Southland Tales ★★★★★

Fragmented identities that don't recognize themselves in their fracture, like a delayed mirror. Reflections, but also registers: the world interacted through digital and often saturated screens. The democratization of cameras and the ability to capture weaponized for goverment suveillance, no longer at control of our own data. But let's be fair, who has any agency when we're always subdued at the wish of Capital? How can we believe in stories about characters deciding their own fate when we are all victims of bigger fishes that coercively take our ability to choose in order to enact their power. Even when you think that you're doing something out of your own will, someone elses makes the choice for you. Does it even matter if that who makes the choice defines themself as liberal or conservative when they are only in that position to increase their personal profit by any means necessary, to the point of appropiation of revolutionary iconography and commodify it ("Those clowns know less about Karl Marx than that Chihuahua" says that who funds the "Neomarxist" movement. Same person who profits from a "new fuel" that sells itself as beneficiary for the enviroment but actually destroys it further. Same person who works along the party he "opposes" just to increase such profit). In the end politics, representative democracy, is a performative game that most fall victim from. A game in which individual lives are expendible and treated like pieces of chess despite the beauty they can enact with their bodies (beauty that isn't given room to be expressed). But there is hope, the hope of destroying everything from its foundation and create something new and beautiful from the ashes. Regaining our right for agency by the force, and the average joe becoming the crucial part of the puzzle to generate change.

Shall we dance?

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