so that we wouldn't notice the great big Red White and Blue dick that was being jammed up our assholes every day (end of clip).

So, regardless of whoever wins today, it doesn't matter. We the people are gonna get a great big Red White and Blue cock shoved up our ass. I'm just hoping the game's closing will be limited to the fans being cheated out of sport in favor of staged entertainment.

This whole situation with the strategic Internet disconnections in Middle East, on its own, didn't necessarily have me so worried. However, were anyone planning to stage a bombing raid in the region, it would be an excellent way to limit those pesky citizen journalists from informing the world of the horrors being perpetrated upon them. And then last night, my friend Darron mentioned where tomorrow's game was being played: Phoenix.

"Did you say Phoenix? That city sits right along the 33rd parallel."

For those unfamiliar, let me remind you you what other significant sites sit along the 33rd parallel. There's Los Alamos, where the first nuclear bomb was detonated, thus allowing Fat Man and Little Boy to be dropped on two other infamous cities straddling that same 33rd parallel, Hiroshima and Nagasaki. There's Dallas, where they symbolic King of America, Kennedy, was assassinated by the Trinity river, bringing the dream of Camelot to an end. And then there's Baghdad, where the American aggressors rained Shock 'n Awe on the inhabitants (¿in honor of the Babylonian goddess Shakina?), and put an end to Saddam's quest to re-create himself as the next King Nebuchadnezzar.

So, our Phoenix, the holiest of holy symbolic birds prominently featured on American currency holding our their 13 Arrows and our their 13 Roman Laurels, is also the city where the world's biggest televised event will be taking place. The Phoenix ready to be burned to cinders, so that it can rise anew out of the ashes?

New England is playing New York in Phoenix.

Are the Templar wizards cooking up a new and powerful spell to send this country's Crusaders marching into Iran (a country dissected by the 33rd parallel)? Will this be Herr Bush's "smoking gun -- that could come in the form of a mushroom cloud?" God, I hope not!

Sometimes I wonder if I properly balance intuition with logic. Am I letting one or the other get the best of me? I search the brain bank for synchromystic recollections. An old movie named Black Sunday comes to mind.

The plot of the movie was that a bad Palestinian terrorist organization, Black September, intended to attack the United States by using the Goodyear blimp, loaded with bombs, to kill the Super Bowl fans. A bad "deranged" American combat veteran undertakes the point of the operation, assisted by a bad Arab woman named Dahlia. But, alas an ignoble good Israeli counter-terrorist agent saves the day. Uh! Yet another Mossad-sponsored brainwash of the American public.

The poster on the right, from an unrelated film of the same name just seems more appropriate to today's events from my perspective. It more accurately depicts the "mental mind-f*ck" the public will be receiving today (solely from the social engineering agenda). There's also the interesting correlation relating to the football player-human sacrifice ritual from the Any Given Sunday poster. Recall Da Vinci's man or depictions of the sacrificial victim splayed out over the circle and pentagram? Note the number on the jersey: 13.

As I tossed the data around in my head last night while discussing the matter with my friend Judy, I haphazardly asked, "What's tomorrow's date?"

"02/03/08. Why?"

Um, that adds up the 13. My heart sank. I am so praying that I'm wrong about today.

Addendum 1: Two days ago, a story from Associated Press stating the USA is not prepared for a WMD attack was widely circulated by the mainstream media. The report emphasized that the National Gaurd "does not have sufficient trained, ready forces available to respond to a chemical, biological or nuclear weapons incident." Today's stories: Israelis told to prepare 'rocket rooms' for war, and the Iranian Oil Bourse for trading in NON-dollar currencies is about to open.

Addendum 2: Consideration that the Palo Verde Nuclear Generating Station, the largest in America, lies 80km west of Phoenix on the 33rd parallel. Per my friend Renee's research, this plant was built by Bechtel, the same company that has profited from Iraq, Katrina and WTC. Interestingly enough, they were also "chosen" to construct Area 51.

AFTERWORD: To those who have already called to let me know I was "wrong:" Would you rather I was right? Some suggested I pull the article, but I still stand firmly by all the analysis, and there is much more to the article than the "prognostication." A False Flag Event was but one possible outcome.

