Still from Lars Von Trier's Melancholia
John’s fleeting concerns about being found by the Zealot lead his thought into that dark alleyway where cruelty awaits.
Of all the traits contained in the shell we call humanity, cruelty is probably the most difficult to understand.
In all his encounters with people, both before and after, he has found cruelty, true cruelty, only amongst those who suffered mental anguish, either by hereditary means based in ignorance or by the imposition of force. He once thought this stemmed from religion and the accompanying fear of hell but he’s come to believe that while this is one bloodline, cruelty is also rooted in the absence of some guiding principle; the guardrail of some golden rule.
Thou shall not fuck with the world – that shall be my epitaph.
And John’s mathematical infamy has brought him to conclude that there is no cruelty in numbers other than the damage that those numbers, when boiled to their lowest common denominator and divorced from responsibility, can cause.
Perhaps it would have been safer to have followed a religion.
But just as there can be no fire without heat there can be no dark without light. It is also true that light can generate heat.
After all John’s thoughts about cruelty, thoughts sparked of by the shadow of the Zealot, Anna-Marie’s face glows like a pale and peaceful sun in the midst of John Smith’s night and for moments that he knows he need not struggle to hang onto his thoughts and his self can be left to the side, solid in the knowledge that they would still be there when he returned. These, he feels, are moments that make the world easier to bear, even if not easier to understand.
Anna-Marie wakes and for a split second the past months are forgotten. She opens her eye to find John Smith gazing at her with what she reads to be tenderness; a form of human interaction that she has not felt since she left the Ballrooms.
“I dreamt I was asleep on the Leviathan,” she says, “Thank you for allowing me to stay; I haven’t slept like that for ages.”
“You’re welcome to stay for as long as you want,” he says, “I could do with the company.”
He goes over to the prepare a cup of warm liquid that vaguely tastes like coffee, a distinction Anna-Marie deems unnecessary to comment on since it is warm and welcome – a luxury.
Of all the traits contained in the shell we call humanity, cruelty is probably the most difficult to understand.
In all his encounters with people, both before and after, he has found cruelty, true cruelty, only amongst those who suffered mental anguish, either by hereditary means based in ignorance or by the imposition of force. He once thought this stemmed from religion and the accompanying fear of hell but he’s come to believe that while this is one bloodline, cruelty is also rooted in the absence of some guiding principle; the guardrail of some golden rule.
Thou shall not fuck with the world – that shall be my epitaph.
And John’s mathematical infamy has brought him to conclude that there is no cruelty in numbers other than the damage that those numbers, when boiled to their lowest common denominator and divorced from responsibility, can cause.
Perhaps it would have been safer to have followed a religion.
But just as there can be no fire without heat there can be no dark without light. It is also true that light can generate heat.
After all John’s thoughts about cruelty, thoughts sparked of by the shadow of the Zealot, Anna-Marie’s face glows like a pale and peaceful sun in the midst of John Smith’s night and for moments that he knows he need not struggle to hang onto his thoughts and his self can be left to the side, solid in the knowledge that they would still be there when he returned. These, he feels, are moments that make the world easier to bear, even if not easier to understand.
Anna-Marie wakes and for a split second the past months are forgotten. She opens her eye to find John Smith gazing at her with what she reads to be tenderness; a form of human interaction that she has not felt since she left the Ballrooms.
“I dreamt I was asleep on the Leviathan,” she says, “Thank you for allowing me to stay; I haven’t slept like that for ages.”
“You’re welcome to stay for as long as you want,” he says, “I could do with the company.”
He goes over to the prepare a cup of warm liquid that vaguely tastes like coffee, a distinction Anna-Marie deems unnecessary to comment on since it is warm and welcome – a luxury.
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5 comments:
marvelous; loved the epitaph.
and i'm looking forward to hearing more about other warm liquids that resemble something.... what a great notion.
carry on!!
Truly an amazing journey :-) ♥
Harlequin: Coffee is a strange addiction - it offers you nothing except the anticpation of more coffee...
Courtney: It gets better (I think) I'm a little ambivalent about this last episode - it was originally part of the previous one (Ballrooms of Mars) but when I came to read it through before posting it needed to be removed.
PS: The title comes from a song by the beautiful Prefab Sprout :
Cruel is the gospel
That sets us all free
then takes you away
from me
Have not been here in ages it seam's probably lost in a dream of Koloathing.Wonderful attention grabbing piece of writing!Now as my connection gets slower and pages get harder and hard to see. This was such a great way to see into another world,also very lovely picture thanks also for sharing.hehe
Be safe walk in peace allways
sonshine
Hey sonshine - thanks for checking in :D
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