Thousand Years of Dreams Day 11: Letters from a Weakling


“Letters from a Weakling” I consider one of my favorite of Kaim’s remembered dream-memories from Lost Odyssey and it marks the one-third mark of this 33-day marathon.

This particular dream always resonated with me because it dealt with the subject of human weakness and how it can lead people to turn on those who need protection most. While the subject matter is very tragic for the people involved the dream-memory does end on a hopeful and happier note. It’s the journey of Kaim, Alex and Myna which does take up the bulk of the dream and how their shared tragedy does lift the air of intolerance on later generations.

How often do we succumbed to the shout of traditions and exclusivity by those afraid to acknowledge and embrace change because it is a journey they fear to attempt and make. This happened often when it came to interracial relationships in the past and, while it’s much more accepted nowadays, there’s still some stigma for some people who don’t like such things. It’s a struggle that people who believe in same-sex marriage must go through now because those who cling on to “traditions” are afraid to let go of one of the last few social-changes still to be fully accepted.

I cannot blame those who remain silent and cowed by the vocal minority who deny acceptance of change, but their own form of cowardice doesn’t help those who need them to raise their own voice to protect those who need protection. There’s a favorite quote by Edmund Burke which goes hand in hand with the subject matter explored in this dream-memory of Kaim’s which Alex finally realizes — though too late — to take on”

“All that is necessary for the triumph of evil is that good men do nothing.”

In the end, the coward remembers that he is a good man and must do something even if it’s too late to save the very person they should’ve been protecting right from the start.

Letter from a Weakling

Once there was a woman who came from a foreign land to marry into an old family.

Her husband was from a tiny village in the mountains but he was working in a thriving harbor town abroad when he met and fell in love with her. At the time he asked her to marry him, his father in his home country collapsed and died. Being the eldest son in his family, the young man had no choice but to return to his homeland—taking her with him, of course.

 

Her name was Myna. This was not a name used by the women of his homeland.

Indeed, her name was not the only thing about her that was different.

The color of her skin, hair, and eyes, and the language she spoke were all different.

Had the young man’s hometown been a harbor city where people of many different lands cross paths, there would have been nothing unusual about this. In such places there were any number of homes that welcomed foreign men and women into the family, generation after generation.

 

“But this is about as deep in the country as you can get.” The young man told Kaim, sighing, on the night he made Myna his wife.

Kaim had rushed here all the way from the harbor town in the far country to attend the wedding.

At the banquet, the young man had given Kaim a look, and the two had slipped away from the festivities. They were standing in the garden, looking up at the night sky.

 

“When the eldest son marries, his wishes are of no importance. What matters is ‘family’.

The two families negotiate the engagement, and a bride is chosen who is acceptable to the groom’s parents. That’s how it was with my parents, and my grandparents did the same.”

“I know what you mean.” Kaim said with a nod.

Judging from the formal wedding ceremony, it was easy to imagine the highly conservative nature of the area, and just as easy to imagine that the relatives had not welcomed Myna into the family.

 

“Alex” Kaim said to the young man.

“Yes?” the young man answered, still looking up at the sky.

“You are the only one who can protect Myna, you know.”

“I know that much, Kaim.”

“Myna is a wonderful girl.”

“I know that, too, of course.”

The three were good friends. Kaim and Alex had worked together offloading ships at the same pier, and also together they had often gone to the neighborhood where Myna worked in an outdoor stall. Even now Kaim retains the bitter sweet memory of Alex and Myna struggling to communicate in each other’s languages.

 

“You know, Kaim” Alex said that night under the sky, “I think you sensed it, too, but Myna was drawn less to me than to—”

Kaim cut him short. “Never mind.” He said with a pained smile.

Of course Kaim knew how Myna felt. And if he had responded to her feeling, she and Alex would not have been married here today.

But Kaim had held back. Instead, he had urged Alex to pursue his love for Myna and helped the two come face to face. He felt no regrets about having played the part of an unlikely Cupid for them. Destined to continue his never-ending journey, Kaim was unable to love Myna in return.

 

One of Alex’s uncles stepped out of the house, drunk.

“Hey, Alex, what are you doing out here?” he growled.

“The groom can’t be absent from the reception!”

“Sure, I’ll be right there.” Alex said, turning toward his uncle.

Kaim tapped him on the shoulder.

“Make Myna happy, Alex.”

“Leave it to me.” He answered with a smile.

 

“Come on,” said the uncle. “Hurry up. The groom’s supposed to sit there the whole time! The entire family is here, and we’re going to drink the night away!” He grabbed Alex’s hand and dragged him back into the house.

The man was all smiles with Alex, but when he glanced at Kaim, his borderline polite smile could not disguise the gleam of distrust in his eye for an outsider. Kaim was sure he had noticed that same gleam, though perhaps not as openly displayed, in eyes that alighted on Myna.

So that was the kind of village to which Myna had come as a bride.

“You’d better make her happy, Alex.” Kaim called out again toward his friend’s receding form. “I’m counting on you!”

But now the uncle had his arm around Alex’s shoulders, and he was noisily monopolizing his nephew’s attention. Alex never heard those words from Kaim.

 

It was three months later when Alex came to visit Kaim at work on the pier.

“I’m in town on a buying trip. So I thought I’d stop by to say hello.” Alex announced.

But, judging from the fatigue evident on his friend’s face, Kaim had a pretty good idea of his real reason for coming here.

As casually as possible, Kaim asked, “How is Myna doing?”

With a feeble smile, Alex replied, “After the wedding…things happened.”

 

Myna had been accepted neither as a member of the family,
nor as a resident of a village.

There were too many differences: in daily customs, in culture.
But the one thing that made Myna too different for the tiny village was
the brown color of her skin.

 

“If only she could speak with people! Myna is trying her best to learn our language. But my mother and the other relatives make no attempt to learn hers. Not so much as a ‘Good morning’ or a ‘Thank you.’ They insist it’s up to the daughter-in-law to do all the adapting.”

Still, Myna was working hard to draw closer to Alex’s family and birthplace. She would be the first one out to the fields in the morning, work without a break until the sun went down, and do sewing until late at night. She would try to talk to people in the local dialect that Alex had taught her, using gestures and body language, and she would apologize profusely, with abject smiles, whenever she failed to understand what they were saying.

Kaim could easily imagine Myna going through these exertions, which made Alex’s report all the more painful to him.

 

“You should come to visit us now and then, Kaim. Myna would love to see you, too” Kaim responded vaguely with a silent nod. When Alex added “I want you to come and cheer her up,” he said nothing in reply.

“What’s wrong, Kaim? Are you angry?”

“I’m not going to visit.”

“Why not?”

“You promised me you’d make her happy, remember? We agreed that you’re the only one who can do that.”

“But still…”

“Sorry, I haven’t got time for this. I have to get this ship loaded before it sails at sunset.”

 

With this curt dismissal, Kaim turned away and continued working. Alex
stared at him from behind, looking frustrated and confused. Kaim could
feel his friend’s gaze on his back. Because he could feel it, he kept working
without another backward glance.

Eventually, Alex gave up and left.

Neither man spoke words of farewell.

 

A year after the wedding, Myna gave birth to a son.

The boy had brown skin like his mother.

He had just started crawling when Alex visited Kaim again.

There was talk of a divorce, Alex said.

“There’s nothing wrong with our relationship. Myna and I love each other, that’s for certain. But my mother and the relatives say there is no way they can accept a brown-skinned child as the family heir. His existence supposedly harms the marriage prospects of my younger brother and sister, too. So they want us to send the baby to Myna’s family. It’s gone that far…”

 

Alex had lost a great deal of weight. He was obviously living with much pain every day, trapped as he was between “family” and Myna.

None of this made sense to Kaim.

However “trapped” Alex might be, as long as he was firm on what was important to him, there could only be one answer to his family’s demands, and he should be able to arrive at it without anguish or confusion.

 

“I know how strong you are,” Alex sighed, speaking to Kaim’s back as Kaim went on hoisting huge, spine-snapping crates in silence.

The longshoremen here were well paid for handling crates on their own—loads that it would take three ordinary men to lift. The daily wage was calculated by the number of loads each man lifted, so asking for help would result in a pay cut. For this reason, Kaim and the others never complained or asked for help. They would lift even the heaviest loads by themselves.

Alex had been like that, too.

If someone nearby asked him, “Are you going to be okay with that?”
he would be all the more determined to do it on his own.

“Fine, fine.” He would smile and, gritting his teeth, he would lift the giant load.

 

But Alex was not like that anymore.