Why did it not happen? Were my direct actions in the microcausm somehow able to affect the macrocausm, as the physics of the great Nikolai Tesla would suggest? Other bloggers had also arrived at similar conclusions and broadcast them. Was "the jig up?" Had the Black Cat appeared, indicating a glitch in the matrix? Did some mystic hero interfere with the plans (rest assured, unlike the movie, he would not have been Mossad), while the fans remained oblivious to what was averted?

I, for one, do not believe in the theory of a top-down hierarchy of complete hegemonic control. There are factions at play in the global stage. Did one win out over another? For the moment, we are in the clear. The Neocons and Zionists are now likely moving on to Plan C. A self-inflicted wound to send us into Iran is still their objective. As for the "game" itself, found a couple of interesting post-game mathematic interpretations of the events (NY scores at 9:11, The significance of #17).

BLACK DAHLIA

(Brian De Palma, 2006)

____________________________________________________

Mettiamo in chiaro una cosa. Alla fine di un film io non ricordo quasi nulla della trama, e ancor meno i nomi dei personaggi. Quella è roba per sbirri e detective privati; noi giornalisti badiamo ad altro. D’altronde, pure Chandler mi confidò di aver capito poco de Il Grande Sonno. Secondo me James Ellroy è su quella strada, e Brian De Palma lo segue e a ruota.

In ogni caso, avevo tra le mani un segreto che non mi faceva dormire da giorni. Ve lo sussurro all’orecchio: questo non è un film di De Palma. Impossibile. Al massimo è di uno che gli somiglia: forse un suo aiuto che lo ha accoppato e preso il suo posto; forse un sosia che il vecchio Brian ha piazzato lì, mentre lui era affaccendato altrove. Un dilettante che rinuncia a tutti i vezzi più inutili, tipo piani-sequenza di dieci minuti o carrellate per otto piani di palazzo. E che ti sforna un thriller decelerato, dove si chiacchiera a iosa e si agisce poco (come a volte ci accade nei sogni), e dove la dalia nera entra in scena dopo cinquanta minuti. Brian l’avrebbe mai fatto? Chiaro che non era lui.

O forse avevo sbagliato pista. Non so… rivedendolo ancora una volta, colsi certi dettagli strani… Del tipo: sequenze che partono in surplace, con gli attori che iniziano a recitare con un infinitesimale attimo di ritardo, quasi attendessero il regista che grida: “Azione”. Del tipo: Scarlett Johansson che si presenta nella postura più artificiosa possibile, con sigaretta, bocchino e braccio teso, come una statua da museo delle cere; come se l’inquadratura in cui sta vivendo si fosse già convertita in locandina da appendere fuori dal cinema. Ma c’era dell’altro. Perchè Hilary Swank prima di morire dice: “Ricordati a chi somiglio”? E il cane imbalsamato con in bocca un giornale di trent’anni prima? E quel film muto sui vampiri che riappare di tanto in tanto? (Nel 1947 proiettavano ancora film muti? Brian non prenderebbe mai una cantonata simile).

Insomma: gesti congelati, tassidermia, vampiri… La faccenda puzzava di morte lontana un miglio. Passai la notte a scompigliare l’archivio, ma alla fine un indizio spuntò fuori. Scoprii che un colpo del genere, trent’anni prima, l’aveva tentato anche un altro tizio. Una storia strana, in costume, su un certo Redmond che voleva farsi nobile. All’inizio di ogni sequenza i personaggi apparivano sempre immobili, come se fossero diventati un quadro… Ora restava da stabilire: il nostro Brian conosceva questo tizio? Continuai a indagare. Tredici anni prima il tizio aveva fatto un altro film, su un professore che si innamora della figliastra. Mi sovvenne una scena: in un “drive in”, professore, moglie e ragazzina guardano un horror; d’un tratto le due donne si spaventano e vanno a stringere contemporaneamente le mani di… Aspetta un attimo… ma è la stessa scena. Anche il sosia di De Palma porta Josh Hartnett e Aaron Eckhart al cinema, mette Scarlett in mezzo e le fa stringere le mani dei suoi amanti. È chiaro: i due si conoscevano. Hanno entrambi queste manie per il museo delle cere e gli amori a triangolo (o uno dei due le ha attaccate all’altro).

