Ordinary People Movie Quotes

There is a LIGHT in this world. A healing spirit more powerful than any darkness we may encounter. We sometime lose sight of this force when there is suffering, and too much pain. Then suddenly, the spirit will emerge through the lives of ordinary people who hear a call and answer in extraordinary ways.

A person has all sorts of lags built into him Kesey is saying. Once the most basic is the sensory lag the lag between the time your senses receive something and you are able to react. One-thirtieth of a second is the time it takes if you are the most alert person alive and most people are a lot slower than that.... You can't go any faster than that... We are all doomed to spend the rest of our lives watching a movies of our lives - we are always acting on what has just finished happening. It happened at least 1 30th of a second ago. We think we are in the present but we aren't. The present we know is only a movies of the past and we will really never be able to control the present through ordinary means.

Life is depressing and hopeless enough, without imbibing further depression and hopelessness through story. I don’t care how realistic people like to think that is. It’s not what inspires me, or makes me love and cherish a book or a television show or a movie. When I am imbibing fiction, I want to be inspired. I want bold tales, told boldly. I want genuine Good People who, while not perfect, are capable of rising beyond their ordinary beginnings. To make a positive difference in their world. Even when all hope or purpose might seem lost. Because this is what I think fiction—as originally told around the campfires, through verbal legend—ought to do, more than anything else: Illuminate the way, shine a spiritual beacon, tell us that there is a bright point in the darkness, a light to guide the way, when all other paths are cast in shadow.

Disaster movies and the media continue to portray ordinary people as hysterical or vicious in the face of calamity. We believe these sources telling us we are victims or brutes more than we trust our own experience

There’s a long, uncomfortable silence in which I contemplate what might happen next. Maybe like the villain in a movie, this is where she gives me a long spiel about her hard-up life before she kills me. Not that I totally believe she’s nefarious. Real life isn’t made up of heroes and villains. Just ordinary people making choices they have to live with.

A person has all sorts of lags built into him, Kesey is saying. One, the most basic, is the sensory lag, the lag between the time your senses receive something and you are able to react. One-thirtieth of a second is the time it takes, if you are the most alert person alive, and most people are a lot slower than that. Now Cassady is right up against that 1/30th of a second barrier. He is going as fast as a human can go, but even he can't overcome it. He is a living example of how close you can come, but it can't be done. You can't go any faster than that. You can't through sheer speed overcome the lag. We are all of us doomed to spend the rest of our lives watching a movie of our lives - we are always acting on what has just finished happening. It happened at least 1/30th of a second ago. We think we are in the present, but we aren't. The present we know is only a movie of the past, and we will really never be able to control the present through ordinary means. That lag has to be overcome some other way, through some kind of total breakthrough.

But I do know a kind of madness that lies low in the mind, half-buried in consciousness, which lives in parallel to sanity, and given the right circumstances or even just half a chance, creeps like a lick of flame or a growing tumour up and around ordinary perception, consuming it for a while, and causing one, even when not at the movies, to quake in fear of the world and people and what they--I mean, of, we--are capable of.

Stupid arbitrary shit means the president of the United States can wait six years before even saying the disease’s name. Stupid arbitrary shit means it will take a movie star to die and a hemophiliac teenager to die before ordinary people start to mobilize, start to feel that the disease needs to be stopped. Tens of thousands of people will die before drugs are made and drugs are approved. What a horrible feeling that is, to know that if the disease had primarily affected PTA presidents, or priests, or white teenage girls, the epidemic would have been ended years earlier, and tens of thousands, if not hundreds of thousands, of lives would have been saved. We did not choose our identity, but we were chosen to die by it.

Which is an interactive sport for our family, since Gil likes to groan over the writing and point out the plot twists ahead of time, and Jeremy tears his hair out over the historical inaccuracies, and Dad makes corny jokes, till Mom reminds us, loudly, that some people are trying to watch the movie. Then we'll all quiet down for about five minutes, until Olivia remarks that the costume designer should have dressed the star in kitten heels instead, because it's a lot harder to run in stilettos.

A truly magnificent thing about the way the brain was coded, Sam thought, was that it could say “Excuse me” while meaning “Screw you.” Unless they were unreliable or clearly established as lunatics or scoundrels, characters in novels, movies, and games were meant to be taken at face value—the totality of what they did or what they said. But people—the ordinary, the decent and basically honest—couldn’t get through the day without that one indispensable bit of programming that allowed you to say one thing and mean, feel, even do, another.

Whether plagues are managed quickly doesn't just depend on hardworking doctors and scientists. It depends on people who like to sleep in on weekends and watch movies and eat French fries and do the fantastic common things in life, which is to say, it depends on all of us. Whether a civilization fares well during a crisis has a great deal to do with how the ordinary, nonscientist citizen responds. A lot of the measures taken against plagues discussed in this book will seem stunningly obvious. You should not, for instance, decide diseased people are sinners and burn them at a literal or metaphorical stake, because it is both morally monstrous and entirely ineffective. But them a new plague crops up, and we make precisely the same mistakes we should have learned from three hundred years ago.

Jane remembers those years, though, as if they had been [a movie]--in part because her friends...always talked about everything as if it was over ("Remember last night?"), while holding out the possibility that whatever happened could be rerun. Neil didn't have that sense of things. He thought people shouldn't romanticize ordinary life. "Our struggles, our little struggles," he would whisper, in bed, at night. Sometimes he or she would click on some of the flashlights and consider the ceiling, with the radiant swirls around the bright nuclei, the shadows like opened oysters glistening in brine. (In the '80s, the champagne was always waiting.)