“I’m starting to think that, maybe, in the long run, tying Myna down to a life in my village, is just going to make her unhappy. My relatives say they’ll support Myna and the baby. So It’s not as if I’d be abandoning her or chasing her away. It’s just that, for both our sakes, starting a new life…”

Having finished piling crates on the deck, Kaim turned toward Alex for the first time.
He was looking down at Alex on the pier.
“And you’re all right with that?”

“Huh?”

“If you’re convinced it’s the right thing, then go ahead and do it.
It’s not for me to interfere.”

 

Alex’s features distorted under the impact of Kaim’s words.

Kaim said nothing more but went back to work.

His anger and frustration were reaching the boiling point.

Alex had no idea that Myna had been writing to Kaim on occasion since shortly after the wedding.

About the hardships she had been facing in the home of her husband’s family, she said not a word.

Instead, she would spell out how happy her current life was and declare repeatedly how much Alex loved her.

Always, the letters would end like this: “I’m sure you, too, must be living happily, Kaim.”

 

This was why Alex’s report of the situation at home had filled him with such intense anger and frustration.

He had never answered Myna’s letters.

He felt certain that if he were to write to her—whether with words of encouragement or comfort, or even playing along with her sad lies—something important that gave her spiritual support would snap in two.

 

“Come see the baby, Kaim.” Alex pleaded. “Myna would be thrilled if you’d do that.”

Instead of responding to Alex, Kaim called out to him from on deck,

“See that crate over there? Can you lift it?”

The crate near Alex was of the same size and weight as the one that Kaim had just loaded onto the ship.

In the old days, Alex would not have hesitated to carry it up to the ship, every muscle in his body shuddering.

Now, however, Alex gave Kaim one timid glance and, smiling to hide his embarrassment, said only, “Not me.”

 

Kaim said nothing more.

He felt strongly that their long friendship had come to an end,
though in fact, for Kaim, whose life would go on through all eternity,
it had been nothing more than a momentary acquaintance.

 

Kaim has been on his endless journey ever since.

Now and then he thinks back to those bygone days.

Both Alex and Myna long ago came to dwell among his distant memories—
the kind of memories that revive with a deep sense of bitterness.

And they are there to this day.

 

Alex made his third trip to see Kaim a year after the baby was born.

Having wasted away to a mere shadow of his former self,
Alex stared vacantly at Kaim, and his voice lacked all intonation
as he announced Myna’s death.

She had killed herself.

“Hanged herself in the barn…”

Kaim was amazed at his own detachment as he took in Alex’s words.

 

Myna’s letters had stopped coming several months earlier. Either she no longer needed to spin those sad, little lies about being accepted by Alex’s family and the townsfolk, or she had lost the strength to invent them anymore. In effect it was the latter, Kaim was learning now.

“To the very end, she could not make anyone accept her—my mother, my family, or the town.” Alex said tearfully. “She was all alone, finally, to the very end…”

Without a word, Kaim punched Alex in the face.

Alex seemed to know and accept the fact that the punch would be coming. He did nothing to resist or defend himself. The fist hit him full-on and sent him sprawling in the road.

 

“Why?” Kaim demanded to know. “Why did you say she was all alone?”
and when Alex righted himself, he smashed him in the face again.

Alex began coughing violently and uncontrollably, and when he spat up a gob of blod, a broken back tooth came out with it.

Kaim knew well enough that Alex had been suffering, too, that he had been engaged in a desperate struggle to do something about being trapped between “family” and “wife.” Otherwise, he would never have wasted away so dramatically from the brawny young man he used to be.

As well as he knew this, however, Kaim could not forgive him.

He had promised. He had given his word. He would make Myna happy.
He would protect her.

Kaim could never forgive Alex for failing to make good on his oath.

 

Wiping the blood from his mouth with the back of his hand, Alex dragged himself to his feet. “I know how strong you are,” he said to Kaim as he had once before, but this time his words took on a far sadder tone.

“But let me tell you this, Kaim. My mother and my relatives and the others… their way of looking at things is not completely crazy. To live in peace and quiet in the country, you have to follow the country’s special rules. It just so happens that one of those rules was not to accept a ‘bride’ like Myna. I was born and raised in that village, and I know the village code, know it all too well, which is why I have been in such pain all these months. I’m a weakling, I suppose. In your eyes, I’m probably so weak you want to spit on me. So laugh at me! Hit me! Despise me if you want to! Come on, hit me again!”

 

Alex thrust his face at Kaim for more punishment, and Kaim threw another punch.

This one landed squarely on his nose—and may have broken it.

Alex crumpled to his knees. The blood that gushed from his nose was blacker than the blood from his mouth. Alex looked up at Kaim with a smile of self-derision.

“Myna should have been with you. That’s what I think. If she had married you and not some weakling like me, she’d still be alive.”

With a wordless, strangled cry of rage, Kaim lunged at Alex, grabbing him by the collar and hoisting him to his feet.

 

Another punch.

And still another.

Kaim was not planning to stop punching Alex.

Now, though, with Kaim’s hand still fastened to the front of his shirt,
Alex looked straight at Kaim for the first time since coming to the dock.

“Why didn’t you ever answer Myna’s letters? That’s all she was hoping for—a letter from you.”

So he knew. Alex knew everything.

 

“It’s terrible out there in the country. Anybody who wants to can find out who wrote letters and who got them. Everybody out there is like family—everybody but Myna, that is.”

If Alex had wanted to, he could have quashed Myna’s letters easily. Then, not one of her sad, little lies would have reached Kaim.

But instead, Alex had read the letters, resealed the envelopes, and sent them to Kaim one after another. He had internalized Myna’s sad, little lies and started looking for Kaim’s answers even before she did.

 

Kaim stopped his fist in mid-air and asked, “How could I have possibly answered her?”

“Why not?” Alex retorted, “You knew how trapped she was feeling. You must have known how much encouragement one word from you could have given her.”

“But you were Myna’s husband.”

“Yes, that’s true, but you were always the one deepest in her heart. I knew that, and because I knew it, there was only one thing I could do.”

No, that couldn’t be!

 

Astounded, Kaim lowered his fist as Alex said to him, “I wrote to her, I pretended I was you, and I wrote her letter after letter. ‘Be strong,’ I told her. ‘Keep your spirits up.’ ‘I’ll come to see you soon.’ You’re too strong, Kaim, so you can’t understand the feelings of weak people. But I don’t have that problem: I’m weak, I understood how a weakling like Myna felt.”

Alex cried, the blood streaming from his nose and mouth.

 

“There is one thing I don’t know, though, Kaim. I don’t know whether Myna actually believed that the letters I wrote were from you, or whether she knew what I was doing and pretended to believe. I wonder. Was life in my village so painful to her that she couldn’t go on living there without pretending to believe?”

Kaim made no attempt to answer Alex’s question.

Slowly, he let the strength go out of his clenched fist and released his grip on Alex’s shirt.
Alex drew a step back from him, then took another step, putting distance between them before his final revelation.

“There was one letter, just one, that I didn’t send to you. That was three months ago. It was the first letter in which Myna begged you for help. She said she wanted to run away and asked you to come and save her. As soon as possible. To rescue her and the baby.”

That was the letter Alex threw away.

Posing as Kaim, he wrote a two-word answer:
“Be strong.”

The day after she read the letter from Alex, Myna hanged herself in the barn.

 

Kaim stood rooted to the spot, crestfallen.

This left him momentarily defenseless.

Alex shot his fist at Kaim’s solar plexus, though his feeble blow could hardly be called a “punch.” The pain it inflicted might have been greater for Alex’s own fist than for Kaim’s superbly conditioned muscles.

“What an idiot I was! ‘Be strong!’ Such words might have meant something to somebody like you, but to burden a weak person like Myna with them…no, they could only break and crush her.”
Alex gave another tearful, self-disparaging smile and thrust his face toward Kaim.

“So hit me! I don’t give a damn! Hit me all you want! Beat the hell out of me! But let me ask you this, Kaim, If I had sent her last letter to you, would you have finally answered that one? Would you have been able to accept Myna in all her weakness?”

Kaim did not know how to answer this question. Nor did he raise a clenched fist to Alex again.

 

So ended the story of Kaim and Alex.

Alex turned and walked away, but Kaim could not bring himself to call out to him. He simply stood there, drained of all emotion, and watched him go.

Alex did, however, turn to face Kaim again when he had put enough distance between them so that Kaim could barely make out his voice.

“I can tell you this much, Kaim.” He shouted. “I am going to raise that boy of mine! I’ll make him into a man of my village! I may have been too weak to be a husband, but as a father, I’ll do better. I’ll make him happy.”

