The truth of an image

There is a scene in the film, Stardust Memories, in which Woody Allen sits alone in a train carriage, populated by people whose faces reveal angst and despair. He looks through a window and sees into the carriage of another train, positioned parallel. In the other carriage, the passengers party, their faces alive with joy and pleasure.
For me, this scene is a perfect visual metaphor of the life experience. Its meaning transcends the image of Allen as the outsider, looking at life from the inside out; it embraces the duality of the human experience. Joy and despair are presented as polar opposites, the associated behaviour codes are mere coping strategies for reacting to the madness that is existence.
Allen’s existential angst reflects a universal truth; life is a glorified coping mechanism. When we watch the scene, we realise that we are not alone.

Symptomatic

Although I live, perhaps, too much, the life of the mind, I am not immune to the impact of external events. My recent flights into the writerly realm, where I claimed authorship of my own identity, have been invaded and colonised by thoughts of self doubt. I did not purport to be Woolf or Joyce, I merely admired their work and wanted to employ my art to get through; sometimes the cut and thrust of existence becomes too acutely felt, disproportionate in effect and affect. Affectively, bad for one’s health. I thought I was truth. Now, I do not know.
Is this the come down of a swing of mood or a new stage of my life? Only time will tell. Tomorrow, I may experience once again the wonders of sweet despair, rise from my bed of pain and greet the world with a smile. Tears, however, are forever near. This is the life of a Thursday’s child who has far to go. Do you sense my anonymity? Are you, also, afraid to reveal the fear, which speaks like a barking hound in your inner ear? Let me know, for I shall cleanse your spirit and watch your soma disappear, like laughter embedded in a frown of woe.