Stupid arbitrary shit means it will take a movie star to die and a hemophiliac teenager to die before ordinary people start to mobilize, start to feel that the disease needs to be stopped. Tens of thousands of people will die before drugs are made and drugs are approved. What a horrible feeling that is, to know that if the disease had primarily affected PTA presidents, or priests, or white teenage girls, the epidemic would have been ended years earlier, and tens of thousands, if not hundreds of thousands, of lives would have been saved

When Rin Tin Tin first became famous, most dogs in the world would not sit down when asked. Dogs performed duties: they herded sheep, they barked at strangers, they did what dogs do naturally, and people learned to interpret and make use of how they behaved. The idea of a dog's being obedient for the sake of good manners was unheard of. When dogs lived outside, as they usually did on farms and ranches, the etiquette required of them was minimal. But by the 1930s, Americans were leaving farms and moving into urban and suburban areas, bringing dogs along as pets and sharing living quarters with them. At the time, the principles of behavior were still mostly a mystery -- Ivan Pavlov's explication of conditional reflexes, on which much training is based, wasn't even published in an English translation until 1927. If dogs needed to be taught how to behave, people had to be trained to train their dogs. The idea that an ordinary person -- not a dog professional -- could train his own pet was a new idea, which is partly why Rin Tin Tin's performances in movies and onstage were looked upon as extraordinary.

there are some people who must always go somewhere. ‘let’s go to a movie!’ ‘let’s go boating!’ ‘let’s get laid!’ ‘screw all that stuff,’ I always say, ‘just let me sit here.

He and I both like to watch TV or a movie together on Friday nights. He prefers apocalyptic shows about zombies killing everyone and I like watching gorgeous people talk to each another, but we make it work.

Now, looking for labels, it is hard to call the Hell's Angels anything but mutants. They are urban outlaws with a rural ethic and a new, improvised style of self-preservation. Their image of themselves derives mainly from Celluloid, from the Western movies and two-fisted TV shows that have taught them most of what they know about the society they live in. Very few read books, and in most cases their formal education ended at fifteen or sixteen. What little they know of history has come from the mass media, beginning with comics ... so if they see themselves in terms of the past, it's because they can't grasp the terms of the present, much less the future. They are the sons of poor men and drifters, losers and the sons of losers. Their backgrounds are overwhelmingly ordinary. As people, they are like millions of other people. But in their collective identity they have a peculiar fascination so obvious that even the press has recognized it, although not without cynicism. In its ritual flirtation with reality the press has viewed the Angels with a mixture of awe, humor and terror -- justified, as always, by a slavish dedication to the public appetite, which most journalists find so puzzling and contemptible that they have long since abandoned the task of understanding it to a handful of poll-takers and "experts.

Ableism can be hard to hold on to or pinpoint, because it morphs. It lives in distinctly personal stories. It takes on ten thousand shifting faces, and for the world we live in today, it’s usually more subtle than overt cruelty. Some examples to start the sketch: the assumption that all people who are deaf would prefer to be hearing—the belief that walking down the aisle at a wedding is obviously preferable to moving down that aisle in a wheelchair—the conviction that listening to an audiobook is automatically inferior to the experience of reading a book with your eyes—the expectation that a nondisabled person who chooses a partner with a disability is necessarily brave, strong, and especially good—the belief that someone who receives a disability check contributes less to our society than the full-time worker—the movie that features a disabled person whose greatest battle is their own body and ultimately teaches the nondisabled protagonist (and audience) how to value their own beautiful life. All of these are different flashes of the same, oppressive structure. Ableism separates, isolates, assumes. It’s starved for imagination, creativity, and curiosity. It’s fueled by fear. It oppresses. All of us.

What—in other words—would modern boredom be without terror? One of the most boring documents of all time is the thick volume of Hitler’s Table Talk. He too had people watching movies, eating pastries, and drinking coffee with Schlag while he bored them, while he discoursed theorized expounded. Everyone was perishing of staleness and fear, afraid to go to the toilet. This combination of power and boredom has never been properly examined. Boredom is an instrument of social control. Power is the power to impose boredom, to command stasis, to combine this stasis with anguish. The real tedium, deep tedium, is seasoned with terror and with death. There were even profounder questions. For instance, the history of the universe would be very boring if one tried to think of it in the ordinary way of human experience. All that time without events! Gases over and over again, and heat and particles of matter, the sun tides and winds, again this creeping development, bits added to bits, chemical accidents—whole ages in which almost nothing happens, lifeless seas, only a few crystals, a few protein compounds developing. The tardiness of evolution is so irritating to contemplate. The clumsy mistakes you see in museum fossils. How could such bones crawl, walk, run? It is agony to think of the groping of the species—all this fumbling, swamp-creeping, munching, preying, and reproduction, the boring slowness with which tissues, organs, and members developed. And then the boredom also of the emergence of the higher types and finally of mankind, the dull life of paleolithic forests, the long long incubation of intelligence, the slowness of invention, the idiocy of peasant ages. These are interesting only in review, in thought. No one could bear to experience this. The present demand is for a quick forward movement, for a summary, for life at the speed of intensest thought. As we approach, through technology, the phase of instantaneous realiza-tion, of the realization of eternal human desires or fantasies, of abolishing time and space the problem of boredom can only become more intense. The human being, more and more oppressed by the peculiar terms of his existence—one time around for each, no more than a single life per customer—has to think of the boredom of death. O those eternities of nonexistence! For people who crave continual interest and diversity, O! how boring death will be! To lie in the grave, in one place, how frightful!

Everyone needs to believe they would have seen it sooner, that they would've been able to help her. People need this lie to feel certain that nothing like this could ever happen to them, that the Clearys are the stuff of horror movies, rather than ordinary life. The truth is, nothing can prepare you for something like Penny.

Up to this point, my whole life had been pretty ordinary. And here I was, feeling like I’d stepped into a movie, pretending to be something I wasn’t. And these people with whom I interacted, these characters in my movie, were believing it. June and Mark actually thought I was Meghan O’Connell from Galway, Ireland. I let out a big laugh.