Kaim returned his words with a silent nod. Alex allowed the hint of a smile to show on his badly swollen face. He then turned on his heels once more and strode away.

Kaim never saw Alex again.

 

Every now and then, Kaim remembers Alex and Myna as he proceeds on his endlessly long journey. When he thinks back on what he himself was like in those days, wanting only to be strong in all things, the memory is a bitter one.

If only he had been the person he is today!

The present-day Kaim would not have rejected such human weakness. Now he can accept the fact—sometimes with a pained smile, sometimes with genuine heartbreak—that everyone is weak.

 

If only he could begin his journey again!

Myna might not have had to die.

But this is no more than a hopeless dream.

He meets them only once, and they are gone forever—the mortals, the humans, the ones without eternal life. This is what makes them all the more dear to him. This is what makes his breast burn for them.

 

Aware now that he has failed to love human weakness throughout his battles and his wanderings, Kaim turns his steps toward Alex’s old village.

Alex himself, of course is long since dead.

But Alex’s descendants he can tell at a glance. They have brown skin.

Brown-skinned youths are the ones in charge of the village festivals.

Brown-skinned old women teach girls how to weave floral decorations.

Brown-skinned children and those who are not brown play together in all innocence, free of care.

Perhaps this can comprise a tiny epilogue to the story of Alex, Kaim, and Myna.

 

The graves of Alex and Myna lie side-by-side atop a low, wind-swept hill.

Kaim picks flowers from the field and offers them at the doomed couple’s graves before returning to the road.

What is human strength after all?

Kaim still does not know the answer to this question.

And this is why again today his journey must go on.

                                                                                                                                                                      End

What Lisa Watched Last Night: The Fan (dir. by Edward Bianchi)


Last night, I watched the 1981 slasher-musical hybrid, The Fan.

Why Was I Watching it?

I had read about The Fan on a few slasher-related film sites and, despite the fact that the reviews were always universally negative, the former aspiring prima ballerina was intrigued by the idea of a slasher movie where the mayhem was occasionally put on hold for a dance number.  When I saw it listed as being on AMC last night, I set the DVR to record it.  Later, around 4 in the morning, I was battling insomnia and I didn’t really feel like watching infomercials or hurricane coverage.  So, I watched The Fan.

What Was It About?

Lauren Bacall is Sally Ross, an aging actress who smokes and smokes and smokes.  A very young and handsome Michael Biehn is Douglas, The Fan.  He’s obsessed with Sally and writes her hundreds of adoring letters.  “Believe me, I have the equipment to make you very, very happy,” the 20ish Douglas tells the 60ish Sally.  Sally’s secretary (Maureen Stapleton) writes back to Douglas and tells him that it’s illegal to “send pornography through the mail.”  Douglas responds by doing the whole slashing-up-the-world-with-a-straight-razor thing.  Meanwhile, Sally is in rehearsals for her Broadway musical debut and wow, it’s the worst musical since Nine.  Will Douglas be stopped?  Will Sally getting a standing ovation?  And how many cigarettes will be left by the end of the movie?

What Worked?

Michael Biehn is actually fairly good as the killer and the opening credits — where the musical score is nicely integrated with the sound of Biehn typing and reading his obsessive prose — are nicely done.  And technically, the film looks good.  The cinematography is credited to someone named Dick Bush and that’s all I’ll say about that.

But, let’s be honest, I wasn’t watching this film for quality.  I was watching for the Broadway dance sequences.  Films are always at their campiest when they try to portray a “Broadway” hit and that’s especially true if the film was made in 1981 (like this one).  And, on this, The Fan did not disappoint.  Seriously, the “show-within-the-show” here appears to be one of the greatest debacles in the history of imaginary Broadway.  Lauren Bacall rasps out her songs while chain-smoking while the chorus line spins across the stage in a blur of sequins and glitter.  On top of that, the show is named Never Say Never which has to be one of the most boring titles ever, as far as imaginary Broadway is concerned.  Yet, when it’s all over, the audience gives Never Say Never a standing ovation.  It’s a hit!  There’s no accounting for taste as far as fake Broadway is concerned.

Here’s a show-stopper from Never Say Never, starring Sally Ross:

Plus, about 40 minutes into the film, Bacall and Stapleton have themselves a good, old-fashioned bitch-off which just has to be seen.  There’s nothing like watching two divas compete to see who can devour the most scenery.

What Does Not Work:

Well, to be honest, the entire film doesn’t work.  The pacing is terrible, the scenes with Biehn kills his victims somehow manage to be both bloodless and overly sadistic at the same time, and Bacall seems to be not only ticked off at having to appear in the film but angry with you for watching it as well.  Add to that, there’s a bizarre homophobic subtext to this film that, while typical of a film released in the 80s, still seems odd for a movie that’s so obsessed with Broadway show tunes.

“OMG! JUST LIKE ME!” Moments:

I related to the dancers who show up on-screen whenever Sally is in rehearsals for her show.  Being trapped on the chorus line of a terrible show?  Been there, done that.  It’s actually a lot of fun because you’re freed from having to worry about how terrible the show is.  Instead of rehearsals being a death march, they’re an exuberant, doom-themed Mardi Gras.

Lessons Learned:

Don’t allow anyone else to answer your fan mail.

 

6 Trailers for Turbulent Times


I’m dedicating this latest edition of Lisa Marie’s Favorite Grindhouse and Exploitation Trailers to all of our readers and contributors on the East Coast.  Stay safe and enjoy the trailers!

1) The Sweet House of Horrors (1991)

One of Lucio Fulci’s final films, this was made for Italian television.  It’s actually better than you might think from the trailer.  But, yes, it is a far cry from Zombi 2.

2) Hell of the Living Dead (1984)

This film, however, is just as bad as the trailer might lead you to suspect.  Not surprisingly, it was directed by Bruno Mattei.

3) Asylum of Satan (1972)

Or as I like to call it, Satan Plays Bass.

4) Combat Cops (1974)

Judging from the trailers I’ve come across since I first started this feature, the 70s were a turbulent time.  The revolution continued with Combat Cops.

5) Sheba, Baby (1975)

“Pam Grier is …. Sheba, Baby!”  Sad to think that the last time we saw Pam Grier on-screen, she was reduced to playing Julia Roberts’ best friend in Larry Crowne. 

6) Hungry Wives (1972)

George Romero’s follow-up to Night of the Living Dead is better known as Season of the Witch.  Like most of Romero’s non-zombie films, it has some major issues with pacing but it remains of interesting artifact of its time.  The film has a feminist subtext which works about as well as can be expected, considering that the movie was made by a man.

Thousand Years of Dreams Day 10: Don’t Forget About Me Now, You Hear?


When Kaim remember’s this particular dream-memory it brought to mind one of the many fears I think we all have as we get older. For Day 10 we see through Kaim’s eyes a remembered dream on not just the fear of being left forgotten.

“Don’t Forget About Me Now, You Hear?” delves into how age makes us yearn to leave a legacy that would make us be remembered even once we pass away. It’s really the only we become immortal. Unlike Kaim who is immortal, regular people can only rely on the memories of their dreams and deeds to be remembered by those they leave behind.

But what if we don’t have such things to leave behind as a legacy? Are we still remembered by those we love? Or do we become forgotten and left by the wayside?

This is a fear I’ve always contemplated. Have I done enough and experienced life to the fullest to be remembered by those around me or am I consigned to oblivion.

The dream-memory does end on a hopeful note that no matter how we may feel about the worth of our legacy when it’s our time to go there’s a good chance there will always be someone to remember us and in the end all that’s needed is for one to remember to allow us to live forever.

Don’t Forget About Me Now, You Hear?

“Brother dear!”

The cry comes from someone behind as he wades through the post town’s crowds. At first Kaim does not realize that the person is addressing him, and he walks on in search of lodging for the night.

But the cry comes again, all but clinging to him, “Brother, dear! Big Brother!”

This is puzzling.

He last visited the town eighty years ago. There can’t be anyone here who knows him.
“Wait, Big Brother! Don’t go!”

His puzzlement begins to take on an eerie edge, for the voice addressing him as “Big Brother” can only belong to an old woman.

Without letting his guard down, he turns around slowly.
Just as he thought—it is an old woman.

Dressed in the clothes of a young girl, the tiny old woman is looking straight at Kaim with a bright smile on her face.

“I think you may have the wrong person,” he says, allowing his discomfort to show.

“No I don’t,” She says with a big shake of the head and an expanding smile. “You’re Big Brother Kaim!”

“What…?”
“What’s wrong, Kaim, did you forget me?”

