What a difference a day makes (or a week or 57 days). Since writing last in the depths of Northern hemisphere’s winter, America as undergone a seismic shift, as the political ground as undergone the political equivalent of a major earthquake. Yep, as foretold 1000 ways, our new leader is doing just what he said he was going to do, and was blue-printed in the “American Heritage” foundation’s tome, Project 2025. It appears much of the coddled liberal probable majority of America is too triggered in their imaginary safe spaces to quite fathom what the hell is going on.
On Day One, Trump showed his hand in full in pardoning all those involved with Jan 7, 2000. And with a mess of other such pardons, and his “flood the zone” Executive Orders, many of them transparently illegal, he showed his disdain for “norms”, the law, or anything else that might be an impediment to is dictatorial inclinations. As I write, the bobble-head pundits of the land seem finally to get the drift and murmur (and a few now shout) that whatever America was is no longer what it is now, or unchecked, is going to be in the coming years. Yep, the mask is off, and America, the Shining City on a Hill, is a straight-up police state.
Some weeks ago I wrote many of my friends and acquaintances in the US inquiring what their views, feet on US turf, were, regarding my going to LA for screenings in the first week of June. Almost all who responded told me, “you’re white, an old guy,” and there’s nothing to worry about. My intuitions and experience said otherwise, and I felt that it would rapidly worsen, and I should keep my ears and options open. On this day I incline to think I should be very wary, and likely stay away. Even if I’d like to go for myriad reasons, from seeing friends a last time, to picking up some very modest coin, or seeing landscapes I love one more time before croaking. So far the news merely worsens each day and convinces me I should not return.
Of other things, I’ve been in Kolkata mostly, making a portrait/essay/documentary on D-Block, a slum neighborhood a stroll way from where I am living in Santoshpur, in the southern part of Kolkata. Also a few other things I am shooting/working on. Portraits of coolies in the markets on north side of the city; a meditation perhaps on life in Santoshpur. Painting a bit. Lots of fotos. Poems when they percolate up and I catch them before they sink back into the floating space of my mind. My friend Aopala has been helping on these things.
Also took a trip, to Pune, where the second major film school in India is, spending some time with students there. I did a few screenings there in an excellent cinema – students were blown away by the films. Then went to Delhi, staying with Prabhash Chandra and Sukriti, his wife. He’s a filmmaker, and I helped him get some screenings in US, and UK, and am trying to line him up with some modest production money for his next film. He took me to Agra, to see the Taj Mahal, Red Fort, and other things in Delhi. Lovely time, despite the choking air. Did some screenings as well at two different schools, meeting with students. Following that went for 3 days to a foothills of Himalaya retreat – vegetarian, no drink, yoga if you wished. Nice time in better air.
As I write I am in Naggar, a small village on the flanks of the Himalaya, hanging with friends here who are making a film. Though their film is a low-budget one (for which I am trying to secure some funding), they sure work differently than I do. Here spring is arriving, orchard trees in bloom the snow on the nearby mountains is rapidly melting. A day ago went on a somewhat grueling trip to visit a supposedly beautiful valley, which, from my jaded view, was not. Nor is much of India “beautiful” – rather crammed with concrete, signage, people, trash, foul air, and a seeming fatalism which seems to freeze people into a mental prison which seems fixed. Like other cultures I know.
And as anticipated in my last note, having visited her in hospital in November and seeing the writing on the wall, my friend Robina Rose died, January 26, 2025. She was born in 1951. Perspective. Her last words to me, when I kissed her head, were, “We were never lovers, but we loved each other. And maybe that was better.” Which was true. She lingers in mind and soul.
In a few days Aopala and I will go to Delhi for a brief time, for her to visit friends and me to see a bit more, chat with Prabhash.
It seems looking to the future that I will probably pass on going to US, though I assume LA screenings will happen, if without me present. Maybe they can set up a video intro/Q&A thing under the circumstances. And I seem to be on track for shooting a new film, with a modest bit of money at present, in Palermo, Sicily. It is something that has been simmering for a while and now appears it will actually happen. So after a probable summer in Europe – visiting Marcella in N Ireland in May/June, and not sure balance of summer, I should be heading to Palermo end of August to prepare for shooting in October. If….
Meantime managed some paintings, though last month or so the poems seem to have scampered. See if they come back.
yesterday some friends dropped by
little poems that pleased me
then my computer crashed
and my friends left
lost in the spaces between the ones and zeroseasy come easy go
If inclined, please drop me a note. Hope despite the grim socio-political news, you are well.
Jon Jost's Blog (Vol 2) 