We’re in a period right now where nobody asks any questions about psychology. No one has any feeling for human motivation. No one talks about sexuality in terms of emotional needs and symbolism and the legacy of childhood. Sexuality has been politicized--“Don’t ask any questions!” "No discussion!" “Gay is exactly equivalent to straight!” And thus in this period of psychological blindness or inertness, our art has become dull. There’s nothing interesting being written--in fiction or plays or movies. Everything is boring because of our failure to ask psychological questions. So I say there is a big parallel between Bill Cosby and Bill Clinton--aside from their initials! Young feminists need to understand that this abusive behavior by powerful men signifies their sense that female power is much bigger than they are! These two people, Clinton and Cosby, are emotionally infantile--they're engaged in a war with female power. It has something to do with their early sense of being smothered by female power--and this pathetic, abusive and criminal behavior is the result of their sense of inadequacy. Now, in order to understand that, people would have to read my first book, "Sexual Personae"--which of course is far too complex for the ordinary feminist or academic mind! It’s too complex because it requires a sense of the ambivalence of human life. Everything is not black and white, for heaven's sake! We are formed by all kinds of strange or vague memories from childhood. That kind of understanding is needed to see that Cosby was involved in a symbiotic, push-pull thing with his wife, where he went out and did these awful things to assert his own independence. But for that, he required the women to be inert. He needed them to be dead! Cosby is actually a necrophiliac--a style that was popular in the late Victorian period in the nineteenth-century. It's hard to believe now, but you had men digging up corpses from graveyards, stealing the bodies, hiding them under their beds, and then having sex with them. So that’s exactly what’s happening here: to give a woman a drug, to make her inert, to make her dead is the man saying that I need her to be dead for me to function. She’s too powerful for me as a living woman. And this is what is also going on in those barbaric fraternity orgies, where women are sexually assaulted while lying unconscious. And women don’t understand this! They have no idea why any men would find it arousing to have sex with a young woman who’s passed out at a fraternity house. But it’s necrophilia--this fear and envy of a woman’s power. And it’s the same thing with Bill Clinton: to find the answer, you have to look at his relationship to his flamboyant mother. He felt smothered by her in some way. But let's be clear--I’m not trying to blame the mother! What I’m saying is that male sexuality is extremely complicated, and the formation of male identity is very tentative and sensitive--but feminist rhetoric doesn’t allow for it. This is why women are having so much trouble dealing with men in the feminist era. They don’t understand men, and they demonize men.

Some gifted people have all five and some less. Every gifted person tends to lead with one. As I read this list for the first time I was struck by the similarities between Dabrowski’s overexcitabilities and the traits of Sensitive Intuitives. Read the list for yourself and see what you identify with: Psychomotor This manifests as a strong pull toward movement. People with this overexcitability tend to talk rapidly and/or move nervously when they become interested or passionate about something. They have a lot of physical energy and may run their hands through their hair, snap their fingers, pace back and forth, or display other signs of physical agitation when concentrating or thinking something out. They come across as physically intense and can move in an impatient, jerky manner when excited. Other people might find them overwhelming and they’re routinely diagnosed as ADHD. Sensual This overexcitability comes in the form of an extreme sensitivity to sounds, smells, bright lights, textures and temperature. Perfume and scented soaps and lotions are bothersome to people with this overexcitability, and they might also have aversive reactions to strong food smells and cleaning products. For me personally, if I’m watching a movie in which a strobe light effect is used, I’m done. I have to shut my eyes or I’ll come down with a headache after only a few seconds. Loud, jarring or intrusive sounds also short circuit my wiring. Intellectual This is an incessant thirst for knowledge. People with this overexcitability can’t ever learn enough. They zoom in on a few topics of interest and drink up every bit of information on those topics they can find. Their only real goal is learning for learning’s sake. They’re not trying to learn something to make money or get any other external reward. They just happened to have discovered the history of the Ming Dynasty or Einstein’s Theory of Relativity and now it’s all they can think about. People with this overexcitability have intellectual interests that are passionate and wide-ranging and they study many areas simultaneously. Imaginative INFJ and INFP writers, this is you. This is ALL you. Making up stories, creating imaginary friends, believing in Santa Claus way past the ordinary age, becoming attached to fairies, elves, monsters and unicorns, these are the trademarks of the gifted child with imaginative overexcitability. These individuals appear dreamy, scattered, lost in their own worlds, and constantly have their heads in the clouds. They also routinely blend fiction with reality. They are practically the definition of the Sensitive Intuitive writer at work. Emotional Gifted individuals with emotional overexcitability are highly empathetic (and empathic, I might add), compassionate, and can become deeply attached to people, animals, and even inanimate objects, in a short period of time. They also have intense emotional reactions to things and might not be able to stomach horror movies or violence on the evening news. They have most likely been told throughout their life that they’re “too sensitive” or that they’re “overreacting” when in truth, they are expressing exactly how they feel to the most accurate degree.

American Indians share a magnificent history — rich in its astounding diversity, its integrity, its spirituality, its ongoing unique culture and dynamic tradition. It's also rich, I'm saddened to say, in tragedy, deceit, and genocide. Our sovereignty, our nationhood, our very identity — along with our sacred lands — have been stolen from us in one of the great thefts of human history. And I am referring not just to the thefts of previous centuries but to the great thefts that are still being perpetrated upon us today, at this very moment. Our human rights as indigenous peoples are being violated every day of our lives — and by the very same people who loudly and sanctimoniously proclaim to other nations the moral necessity of such rights. Over the centuries our sacred lands have been repeatedly and routinely stolen from us by the governments and peoples of the United States and Canada. They callously pushed us onto remote reservations on what they thought was worthless wasteland, trying to sweep us under the rug of history. But today, that so-called wasteland has surprisingly become enormously valuable as the relentless technology of white society continues its determined assault on Mother Earth. White society would now like to terminate us as peoples and push us off our reservations so they can steal our remaining mineral and oil resources. It's nothing new for them to steal from nonwhite peoples. When the oppressors succeed with their illegal thefts and depredations, it's called colonialism. When their efforts to colonize indigenous peoples are met with resistance or anything but abject surrender, it's called war. When the colonized peoples attempt to resist their oppression and defend themselves, we're called criminals. I write this book to bring about a greater understanding of what being an Indian means, of who we are as human beings. We're not quaint curiosities or stereotypical figures in a movie, but ordinary — and, yes, at times, extraordinary — human beings. Just like you. We feel. We bleed. We are born. We die. We aren't stuffed dummies in front of a souvenir shop; we aren't sports mascots for teams like the Redskins or the Indians or the Braves or a thousand others who steal and distort and ridicule our likeness. Imagine if they called their teams the Washington Whiteskins or the Washington Blackskins! Then you'd see a protest! With all else that's been taken from us, we ask that you leave us our name, our self-respect, our sense of belonging to the great human family of which we are all part. Our voice, our collective voice, our eagle's cry, is just beginning to be heard. We call out to all of humanity. Hear us!