“Uh… well… I mean…”

He can’t place her. Even if he were to succeed in doing so, he knows he has no acquaintances in this town. He wonders . . . could this be a chance re-encounter with someone he once met on the road? But no, he is sure he doesn’t recognize her, and strangest of all, why would this woman who looks old enough to be his grandmother address him as “Big Brother”?
“Don’t pretend you don’t know who I am Kaim! You’re so mean!”

She yells at him loudly enough that people in the crowd stop and stare at them.

It is not just the fact that she is shouting, of course, People always have to shout to be heard in these crowded streets. That alone would not attract attention. The old woman’s voice is different from a normal adult yell. It is like the innocent, unrestrained cry of a little girl who throws her whole body into her scream.

People turn shocked expressions on the old woman and quickly avert their eyes.

Their dismay is understandable. The old woman has her stark white hair up tied up with a colourful ribbon, and her dress has the same floral pattern and floppy sleeves as a little girl’s.

Many of the passerby look at the old woman with a mix of sympathy and pity on their faces.

Gradually, Kaim begins to comprehend the situation. This old woman has simply lived too long. This is why the past, locked away in her memory, has become realer to her then the reality before her eyes.
A middle-aged passerby tugs on Kaim’s elbow.

“If I were you I would just walk away. Don’t get involved with her. She’ll be nothing but trouble.”

“It’s true.” says the wife by his side, nodding. You’re a stranger here, so you don’t know, but this old woman is senile. You can ignore her. She’ll forget everything in five minutes.”

They may be right, but the fact remains is this old woman knows Kaim’s name.

In the little girl part of her mind, she thinks of Kaim as her “Big Brother.”
He tries probing his distant memories.

He spent no more than a few days here so long ago. He got to know very few people, and there can’t be any of those left who still remember him.

When Kaim goes on standing before the old woman, the nosy middle age couple becomes indignant. “You try to be helpful and what does it get you?” snorts the husband.

“Let them work it out themselves.” adds the wife. “Let’s just go.” Which they proceed to do.

Winding up the voice for maximum shrillness, the old woman calls out to them as they walk off in a huff. “Don’t forget me now, you hear?”

In that instant, Kaim’s memory makes the connection.

The old woman greets his look of recognition with an expression of joy.

“Do you remember me now?” she cries. “I’m Shushu. It’s me—Shushu!”

He does remember her. A little girl he met in this town eighty years ago.

Perhaps five or six years old at the time, she was a precocious little thing whose lack of shyness with strangers came from her being the daughter of the innkeeper.

Somewhere along the way, she had probably picked up a phrase she heard someone using and so whenever a guest would depart after a number of days at the inn, instead of the standard “Goodbye” or “Thank you” she would see the person off with a smile and a cheery “Don’t forget me now, you hear?”
Only now is he suddenly able to see the girl beneath the wrinkles, Kaim must avert his gaze from the old woman’s face.

“What’s wrong Big brother?”

He cannot bring himself to look directly at Shushu’s vacant stare.

Eighty year have gone by! What can they talk about when a man who never ages meets a little girl from the distant past who has aged too much?
“Let me through here, please. Sorry, let me through here, please.”

Forcing his way through the crowd, a young man rushes up to where Shushu and Kaim are standing. “Great-grandmother! How often do I have to ask you not to go out without telling me?”

After scolding the old woman, he turns to Kaim with an apologetic bow

“I’m terribly sorry if she’s been a bother to you. She’s old and getting senile. I hope you can forgive her.”
Shushu herself, however, angrily purses her lips and demands to know, “What are you talking about? I’m just playing with Big Brother Kaim, What’s wrong with that?

She peers at the young man and asks, “Who are you?”

The young man turns a sad gaze on Kaim and begins to apologize again.

With a pained smile, Kaim stops him.

Kaim knows that, at times, it can be sadder and more heartbreaking for a life to be prolonged than for it to be cut short. Sad and heartbreaking through a life may be, however, no one has the right to trample on it.
“She just can’t seem to get it through her head she’s old.” Even if I hold a mirror up to her she asks, “Who’s that old lady?” The young man, whose name is Khasche, further explains the situation to Kaim, “she might forget that she ate breakfast, but her memories from childhood can be clear as a bell.”

Kaim nods in silent understanding.

Khasche and Kaim sit on a bench in the town plaza, watching Shushu pick flowers.

She is apparently making a floral wreath for her long-lost “Big Brother.”
“But really sir, do you have time for this? Weren’t you in a hurry to get somewhere? ”

“No, I’m fine, don’t worry.”

“Thanks very much.”

He smiles for the first time and says, “I haven’t seen her this happy in ages.”

The young man seems convinced that his great-grandmother has encountered in Kaim a person who resembles someone she knew as a child. Kaim allows him this. He knows that Khasche cannot, and need not, imagine the existence of a person who never ages.

“Her health has really deteriorated lately. Whenever she runs a fever, we wonder if this is going to be the end for her and we prepare for the worst. But then she springs right back. Sometimes we joke that her mind is so far gone, she’s forgotten to die.”

Kaim sees the young man in profile, Khasche has a gentle smile on his face as he speaks of his great-grandmother. No doubt, when he was little, she used to hold him and play with him. Grown up now, Khasche watches over his Great-grandmother like a parent watching his own child.

He calls out to her, “That’s nice, Great-Grandmother. I haven’t seen you weave flowers together like that for a long time!”
Squatting in the grass with a fistful of flowers, Shushu answers, “That’s not true. I made a wreath for him yesterday!”

Then she says to Kaim, “isn’t that right, Big Brother? You wore it in your hair for me didn’t you?”

Kaim cups his hands around his mouth and calls back to her, “I certainly did, it smelt so nice!”

Shushu’s face became as mass of joyful wrinkles. Overcome with emotion, Khasche bows his head.

Kaim asks Khasche, “are you the one who takes care of her?”

“Uh-huh. Me and my wife Cynthia.”

“How about your parents? Or even your grandparents? Are they still living?”

Khasche shrugs and says, “I’m the only other member of my family left alive.”
His grandparents both died in an epidemic twenty years ago.

His father lost his life in the war that enveloped this area ten years ago.

His mother, Shushu’s granddaughter, aged more rapidly than her own mother, and the lamp of her life was snuffled out five years ago.

“So my great-grandmother has had to keep holding funeral over the years-for her Children and grandchildren, Before we even noticed, she had become the oldest person in town. It must be lonely living that way…”

“I’m sure.” answers Kaim.

“It might even be a kindness of the gods to let people fade out of mentally when they’ve lived too long. At least that’s how I’ve come to see it lately. You would think she would feel lonely to be left behind that way, but she’s not lonely at all. To live long means you have a lot of memories. Maybe it’s not such a bad thing to live in the world of you memories during the last days for your life.”
Shushu stands up, her arms filled with flowers.

“Big Brother Kaim! I’m going to make a floral wreath for you right now! And if I have any flowers left over, I’ll make one for this other person too.”

Kaim and Khasche look at each other with bewildered smiles.

Why are you smiling like that? Shushu asks. “Are you two friends now?”

She opens her wrinkle-ringed eyes wide in surprise and gives the two men a joyful smile, and collapses into the grass.
Khasche starts to run for a doctor but Kaim grabs his arm and holds him back, saying, “You’d better stay with her.”

Ironically, Kaim, who can never truly know what it feels like to age, has been present, for that very reason, at countless deaths over the years.

His experience tells him that Shushu will not recover this time.
Shushu is lying on her back where she has fallen, her armload of flowers now spread over her chest.

Her face wear’s a smile.

“Wait just a minute, Big Brother Kaim. I’ll make your wreath for you right away. . .”

Her mind is still lingering among her memories of the past.

Will she stay like this to the very end?

 

“Keep fighting Great-Grandmother! Don’t let go!”

Khasche clings to her hand, tearfully shouting encouragement, but she may not even realize that this is her own great-grandson.
“It’s me, Great-grandmother, it’s me, Khasche! You haven’t forgotten me, have you? I bathed you last night, you knew who I was then, didn’t you?”

Khasche appeals to her with all his might.

But Shushu, a girlish smile on her lips, is departing for that distance world.
I’m going to be a father soon, Great-grandmother! Remember? I told you last night. Cynthia has a baby inside. It’s going to make you a Great-great-grandmother! Our Family is going to grow—another person with your flesh and blood.”

Still smiling, Shushu grasps one of the flowers on her chest in her trembling fingers.

She thrusts it towards Khasche and in a voice no more than a whisper, she says, “Don’t forget me now, you hear?”
Khasche doesn’t understand.

