31 Dec 2015
Episode III: Revenge Of The Sith — a movie I have been waiting to watch for a long time.
Let me explain. At the end of Episode II: Attack Of The Clones I promised myself not to watch Episode III, not until EPISODE VII came out. I wanted to finish the origins tale only if the saga at large would continue.
Ten years later, Episode VII: The Force Awakens is out, and I’m watching it tomorrow,
so today, after twelve years of waiting, I watched Episode III. The long haul is finally over, today, just as the year ends. Just after my life ended — yes, I am dead, all but in the flesh. My name, my social presence and legal entity, everything that constitutes me as a person, all of it wiped out, the only remaining item a slate headstone marking my grave, my life a tragedy rife with irony and cruel twists of fate.
And my two children, living with their mother in our old house. But that’s another tale for another time.
My life, particularly toward the end, was dramatic, the screw turning with force and spite. Something like Little House On The Prairie and I Love Lucy, only completely the opposite; a story of rebellion, antiheroes and journeys upriver, in the dark of the forest, in the shade of the night, away from the blinding light and the deafening fanfare that threaten to envelop all things alive and dead.
Mine is the story of a man looking to break free from the confines of the established way of doing things, and being punished for it. Being struck down for not wanting to toe the chain-link line. Being razed for daring to reach out and make something more out of what was offered to me.
Being punished by my surroundings for shaking up the stalemates.
Being drowned in my own flood, burned in my own blaze, crushed under my own avalanche. Taken out by my own force.
Yet, despite the downturn, it wasn’t all doldrums and calamity. There were particular highlights, silver linings. My tale saw the death of charades and pretense, bringing about the birth of a new me, and with it came a fresh and unforgiving shadow, one to turn down the brightness, muzzle the noise, sharpen one’s faculties and correct the past errors by resurrecting the myths and legends that drive the human condition.
It’s a regenerative process, harsh but life-affirming in the grand scheme of things. Remorseless like true love, tough and disconcerting, at first anyway. The bigger picture was addressed, ironed out, the creases lined up and marked for removal, one by one. The Fanfarons — all those who in the name of the light cast great shadows — who say much but do little, causing great harm to those who trust them, either directly and by intention, or in the roundabout way, slowly, through lack of character and fibre — finally facing the hypocrisy of their choices.
The same applies to the self-righteous prim-jobs, those minions and acolytes and accomplices of all things nasty who do nothing when something needs to be done, saying much but not following through, promising, betraying, failing and causing harm to those who had trusted them — they, and all those like them who come together to befoul and destroy all that is good and functional, slowly, one by one, these Fanfarons and their enablers will be dealt with accordingly, one story at a time, led to their demise by none other than their own choices and actions.
Their own choices and actions.
What a way to go! Take oneself out in a series of fell swoops, or by the force of a million cuts and nicks, all while pretending to be of aid when all they’re doing is causing harm, making things worse, and generally acting like the thoroughly groomed pieces of shit they are.
Watch this space for Part 2