To this day, I can see the bright, raspberry red glow. The reactor seemed lit up from inside. It was an incredible colour. Not an ordinary fire, but a kind of shining. Very pretty. If you forget all the rest, it was very pretty. I’d never seen anything like it in the movies, there was just nothing comparable. In the evening, everyone came out on to their balconies; if they didn’t have one, they went to their friends and neighbours. We were on the eighth floor and had a great view. About three kilometres as the crow flies. People brought out their children and lifted them up. ‘Look! Don’t forget this!’ And these were people who worked at the reactor: engineers, workmen. There were even physics teachers, standing in that black dust, chatting away. Breathing it in. Admiring the sight. Some people drove dozens of kilometres or cycled to see it. We had no idea death could look so pretty.

Whatever our history, whatever the root of our surnames, we remain a good and decent people, and we do not bow down and we do not give up. The fire of the human spirit cannot be quenched by bomb blasts or body counts. Cannot be intimidated forever into silence or drowned by tears. We have endured worse before. We will bear this burden and all that come hereafter because that's what ordinary men and women do. No matter what. This has not made us weaker. It has only made us stronger.

A truly magnificent thing about the way the brain was coded, Sam thought, was that it could say "Excuse me" while meaning "Screw you." Unless they were unreliable or clearly established as lunatics or scoundrels, characters in novels, movies, and games were meant to be taken at face value—the totality of what they did or what they said. But people—the ordinary, the decent and basically honest—couldn't get through the day without that one indispensable bit of programming that allowed you to say one thing and mean, feel, even do, another.

I watched myself live, Iris, like a movie, and that image of myself is everything. I don't want to betray it. Do you know what I'm talking about? I'm telling you that what I can't bear is the ordinary. I don't want to bore myself, to sink into pedestrian ways of other people - heart-to-heart talks, petty confessions, relationships of habit, not passion. I see those people all around me, and I detest them, so I have to be divorced from myself in order to keep from sliding into a life I find nauseating. It's a matter of appearances, but surfaces are underestimated. The veneer becomes the thing. I rarely distinguish the man in the movie from the spectator anymore.

By eleven-thirty, Sadie was in her pajamas, teeth brushed and flossed, ready to go to bed. She wondered if this was what other twenty-three-year-olds' Friday nights were like. When she was forty, would she lament that she hadn't had sex with more people and partied more? But then, she didn't enjoy many people, and she had never gone to a party that she wasn't eager to leave. She hated being drunk, though she did enjoy smoking a joint every now and then. She liked playing games, seeing a foreign movie, a good meal. She liked going to bed early and waking up early. She liked working. She liked that she was good at her work, and she felt proud of the fact that she was well paid for it. She felt pleasure in ordinary things—a perfectly efficient section of code, a closet where every item was in its place. She liked solitude and the thoughts of her own interesting and creative mind.

When Jesus died for his people, he knew me by name in the particularity of this day. Christ didn’t redeem my life theoretically or abstractly—the life I dreamed of living or the life I think I ideally should be living. He knew I’d be in today as it is, in my home where it stands, in my relationships with their specific beauty and brokenness, in my particular sins and struggles. God is forming us into a new people. And the place of that formation is in the small moments of today. In The Divine Conspiracy, Dallas Willard reminds us that where “transformation is actually carried out is in our real life, where we dwell with God and our neighbors. . . . First, we must accept the circumstances we constantly find ourselves in as the place of God’s kingdom and blessing. God has yet to bless anyone except where they actually are.”4 The new life into which we are baptized is lived out in days, hours, and minutes. God is forming us into a new people. And the place of that formation is in the small moments of today. Alfred Hitchcock said movies are “life with the dull bits cut out.”5 Car chases and first kisses, interesting plot lines and good conversations. We don’t want to watch our lead character going on a walk, stuck in traffic, or brushing his teeth—at least not for long, and not without a good soundtrack. We tend to want a Christian life with the dull bits cut out. Yet God made us to spend our days in rest, work, and play, taking care of our bodies, our families, our neighborhoods, our homes. What if all these boring parts matter to God? What if days passed in ways that feel small and insignificant to us are weighty with meaning and part of the abundant life that God has for us?

Olo-keZ G-- a tc There is an appointed time for everything. And there is a time for every event under heaven. -ECCLESIASTES 3:1 What would we do without our day planners? I have a large one for my desk and a carry-all that goes with me. I don't know how a person functions without some type of organizer. I just love it; it truly has become my daily-calendar bible. I take it with me everywhere. My whole life is in that book. Each evening I peek in to see what tomorrow has to bring. I just love to see a busy calendar; it makes me feel so alive. I've got this to do and that to do. Then I come upon a day that has all white space. Not one thing to do. What, oh what, will I do to fill the space and time? That's the way I used to think and plan. All my spaces had appointments written down, and many times they even overlapped. I now plan for white spaces. I even plan ahead weeks or months and black out "saved for me or my family" days. I have begun to realize that there are precious times for myself and my loved ones. Bob and I really try to protect these saved spaces just for us. We may not go anywhere or do anything out of the ordinary, but it's our special time. We can do anything we want: sleep in, stay out late, go to lunch, read a book, go to a movie, or take a nap. I really look forward with great anticipation to when these white spaces appear on my calendar. I've been so impressed when I've read biographies of famous people. Many of them are controllers of their own time. They don't let outsiders dictate their schedules. Sure, there are times when things have to be done on special days, but generally that isn't the case. When we begin to control our calendars, we will find that our lives are more enjoyable and that the tensions of life are more manageable. Make those white spaces your friend, not your enemy.