Non c’era tempo da perdere. Diedi la consueta torchiata al mio informatore, e quello mi rivelò ciò che già sospettavo. “Non te ne sei accorto?- sibilava con quel tono canzonatorio che sa darmi sui nervi – Questo è il post-cinema, bellezza”. Certo che me ne ero accorto. Ormai ogni storia è l’ectoplasma di una storia, il rimpianto di non poterla raccontare diversamente, la rabbia di non poterla più cambiare. E comprendi che questa storia non puoi più nemmeno cancellarla, perché ormai fa parte di te, ormai racconta anche te. Riecheggia troppe cose che ti sono care, e dunque negarla equivale a demolire il tuo mondo. Chiaro per tutti?

Da una settimana non chiudevo occhio, e la matassa era sempre più ingarbugliata. Ma una sera, ripassando il film in lingua originale, tutto si illuminò, come il flou sui primi piani delle star di una volta. Ascoltavo la voce narrante di Josh… però qualcosa non quadrava. Alzai il volume, ed era proprio come pensavo. La voce non era sua, era… di Brian. Allora è vero: il film l’aveva girato lui. E per sottolineare questa paternità, aveva addirittura giocato a fingersi protagonista.

Ecco la chiave di volta: il desiderio di essere Altro. All’improvviso, realizzai che questa black dahlia non è altro che un intreccio di invidie, di imitazioni a catena, di voler diventare (come quel Redmond) ciò che non si è. Bucky vorrebbe essere Lee, vincere l’incontro di boxe e portarsi a letto Kay. Madeleine vorrebbe essere la Dalia Nera e portarsi a letto Bucky (Ellroy vorrebbe essere Proust: per una dalia che appassisce, una madeleine che la rievoca). La povera Dalia voleva diventare una grande diva, ma finisce uccisa in uno squallido porno che non arriverà mai alla notte degli Oscar. Brian De Palma vorrebbe essere Fritz Lang, ma si traveste in controfigura di se stesso. Questo cinema del Duemila vorrebbe tornare agli anni ‘40, e rimane stupefatto dinanzi a un provino sgranato in bianco e nero, dove una ragazza spaurita racconta i fatti minimi della propria vita. Faccende simili, il mio informatore le chiama “postmoderno”: un’immagine che non sa dirti più nulla di nuovo; ma piuttosto di restare in silenzio, continua a parlare, e ti spiega il perché sta per diventare muta.

Tutto ciò mi ricorda un altro caso di qualche anno fa. Un regista in crisi che si uccise ad una conferenza stampa (in modo da sollazzare per bene la mandria di sbirri e giornalisti), e prima di morire ripeteva: “Non ho niente da dire… ma voglio dirlo lo stesso.” Ma questo forse non c’entra nulla. Vengo al dunque. Questo fottuto post-cinema è il fantasma di qualcuno che hai amato, e che per questo ti è impossibile da odiare. Perché nel preciso istante in cui stai per ucciderlo con una pallottola d’argento o una recensione, il fantasma ti risponderà, col candore e la fermezza di chi sa di poter morire infinite volte: “Ricordati a chi somiglio.”

dantealbanesi

They must have been sadly disappointed by what they got.

The simple facts are these: Kenny Richey's last days as a free man were spent as a booze and drug-addled miscreant with a penchant for petty crime.

The only case I can think of where such a seedy and unsavoury existence has been worth reading about was the case of James Ellroy. Except he was driven to drugs and robbing houses by the murder of his mother while he was still in junior school. And was almost driven insanse by his obsession over the parallels between her death and the celebrated case of the Black Dahlia.

Ellroy also disovered a rare talent for writing which was to prove his salvation while he was in and out of jail. Not to mention that his misdemeanours - and near Damascene conversion - were played out against the backdrop of glamour and broken dreams that is Hollywood and Los Angeles (not the mundane, middle America of Bumf*ck, Ohio).

