Funniest mindless movie of the last few years. McLovin is the best, and the other guys grew on me. 
In his job he needs to undervalue the suffering of others in order to make more money. Then there’s the smell, the ass and the eye. The degree of objectification of desire is in direct proportion to the self-debasement of the indulger. By degrading the other, he nullifies himself. The very indifference to the overjealous ones, the suppressed recalcitrant losers of the world, is what causes their victims to exist. Great disturbing movie.
A lost science fiction PBS movie with Taoist undertones is a real find, right? A guy discovers his dreams change reality—when he wakes up he finds himself in a world where the content of his dreams have actually happened. He of course gets scared after a couple of nightmares, seeks relief in drugs, and then, because of them, is lead to a psychiatrist. 
Here's for all the sissy Apple lovers out there... This is the ultimate design for my old Duron, which faithfully downloaded well over one terabyte (mostly movies, 1300+) always on 24/7/365 over the last four years. It also runs Apache and is a file and printer server, as well as a router for my home network (with four, also damn old and beautiful computers). Sometimes I dust it off with a vacuum cleaner.
I really enjoyed 
I have read the article on 
In imdb a user commented: "Annoying little transition into some sort of regurgitated independent film values finds this shallow project from Brad Silberling offering little and providing less in this embarrassingly exploitive work." I agree, yet it is still watchable — even more so if you understand how clichê is the fabricated spontaneity in it. It is as if independent movie has aquired its own hollywood-like formulaicism. So it kind of becomes an interestingly consumated aesthetic portrail of so many cult-status fabricated stylishness examples we see around. Many people liked 
2006.05.16 • 20:30 • 2 com
The basis can't be told, it must be shown. It is not enough to point at water, it is necessary to drink if we are thirsty.
Space and time come about from emptiness/freedom, as the unlimited nature limiting itself as an expression of its own limitlessness. Trying to get rid of delusion is just another delusion. Nihilism, skepticism, relativism, eternalism, idealism, realism are just reflexes of hope and fear. Thinking structures rounded about emotions.
True mysticism is nothing special. Nothing special is a great abyss, because we always want some explanation, we want to be sure we are doing fine. But nothing special gets us groundless. It's like tasting sweets, having cancer, riding buses, lying writing. Nothing we can transform in something special. People who try to make their lives something special end by displaying tragedy.
Write in my grave or around my dust: "Here lies Eduardo Pinheiro: he was a confused fellow, with moments of lucidity".
Mysticism is fearlessness. It's getting down and real and giving no explanations. Someone maybe would call us a plant, but logic is nothing more than fear of chaos. Reality is beyond both, and as it is brings mysticism. It's integral, complete, ethic. Laughter is more important than thought.
But we can't think or laugh about mysticism. We can write the word and hold misconceptions about it, that's all we can do. But we can always drink the water.
Beyond causality, beyond space and time, beyond illusion and dissipating illusion, lies beyond beyond. Far away, beyond, right here. Break on through, awake, look, abide: as it is.
No more words yet more words. I feel like laughing again. I can. I laugh. How funny I am. I'm a fool, unashamed, supreme, so particular, in its place. No thing. Nothing special.
We are fools, plants, camels, gods, shit-stick friends. Poets see poetry, philosophers see problems: see what there is to see.
Rumi and Jesus were right. Woody Allen will be redeemed, Renato Parada will know. Amarelo stinks in the rain, happy.
Fuck, yeah, I'm playful today.
Fuck structure — if it arouses you, of course. Love chaos — if you can handle it. Dance with both, your lover and your mistress, and sleep the sleep of saints and sheep. Dream with unicorns and square circles. Awake, please, awake.
Now, take these words lightly. Just forget about it.
Space and time come about from emptiness/freedom, as the unlimited nature limiting itself as an expression of its own limitlessness. Trying to get rid of delusion is just another delusion. Nihilism, skepticism, relativism, eternalism, idealism, realism are just reflexes of hope and fear. Thinking structures rounded about emotions.
True mysticism is nothing special. Nothing special is a great abyss, because we always want some explanation, we want to be sure we are doing fine. But nothing special gets us groundless. It's like tasting sweets, having cancer, riding buses, lying writing. Nothing we can transform in something special. People who try to make their lives something special end by displaying tragedy.
Write in my grave or around my dust: "Here lies Eduardo Pinheiro: he was a confused fellow, with moments of lucidity".
Mysticism is fearlessness. It's getting down and real and giving no explanations. Someone maybe would call us a plant, but logic is nothing more than fear of chaos. Reality is beyond both, and as it is brings mysticism. It's integral, complete, ethic. Laughter is more important than thought.
But we can't think or laugh about mysticism. We can write the word and hold misconceptions about it, that's all we can do. But we can always drink the water.
Beyond causality, beyond space and time, beyond illusion and dissipating illusion, lies beyond beyond. Far away, beyond, right here. Break on through, awake, look, abide: as it is.
No more words yet more words. I feel like laughing again. I can. I laugh. How funny I am. I'm a fool, unashamed, supreme, so particular, in its place. No thing. Nothing special.
We are fools, plants, camels, gods, shit-stick friends. Poets see poetry, philosophers see problems: see what there is to see.
Rumi and Jesus were right. Woody Allen will be redeemed, Renato Parada will know. Amarelo stinks in the rain, happy.
Fuck, yeah, I'm playful today.
Fuck structure — if it arouses you, of course. Love chaos — if you can handle it. Dance with both, your lover and your mistress, and sleep the sleep of saints and sheep. Dream with unicorns and square circles. Awake, please, awake.
Now, take these words lightly. Just forget about it.
Also in quaint scribble: Blood of the Saints • Talking to Plants • Cat's Delight • Tie my Finger • Complementary and Adversary Opposites
Shares tags with: Colour and Realism • Scientific Spiritualism (idealism, realism); What Makes you NOT a Buddhist • Philosophy and Buddhism (emptiness); F for Fake • Natural Self and Honesty (delusion); About this Website (Eduardo Pinheiro); Little Autumn Roar (dying sun); History and Dharma (skepticism); Complementary and Adversary Opposites (Jesus); Romantic Comedy • Bill Murray's Soundboard (Renato Parada); Scoop • — Please, tell me the airplane won’t crash. (Woody Allen);
I like this. Alliterative and cozy.