Oh how I hate these movie cynnics and the Hal 9000 nightmares they’ve become. They seek life into where life does not exist. They cling to the vision and not the people behind the visions. They can analyze a film all they want, but the artist’s names are floated around like party balloons. It is here they malfunction as humans. They can only exist upon the bounds of a pale imitation of life which they express in a smoking room manner almost as if it were a quaint subject to slide inbetween equestrian lessons and the market. The words “fun” and “entertainment” only bring about feelings of repulsion due to the malfunction and any unit interacting with the system that does not share the same specifications must be ignored.
Perhaps I hate them because at one point in my life, I was a defective version of them. One that hated all those that didn’t comply, but having no reason to do so. They do have their own way of reasoning. For putting stock into another system would cause corruption in their own files. Emotion would downgrade system efficiency. Hannibal Lector lived with more sympathy and compassion. Emotion may not be a required element in life, but it is required to be human.
The worst part is that there is nothing to be done about them that wouldn’t require tragedy. In fact, tragedy is probably what brought them into this mess. Something must have caused this. The ability to let nothing touch but one percent of the cinematic films released requires a great amount of emotional numbness, and it saddens me because I care. Some may just tell me to ignore them and move on, but I can’t. I can’t let it end with someone on top of a so-called mountain of righteousness when really they’re just men that are the closest to being islands. What makes things worse is the feeling that they like being there. Maybe it’s my feeling that nobody should be an island. I’ve caught a glimpse of that life before. It’s one of the most devastating things you can ever experience.