Indeed how could her know the little phrase she always used to speak Long before he was born?

Kaim puts his arm around Khasche’s shoulder and says “Answer her.”

“I know what you mean Great-grandmother. I won’t forget you. I will absolutely never forget you. How could I forget my own Great grandmother?”

“Don’t forget me now, you hear?”

“I won’t forget you, Great-grandmother. Believe me. I’ll always remember you.”

“Don’t forget me now, you hear?”
Shushu closes her eyes and lays her hand on the flowers on her chest as if groping there for something. She seems to be trying to open the door where the memories are sealed.

A soft breeze moves over her.

The flowers adorning her chest dance in the wind along with the memories. Surely among those memories is the Kaim of eighty years ago.
Kaim snatches at one of the petals dancing in the wind, enclosing it in the palm of his hand.

Shushu will never open her eyes again.

She has left on a journey to a world where there is no past or present.

The only ones she has left behind are Kaim, who will go on living forever, and Khasche, who is about to welcome a new life into the world.
Clinging to her corpse, Khasche raises his tear stained face to look at Kaim.

“Thank you so much.” He says to Kaim the traveler. “Thanks to you, my Great-grandmother was so happy to be picking flowers at the very end.

“No. It wasn’t thanks to me,” Kaim says.

He closes his fist on the petal in his hand and says to Khasche. “I’m sure if she had made a wreath, she would have given it to your sweet new baby.”

Khasche shyly cocks his head and mutters, “I hope you’re right.” But then smiling through his tears, he declares. “I’m sure you are.”
“About that promise you made to her—be good and don’t forget her.”

“No, of course not.”

“People go on living as long as they remain in someones memory.” With these words, Kaim begins to walk slowly away. Behind him he hears Shushu’s voice.

Don’t forget me now, you hear?

It is the voice of the little girl from eighty years ago, ringing ever clear, sweet, and innocent, declaring farewell to the man who will travel life forever

15 Upcoming Films That Are Going To Suck


In just another few days, the summer movie season will end and we’ll enter the fall.  The fall movie season is when all of the prestigious, massively hyped “quality” films are released.  These are the films that everyone is expecting to see remembered at Oscar time.  We expect more out of films released in the Fall and therefore, when a film fails to live up to the expectation of perfection, we are far more quicker to simply damn the whole enterprise by exclaiming, “That sucked!”

Below are 15 upcoming fall films which I think are going to “suck.”  Quite a few of them are “prestige” films though a few of them most definitely are not.  However, they are all films that I fully expect to be disappointed with.

Quick disclaimer: This list is based on only two things, my gut instinct and the advice of my Parker Brothers Ouija Board.  These are my opinions and solely my opinions and they should not be taken as a reflection of the opinions of anyone else involved with this web site.  Got it?  Good, let’s move on to the fun part:

  1. Anonymous (10/28) — Roland Emmerich takes on the burning issue of whether or not Shakespeare actually wrote his plays.  Who cares?  I’m sure this will spark a lot of discussion among people who found The Da Vinci Code to be mind-blowing.
  2. The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo (12/21) — Deal with it, fanboys.
  3. The Ides of March (10/7) — It’s a political film directed by and starring George Clooney!  Watch out for the smug storm that will surely follow.
  4. Immortals (11/11) — Yes, it will suck but it will still probably be better than Clash of the Titans.
  5. The Iron Lady (12/16) — Bleh. This is one of those movies that they make solely because Meryl Streep needs another Oscar nomination.  Nobody will see the film but everyone will talk about how brilliant Meryl was in it.
  6. J. Edgar (TBA) — So, when was the last time that Clint Eastwood actually directed a movie that you didn’t have to make excuses for?
  7. Mission Impossible — Ghost Protocol (12/21) — Honestly, has there ever been a Mission Impossible film that didn’t suck in one way or another?
  8. Real Steel (10/7) — How do I know this film is going to suck?  Go look up the trailer on YouTube and you can see that little kid go, “You know everything about this fight game!” for yourself. 
  9. Red State (9/23) — A satirical horror film with a political subtext?  Well, let’s just hope they’ve got a great director…
  10. Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows (12/16)It’s the law of diminished returns.  The better the original, the worse the sequel.  That said, I really hope I’m wrong on this one.  I loved Sherlock Holmes.
  11. Straw Dogs (9/16) — It’s a remake of the old Peckinpah classic except now, it’s a Yankee Blue Stater getting attacked by a bunch of Redneck Red Staters.  Yankee paranoia is so freaking tedious.  Add to that, Straw Dogs has been remade a few million times and never as well as the original.  At least those remakes had the decency to come up with their own name instead of just trying to coast on the credibility of a better film.  This travesty was written, directed, and produced by Rod Lurie.  Shame on you, Rod Lurie.  (Of course, the toadsuckers over at AwardsDaily.com are madly enthused about this film.)
  12. The Three Musketeers (10/21) — Is anybody expecting otherwise?
  13. Tower Heist (11/4)Brett Ratner continues to encourage us to lower our standards with this action-comedy.  The film’s villain is played by Alan Alda and is supposed to be a Bernie Madoff-type so expect a lot of tedious pontificating from rich actors playing poor people.
  14. War Horse (12/28) — This might actually be a good film but, as a result of all of the hype, it’s going to have to be perfect or else it’s going to suck.
  15. W.E. (12/9)Madonna makes her directorial debut with … well, do I really need to go on?

Thousand Years of Dreams Day 09: The Talkative Mercenary


For Day 9’s dream-memory we get to see a glimpse of what Kaim’s life has led him to as he travels the world as the eternal warrior.

In “The Talkative Mercenary” we find Kaim in a role he has become quite accustomed to. He’s a mercenary fighting in one of the countless battles and wars he has signed up for to give his immortal wanderings some sort of meaning and focus. It is a battle about to reach it’s bloody conclusion and with him and his fellow company of mercenaries on the losing side and waiting for the final push everyone knows is coming.

This dream-memory also introduces a young, scared and quite talkative mercenary whose baptism of fire has shattered the illusion of glory and riches he thinks was the life of a mercenary-for-hire. Easy money and a quick path to success destroyed by the prospect of death in this battle or the next and the one after. While this talkative mercenary blubbers and whines about the unfairness of his situation those older soldiers around him have accepted their role and lived with the consequences of being a mercenary. Kaim is a longtime member of this band of brothers who have accepted that death is all that waits for them whether they live to see the end of this battle for another waits for them in another land.

We learn from Kaim’s remembrance of this memory how war takes a toll on those who fight them. Those who cannot accept that they’re dead men walking will perish and the sooner the better for such men are as much a danger to his fellow allies than to the enemy. Those who can accept that death waits for them and that they cannot deny death’s inevitability when it comes to war will survive to fight another day until it’s their time.

I’ve always been fascinated by the idea that there are men and women who willingly take on the role of soldier knowing that sooner or later they will have to perform the true duties of their chosen profession. For in the end, a soldier’s duty, first and foremost, is to take to the battlefield and kill those opposing them. It’s a warrior code that’s not for everyone as much as many try to convince themselves it’s their destiny.

It’s a form of fatalistic courage that deserve our respect whether we agree with the politics and ideology being fought over. These are people who knowingly will take another person’s life just so the many who can’t won’t have to and remain living in a semblance of peace. So, next time one finds themselves next to a soldier just back from war give this person the respect they deserve or, if one is unwilling to do so, remain silent and let them go in peace.

The Talkative Mercenary

The ramparts will fall to the enemy.
It is just a matter of time.
They will mount their attack at dawn.
The main body of the allied forces
has already drawn far back from the front.
Only the mercenaries are left behind the barricade.
Their orders: defend it to the death.
These men, who have gone from battlefield to battlefield,
know exactly what that means.

“They’ve just left us here to die,” chuckles the one called Toma in darkness too thick for a person to make out his own hand.

“They want us to buy time so the main force can pull farther back. We’re supposed to be their shields, performing our final service for our employers.”

His dry, papery laugh shakes the darkness.

Kaim says nothing in reply. Other mercenaries must be gathered there around them in the blackness, but all keep their thoughts to themselves.

Mercenaries have nothing to say to each other on the battlefield. They might be on opposite sides in the next battle. At a time like this especially, when they have to defend the barricade against the enemy’s withering attack, they can’t spare time even to look at each other’s faces.

Kaim knows nothing about this fighter called Toma. His voice sounds young. He probably has very little experience as a mercenary.

If a man grows talkative in the face of death, it means that, deep down somewhere, he has a weakness that prevents him from becoming a true soldier. A mercenary with even a hint of such weakness can never cheat death and live to see another day.