What’s sacred to me? thought Fate. The vague pain I feel at the passing of my mother? An understanding of what can’t be fixed? Or the kind of pang in the stomach I feel when I look at this woman? And why do I feel a pang, if that’s what it is, when she looks at me and not when her friend looks at me? Because her friend is nowhere near as beautiful, thought Fate. Which seems to suggest that what’s sacred to me is beauty, a pretty girl with perfect features. And what if all of a sudden the most beautiful actress in Hollywood appeared in the middle of this big, repulsive restaurant, would I still feel a pang each time my eyes surreptitiously met this girl’s or would the sudden appearance of a superior beauty, a beauty enhanced by recognition, relieve the pang, diminish her beauty to ordinary levels, the beauty of a slightly odd girl out to have a good time on a weekend night with three slightly peculiar men and a woman who basically seems like a hooker? And who am I to think that Rosita Méndez seems like a hooker? thought Fate. Do I really know enough about Mexican hookers to be able to recognize them at a glance? Do I know anything about innocence or pain? Do I know anything about women? I like to watch videos, thought Fate. I also like to go to the movies. I like to sleep with women. Right now I don’t have a steady girlfriend, but I know what it’s like to have one. Do I see the sacred anywhere? All I register is practical experiences, thought Fate. An emptiness to be filled, a hunger to be satisfied, people to talk to so I can finish my article and get paid. And why do I think the men Rosa Amalfitano is out with are peculiar? What’s peculiar about them? And why am I so sure that if a Hollywood actress appeared all of a sudden Rosa Amalfitano’s beauty would fade? What if it didn’t? What if it sped up? And what if everything began to accelerate from the instant a Hollywood actress crossed the threshold of El Rey del Taco?

We may have to mask your scent.” He looked at her soberly. “Did Olivia tell you anything about scent marking?” “Scent marking?” Sophie wracked her brain, trying to remember. It seemed vaguely familiar though she couldn’t remember exactly what it involved. Still, how bad could it be? “Oh, uh, sure. Scent marking.” She nodded. “Good. Because in the last extremity, if I hear the sniffers around this cabin, I may have to scent mark you—to mask your scent with my own.” “Can you do that? I mean, is your scent that much stronger than mine, especially when they’re focused on me?” Sylvan looked down at his hands. “Normally it isn’t but right now…ever since the trip we took in the transport tube…” Sophie thought of the warm, spicy scent that seemed to go to her head, the way it made her react to him… “It’s your mating scent, isn’t it?” she asked in a low voice, not daring to look at him. “Yes.” He sounded ashamed. “But why…” She risked a sidelong glance at him. “Why is it coming out now? I, uh, thought it only happened during the claiming period. But you’re not, um, claiming me or anything. I mean, we’re not… you know.” “I know.” He shook his head. “I don’t understand what’s going on either. We haven’t even been dream sharing. Well, that is, I mean…” He cleared his throat. “I’ve had a few dreams of you. But nothing out of the ordinary.” He glanced at her. “Have you…had any strange dreams?” “No.” Sophie shook her head and a look of mingled disappointment and relief passed over his stern features. “I have been, uh, having problems with my art, though,” she admitted in a low voice. “Problems with your art?” He frowned. “What do you mean?” “I paint,” Sophie explained. “You know—with a paintbrush and easel?” She made a painting motion in the air and his eyes widened. “That was what I dreamed. That you were painting a picture of…of me.” Sophie nearly choked. “But I have been! You’re all I’ve been able to paint lately. Even when I try not to, you always sneak in there. It’s so annoying.” Then she realized what she’d said. “Uh, I mean—” “It doesn’t matter.” Sylvan cut her off, shaking his head. “So we have been dream sharing, in a way.” Sophie felt herself go cold all over. “Does…does that mean you’re going to try to…to claim me? The way Baird claimed Liv?” Oh my God, if he does, if he claims me, then he’ll want to bite me! That’s the way his people do it. She had horror-movie visions of being held down under his muscular bulk, held down and pierced multiple times and in multiple ways. God, his teeth in my throat at the same time he’s inside me, filling me, holding me down and biting and thrusting. He’s so big, so strong—I’d never be able to get away. The horror she felt must have showed on her face, because Sylvan’s voice was rough when he spoke. “Don’t worry, Sophia. Even if I wanted to claim you, I couldn’t.” “Oh right.” She felt a small measure of relief. “Your vow.” “My vow,” he agreed. “Sylvan,

Movies, media, lifestyle magazines, and real estate advertisements all encourage the primitive feeling that, since beautiful people seem especially blessed, their lives should also be happy and lucky. I sometimes think that, since I consider myself an average-looking person, I should not have a life that others find enviable and alluring. Rationally, I know this is not true; obviously, I have as much right to happiness as anyone else. But, like most ordinary-looking people, I have always overvalued physical beauty in others. When I realize that someone who looks the way I do can have lived such a fortunate life, while someone as handsome as Rey Rivera could die so horribly and at at such a young age, it feels as though the planets are out of line.

Suggested Reading The Mind of the Maker by Dorothy Sayers The Pursuit of God by A. W. Tozer The Knowledge of the Holy by A. W. Tozer The Pursuit of Holiness by Jerry Bridges The Roots of American Order by Russell Kirk Norms and Nobility by David Hicks Never Give In: The Extraordinary Character of Winston Churchill  by Stephen Mansfield My Early Life: 1874-1904  by Winston S. Churchill Liturgy of the Ordinary by Tish Warren 12 Ways Your Phone is Changing You by Tony Reinke Growth Ideas Listen to Churchill’s “Never Give In” speech on YouTube. Watch the movie The Darkest Hour (2017). Set up a Morning Time for your family or yourself. (My book Morning Time: A Liturgy of Love can get you started.)

Restaurants and movie theaters are well aware of this phenomenon. A movie theater might offer Option A, which is regular popcorn, and also Option B, which is large popcorn. Knowing that people will choose Option A, it might introduce Option C, which is jumbo popcorn. Maybe few people will choose Option C, but its existence leads more people to choose Option B.

Quite simply, the Church is not a movie theater. It does not need a “silver screen” in order to be more relatable to modern people. A movie theater is a place where we collectively sit down to watch the unreal, the made up, the world of drama, fantasy, and pretend. We watch these dramas, comedies, or adventures to be moved to tears, to laughter, or to an adrenaline high. We watch them in order to be manipulated into feeling something that is out of the ordinary – something that we want to feel at that particular moment. We are complicit in this, of course. We pay our money for the privilege of having our emotions manipulated by this world of make believe.

