The Last Days of Silly Happy

Hello again. Shaye Saint John is the person that may ultimately define the american we are all about to become. She is crippled, drug addicted, and deliriously psychotic. She is the Lady Liberty of the modern age. Her films are fast paced jaunts into the cracked egg brain of a failed superstar. If only Paris Hilton could be this genuine, I might have not cheered when she cried for her mommy on her way to jail. The box-office season is about to launch, on the back of the looming system wide financial crash, and the actors in Holy-Wood are about to strike on top of it all. The films of the past can't be made anymore. There was no TV back then, and a social filmmaker had a chance of reaching the audience during the early days. That an artist as striking and sharp witted as Shaye Saint John is all but ignored today is proof in my mind that Cinema as we knew it is DEAD. The funeral will be held not in Hollywood, but in an abandoned Drive-in outside of a Kansas suburb. The guests will include Edward D. Wood Jr., and Maya Deren, and Kenneth Anger. We might even see a brief glimpse of Orson Well's as he scoops up some flowers that a dog urinated on to drop into the grave. If ever there was a great artistic movement that was shang-haied by zealots and dilluted by wealthy ignorant family's, it was American Cinema. Once admired and held up as a beacon of American Art, it has become a hollow tool for those who think that if they pummel our eyes with enough propaganda disguised as comedy/drama/action, we will support and cheer for every sad war and lie that feeds the dying empire. The Fools.