Kenny Richey, on the other hand, had no such colourful or grisly early life trauma to blame for his casually criminal and anti-social behaviour. Nor did he discover any prodigious -but previously hidden talent - while serving his time.

Indeed, he seems to have been confined to a concrete box not much bigger than a coffin with only his own drearily ordinary thoughts for company for the best part of two decades.

All of which means poor old Kenny is a bit of a dull lad and that the Mail On Sunday's exclusive (which, rumour has it, cost them the thick end of £15,000), was a bit of a yawn.

No slight intended on the talents of the paper's stalwart writers Jane Simpson and Patricia Kane, who had the unenviable job of trying to turn this into a riveting middle market read.

This story was all wrong for the Mail on Sunday demographic. It started out with jakeys, junkies and jobless white trash. Richey as the central character is unsympathetic and difficult to warm to. The alleged miscarriage of justice simply isn't strong enough to light a fire of righteous indignation in anybody's belly.

Finally, and most tellingly, pretty much nothing of great interest happened in 21 years. Death Row, it would seem, is a pretty dull place. Sure, Richey had his head shaved, ordered his last meal and was an hour away from Ol' Sparky, but that has been well-documented.

If the Daily Mail hoped the decades of soul-searching meant Richey was going to come up with a searingly poignant account of his time, they were sadly mistaken.

There is also no doubt that Richey has come out the other end of a rigidly institutional existence, cruelly calculated to be as unedifying as possible. In the hands of a Pulitzer writer with the time and access to chronicle Richey coming to terms with his new life, this may one day make a compelling story. It would be helped by the redemptive quality that would come from either a complete exoneration - or a final admission of guilt.

At the moment though it is a pile of old tosh. And the Mail on Sunday wasted their money.

What finally soured the whole story for me though was the news that Richey is now  to remarry the wife who left him two years before he was jailed and who he has barely seen since. Bumf*ck, Ohio, indeed.

So Diggin, which is very much a working title for this, is to be a really short interview piece on which we will talk to fellow bloggers, friends and anyone else who'd like to be involved. It will ask really one simple question and take it across three categories.

The question is:

What are you diggin right now? So this works across the lot. Just really a case of listing and elaborating on the choices made. You can pick any music you like at all, no restrictions on EPs, live stuff, unreleased stuff etc. Same with movies and TV from which you can glean choices from both categories. Same with books and comics. You are at no obligation to answer both however.

That's about it. To kick it off for you though, we'll make a quick example feature. In fact, I will ask the question to myself which will do nothing for my sanity. This though will occur on about a fortnightly basis to give you guys little updates as to what me and Beth are loving at this time. For my first, take the jump.

What are you diggin right now, Sam from Electricity & Lust?

Music: As always, there is a whole host of acts I'm loving at the moment. Album-wise, Panda Bear has caught hold of me and refuses to put me back down. Person Pitch though is just beguiling, wonderful and shockingly beautiful. Also for albums, I've rekindled my love for Elliott Smith, Radiohead on CD is better and Drum by Hugo Largo is defining lost classic. For songs, the KEXP podcast by Mono in VCF is great. Also, Girl in a Coma are a rocking little group. Also, worth checking out are Miracle Fortress, Black Kids and Noah & the Whale. Also my housemate John, who will hopefully fill in one of these soon, made a superb piece of evocative, filmic music yesterday. His work can be checked out here.

Film/TV: So The Wire has started again and has lost none of its engrossing brilliance. Best show ever. No Country For Old Men is being previewed over here on Saturday and I loved Gone Baby Gone and Paranoid Park. Other TV shows I must recommend are Mad Men which has perfect tone and Damages which is convoluted, intruiging fun.

Books/Comics: I'm currently reading The Black Dahlia which is just intense, gruelling brilliance. My main recommendation from the last few months goes to Daniel Woodrell who wrote the low-key, familial thriller Winter's Bone last year. Fabulous stuff. I'm also reading Alison Bechdel's fantastic Fun Home which, if you haven't read and enjoy memoirs in comic form, you should get one that one right now.