It is all too easy to turn other people in our lives into a supporting cast for our life movie. The problem is that they don’t follow the role or the lines we’ve given them. They are actual people with actual needs that get in the way of our plot, especially if they’re as ambitious as we are. Sometimes, chasing your dreams can be “easier” than just being who we are, where God has placed you, with the gifts he has given to you.

The general public is bewildered and fascinated by Multiple Personality Disorder/Dissociative Identity Disorder. Through books, television and movies, a distorted view of MPD/DID is often presented. While it may make for good entertainment, it fails to truly present the depth and intensity of the inherent trauma. Outside the ordinary day-to-day life experience of most people, it is hard to understand.

Anyone who has read enough, explored enough and experienced enough, somewhere in his/ her life will realize that the life is repeating itself again and again and again. He/she will soon understand there is nothing new to discover, all quests of human life have been experience and discovered in the past and all we do to play the game over and over to gain a different result, like an idiot who watches movie several time and hope to see a different ending. In such age, people no to remain enthusiastic, they need to still be excited about the story, which they have heard more than millions of times. Hence, intellectuals and creators create new toys for them. The toys that practically has the same purpose and affect the same result, but ordinary human does not need to know that. They need to be interested to play, because if we stop, the world will stop, and then the age of nothingness will end. And we cannot let that happen can we?

Think of it this way. I’m like the end of the movie.” “The end of what movie?” “You know how in the movies there’s always this person who wishes they were super successful, and then they get everything they thought they ever wanted. The fame, the money. All of it. Time passes, and they realize it’s not enough and long for the simple life when they did art for art’s sake. When there were no pressures or fake people. They give it all up and go back to being ordinary.” I flash him my coyest smile. “I just skipped all the fame, fortune, and chaos part and went straight to the ending where I dance for the fun of it.” Tyler runs his hands over my hair and then cradles the back of my head. “The end of the movie, huh? There’s one thing missing from your plotline, you know that?” “What?” “A romantic interest.

Your time in the Bible is the primary means by which the Holy Spirit empowers you to live your life. If you don’t want this power, by all means, don’t go to your Bible. Go to Twitter or Facebook or YouTube. Go to cable news or satellite sports. Go to the movies or a self-help seminar. Go anywhere else if it’s not power you’re interested in. But if you want to dwell daily in the supernatural realm of God’s kingdom and hear the very words of God, your Bible is where it’s at. The

THIRD EMENDED VERSION , SOME OMISSIONS HAVING BEEN ADDED TO MY LAST '' PUBLICATION '' TO KEEP THE LOGIC MORE LUCID SORRY FOR SETTING EVERYTHING DOWN SO QUICKLY - ''SCALE THE HUMAN MOUNTAIN OF SUMLESS LIES UNTIL YOU LABORIOUSLY REACH THE SUMMIT THEN CAUSE IT TO CRUMBLE BY YOUR EQUALLY SUMLESS BURDEN OF VERITY THAT NO HUMAN MAY FAVOUR YOU WITH A GLANCE ANY MORE AND THOSE WHO DO ARE NO LONGER HUMAN HAVING DIVESTED THEMSELVES OF THEIR HUMANITY AS YOU DID BY VIRTUE OF THE FACT OF WHAT MAN HAS DONE TO HIMSELF BESIDES , YOU ARE ABLE TO ASCERTAIN HOW MANY '' FRIENDS '' YOU HAVE WHICH IS THE EMPTY SET CONTAINING ONE ELEMENT ONLY : VERITY ! , TO WHICH YOU PERTAIN AS WELL IT IS WHY IT IS THE HARDEST THING TO FIND THE PATH LEADING TO YOURSELF AND IT IS BY THE EMPTY SET THAT ALL OF MATHEMATICS HAS BEEN MADE AN EGREGIOUS LIE TOO IT IS MORE FACILE TO KILL SOMEONE OR , IF YOU ARE UNABLE TO , YOURSELF THAN IT IS TO LIVE ! DO YOU SEE THE POPLAR AND THE ROBIN THAT IS PERCHED ON IT ? ASK THEM ! THEY KNOW HOW TO LIVE YOU DON'T BECAUSE YOU ARE HUMAN AND INTELLIGENT : MAN IS ENDUED WITH HIS SPIRIT OF INVENTION WHICH HAS REDUCED LIFE TO ABSURDITY AS ALL THOSE THEORIES AND TEACHINGS SPRINGING FROM IT HAVE NEVER BENEFITED LIFE , ON THE CONTRARY , DESTROYED IT ! AN APPRECIATION OF THE MAJESTY OF VERITY ALSO ENTAILS THE INEVITABLE CATASTROPHE OF '' BEING '' AND HENCE THE INFELICITY OF YOURSELF WHICH HAS TO BE ASCRIBED TO THOSE PROFOUND TEACHINGS OF MAN AND THE IMPRECATIONS WHICH THEY HEAPED UPON LIFE AND BEHIND WHICH EVERYONE STRIVES TO CONCEAL HIMSELF AS SOMETHING SUBLIME , BROTHERLY , CUNNING , INGENIOUS CONVINCED OF THE '' SUCCESS '' OF SUCH BEING ! INGENUITY AND SUCCESS , DO THOSE TWO WORDS DIFFER ? , AS MAN IS DETREMINED BY THOSE CRITERIA AND HENCE LIFE !... WHAT ALSO COMES TO MIND HERE IS THIS - THERE IS SOMETHING VASTLY ABOMINABLE ABOUT SOCIETY : ITS MEMBERS ARE EVER SO FOND OF ALL THOSE MOVIE STARS AND ALL THOSE OTHER LUMINARIES AND WHAT IS LUMINOUS ABOUT THEM I DO NOT KNOW ! YET THEY ARE IN THE HABIT OF TREATING THOSE VERY SIGNIFICANT PEOPLE DIFFERENTLY FROM ORDINARY PEOPLE SUCH AS A HOUSEMAID OR A GROCER OR A SALESMAN AND SO FORTH , THEREBY CREATING SOMETHING UTTERLY CORRUPT : A FALSE IDEALISM ! THEY NEED THOSE LUMINARIES AS THEY LACK ANY IDEALISM THEMSELVES IN THEIR EVERYDAY REALITY WHICH HAS DEPRAVED THEM OF IT , OVERLOOKING HOWEVER , HOW TRULY ORDINARY IN TRUTH ALL THOSE STARS ARE ! AND ALLOWING THEIR LACK OF IDEALISM TO BE SUPERSEDED BY OTHER PEOPLE'S NONPRESENT IDEALISM ON ACCOUNT OF THEIR PROMINENCE MAKES EVERYTHING LOOK EVEN DARKER IN LIFE , AS THOUGH LIFE CONSISTED IN FAME ! IS THIS WHY IT IS SO DARK IN THE HUMAN WORLD ? AM I THE ONLY PERSON TO APPREHEND DARKNESS IN THEIR LIGHTNESS ? OR WHY IS SO DARK IN THIS WORLD ? SOMETHING LIKE THAT NEEDS TO BE SHRUGGED OFF AS SOMETHING INEXPLICABLY RATIONAL , WHENCE I HAVE ALWAYS THOUGHT MYSELF IRRATIONAL IN NOT GROVELLING BEFORE THOSE WHO ARE EVEN MORE ORDINARY THAN ALL THE OTHER ORDINARY NON-FAMOUS PEOPLE ARE ! IT IS IN PARTICULAR THOSE ALL-IMPORTANT DIGNITARIES WHO TASTE OF METHYLATED SPIRITS IN A MOST ACRID AND NAUSEATING FASHION ! SO MUCH FOR CLEANLINESS !... VENERABLE ANCIENT SHADES HOVERING OVER THIS LAKE THAT IS NO MORE AND OF WHICH I AM PART THE WORLD AROUND ME FADES I DISPEL ALL THOSE BLANK AND GRAINED IDEAS MAKING UP HUMAN EXISTENCE I AM NO MORE I DREAM AND HOPEFULLY I WILL NEVER TURN BACK SO AS TO SEE THAT BLANK AND GRAINED HUMAN EXISTENCE AGAIN WHICH CAUSES LIFE TO BLUR SO MUCH THAT I AM NO LONGER IN A POSITION TO SUFFER FOR THIS MUCH GUILT , WHAT IS LIFE ? AMEN !...

