Fourth In Line

 

I grew up with this image of St. Sebastian, and his arrows have pierced my body from the day I realized I'd never be normal, enjoy my own lovers instead of your husbands, or take what was once a healthy admiration for a managerial peer like Linda Dezenski, about whom I haven't written in quite a while, and turn it into blind panic in misconstrued complicity. I only have one further footnote on her, which will be dealt out later, given that CIL culture has been shown to be so irrelevant, the question remains as to why I broke down about it at all, in prudish, threatened anxiety. I never truly recovered from it. I fought Trudy Richardson into a travesty of stillbirth to make a clean break, and now the only march to the drummer's beat is you need services. I will make them kill me first, before I give into this, that I must comply and die at the hands of nigger attendance to age and waste, bodily fluids, just another statistic. Say goodbye to Kimmy. She was a brave little girl, bravest female I ever raised and swear I thought she was healthy, and had another five years. She never complained until the needle was injected, the pentothal following. Would that it had been me.

The Taste of Chicken is only Reputed

 And some men need to be killed--Gaosi Raditholo, Warrior

Although I want to spend more time on Pedro Aldomovar and the very rare quality of his rigorous discipline -- offering an almost seamless challenge to my responsive dread, reminding me almost of Otto Preminger, who was more obviously structuralist in his panoramic scope, I want to take a moment to discuss The Book of Eli in terms of an Inverse critic's contention that as a Hughes brothers film it’s underrated, despite its heavy Christian Everyman modality, being at its heart agnostic. The exposition of the script has its moments: the felines almost look like aliens from Mars, whereas the rat Eli feeds upon display of his hunting skills looks untouched, and these scenes may harken back to the old coinage “fat cat,” as representative of Gary Oldman’s character, and I’d argue that Jennifer Beale weaponizes her pre-flash blindness in an original fashion, and the motif of utilizing black liberation theology to carry the burden of white excesses for the sake of equally nascent white innocence, purity, this is something Denzel knows how to do, when he’s not otherwise embracing the pseudo militancy of Malcolm X. He plays a similar sacrificial agent in Man on Fire, but it doesn’t work in this genre, under the guidance of the Hughes, superimposed on a shocking and merciless post-radiation environment. The established religion and its most popular biblical text took centuries to evolve into the sectarian divisions with which we currently abide. If the rather vague backstory of how Christianity was blamed and purged for a nuclear deluge holds, and the young adults coming up out of hiding know nothing of it, then salvation through Christ couldn’t flourish once again, according to tradition. The Hughes brothers enjoy turning out a wry trick or two as auteurs, but Eli has a lot of bloodshed with little sensical return. It is a cop out.