Anything else: I'm am loving Italian beer at the moment and also the multitude of writing jobs coming up for me to try and get. I'm also looking forward to taking part in some interior design as Betty moves into telecommuting for her new job.

Debido a que hicimos una última actualización la noche de este lunes, decidimos contarles hasta hoy sobre las actualizaciones en nuestro sitio.
Antes de que lo lean en el Primera Fila del diario Reforma, les platicamos qué tan buena resultó Encantada, la nueva cinta de princesas de Disney. Sin adelantarles mucho, sólo les diré que es una agradable sorpresa, aunque no niega la misma paternidad que varias de las historias de sirvientas encantadas que hoy conocemos.
Por otro lado, Warner estrenó El hermano de Santa, una comedia navideña que prometía, sobre todo debido a su reparto, pero que carece de garra y de identidad propia.
Finalmente, los mexicanos tuvimos que esperar más de un año para decepcionarnos con La dalia negra, un muy fallido filme noir dirigido por Brian De Palma, que cuenta con un gran despliegue visual, pero una historia sumamente insatisfactoria.
Ahí tienen pues. Gracias por pasar y leernos, como siempre.

Elizabeth Short, a wannabe actress, was spotted by a passerby. Her body was found nude, and completely cut in half. Her face was severely cut, and her entire body was bruised.

There have been many suspects along the years, including Orson Welles and Woody Guthrie. Nobody has been convicted of the horrendous murder.

It is doubtful that Betty Short will ever have justice, but I find the case interesting nonetheless. There are many graphic pictures of the crime scene, and of Elizabeth's body, and I have seen many of them, but I will not post them here because I know that a lot of people do not have a strong stomach.

Rip Elizabeth Short a.k.a. The Black Dahlia

Scarlett Johansson, Sexy Siren

Scarlett Johansson, at just the age of 22, has become a major player in Hollywood wielding plenty of power and clout. She has no less than 6 movies in play and production for 2007 along with her new movie "The Black Dahlia" out today. Scarlett also starred in The Island, Lost In Translation, and Eight legged Freaks to name just several of her movie appearances. The following photo's attempt to capture her beauty. Enjoy.

Scarlett finds herself on the Sci-Fi Sexy Sirens page for he role in The Island (2005) as Jordan Two Delta/Sarah Jordan.

Sci-Fi Sexy Sirens brought to you by the Grassy Knoll Institute marketing team to boost readership and placement on search engines.

Back To Sci-Fi Sexy Sirens Archives

LURKING ON THE GRASSY KNOLL

The Confession Tour DVD is not in store yet and it gonna be in two to three months time.

Shit!

It's a lazy Tuesday. I was not going to the frigging college. I spent the morning sleeping naked in my room. I planned to bake something for the club's fund-raising sale but I didn't because being naked and alone was the better thing to do. In the afternoon, I woke up and took a shower and left my place to begin the mission, hunt for the damn DVD.

I headed to the All-in-One Shopping Mall. I was so excited and I quickly made my way to the Tower Records. I entered the music store gaily like an innocent boy at the world's best toy store looking for the toy he wants more than anything else in the world. OK, I just pretended that and felt kinda good that way. I reached the the CD shelf at the most right, most behind. I thought I've found it, I smiled. I looked at the price. Only then I realized that wasn't it. It couldn't be that cheap! Damn it!

I asked the shopkeeper, "hey, I am looking for Madonna's Confession Tour DVD."
"DVD?" He seek confirmation. I nodded. "It's not available."
"When will it be in store?" I asked.
"Soon. I think soon."
"Soon, how soon?"
"Two to three months."
"Right, soon," cynically I ended the conversation and looked around to get something else.

Fuck him! That is not soon. That is like to wait till the corpse of your great grandmother to dispose.

I know it's too early for Christmas but if I were to have it now, I won't be asking for anything else for Christmas in a hundred years. I really really want the DVD!!!

I've watched the Black Dahlia. It was the lamest and lousiest adaptation of a book I've ever watched. The romping scenes were really bad. There is nothing with the film other than good-looking actors. What a waste of money!