Fault Lines - John Knoop

the other part didn’t matter to me, so maybe that’s why I had missed it. I think I was glad
I missed it and just had the friendship.
Memories of this early stuff remind me that my libido has been on hold since
the brief fling with Rosa two years ago. I have fewer distractions in my life now. I like it
this way. Companionship seems more consistently rewarding and a lot less complicated.
My friendship with Kay is stronger than ever since it survived our erotic sequence. The
younger people in my life, including my kids, rarely interrupt me or even return my calls,
which is okay though sometimes puzzling. I’m catching up on the Fassbinder films I
missed when I was on the road all the time. Renting them from Netflix. I started with The
Marriage of Maria Braun. Stunning performances and a script that plays like a
historical novel. Now I’m well into Berlin Alexanderplatz. Amazing what he was able
to do on German TV back in the eighties. Great filmmaking. The only thing close on
American TV is something like The Wire or Deadwood on HBO, which seems to have
become a special zone for good work like the Germans were doing back then. Maybe
HBO is successful because Americans are so hungry for something better than the
smaltzy, violent network fare without all the ads. How lucky I’ve been, to make my own
films outside that world of the marketplace. And how lazy I’ve been about the business of
forcing the marketplace to pay attention to my work and show it, even as the films I shot
for others became ever more successful. But I was always happy to put ambition aside in
exchange for freedom to enjoy life as it came. And felt lucky to be able to pull it off
without any degrading hustle. Now I have the role in the film community of being an
occasionally celebrated has-been.
Galley of La Fortuna, October 12
Naren and I have been wandering the docks of Colon trying to find a boat that will take us
south to Colombia. Our research reveals that the road south from the Canal Zone turns into a
dirt trail after thirty-five miles. From that point until well into northern Colombia, there are no
roads at all through the Darien peninsula, which is said to be one of the wildest jungles left in the
world, complete with headhunters, we’re told. I’m dubious about that, but not about the
unfinished Pan-American Highway. Looking for a way to make the portage we walk the piers on
the seedy side of Colon known as the Falks River district, where the coastal traders dock. Falks
River is a nautical slum, rich with cooking odors mixed with less savory ones, dogs patrolling for
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