After the first death, Amanda spent years screaming, building her bridge back to the world. It took nearly three years to complete. To rise up from the water again. These were the keystones: Her daughter, her home, her husband, their life, the Gods, her career. The righteous joy of stability and the place where medicine and art intersect. And then her daughter died, and herhome went cold, and their life burned down, and the Gods abandoned her, and she gave up her career.
Survival is punishment, for leaving things unsaid. To live is to bear that punishment.
You would say you wouldn’t, but you would.
You would say what Joseph Adama said, which is that it’s monstrous, and cruel, and that you would NEVER, but he’s only saying that because he’s seen it. He’s saying no to the reality. You wouldn’t say no to the idea. If someone made you a promise like Daniel Graystone wants to put on the tin, you’d pay. I would. Because there’s objectivehere’s why we don’t do this, and then there’s temptation worse that actual sin. I would, right now, tomorrow, sell every single thing I owned to spend an hour with my grandmother again, anywhere. And the only reason I can’t do that, the only reason I don’t have to make good on that promise, is becauseI can’t do that.
We can have a whole conversation about the brink and why we draw back from it, but we’re talking in circles. It’s like the conversations we have about whether Congress should ban human cloning; we only lean back in horror because we don’t have to confront the reality. If we did, half of us would still lean back. Half would lean the fuck forward, at least a little, at least for a second, just to hear more. Daniel Graystone is a sick motherfucker, but we knew this a while ago, sometime around when he was ordering his robot daughter to shoot the family dog. The son of a bitch who asks the question, natch, isn’t to blame for your answer, but that doesn’t make him blameless.
I owe money to everybody who bet on Amanda actually being alive. Between this and Sons of Anarchy, Tuesday nights are Holy Shit Paula Malcomsen is Hot nights.
So the monotheists are basically medieval Catholics, with a matriarch, and a death ritual akin to the assasination of Caesar. Interesting. As with most religions, the costumes kick ass. The substance, I’m still a bit vague on. What exactly does The One God do for you that dozens of gods don’t? Right now that God appears to cloister you in Vlad the Impaler’s hand-me-down castle and make you fuck your bodyguards, or cut yourself and a bunch of teenage groupies up in what looks like a marijuana farm. I’m not seeing the thrill here.
Does Lacey’s mom know she’s hanging out in Barnabas’s Sacred Greenhouse of Pain? I know there are no parents on TV, but this seems a little silly. You can’t tell me she’s still going to class.
I love Sam’s fascination with Serge and wish there was a whole show where they got drunk together and talked about how much it sucks hanging out with these drama queens all the time.
The episode was almost over and I was working up a righteous snit about not having any New Cap City and then we got like what would happen if the Matrix and Labyrinth had a tight, hotass baby. When Zoe and Tamara hook up, profesional-killer-wise or otherwise, it’s gonna blow that place up.