Buddhism, history, fiction, dogs, tattoos, vacations
You, in real life.
We are floating up a steep scrubby slope. We hear male voices gently singing "Tumbling Tumbleweeds" and a deep, affable, Western-accented voice – Sam Elliot's, perhaps:VOICE-OVER A way out west there was a fella, fella I want to tell you about, fella by the name of Jeff Lebowski. At least, that was the handle his lovin' parents gave him, but he never had much use for it himself. This Lebowski, he called himself the Dude. Now, Dude, that's a name no one would self-apply where I come from. But then, there was a lot about the Dude that didn't make a whole lot of sense to me. And a lot about where he lived, like- wise. But then again, maybe that's why I found the place s'durned innarestin'.We top the rise and the smoggy vastness of Los Angeles at twilight stretches out before us.VOICE-OVER They call Los Angeles the City of Angels. I didn't find it to be that exactly, but I'll allow as there are some nice folks there. 'Course, I can't say I seen London, and I never been to France, and I ain't never seen no queen in her damn undies as the fella says. But I'll tell you what, after seeing Los Angeles and thisahere story I'm about to unfold – wal, I guess I seen somethin' ever' bit as stupefyin' as ya'd see in any a those other places, and in English too, so I can die with a smile on my face without feelin' like the good Lord gypped me.INT. RALPH'SIt is late, the supermarket all but deserted. We are tracking in on a fortyish man in Bermuda shorts and sunglasses at the dairy case. He is the Dude. His rumpled look and relaxed manner suggest a man in whom casualness runs deep.He is feeling quarts of milk for coldness and examining their expiration dates.VOICE-OVER Now this story I'm about to unfold took place back in the early nineties – just about the time of our conflict with Sad'm and the Eye-rackies. I only mention it 'cause some- times there's a man – I won't say a hee-ro, 'cause what's a hee-ro? – but sometimes there's a man.The Dude glances furtively about and then opens a quart of milk. He sticks his nose in the spout and sniffs.VOICE-OVER And I'm talkin' about the Dude here – sometimes there's a man who, wal, he's the man for his time'n place, he fits right in there – and that's the Dude, in Los Angeles.
INT. EXECUTIVE OFFICE - DAYAgent Smith stands, staring at the city below.AGENT SMITH Have you ever stood and stared at it, Morpheus? Marveled at its beauty. Its genius. Billions of people just living out their lives... oblivious. Did you know that the first Matrix was designed to be a perfect human world? Where none suffered, where everyone would be happy. It was a disaster. No one would accept the program. Entire crops were lost. Some believed we lacked the programming language to describe your perfect world. But I believe that, as a species, human beings define their reality through suffering and misery. The perfect world was a dream that your primitive cerebrum kept trying to wake up from. Which is why the Matrix was redesigned to this: the peak of your civilization. I say 'your civilization' because as soon as we started thinking for you, it really became our civilization, which is, of course, what this is all about. Evolution, Morpheus. Evolution. Like the dinosaur. Look out that window. You had your time. The future of your world, Morpheus. The future is our time. I'd like to share a revelation that I've had during my time here. It came to me when I tried to classify your species. I've realized that you are not actually mammals. Every mammal on this planet instinctively develops a natural equilibrium with the surrounding environment. But you humans do not. You move to an area and you multiply and multiply until every natural resource is consumed and the only way you can survive is to spread to another area. There is another organism on this planet that follows the same pattern. Do you know what it is? A virus. Human beings are a disease, a cancer of this planet. You are a plague.
Prison Break, Shield, Rescue Me, ER, CSI, Battlestar Galactica, Inked, Miami Ink, Deadwood, Adult Swim
Naked Ape, Shogun, Hagakure: Way of the Samurai, Fight Club
TRAVIS BICKLE, age 26, lean, hard, the consummate loner. On the surface he appears good-looking, even handsome; he has a quiet steady look and a disarming smile which flashes from nowhere, lighting up his whole face. But behind that smile, around his dark eyes, in his gaunt cheeks, one can see the ominous stains caused by a life of private fear, emptiness and loneliness. He seems to have wandered in from a land where it is always cold, a country where the inhabitants seldom speak. The head moves, the expression changes, but the eyes remain ever-fixed, unblinking, piercing empty space.