A woman prepares to commit suicide. Made by the husband/wife team of Michael Lewis & Sylviatoyindustries.
PASSAGES, A MYTH is a performance art movie in progress. In PASSAGES, the heart of the conflict is the philosopher King of the Gods, Sum’o’s, desire to experience giving birth like a human in his quest for transcendence.. His youngest sister, Sum’a the Enforcer hates humans because they have developed spoken language; one day during a confrontation, she accidentally kills a human. Sum’o’s older sister, Sum’i the Arbiter, is interested only in maintaining balance through observance of the laws, traditions and principles handed down by their ancestors.
All sound in PASSAGES is created by me. Michael Lewis provided some of the cinematography.
“Being a victim of bullying while I was depressed and suffering from mental breakdown. I have been hunted by these impressions and has now done two videos about how some people treat another person when they discover that person is weak. I experienced that this is very common and that many people do this.” Danny Germansen.
Actor, Marek Magierecki. Camera, Steffen Graumann.
I have been quite hypomanic (the airhead variety, not the cranky suicidal variety). But I was up there somewhere over San Francisco, (which always happens sometime in October, so I was somewhat prepared). I have had so much insomnia since last week, last night I was equally afraid of crashing and bouncing up. I have kept as low a profile as possible. And I was doing fine until caught off guard by last night’s interpersonal conflict.
I couldn’t get to sleep, of course, and you know that awful sickish feeling late night anger leaves you with. But by 1 a.m. it occurred to me that I also know how the feeling of peaceful and centered. A quiet mind that has let go of anger and the desire to inflict emotional pain for revenge – a quiet, blissfully empty mind is where peace and the “center” are.
It took four or five hours to clear my mind until I finally could fall asleep, knowing I likely would not wake up with bad energy that I couldn’t blame on being bipolar but only, simply, on being human.
I woke up with a quiet if a little sad mind, knowing I might crash even if I held onto my peace. But my crashing is always relative to my stress level. I have chilled and been a bum all day. My brainslowed down. I think I am lucky this time, and not skidding towards that brick wall that always hurts and makes me wish I was dead.
This is just a day that I got through. It is bipolar season. Getting through a day is a big deal during bipolar season.
There are 2 Trader Joes near me – one up the hill and one down an incline that is a real workout on the way back home with a full cart. I made two movies by myself this past summer and have had all sorts of viruses, flus, UTIs and even gall bladder trouble that turned out to be a hiatal hernia. I am tough as nails and bounce back like jet age plastic, but logically, after all that, a person in her sixties must need some rest even though October hypomania is telling her she’s fine.
I went up the hill to the Nob Hill store because it’s a downhill return home and the breeze is better. On Nob Hill in San Francisco I sometimes feel like I often felt on the Upper East Side in New York where there are people whose money is so old it has a smell. It’s not quite the same here – even though we don’t have any more personal space than they have in New York, most of us act like we do have a lot of space. And we give even more space to the obviously rich, especially old ladies.
There is an old lady I love to see because she has such fantastic clothes. Because she’s Asian, even though I figured out a while ago that she cannot possibly be Yoko Ono, I like to pretend she is – especially if she looks back at me, which she sometimes does because I’m sure my admiration is completely readable in my face.
She wears a lot of red and black – very well – and always, always, always, beautifully cut slacks that look like they were made just for her. She is completely bowlegged and has a little scoliosis; but she swaggers like a fashion model nevertheless, usually in shiny black calfskin boots. The red oversized porkpie hat she was wearing yesterday when I saw her on the way to the store was so big and tilted so far over her right brow, it might have exaggerated the swagger in her walk. This woman is a head shorter than I am, but I have the same awe of her that I had the first time I saw Brooke Shields walking down Madison Avenue in the 80s. Sight to see.
But the real treat, a rare one, was the tall, slimmer than Brooke Shields was at 14, lady dressed head to toe in Chanel. My god, such embellishment that usually, knockoff or the real thing, comes off as a gaudy parody of itself, was perfection on this lovely, elegant old lady as she slowly made her way using a cane. And, yes, slim as she was, I gave her a wide berth as our paths crossed.
My old lady style lesson (it always feels like I should take notes when I see the tiny Asian woman in her immaculate pants) was not done however. As I went up the second block of the one small hill I have to climb to get to Gough Street’s downhill walk home, I passed another woman who, like the tall woman wearing Chanel, I don’t remember seeing before. This lady also was tall and also over 70. But she was breezy, straight-legged and straight-backed; and her lamb chop sleeved, ankle-length hippie dress was cinched around a surprising flat tummy with a very wild belt. She wore no hat, probably to show off her Cara Delevingne eyebrows and plumped out lips. I swear she sniffed at me as our paths crossed as if to say, “THIS is how you do it.”
I’m not that bold and I have the thinnest eyebrows on the planet, so I couldn’t do “THIS” even if I tried. But she’s right – we are in San Francisco, not New York.
The setting is the firmament from which three sibling deities rule the world. When the youngest sister of the king of the gods kills a human during a dispute over the humans using language in violation of the laws of the gods, the king of the gods absorbs the human corpse into his body and becomes pregnant. There is no dialogue. There are inter-titles preceding each scene. The humans are portrayed in animated sequences. The scenes are green-screened with sky footage as a background. Featuring African American actress Sylvia Toy St. Louis.