SCALE THE HUMAN MOUNTAIN OF SUMLESS LIES UNTIL YOU LABORIOUSLY REACH THE SUMMIT THEN CAUSE IT TO CRUMBLE BY YOUR EQUALLY SUMLESS BURDEN OF VERITY THAT NO HUMAN MAY FAVOUR YOU WITH A GLANCE ANY MORE AND THOSE WHO DO ARE NO LONGER HUMAN HAVING DIVESTED THEMSELVES OF THEIR HUMANITY AS YOU DID BY VIRTUE OF THE FACT OF * WHAT MAN HAS DONE TO HIMSELF BESIDES , YOU ARE ABLE TO ASCERTAIN HOW MANY '' FRIENDS '' YOU HAVE WHICH IS THE EMPTY SET CONTAINING ONE ELEMENT ONLY : VERITY ! , TO WHICH YOU PERTAIN AS WELL IT IS WHY IT IS THE HARDEST THING TO FIND THE PATH LEADING TO YOURSELF AND IT IS BY THE EMPTY SET THAT ALL OF MATHEMATICS HAS BEEN MADE AN EGREGIOUS LIE TOO IT IS MORE FACILE TO KILL SOMEONE OR , IF YOU ARE UNABLE TO , YOURSELF DO YOU SEE THE POPLAR AND THE ROBIN THAT IS PERCHED ON IT ? ASK THEM ! THEY KNOW HOW TO LIVE YOU DON'T BECAUSE YOU ARE HUMAN AND INTELLIGENT : MAN IS ENDUED WITH HIS SPIRIT OF INVENTION WHICH HAS REDUCED LIFE TO ABSURDITY AS ALL THOSE THEORIES AND TEACHINGS SPRINGING FROM IT HAVE NEVER BENEFITED LIFE , ON THE CONTRARY , DESTROYED IT ! AN APPRECIATION OF THE MAJESTY OF VERITY ALSO ENTAILS THE INEVITABLE CATASTROPHE OF '' BEING '' AND HENCE THE INFELICITY OF YOURSELF WHICH HAS TO BE ASCRIBED TO THOSE PROFOUND TEACHINGS OF MAN AND THE IMPRECATIONS WHICH THEY HEAPED UPON LIFE AND BEHIND WHICH EVERYONE STRIVES TO CONCEAL HIMSELF AS SOMETHING SUBLIME , BROTHERLY , CUNNING , INGENIOUS CONVINCED OF THE '' SUCCESS '' OF SUCH BEING ! INGENUITY AND SUCCESS , DO THOSE TWO WORDS DIFFER ? , AS MAN IS DETREMINED BY THOSE CRITERIA AND HENCE LIFE !... WHAT ALSO COMES TO MIND HERE IS THIS - THERE IS SOMETHING VASTLY ABOMINABLE ABOUT SOCIETY : ITS MEMBERS ARE EVER SO FOND OF ALL THOSE MOVIE STARS AND ALL THOSE OTHER LUMINARIES AND WHAT IS LUMINOUS ABOUT THEM I DO NOT KNOW ! YET THEY ARE IN THE HABIT OF TREATING THOSE VERY SIGNIFICANT PEOPLE DIFFERENTLY FROM ORDINARY PEOPLE SUCH AS A HOUSEMAID OR A GROCER OR A SALESMAN AND SO FORTH , THEREBY CREATING SOMETHING UTTERLY CORRUPT : A FALSE IDEALISM ! THEY NEED THOSE LUMINARIES AS THEY LACK ANY IDEALISM THEMSELVES IN THEIR EVERYDAY REALITY WHICH HAS DEPRAVED THEM OF IT , OVERLOOKING HOWEVER , HOW TRULY ORDINARY IN TRUTH ALL THOSE STARS ARE ! AND ALLOWING THEIR LACK OF IDEALISM TO BE SUPERSEDED BY OTHER PEOPLE'S NONPRESENT IDEALISM ON ACCOUNT OF THEIR PROMINENCE MAKES EVERYTHING LOOK EVEN DARKER IN LIFE , AS THOUGH LIFE CONSISTED IN FAME ! IS THIS WHY IT IS SO DARK IN THE HUMAN WORLD ? AM I THE ONLY PERSON TO APPREHEND DARKNESS IN THEIR LIGHTNESS ? OR WHY IS SO DARK IN THIS WORLD ? SOMETHING LIKE THAT NEEDS TO BE SHRUGGED OFF AS SOMETHING INEXPLICABLY RATIONAL , WHENCE I HAVE ALWAYS THOUGHT MYSELF IRRATIONAL IN NOT GROVELLING BEFORE THOSE WHO ARE EVEN MORE ORDINARY THAN ALL THE OTHER ORDINARY NON-FAMOUS PEOPLE ARE ! IT IS IN PARTICULAR THOSE ALL-IMPORTANT DIGNITARIES WHO TASTE OF METHYLATED SPIRITS IN A MOST ACRID AND NAUSEATING FASHION ! SO MUCH FOR CEANLINESS !...

