Saturday, March 22, 2003
I awoke nauseous and disoriented. It took me about five minutes the remember why. The tequila. Oh yeah, the tequila.
For now, Farscape is gone. I thought I'd have something more to say about it all this morning, hangover or no, but I don't, really. No more. That's all. The "final" episode was superb. I thought, actually, it was going to end in way that, despite Chi's blindness, might serve as a sort of pseudo-ending. John and Aeryn in the boat. He's proposed. She's accepted. The camera pulls out for an extreme high angle shot and . . . that's it, I thought. Then, in the last twenty seconds, all hell breaks loose, as it should at the end of a season of Farscape. Maybe even a little more hell than usual. Then "TO BE CONTINUED." At least the Sci-Fi Channel didn't snip that out. Then the smug little message from the network thanking the crew of the show. See? What else is left to say. Stories end with THE END, not TO BE CONTINUED. Ergo, this series hasn't ended. I'll take that as a stingy shred of hope. All shreds are welcome these days.
I'm a bit directionless today. I need to do something about that. Monday, it's back to work on Murder of Angels, full tilt, as they say. I need to print a hardcopy of "Nor the Demons Down Under the Sea" to send to Steve Jones in London. I need to think about finishing "The Rose Garden" (for Candlewick Press' Gothic!), or coming up with something else to write instead.
Tonight, I think that I shall go see Dreamcatcher, as much to see The Last Flight of the Osiris beforehand as to see the movie itself.
WAR-TV is on in the living room. I meant to shut it off after breakfast and forgot. I sat on the couch this morning, waiting for the nausea to pass, watching fireballs and smoke rise above the Baghdad skyline. It's reality TV, the grandest, greatest, realest reality TV possible, and I expect CNN is very happy, even if all their journalists were expelled from the city yesterday. They have the action film to end all action films, droning on monotonously, but keeping the audience glued with promises that anything, anything at all, could happen at any moment, and it will happen to real people. Fuck shutting down streets in San Francisco and New York. We need protesters to shut down the offices of CNN here in Atlanta. A peaceful demonstration that would entirely shut them down. Keep them off the air for a few hours and the sheep might lose interest and wander off to other, bloodier, pastures. Without an audience, perhaps the war could be cancelled. We'd have to shut down MSNBC and Fox, too, of course, but that just might do it. Bush would have to find another route to re-election.
Does no one else realize how perverse we've become? This macabre voyeurism? Look, past all that smoke and fire, people are really dying down there. Really. Their lives are ending. Their consciousnesses, ending. Do you think the networks wouldn't air the actual moments of death, if they only had the opportunity. Do you think the cameras wouldn't linger lovingly on the grieving families? Do you think millions of people wouldn't watch? If so, then you haven't been paying attention.
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