It is the law of the battlefield, and a man like Toma will only learn that law in the moment before he loses his life.

“We’re done for. We’ll all be dead in the morning. We’ll have that ‘silent homecoming’ they talk about. I can’t stand it. I just can’t stand it.”

In the darkness, no voices rise to second these sentiments. It’s too late for talk like this. The day they chose the mercenary’s path was when they should have resigned themselves to death.

They will sell their lives for a little money. They prolong their lives, a day at a time, by taking the lives of one enemy after another. That’s what a mercenary is: nothing more, nothing less.

“Hey… can anybody hear me? How many of us are here? We’re all going to die together. We’ll just be a line of corpses in the morning. Don’t shut up now. Answer me!”

No one says a thing. Instead of voices, the silent darkness begins to fill with a tangible sense of annoyance.

Wordlessly to gather on the battlefield; wordlessly to fight the enemy; and just as wordlessly to die.

That is the rule of the mercenary, the “aesthetic” of the mercenary, if such an expression may be permitted.

But Toma has taken it upon himself to abandon that aesthetic.

“I knew it was hopeless from the start. Headquarters didn’t know what they were doing. There was no way a strategy like that could work. You know what I’m talking about, don’t you guys? We had to lose. It’s a total mess. I wish to hell I had joined the other side. Then we could have gotten a mountain of cash for winning. We could have drunk ourselves blind. We could have had all the women we wanted. I could have gone either way on this one but I picked the wrong side to fight on…”

“Hey, you!” an older voice booms out of the darkness. An angry voice.

“Yeah, what?” answers Toma, his voice more vibrant now at having at last found someone willing to talk with him.

As if to crush his momentary enthusiasm, the other man goes on, “How about shutting up a while? If you really want to run off at the mouth that much, I can send you to the next world a step ahead of the rest of us.”

“I-I’m sorry…”

Instantly dejected, Toma falls silent and the darkness grows still again.

The stillness is charged, however, with a deep tension. Far deeper, even, than before Toma started talking.

The veteran warriors know: watch out for a talkative man.

Being talkative means trusting in words–trusting too much in words.

Words are useless on the battlefield. You take up your weapon in silence, you fight in silence, you kill the enemy—or he kills you—in silence. All the mercenaries here have lived this way. All but the talkative one.

A soldier who clings too desperately to words may cling just as desperately to something else–to the sweet trap of betrayal, for example, or the seduction of desertion under fire, or the lure of madness.

Kaim has often seen pitiful mercenaries who, unable to endure the terror of being surrounded by the enemy, go berserk and attack men from their own side.

Will Toma prove to be another such case? The possibility is great, and no doubt the other men are thinking the same thing, too. In the stillness, they turn the same gazes toward Toma that they reserve for confrontations with the enemy, looking for any signs of change in his demeanor. The moment they perceive the slightest threat in him, a blade will soundlessly pierce the left side of his chest.

The silence continues. Not even the usual all-night cries of insects can be heard tonight as they were last night. Perhaps the insects knew enough to clear out in advance of the enemy’s dawn attack. The thought reminds Kaim that he saw no birds in the area yesterday, either. Although animals came to snatch food when the men first built this fortification, there has been no sign of them for several days now.

Animals have mysterious powers of foreknowledge that humans have lost. This becomes painfully obvious from any visit to a battlefield.

There can be little doubt that the animals have turned their backs on this barricade.

Right about now, in some distant forest, a huge flock of black birds may be taking wing in search of human corpses to strip of their flesh:

“It’s feast time, boys!”

They already know, somehow. Once the sun is fully up, the battle will be over. If they don’t get here first, they’ll lose some of their feast to a flock from another forest. Their black bodies hidden against the night sky, those birds now are probably flying for all they’re worth.

A voice in the night. Toma’s voice.

Weeping.

“Listen, you guys… I don’t know how many of you are out there, but we’re all going to die in the morning… or most of us. Maybe one or two will live to escape, no more. Think about it: those are lousy odds. You’ve all been through this before. You’re veterans, war heroes, you’re probably not scared. But even so… even if you’re not scared, don’t you think this is stupid? Huh? Tell me! You’ve been through a lot more battles than I have, so tell me… what the hell are we here for? We don’t hate the enemy, we don’t owe the leaders on our side anything, but we’ve got to kill the enemy and follow our leaders’ orders… and we’re still going to end up dead. Tell me you guys… don’t you think it’s pointless? Don’t you think it’s stupid?”

The only response to Toma is the impatient click of a tongue in the darkness followed by someone else’s sigh of annoyance.

“I can’t take it any longer,” says Toma. “I hate this…”

And now he is sobbing.

“All I wanted was some money and maybe something better to eat and maybe nicer clothes. I would have been happy with that. What a mistake I made, taking work like this. I never should have done it…”

Kaim keeps all his senses open for movement in the night.

Aside from himself and Toma, five other soldiers are crouching down in the darkness. Not bad: all are experienced warriors. They would not have been able to put up with Toma’s whining otherwise. If they let themselves get angry and started shouting at him or grabbing him by the throat or whaling away at him, they would just end up consuming their strength and energy before their “work” started at dawn.

If this is an assemblage of men who know how to keep their silence, the chances for “life” are that much greater, assuming, that is, that the talkative, weeping man does not become too great a burden for the rest of them.

Still sobbing. Toma continues to curse his fate.

Suddenly, something is different: something stirs in the silence.

This could be bad, Kaim thinks, sharpening his attentiveness still more.

When dawn breaks, Toma will get in our way. Because of him, the possibility for “life” will wither. The mercenaries know that, and because they know it, they might do whatever it takes for them to secure for themselves even the slightest added chance to live.

“I don’t want to die here. I tell you. Not now, not here, like a worthless dog. You guys feel the same way, don’t you?”

Moonlight shines down from a rift in the clouds.

For a split second, Toma’s tear-stained face appears in the darkness. He is even younger than Kaim imagined from the sound of his voice. He is practically a boy.

The clouds hide the moon again, and thick black darkness enfolds everything once more.

A dull light stirs in the deph of the darkness.

Without a word, Kaim darts, wind-like, toward it. He was able to gauge the distance between himself and Toma during the flash of moonlight.

Kaim grabs Toma’s arm. Something hard falls to the ground. The dull light flashes again, this time at their feet, and melts again into the darkness.

A knife. Driven by the fear of death. Toma was trying to slit his own throat.

Toma twists away and tries to free his arm from Kaim’s grasp, but Kaim chops him in the solar plexus.

Without uttering a sound, Toma passes out.

With Toma slung across his back, Kaim strides through the darkness.

Eventually Toma wakes and thrashes his legs to get loose.

“Stop it! Let me go!”

Kaim lowers him to the ground.

“Every once in awhile, the moon comes out. Check your direction when that happens. Go straight toward the setting moon,” Kaim says gently.

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“It’s the only way you can get out of here.”

Kaim has chosen the thinnest part of the enemy’s encirclement. Of course, there is no guarantee that getting through here will save him. From now on, Toma will have to believe in his own luck and abilities.

“Are you coming back, too?” Toma asks.

“No, I’m going back. You escape alone.”

“Why? You come, too. Let’s both escape. Come with me!”

Toma clings to Kaim’s arm as he pleads with him, but Kaim gives him a hard slap on the cheek. The flesh of that cheek is too soft to belong to a veteran warrior. It is the flesh of a boy. A kid.

“You go alone.”

“But why?”

“To live, that’s why.”

“What about you? You want to live, too, don’t you? You should run away with me. You don’t want to die, do you?”

Want to live? No. Kaim has no great desire to live. He lives because there is nothing else he can do. He lives because he has to. Toma is far too young–his own burden of life far too fragile–for him to know the pain of such life.

“We live to fight. That’s what mercenaries do.”

“But…”

“Get the hell out of here. You’re ruining it for the rest of us.”

“You guys’ll never win this battle. So why not run away?”

“It’s our job to fight.”

With that, Kaim turns on his heels and starts back the way they came.

Toma stands there, watching Kaim move away, and a moment later he himself darts into the western forest.

To fight or to flee: Kaim cannot know which holds out the greater promise for life. He also believes it is better not to know.

Except—

“I hope you make it, boy,” he mutters, walking on.

The eastern sky is beginning to brighten little by little. Soon the enemy’s attack will begin.

From the western forest, a few birds take to the air.

Perhaps it means that a small-scale battle has started in the silence. Or that the poor young mercenary has been felled with his back to the enemy.

Kaim does not look back or break his stride.

