The Right Way To Pronouce Chaos*

(image is from the Instituto Cervantes website)

*is NOT "tsawos." But this is debatable.

***

Three Spanish films in five days. Some badly needed culture. The fat blob inside my skull has been disintegrating aggressively. Caotica Ana is up in the ranks with Trainspotting as one of the most beautifully disturbing films that I have seen. First time in a movie that I saw someone shit on someone's face. Literally. The second time I see it won't hit me that hard, I'll automatically deem it as a rip off. Odd that I find it easier to appreciate a film if the actors don't speak a lick of English and I need to rely purely on subtitles.

Caotica Ana was pregnant with metaphors. Doors. Dreams. Cracked skulls. I felt retarded as I was watching it, more retarded than Anglo, the guy who spoke Spanish with an American accent (Re-queer-dow. That was a giveaway). He reminded me of my cousin JC, (who just headed back to his "native" Cali and is sorely missed by the Cortina girls) who speaks Filipino just a knot better than Troy Montero (Who is most retarded of the lot. Geez. Ten years in Manila and he still bastardizes the language.)

I doubt that I will ever see a more brilliant sex scene in another movie. Mouths agape in orgasm. Skins bronzed by erotic sweat. The tension of the muscles. A momentary regression in the evolution ladder. The seismology of making love. The motion, yes, the motion. How the other senses blur, drowned by some electricity.

Ravenous birds. Circling. The last breaths of the dying woman was perfume to them. Tearing her up piece by piece. The sinews of the eyes being pulled out. Powerful images.

And the shitfaced white man. The "stolen" sausage. The brutality that Ana took, in her nakedness and vulnerability, in which she discovered her truth and beauty and strength. A bruise. A blow in the head. A lip busted. A tooth missing. A dementedly enlightened smile.

This is a woman's journey to the center of herself. The excruciation of going through lives (and deaths) of other women. In going through many, many deaths, slipping through borrowed dreams like one does into borrowed dresses, Ana was born.

I so wish to be born. It looks like I need to die first. Many times over.

***

Significance. Yearning for significance.