THREE WORLDS Reviewed by Premier Arthouse Cinema Site PINNLAND EMPIRE

When you make art & you put it out into the world, it becomes a vulnerable time if you haven’t done the necessary work to detach. Essentially, equanimity is the only barrier between this raw period and the world. I seldom read or look at reviews, but this one was a bit different because I felt the reviewer got it (the essence), for lack of a better term, and that connection is wonderful.

So, when you got a moment, check out this THREE WORLDS review from the stellar arthouse cinema site, PINNLAND EMPIRE.

Amir Motlagh dispels some of the superficial stigmas put on Los Angeles while at the same time embraces the very real superficialities associated with L.A. (outside of Los Angeles being the epicenter of the entertainment industry, it’s a very cool city unlike any other if you know the right people).

And putting all Mekas/Malick comparisons aside, this is very much Motlagh’s own film. The movie is filled with obvious autobiographical content that comes off as genuine & organic as opposed to pretentious. That’s not an easy task with a film like this (ambient, sprawling, artistic and sometimes chaotic). A young filmmaker could easily get self-absorbed & pretentious with a movie like Three Worlds but that’s not the case here.

This will definitely require a second (or third) viewing. And that’s a good thing. This isn’t something to fully digest in one sitting.
— Marcus Pinn

Mirs - Take Away (Official Visuals)

Took a long while to finish this out for a host of reasons, but, the video is now live. I collaborated with my friend Tom Flynn on the concept, and we where both so busy with other projects that it never finalized. The footage, sitting all alone, for many months, deep in the throes of a mechanical hard drive in Burbank. The song itself was released in 2012.

wass hap-en-in

Friends, hello.  I have not been writing up on this web device on the regular.  Maybe it's a lack of discipline, desire, or time.  It can possible be all of the above.

Irregardless, we have been quietly working on new things.  Many new things to be exact.  I recently directed some web sketches (people get angry if I call them skits) that were handed to me by one of my talented group of writing partners.  They are of the comic variety, something which I am not completely familiar with; but it was a blast, and I got to work with some talented, fun actors.  I'm not naming the project, since it works best without context for now.  

Also, I finished recordings for the new Mirs EP, MEAT ON YOUR LONELY BONEZ.  We haven't set a release date, but, it should be available in the next month or so.  THe second single (LIZA) should be available early Jan.

Lastly, I've been steadily shooting a long length film/media/whatever project since late Oct.  I want to wrap all principal photography by early March.  That's all I'll say about that. 

Now, there are other projects in varies stages of development, but these are the most tangible items.  I hope you guys tune in.


lessons hardly learned.

the old man would pull me over and talk to me every time I saw him at the coffee shop.  his subjects were often the same, little nuggets of wisdom we're all familiar with.

most of the time it was a nuisance.  i would make smiley faces, half understanding anything said, as I kept wanting to get on with life, which is code word for work.  

and most grating of all, this ritual kept me away from coffee.  i mean, that's the main reason I came, and my cravings would erupt in quiet desperation.  i would start resenting everything.  why the hell do i do this to myself every damn time?  why do i come here knowing this is going to happen with 100% certainty. 

but recently, he hasn't been coming in.  and life has gotten more uncomfortable without his greetings. and life is never 100%.


tinnitus of the life.

he wondered, why do the same thing tomorrow as I've done for the last five years?  all the books read, the time in school, the confusion of adulthood.  nothing amounted to anything.  maybe it was his recent affinity for Murakami?  

it was as if, adding salt to his plate didn't change the taste in any reasonable way.  dull. tasteless. limp and, and, what's another word for dull?

he watched the BBC nightly report on public television.  a reporter introduced the special guest; a National Geographic photographer who specializes in war-torn countries.  look at this man's life, he thought.  pictures of dark refugees, deep in agony flashed on the screen.  a small child sewing her ragged clothes.  the man could barely keep his composure.

this, this is what I wanted my life to be, he shouted. someone who makes a goddamn difference he screamed.  but, after the cathartic eruption, he lay silent.  he thought about tomorrow.  the credit card debt, the school debt, the telephone bill, the IRS, his recent trip to Colorado for a best friends wedding.  his stupid, inconsiderate, but fairly large breasted girlfriend.  goddamn, I'm a chauvinist he muttered to himself, sickened at the thought of his refusal to call it off, because sex was all that remained.  and frankly, he didn't even enjoy it all that much anymore.

a moment later, a steady, but thin noise engulfed his left ear.  it made it's way up into his mind like a thin, translucent sheet, drawn out, and slowly falling into place.  the noise grew.  drowning in the sea of noise.  alone, in the sea of noise.

young girl, something dances in the dark...

your esteem was a transient condition, always on edge.  frailty, whims and indecision.  shakeable, always.  this can never serve you though, young girl.  

your esteem is a transient condition.  the death of you in future years.  the death of you in the past, and in present, a fragment, held together by cheap duct tape, and maybe a shoe lace or two.  maybe an instagram photo or two.  careful young girl.  

your esteem wants to own you indefinite.  it has it's dark, skinny, vein ridden, twiggy hands all over your straight, sandy blond hair.   it wants to devour your oxygen.  pay to play, but it need not beg.  

it persuades.  it lulls.  it has more of, everything you want.  i wish i could help you.  but, unfortunately, i have my own enemies.  the demons sometimes dance in the dark, but if you look closely enough, they bask in the sun.


love streams.

the sparse distance didn't illicit any particular feelings.  it was understandable.  time, and that windy distance eroded the the last remaining particles of love.  the atoms of love, the protons, the whatever ons of that feeling.  love equity, gone.   nostalgia equity, big time.  but so what?  i've heard you say that before.  i feel the same my love.  


fear is....

that voice.  you’ve heard it.  no.  really?  it says things very quietly at first.

you might be riding a high, so, it’s hard to tell.  maybe it works too quick?

sit down, it might say.  sip on this water, you’re thirsty.  but, you think to yourself, “no, I’m absolutely not thirsty”.

the feeling starts deep.  in a cavity somewhere inside, a hole, straight down, all the way down, to China maybe.

you can almost reach down and touch it.  it loves amplification.  the echo last’s for hours, days and sometimes years.

and as it works itself up from the abyss, it reigns it's control.  spitting fire, turning the flesh and bone into the lizard it loves.

you’ve become primordial, etched in scales.

tongue and teeth, tail and eyes.  earth is lost, and so is sight.  

lizard brain = yolo

lizard brain = yolo