He feels certain he has seen that talkative mercenary before. Before the war broke out, the boy was selling fruit in the market along the highway. He was a good boy, took good care of his mother, the women of the market were saying.

Live a long, full life, Kaim wishes for the boy as he himself walks on, glaring at the lightening eastern sky.

 

Lisa Marie Is Disappointed With Another Earth (dir. by Mike Cahill)


As I’ve mentioned on this site a few times, I was really excited about seeing the new independent sci-fi film Another Earth.  Well, I finally saw it and wow.  What a disappointment!

Another Earth is a film about an intelligent teenage girl (Brit Marling) who gets a scholarship to M.I.T.  She goes out to celebrate and while drunkenly driving home, she hears a report on the radio that a new planet has been discovered.  Looking out the window of her car, she spots the new planet while, at the same time, smashing into another car and killing the wife and son of composer William Mapother.  Mapother is put in a coma and Marling ends up getting sentenced to prison.

Four years later, Marling is released from jail.  She gets a job working as a janitor in her old high school.  She also tracks down Mapother, who has come out of his coma and has no idea that Marling is the girl who killed his family.  Through a couple of plot contrivances that makes less sense the more you think about them, Marling becomes Mapother’s maid.  Though Mapother is, at first, surly towards her, he soon falls in love with her because otherwise, nothing would happen in the movie.

Meanwhile, it turns out that the new planet is actually a mirror Earth!  Wow, isn’t that exciting?  Well, no one on “Earth 1” seems to be all the excited about it.  Don’t get me wrong — they talk about it a lot and we got a lot of monologues about the possibilities of a mirror Earth and how we’ve all apparently got a double on this other Earth but still, everyone’s just kinda like “Oh, that’s neat.”  Anyway, Marling wants to go to the new Earth to see if the alternate her is doing any better than her.  Luckily, there’s a Richard Branson-type billionaire who is having an essay contest to win a chance to take a civilian flight to the new Earth.  We’re told that this civilian flight will be the first to land on Earth 2, which I guess can only mean that the Earth 1 equivalent of Barack Obama really did a number of Earth 1’s version of NASA.

Another Earth isn’t necessarily a terrible film but it certainly is a disappointing one.  The film is essentially a collection of indie film clichés that are all held together with an intriguing premise.  Unfortunately, the only thing intriguing about the finished film is thinking about how great it could have been if director Mike Cahill and screenwriter (and star) Brit Marling had actually bothered to explore any of the film’s issues beyond a surface level.  Mapother does a good job playing his surly role but he has next to no chemistry with Marling and you never, for a minute, believe in their relationship.  When Marling isn’t lying to Mapother, she’s bonding with a blind janitor from India who only speaks in philosophical one liners.  Why is the janitor in the film?  Why does he suddenly decide to mentor Marling?  Why does he drink bleach?  There’s also a really embarrassing scene where Marling talks on the phone with a guy doing a really over-the-top imitation of Richard Branson.  Director Cahill offers up endless montages of Marling looking pretty and sad as she wanders around aimlessly and he’s got the whole shaky cam, zoom lens thing down but he doesn’t seem to understand that images are empty without some sort of honest emotion behind them.  

That said, the film does have a great ending, an ending which hints at the film that Another Earth could have been.

Thousand Years of Dreams Day 08: They Live in Shells


For Day 8 we have Kaim’s dream-memory of hope in the face of an ever encroaching hopelessness. In this dream he remembers his time in the total darkness of a prison cell where no light ever comes shining through. How such a fate means a slower death but only after one’s spirit and mind breaks completely.

“The Live in Shells” reminded me a lot of Frank Darabont’s The Shawshank Redemption. It spoke of the need for someone to hold onto hope to keep oneself sane in the dehumanizing and mindbreaking confines of a prison. While this dream didn’t explore the more intimate side of human emotions and behavior it does explore the concept of the dual-nature of ideas. For this dream the example would be darkness itself. We see how darkness can become a way to destroy another’s mind and spirit. On the other hand, darkness could also become the ultimate escape from the horrors of the world around us. Darkness becoming the symbol for that final sleep.

This wasn’t one of the better dream-memory of the 33 that will be explored, but it does bring forth some interesting ideas and concepts.

They Live in Shells

“Stop this! Please, I beg of you! Let me go!”

A young man’s screams echo through the emptiness.

No voice answers him.

Crouching in the darkness, Kaim counts the footsteps. Three men have come in. The disorderly footsteps probably belong to the young man. The other two are perfectly regular.

“Please, I’m begging you. If it’s money you want, I’ll get you all you could ask for on the outside. I promise. I won’t forget to show my thanks to you. Please!”

The only reply of the two men who have brought the young one here is the clunk of an iron lock opening.

“No! No! Please, I’m begging you. I’ll do anything you want. Anything!”

A dull thud is the sound of flesh tearing, bone wrenching. Someone collapses on the floor. A strangled scream. The clunk of an iron lock closing.

Kaim knows the young man has been thrown into the shell diagonally opposite his own. When you are locked into one of these windowless shells, your hearing becomes acutely sensitive.

“Don’t do this! Let me out of here! Please! Let me out of here!”

From the sound of the voice, Kaim can imagine a young man’s face with boyish traces: a small-time hoodlum hardly a step above a teenage gang member. When he was still on the streets, no doubt, he used to swagger down the sidewalk, his cunning but cowardly eyes darting every which way.

The two men who brought him here maintain their silence to the end, their footsteps moving off together. The heavy door opens and closes again.

Left alone in the darkness, the young man howls his entreaties for a time, but when her realizes they will do no good, he shouts himself hoarse, spitting out one curse after another until he begins to sob.

“Quiet down there,” an old man calls out from one of the inner shells, “It won’t do you any good to make a fuss, Time to give up, sonny.”

This is the voice of the oldest man living in the dozen or so shells lined up in the darkness.

He was already here when Kaim was sent to this place. It is always his role to quiet and comfort the obstreperous newcomers.

“If you’ve got time to bawl like that, keep your eyes closed!”

“Huh?”

“Just make sure you keep sucking on your memories of the outside-like a piece of candy!”

Sounds of suppressed laugher come from the surrounding shells.

Kaim joins in with a smile and a sigh

All the shells in the dark are supposedly full, but few of their inhabitants are laughing.

Most of them have lost the strength to laugh.

“Hey, sonny.” the old man continues in his role as adviser to the newcomer, “No point making a fuss. Just calm down and accept your fate. Otherwise…” and here a note of intensity enters the old man’s voice, “they’ll just drag you out of here feet first.”

This is exactly what happened yesterday to the former inhabitant of the young man’s shell.

He had been screaming on and off for a day. Then came a day of banging his head against the shell wall. Then nothing… until he was dragged out in silence.

“So get a hold of yourself, sonny. Don’t let the darkness swallow you up. Close your eyes and imagine nice scenery from the outside, the bigger the better: the ocean, or the sky, or some huge field of grass. Remember! Imagine! that’s the only way to survive this place.”

This was the advice he always gave to the newcomers.

But the young man screamed tearfully.

“Who the hell do you think you’re kidding? Survive this place? And then what? I know what this place is. ‘No exit’ prison! They throw the lifers in here, give them just enough food to keep them alive, and in the end they kick the bucket anyway—Am I right? There’s nothing left to hope for.”

His shouts turn to sobs again.

This is the reaction of most of the newcomers.

Nor are they mistaken. This is a prison. Each of the “shells” is a solitary cell with bars, and the sun shines on a prisoner only on the day of his funeral…

“Everybody dies, sonny, that’s for sure. You just cant let your mind go before your body does. Hope doesn’t have to fade unless you throw it out yourself,” the old man goes on softly.

Then he adds with feeling, “This system we live under can’t last much longer, either.”

The old man is a political prisoner. As leader of the anti-government faction, he long resisted the dictatorship until he finally lost the struggle and was imprisoned.

The young man has no ears for the old man’s words, however, he continues thrashing on the floor and crying.

This fellow won’t be in his shell much longer than his predecessor. In a few days, or in less than a month at best, he will go to pieces.

The darkness is that powerful. Depriving a prisoner of light is far crueler than taking his life in an instant.

“My my,” the old man reflects, “This fellow’s not going to do us much good in a prison break.”

The old revolutionary laughs, it might be a genuine laugh of a bold front, but in any case almost no one laughs in response.

Tomorrow morning- or rather, since there is no clear-cut “morning” in the darkness- after they go to sleep, wake up and have their next meal, another cold corpse will be dragged out wordlessly from another shell.

“Hey, listen. How many of us are here now?” the old revolutionary asks. “Answer if you can hear me!”

“I can hear you,” Kaim says.

