Terminal Bliss

Such a cool lil' flix, all the way to the top, but what do you do when you are already there? No other place to go but down to find your next fix. Could be some dumb bitch, a line, a book, a lake house or a really cool retro-sports-car. The voice overs could have been a lil' more eloquent and artsy but overall this lil' indie really pushes the envelope of style. Do I dare say, it is the Reservoir Dogs' of teen over-the-top angst but with a more solid undercurrent than its predecessors or successors. At all events it really flies in the face of traditional teen flix due in great part to its inclusive thematic plot swallowing up all its titular ancillary characters. Indeed "WE" are all kindred spirits searching but always ambling about prevaricating in some lost subterfuge only to devolve into aimless ignominious lunacy in perennial spheres of pernicious bliss... reaching always reaching but never seeming to cleave to anything of earthly substance to secure, and thereby squelch our terrifying sense of uncertainty. An elusive surcease that haunts the mind and rots the soul manifesting as illusions, "The Suburban Cliché", "Sex, drugs, and Rock n Roll" or any other formal apparatus. Thusly we begin the process all over again, we fall headlong into the descent at the all encompassing Human Condition. In the end, there is no way out. Me, give me oblivion under a lake where I can dream forever in watery sepulchral sarcophagus like Virginia Woolf and Johnny, Luke... you rule!