Okay.
I have been milling this around in the freak-hole I call a brain.
This whole debate about the crap and drivel Hollywood calls entertainment.
I have tried to keep up with the endless debates and discussions,
the rants and rages, the defensive justifications.
Yes.
Hollywood yanks the audience around as it chooses.
Yes, Spielberg movies have a noticeable three count
before the audience coos, cries or cackles.
Yes.
The story quality has greatly diminished.
The attention span has shortened.
The special effects budget and planning has sky-rocketed.
I don’t care.
Yes. I don’t care.
I choose to make myself available to the roller coaster.
I choose to be led – for an hour or two or three.
It is my choice. Please don’t think I am not clever enough to be aware
of the situation. I choose to enjoy it.
Just like all the other crap that has snuck it’s way into my life.
I choose to find a way to enjoy it. To make it mine.
Case in point…
Battlestar Galactica.
Brilliant! OMG!
The back-to-back death plots. Genius.
Yes. I know
I KNOW!
They did it on purpose to make me come back next week.
Or next month.
Or next whenever the fuck they decide to come back with new episodes these days.
I choose the ride.
I make myself available to the experience.
I enjoy the fucking ride.
Let go for once.
Gods, don’t be so afraid to look stupid or manipulated.
Christ. Don’t you choose to be there.
It is your conscious act.
gryphon's hole 