The Western mind is highly geared up for believing immensely dumb things thanks to the astonishing prevalence of 'superhero' culture – a literally spectacular vehicle for the most delusional magical thinking, entirely religious in its fundamental nature since it is so reliant on an assortment of weird messiahs with their various super powers coming to save humanity. What is entirely absent from superhero movies is ordinary people with agency, capable of changing the world themselves without any superheroes, which is to say without divine intervention.

Crowds can be frightening. They have a way of impressing low, base taste upon their members. Watching the way thousands of people in his audience could not think for themselves, could not find the courage to allow their ordinary feelings of decency and taste to prevail, I understood better how demagogues are possible.

Unlike prostitution or promiscuity, stripping was entirely public. One foot on the state would forever mark me as a disreputable character, the sort respectable people called a sleaze. On the other hand ... I didn't know any respectable people and my workday would be a mere thirty minutes long. And, I had to face it, some quirk of my psychic constitution rendered the strictures of ordinary jobs insufferable to me. Restaurant work felt like a cross between the treadmill at the gym and one of those Japanese game shows on which contestants are abused and humiliated in front of a sadistic audience. Office work was even worse, calling to mind those B movies in which some poor soul--bound and gagged, but eyes wide with terror--is slowly walled up brick-by-brick in the dungeon of some damp, rat-infested Transylvanian castle.

He’s teamed up with Peaks, which is bad enough, but worse, ordinary people think he’s Alex Pettyfer, the actor who played him in the movie.

I like to imagine the iPod as the soundtrack to people's lives. It makes ordinary life a bit more like the movies.

In movies and novels, the yakuza are always reaching for a sword or a gun, but that's bullshit. Professionals were different in those days. Their job, the job they depended on for a living, was to shake the dice and give their customers a good time, which meant it was actually quite rare for them to quarrel. There were bosses who didn't see eye to eye, of course, but if they'd started carving each other up just because they didn't get on well, the police would have clamped down on them, and their business would have folded. So in a way you could say we were more accomodating generally than ordinary people.

So, I have always wanted to tell this story, because it is a true story that I have carefully remembered, but frankly, it is a sentimental story, too—as all stories of successful human society must be—and we don’t cherish that flavor of democracy anymore. Today, we do blood, money, and sex—race, class, and gender. We don’t do communities of desire (people united in loving something as we loved jazz). We do statistical demographics, age groups, and target audiences. We do ritual celebrations of white family values, unctuous celebrations of marginal cultural identity, multiethnic kick-boxer movies, and yuppie sit-coms. With the possible exception of Roseanne, we don’t even do ordinary eccentricity anymore. In an increasingly diffuse and customized post-industrial world, we cling to the last vestige of industrial thinking: the presumption of mass-produced identity and ready-made experience—a presumption that makes the expression, appreciation, or even the perception of our everyday distinctions next to impossible.

Most big projects are not the first, tallest, biggest, or anything else too remarkable. They are relatively ordinary highways and rail lines, office buildings, software, hardware, change programs, infrastructure, houses, products, movies, events, books, or home renovations. People don’t expect them to be grand cultural landmarks and legacies. Nor do they demand that they be wildly creative and unusual. But they do want them to be excellent. They want them to finish on budget and on time, do what they’re supposed to, do it well and reliably, and do it for a long time. For such projects, experience can help enormously. If there is a design—or a system, process, or technique—that has delivered many times before, use it, or tweak it, or mix-and-match it with similarly proven designs. Use off-the-shelf technologies. Hire experienced people. Rely on the reliable. Don’t gamble if you can avoid it. Don’t be the first. Remove the words custom and bespoke from your vocabulary. They’re a desirable option for Italian tailoring if you can afford it, not for big projects.

EACH INCREMENT OF THE ARTIST'S JOURNEY IS A HERO'S JOURNEY We experience our life as dull and ordinary. But beneath the surface, something powerful and transformative is brewing. Suddenly the light bulb goes off. We've got a new idea! An idea for a novel, a movie, a startup . . . Except immediately we perceive the downside. We become daunted. Our idea is too risky, we fear. We're afraid we can't pull it off. We hesitate, until . . . We're having coffee with a friend. We tell her our idea. "I love it," she says. "You've gotta do it." Fortified, we rally. We commit. We begin. This is the pattern for the genesis of any creative work. It's also, in Joseph Campbell terms, "the Ordinary World," "The Call," "Refusal of the Call," "Meeting with the Mentor," and "Crossing the Threshold." In other words, the first five stages of the hero's journey. Keep going. As you progress on your project, you'll hit every other Campbellian beat, right down to the finish and release/publication, i.e., "The Return," bearing a "Gift for the People." This pattern will hold true for the rest of your life, through every novel, movie, dance, drama, work of architecture, etc. you produce. Every work is its own hero's journey.