Of all my guilt and all my tremor,
There’s nothing left but splendor.
The time that left my sleep alone
Has woken up to hear me mourn.
All shaken, but not hidden yet,
I have forgotten how I slept.
Instead of teeth and grudge and terror,
I sleep with eyes open in error.
I have no church and I forgot.
I lost my soul, holy or not,
And I am here, without the waver,
Just looking for my soulsaver.
Only to be let down again.
On and on, I have written about The Walking Dead, I have stood by it and encouraged its flaws, only to be let down again.
It’s no wonder this show makes you use your clichés and what-not. This show is full of them and they are dragging it down.
I hoped that, with the start of a new season, things will start moving. What the heck, we had Michonne, and we had the Governor (Philip? Really?!) and we had the Prison.
Those were important story arcs in the comic book, but they all oh-so-flawed and tedious, that I’m beginning to think I am watching a Saturday morning program instead of my usual dish of weekly zombies.
Yeah, so sue me. I have a thing for zombies and vampires and all of the supernatural, inexplicable things. And when I say that I have a thing for them, that means I love movies about them, TV shows about them, books about them. No matter how bad they are. I love bad TV as much as my popcorn, but that doesn’t mean I will encourage this anymore.
Since the new TWD season has started, only its fourth episode was worth watching. I mean, come on! Even the second season had a decent premiere, to say at least.
I was “OOOOK, where’s the action?”. I was expecting a bad ass Michonne, only to get a wannabe-grunty-young chick with 2 zombie-mules with no faces whatsoever. Where is the bad assery? I’ll tell you where it is: nowhere in sight. Michonne just disagrees with everyone, barely says a word and is a pale shadow of the comic book Michonne. Usually, that wouldn’t pose a problem, but when you need strong characters, and you get almost nothing, you kinda feel cheated.
Next: the Governor. WTF, Mazzara, WTF?! I was expecting a ruthless psycho that could strike fear just by looking at you. What do I get? A pedo-looking-Jesus-wannabe, clean and shaven sociopath aaaaaand… And that’s about it. I was expecting someone like Danny Trejo, with the eyes of Steve Buscemi. What’s the deal with this Governor? BTW, his name is Philip and only Andrea (of all the people!) gets to know it.
Next and the worst: the Prison. It’s not that the scenery is barely believable (because it is that way), it’s not that the convicts are unrealistic (because they’re not), it’s just that… I think it was forced. People were starting to get tired of the Farm thingy, so they got their Prison. Supposedly, 8 months have passed since the farm attack. But yet, except for Carl and Carol, little character development is seen. And their only evolution is that they get better at shooting. Things are starting to look bad in the group, with all the tensions and not-speaking to each other, that they gave T-Dogg new (and better) lines. When the black dude starts talking, you know he’s gonna die. Plus, they had one more black prisoner in the joint, so that’s one black dude too many.
What do I want? Episodes like Killer Within. Things happened, even though Michonne and Andrea float adrift in a sea of shit. Andrea is unrealistic and weird and annoying as usual, but that puts her in her normal spot. Michonne is awkward and wannabe-fierce, but accomplishes nothing. The Governor looks like a good uncle, that could rape his little nephew, but that doesn’t make him dangerous to the world, only a psycho. The Prison is on its way to good use, so this is where I’m directing my prayers. So far, only this episode will get my vote. Let’s see what happens next.
Altii au plutit ieri. Am fost si am privit cerul, care de data asta era senin, curat, cu nori pufosi de vara.
Oamenii s-au echipat si s-au urcat in pasarea gri, care-i astepta flamanda, sa-i arunce cerului.
Oamenii, legati intre ei, prin priviri si corzi si parasute, s-au adunat grabiti in burta mare a pasarii. Eu am ramas la sol, din varii motive care tin de frica.
Daca m-as fi dus cu ei, sus de tot, la 4000 de metri, as fi ascultat un singur cantec in cadere libera. Caci fara el nu-i liniste. Si as fi deschis parasuta undeva dupa minutul 3 si 15…
Effort comes with the color purple.
I didn’t know that, so I was just staring.
Effort was staring back at me.
Dressed in my white, ruffled dress, I felt naked and alone.
In the end, I was just staring at Effort.
He looked back at me, his purple eyes lost in his purple fur.
“Well, how ‘bout it?” he meowed.
I blinked, a little scared, but all I could see with my eyes closed was purple.
“I really don’t like your dress” he said, licking one of his paws.
“I think you look like a farm girl.”
I couldn’t say anything.
“Let me show you what I can do” Effort said.
And then he proceeded in meowing while his paws and tail were bending and breaking. I was scared he was in pain, but…
“It’s nothing, it doesn’t hurt” he said to me.
So I watched the purple cat transforming, his limbs going in the wrong direction, his tail instead of his head, his head now becoming wings.
I was scared and crying, but my purple little Effort was no more. Instead, in front me there was this tall creature, with wings and what-not, eight-legged, roaring out of its butt and blinking from somewhere in the middle of its torso.
“See, this is what you should do when you don’t know what to do. If everything fails, take the effort and re-imagine everything. Meow.”
In the end, I was becoming purple myself. I was another effort, another try.
*Tema de aici.
Ca si cum razboaie m-ar paste,
De parca in liniste nimic nu pot face.
Ca si cum din toata tarana ce s-ar naste,
Linistea doar tace.
Incremenit, tacut, aprins.
Ca flacara, lumina si strainul,
Toate-adunate, rasfirate si supuse,
Ma simt incet si nins.
De parca cineva mi-a rasturnat tainul.
Mi-am inghitit cuvintele nespuse.
Si peste tot intunericul din mine,
Ma spal, ma dezbrac, ma intorc in tine.
Ultima floare
Care rasare
De sub zapada, frig si soare
Uita cat doare
Cand tot ce nu are
E liniste, dragoste, soare.
Out of the riddle,
How far is the middle?
The view inside-out,
Without fear, without doubt.
There’s silence inside,
But where do I hide?
Since all of my doors
Are out on the floors.
Now my clocks go backwards,
Shoveling backyards.
With my last drop of will,
I’ll start standing still.
But what do I make,
IF there’s nothing to take?
I think I’ll just wait
For my life’s bait.