His is the only voice.

“Man, this is bad, we were full up a little while ago.”

The old man gives a dry chuckle.

Kaim asks, I wonder if something’s happened out there.”

“Maybe so,” answers the old revolutionary.

“If you ask me, this would be about the right time for a coup d’etat or a revolution.”

“My ‘boys’ aren’t going to keep quiet much longer…”

“Uh, what was your name again? Kaim? Have you noticed what’s happening? How there used to be a lot more guys getting thrown in here until a little while ago, and most of them real nobodies, not worth sentencing to life?”

“Uh-huh, sure…”

The young man was one of them- nothing but a small-time crook. It just so happened that the storehouse he broke into belonged to a rich man with ties to a powerful politician. this was the only reason they put him in a shell.

“The shells always used to be full. They would throw a bunch of men in here and they would die, then the new men would come, and they would die…”

The young man was one of those, the terror of being enveloped in darkness was too much for him, and he went to pieces. He was apparently having hallucinations at the end: “I’m coming Mama, I’m coming. Wait for me, please, Mama…” he repeated over and over like a child. “Where are you, Mama? Here? Are you here?” and he gouged his own eyes out with his bare hands.

“I figured things were getting scary out there—the cops losing control—so the government was really starting to crack down- which is why these shells were always full.”

This is what brought the young man here. Blood streaming from his eye sockets, he died muttering in snatches, “What did I do? Everybody knows damn well… there are plenty of men way worse than me…”

“But now the place is empty. Do you know what that means, Kaim?”

“Sure. There’s so much crime out there now that the government can’t suppress it.”

“You got it; the whole royal family might be strung up by now for all we know. Its a revolution. It will happen any day now! That means you and I will get out of here. My boys will come and get us. Just hang in there a little while longer.”

Kaim nods in silence. The old revolutionary goes on, “Your strong, Kaim. Not many guys could stay as calm as you, thrown into a shell and enveloped in darkness like this.”

Not even Kaim can explain it. It is true that he was strangely calm when they put him in the shell. The darkness was something he seemed to recognize as a distant memory. In the distant past, he, too, may have tasted the anguish of the other shell inhabitants so tortured by the fear of being sealed in darkness.

“How are you so tough mentally, Kaim? Does it mean you, too, are a revolutionary?”

“No, not me…”

His crime is hardly worth talking about. He resisted somewhat under questioning when they brought him in as a suspect, and for that he was branded a rebel and thrown into a shell. The old man is probably right, though. The country’s dictatorship is almost certainly in its last days.

“It won’t be long now. We’ll be back in the real world before we know it. I have hope right in here, and it will stay here until I abandon it myself,” the old revolutionary mutters as if trying to convince himself.

The prison falls soon afterward. Armed young men come charging into the darkness and open the shells’ barred doors.

Embraced by his “boys”, the old revolutionary goes out.

“Wait,” Kaim cries, trying to hold him back.

But he is too late. Anxious to see the new world following the destruction of the old system, the old revolutionary steps outside and opens his eyes.

It is evening.

Though the sun is nearly down, its light is still strong enough to burn eyes accustomed to total darkness.

The old revolutionary presses his hands to his eyes. And with a groan, crumples to his knees.

Kaim has saved himself by shielding his eyes with his arm.

Not even he knows what caused him to do this. Could distant memories have taught him that the truly frightening thing about punishment by darkness is what happens after the release from prison?

When could I have been imprisoned, and where? More important, how long have I been on this endless journey?

With bleeding eyes, surrounded on the ground by his boys, the old revolutionary searches for Kaim.

“I came all this way, Kaim, only to make one terrible mistake at the bitter end. My eyes are probably useless now.”

This is precisely why he asks Kaim for one last favor.

“Tell me Kaim, what is the outside world like? Has the revolution succeeded? Are the people happy? Are they smiling joyfully?”

Kaim opens his eyes slowly, and just barely, beneath the shade of his hand.

As far as he can see, the ground is covered in bodies. The corpses of royal troops and revolutionary troops are heaped on one another, and countless civilians are dead. A mother lies dead with her small child in her arms, the bloody corpse of the child’s father next to them, arms outstretched in a vain attempt to shield them.

“Tell me what you see, Kaim.”

Kaim fights back a sigh and says, “You must work from now on to build a happy society.”

The old revolutionary senses the truth.

“I won’t abandon hope, Kaim, no matter what.”

As if to say, “I know that,” Kaim nods and begins to walk away.

“Where are you going?”

“I don’t know…someplace.”

“Why don’t you stay here and build a new world with us? You of all people can do that, I know.”

“Thank you, sir, but I’ll be moving on just the same.”

The old revolutionary does not try anymore to hold Kaim back. Instead, as a parting gift, he repeats for Kaim the words he spoke so often in his shell.

“There will always be hope, wherever you are, until you yourself abandon it. Never forget that!”

Kaim walks on.

His eyes chance to light on the body of a young boy lying at his feet. The boy breathed his last with eyes wide open in fear.

Kaim kneels and gently closes the boy’s eyelids.

He knows deep down, in a memory too far away for even him to reach, that while darkness can be a great source of terror, it can also bring deep and lasting peace.

End

Source: Lost Odyssey Wiki

Song of the Day: Pasties and a G-String (by Tom Waits)


When I saw necromoonyeti post that Tom Waits will have a new studio album out this October 25th I instantly went over to Amazon and placed a pre-order. As necromoonyeti has mentioned in his post Waits is a one-of-a-kind musician and definitely one of America’s treasures. There’s really no way to describe his style of music since he experiments so often and, at times, his style is more performance art than anything.

For the latest “Song of the Day” I pick the one song that’s almost like a gateway to the aural drug that is Tom Waits. There’s nothing else to say other than listen and marvel at Waits’ “Pasties and a G-String”.

Pasties and a G-String

Smelling like a brewery,
looking like a tramp
I ain’t got a quarter
got a postage stamp
Been five o’clock shadow boxing
all around the town
Talking with the old men
sleeping on the ground
Bazanti bootin
al zootin al hoot
and Al Cohn
sharin this apartment
with a telephone pole
and it’s a fish-net stockings
spike-heel shoes
Strip tease, prick tease
car kease blues
and the porno floor show
live nude girls
dreamy and creamy
and the brunette curls
Chesty Morgan and a
Watermelon Rose
raise my rent and take off
all your clothes
with the trench coats
magazines bottle full of rum
she’s so good, it make
a dead man cum, with
pasties and a g-string
beer and a shot
Portland through a shot glass
and a Buffalo squeeze
wrinkles and cherry
and twinky and pinky
and FeFe live from Gay Paree
fanfares rim shots
back stage who cares
all this hot burlesque for me

cleavage, cleavage thighs and hips
from the nape of her neck
to the lip stick lips
chopped and channeled
and lowered and louvered
and a cheater slicks
and baby moons
she’s hot and ready
and creamy and sugared
and the band is awful
and so are the tunes

crawlin on her belly shakin like jelly
and I’m getting harder than
Chinese algebraziers and cheers
from the compendium here
hey sweet heart they’re yellin for more
squashing out your cigarette butts
on the floor
and I like Shelly
you like Jane
what was the girl with the snake skins name
it’s an early bird matinee
come back any day
getcha little sompin
that cha can’t get at home
getcha little sompin
that cha can’t get at home
pasties and a g-string
beer and a shot
Portland through a shot glass
and a Buffalo squeeze
popcorn, front row
higher than a kite
and I’ll be back tomorrow night
and I’ll be back tomorrow night

New Tom Waits set for October 25th


Tom Waits announced yesterday that he would be releasing a new studio album, Bad as Me, on October 25th, his first since Real Gone in 2004 (if we exclude live albums and compilations). In conjunction with the announcement, he released the above comedy sketch and album sample, along with a single of the title track. I can’t offer you the single–you’ll have to buy it or use more nefarious means of acquisition–but I can assure you he keeps it weird. If the single and sample video are any indication, I expect this to be yet another solid effort that upholds his stature as the most unique musician America has ever produced. The album will contain thirteen tracks, with three additional ones available on the pre-order and deluxe editions of the album. I’m pretty damn excited.

If you aren’t familiar with Tom, it’s hard to say where to begin. In the 38 years he’s been releasing albums he’s ranged from a jazzy barfly to an eclectic staple of American folk, always easily identifiable by his cool, loner image, phenomenal gravely voice, and consistently thoughtful, often clever lyrics. I would say start with Small Change and Swordfishtrombones, but it’s hard to go wrong with any of his nineteen studio albums. Just pick one, dive in, and be sure to mark October 25th on your calendar.