Re: misfit

The Laughing Man (the_laughing_man@hotmail.com)
Thu, 02 Dec 1999 11:05:18 +0000 (GMT) 

>From: Scottie Bowman <rbowman@indigo.ie>

I said:
>     '... if we'd be satisfied with it all being "a random lottery
>     of meaningless tragedy and a series of near escapes"
>     ...  if that "answer" took care of it all, then my guess
>     is we wouldn't be here on this list, any of us ...'

I did hesitate a bit before I wrote that. I didn't want it to sound like a 
religious statement, a belief there is an external meaning for us humans. 
Because I don't believe that. I agree with you (maybe except for the value 
statement):

Scottie:
>In my own case, the meaninglessness
>     is more comedic than tragic but certainly 'near escapes'
>     or 'lucky escapes' is on the button.

Yes, The randomness, the "lucky escape" is there. But that "outer" 
randomness does not implicate a total randomness, it doesn't exclude a 
personal "meaning" in some form. (Even if using the word "meaning" feels as 
heavy with connotation as using the word "God".)

>     I guess this does indeed illuminate my sense of being
>     a stranger on this list.

I don't think that. When hesitating, I was actively thinking of you. But my 
definite feeling was that you are in the pond with us. Definitely not only 
as Zooey's cigar, keeping us from lifting from ground. But that, too. 
Mainly, Scottie you grumpy old fart, you are here as a poet. I can't even 
get myself to cut away any meat from your reply.

>Is it just my advanced
>     years that gives me such a distrust of any poetry - any language -
>     not firmly rooted in the earth & the body?  I can sense my own
>     datedness in feeling so at one with old Ernest as he stands
>     with his company, half-hearing in the distance through
>     the falling rain all those grand words  & concepts - or watching
>     those shadowy women lamenting to the sound of the lyre.
>
>     They will never mean as much to me as a quarter pounder
>     with cheese - or a man's watch with a broken crystal wrapped
>     in tissue paper.
>
>     Scottie B.
>

Since I let them loose before, I'll let in our bites of reality yet another 
round. If only because this is the only time in the movie Michael verbally 
succeed. Even if we all know what a Pyrrhus victory it is.

The two rivals are chasing Lelaina after playing with her mind in their 
respective ways. When they get outside, she is gone:

Michael:
Nice job. Very well done.

Troy:
I don't want to hear it from you.

Michael:
Oh, I forgot, I'm not qualified to talk to you.
I'm sorry I can't be Mr. look at me I'm Buddha on the mountaintop.
Know what you are man, you know what you remind me of? You're like that guy, 
you know, with the hat and the bells you know...

Troy:
Court Jester.

Michael:
Yeah, where everything is so easy to laugh at from a safe distance back in 
clevercleverland.
You know what happens to him? They find his skull in the grave and they go- 
Oh, I knew him... and he was funny.

And the guy, the Court Jester, dies all by himself.

Troy:
Where'd you hear that, a Renaissance festival?

Besides, everyone dies all by himself.

Michael:

If you really believe that, who are you looking for out here?


-..-

Maybe love is partly a biological/chemical illusion, maybe friendship is 
mainly a flock behavior with egoistic reasons. Maybe eclecticism is all we 
have for sure. But still, in the hands of culture and biology we stand, 
trying to hold our own.

I say, standing in the rain.

/TLM



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