eighteen more levels, no end
*
Finally watched Casino Royale and loved it to bits. Most existentialist Bond ever; i particularly liked how you couldn't really be certain if he was a hero or villain and how he had a smile that could never be happy. Even if he acted; even if, for a moment, he forgot everything and everyone and noticed only the shape of the sun and the lethargy of movement. At some point (i know exactly when but i won't spoil), Bond suddenly reminded me of Batman and i promptly fell in love, never (probably ever) to recover.
*
I've also stumbled upon, in my haunted wanderings, ten bizarre people, a pregnant man and Dr Lakra's clients. Back to the bizarre people (haha, when did we leave?), I think someone should make Lal Bihari's story into a movie. (Hm, maybe "Revenge of the Undead" oh god that's so tasteless). I imagine people must try to kill you all the time so life would be something like straddling death.
My post seems to be rather morbid today - and it gets worse.
007 Things That Did Not Happen To James Bond
by telegramsam
I. Bliss
“I love you, James” How sweet those words were, still lingering in his ears. It had been such a tense moment, trying to tease life back into her cold treacherous body, this little Judas lying in his arms. He could forgive her, though, because he had to. Because if he couldn’t, he knew he’d never be able to let another into his heart. M had taken the news of his resignation about how he’d expect her to - with a pinched look on her face and a dismissive nod. The Evil Queen of Numbers bid him farewell without ceremony and forgot him completely the moment he stepped out of the door.
II. Fatherhood
James stared at the small creature standing at his feet, and it stared back at him, silently demanding to be acknowledged. The social worker had showed up that morning, banging on his door at 8 a.m. with a three year old in tow. He didn’t remember the woman’s name, or when he’d slept with her, but she’d apparently remembered him well enough to put his name down on the birth certificate before getting herself killed in a traffic accident. How utterly inconvenient. A high piercing wail suddenly broke through his mental ruminations and brought him back to the present. Oh lord, the brat was crying now. James bent down and picked the child up.
III. Enemy
He’d survived, somehow, with nary but a thin white scar above his ever-bleeding vulture’s-eye, and had wasted no time tracking down the one he blamed for his misfortune. They’d lost their guns somewhere in the fight and amidst scuffling on the floor with this blond hulk of an assassin, the rage in his veins changed shape, unbidden, morphing into a burning sensation of a wholly different nature. Pinned to the floor under the larger man, he reached forward and kissed the thin tight lips above him. James Bond must have located one of the guns, though, and another burning sensation tore through his heart as clear blue eyes bid him farewell.
IV. Misfortune
They’d been chasing him for miles now, first through city streets and now through the country, winding over and around hills, nothing but flimsy guardrails between him and steep cliffs dropping off into ocean. Two of his pursuers had already met their fates in the water but the third would not let off the chase. He was putting distance between them though, his superior vehicle and driving skills buying him seconds and distance on the treacherous roads. Suddenly the car began to lose speed, though, the gears shuddering as the engine suddenly lost power. Just before the other car caught up to him, he glanced down at his sealed fate. The needle pointed damningly at Empty.
V. Friendship
She stood silently beside the fresh grave, staring blankly at the physical fact she could not quite grasp as the chairs and tent were cleared up and the guests drove off into the ether. Her husband of 40 years was gone, suddenly. She did not notice it, then, when a familiar dark presence materialized by her side. He slipped her hand into his, grasping it tightly and forgetting, for a moment, their constant battles and arguments. “James-“ She wasn’t sure what she’d been planning on saying, but it died on her lips as he pulled her into a tight embrace. It was funny how whenever she finally thought she’d figured him out, he’d go and surprise her with something like this.
VI. Experiment
What a strange creature this was! It had almost nothing covering its body, save a bit of yellowish fur on its head and a piece of artificial material about its posterior. The scientist turned the scared animal over and over in its claws, prodding here and there to see how it would react. It calmly took tissue and bodily fluid samples, all the while ignoring the indignant sounds emanating from an orifice on what he assumed was a misplaced head. Afterward, he handed the specimen back over to the technicians to be returned to its natural environment. Back home, James swore an oath never to mention this to anyone. Nobody would believe him anyway. Hell, M would probably have him committed on the spot.
VII. The End
It was a strange sensation, really. He knew he’d been shot, several times in fact, and there had been pain at first, then paramedics whisking him off in a helicopter to a hospital somewhere, noise and light and pain surrounding him. Now though, the pain was gone and the lights were dim and the sound muffled. He could see himself lying on a table, a team of surgeons struggling to restart his heart. He could return, if he wanted to. Return to the ever-running, fighting, sneaking, fucking, deceiving, killing. He had a chance, right now, if he should choose it, to keep going. This wasn’t the first time he’d been faced with this choice. He always chose to return. Now though he turned his gaze upward instead, into the endless stars and beyond, the universe folding up like a drying leaf behind him.
*
The Son
by Sophie Cabot Black
A man goes up a mountain. He is moved by what he believes. He sees the climb
as necessary, as no way out but through. He brings his son, who watches; son
who still hasn't caught on. Son who has followed. Son who thinks one day he
will inherit. Son who acts as if without brothers. Son who says yes to
whatever is before him. Son who waits by the old rock, the low bush. Son who
brought nothing but the rucksack he was given. Son who did not move beneath
the knife. Son who saw the end of day as ecclesiastic, as blaze. Son who in
time made all other sons listen to the story of the old man who got all the
way up and who without looking back went over to the other side. Who
disappeared as if looking for other sons. As if done. Son who walked in quiet
and calm, having come back down, alone. Son for whom nothing was changed, was
changed, and in the changing changed the world.
*
I suppose i'm thinking more about death and all it's associations (failure to get into Edinburgh, the bright light my grandfather described moments before he passed away, the disturbing premonition that i'll be tortured to death protecting my brother, etc.) lately with the days growing quieter and my thoughts shifting to mortality. Sucked my prune fingers after bath and realised that, someday, i'll age and wither and it's different when you actually realise it. Some people spend their entire lives preparing for their death and here i am, typing a livejournal entry and wondering what to eat for the 4am breakfast.
This is the flower you prune with your teeth, whose petals you shape like a cup. It's scent reminds you of two-tone leaves, but that is not why you plucked. You plant it in deep, shackle it to your veins; it grows thick in the soil you swallow. In sleep, it pretends it is you, you are it; it is God, you are nothing but marrow.
*
Here are a few darkish comic (strips and one-shots) and films for those staying up to brood:
- Migraine Boy (Greg Fiering): Real childhood, or at least, how i remember mine.
- Sniffing and Pills (David Forbes): A public service announcement.
- My Mother Was A Schizo : An info-comic. Schizo is not a disease.
- Ojingogo (Matthew Forsythe): Hilariously cute and pessimistic. Love the monsters.
- Psychonauts: I have no idea what the hell this strip is about but it's good.
- The Mole People: This is so scary looking i haven't even read it yet.
- Chi-chian: Twisted Chinese story about a girl and some caterpillars. An animated film.
- The Killer (Casterman Productions) : Really broody animated film about an anti-Bond.
- The Tale of How (Black Heart Gang): Spooky, eccentric, beautiful film. Very stop-motion.
- B & W Drama Theater (Alan Saunders): Very twisted and occasionally charming shorts, mostly on broken families.
And, to end it all off, finger cookies!
Here's the recipe and have a good night's sleep.