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# A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z

Mishima A Life In Four Chapters DVDRip 1985 CD1

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All my life, I have been acutely aware...
...of a contradiction in the very nature of my existence.
For 45 years, I struggled to resolve this dilemma...
...by writing plays and novels.
The more I wrote, the more I realized mere words were not enough.
So I found another form of expression.
When I examine my early childhood...
...I see myself as a boy leaning at the window...
...forever watching a world I was unable to change...
...forever hoping it would change by itself.
At 7 weeks of age, I was taken from my mother by my grandmother.
I looked after my grandmother's failing health.
She entertained me with stories and provided playmates.
On special occasions, she arranged trips to the theater.
When I was 12, my grandmother, then dying...
...permitted me to return to the care of my mother.
Later that year, I entered middle school.
In my earliest years, I realized life consisted of two contradictory elements.
One was words, which could change the world.
The other was the world itself, which had nothing to do with words.
For the average person, the body precedes language.
In my case, words came first.
Suddenly I came across a picture...
...whose only purpose had been to lie in wait for centuries and ambush me.
The white matchless beauty of the youth's body hung against the tree trunk...
...his hands tied by thongs.
I trembled with joy. My loins swelled.
My hand unconsciously began a motion it had never been taught.
My need to transform reality was an urgent necessity...
...as important as three meals a day or sleep.
When I was 18, my class was assigned air-raid duty.
I wrote short stories and poems...
...but dreamed only of joining the war and dying for the Emperor.
I wanted to explode like a rocket...
...light the sky for an instant and disappear.
I took the pen name Yukio Mishima.
I'd always dreamed of dying on the battlefield.
So why did I lie?
Why did I exaggerate my illness?
My words were lies.
I never really wanted to die.
At the end of the war, I felt left behind.
I thought I was the symbol of my times...
...a kamikaze for beauty.
But I'd only been a boy who wrote bad poetry.
I quit my job at the Ministry of Finance to become a writer.
I wrote Confessions of a Mask in six months.
Thirst for Love too five months.
Forbidden Colors too nine.
Sound of Waves, four.
Modern Noh Dramas, three.
The Temple of the Golden Pavilion, ten.
Every night I returned to my des, precisely at midnight.
I thoroughly analyze why I am attracted to a particular theme.
I drag everything into my conscious mind.
I boil it into abstraction.
I am constantly calculating until I sit down to write.
Only then can my unconscious dreams tae over.
My life is in many ways lie that of an actor.
I also wear a mask, I play a role.
When he loos in the mirror, the homosexual, lie the actor...
...sees what he fears most: The decay of the body.
As the ship approached Hawaii, I felt as if I'd emerged from a cave...
...and shoo hands with the sun.
I'd always suffered under a monstrous sensitivity.
What I laced was health, a healthy body, a physical presence.
Words had separated me from my body.
The sun released me.
Greece cured my self-hatred and awoke a will to health.
I saw that beauty and ethics were one and the same.
Creating a beautiful work of art and becoming beautiful oneself are identical.
I obtained physical health after becoming an adult.
Such people are different from those born healthy.
We feel we have the right to be insensitive to trivial concerns.
The loss of self through sex gives us little satisfaction.
I was married in 1958.
My daughter was born in 1959. My son, 1961.
A writer is a voyeur par excellence.
I came to detest this position.
I sought not only to be the seer, but also the seen.
Men wear mass to make themselves beautiful.
But, unlike a woman's, a man's determination to become beautiful...
...is always a desire for death.