I partially reviewed The Matrixi tonight. Partially because the bimbo yet again downloaded a fucking fragment rather than a complete piece, which means I won't be watching anymore movies with her.ii Reviewed because I saw it when it came out ; and not hence. It's been, if you can believe that, twenty years. Twenty fucking years, no joke. It's been it. All of it. Hence. That's right.
I deliberately didn't, to insulate myself from the flood of... well, you know them. "Red pill" and whatnot, the wankers. The puppies born last year, they who've invented new names for sunshine, the geniusesiii who discovered equilibrium for the first time and came up with a personal, specific an' fascinatingly novel howl for colic. Why do you not believe ?
The insulation worked out splendidly, I didn't have to deal with all the tropes this gem both introduced and permanently burned down. Their decay, the mindless reusage of dead tropes did not reflect back on the poor inventor, because I... very carefully didn't look!
Still, it was to my detriment. The Matrix is quite a little jewel, still beautiful, still intricately correct if superficially confoundable. But, as I sit here and watch the pixels, I can't quite find a clear way out of a serious problem.
You see... if you hadn't read the Derrida it quotes before seeing it, if you weren't already expecting something quite like it by the time it came out, if you didn't see it with me, in the metaphorical sense, if you weren't, mentally, there I... well, how shall I put this. I don't believe you're a person, or ever could be a person, or ever had anything in common with personhood. If this thing made new holes in you, rather than fill pre-existing holes for you, if it "blew your mind", if it "opened new horizons" rather than snickeringly confirm, ornately decorate some pre-existing thoughts... you were a cow all along. And are still. And will forever so remain -- the "discovering" is just elaborate fake-out, exertious cover-up, doomed pretense.
In the end, it was always about distinguishing the fakers.———
- 1999, by Laurence & Andrew Paul Wachowski (back before they picked chick names), with Hugo Weaving (V for Vendetta), Joe Pantoliano (Bound) and otherwise a bunch of nullities, disappointments, cabotins &c. I wonder if this ever happened, that anyone hired Reeves and was satisfied with his work. I get why they keep hiring him : he's so bland he's easily mistaken for an empty jar, and by the time they finally wake up to the smooth riverbed pebble reality of the matter it's regularly too late. But hey, at least they didn't put Hugh Grant in the goofball hole, which is the thing with bad actors : you can absolutely always do worse, even if generally not by so very much. [↩]
- As it happens she doesn't know this just yet, seeing how I also confiscated her boxen, for good measure. Not everyone's fit for using the damn things, as it turns out. After all this time, you know by now how la stessa lagna ever goes. How well you know it! Instinctually, subconsciously, in any case automatically. Woe betide me, it says. How every wanna-be's failure's my fault, how responsible I should be for all the idiots coming to a test and failing it, how utterly "since failure's a distinct possibility in the world MP sees, it then follows interaction with MP might even prove fatal to the imbecile complacency at the heart of every mouthbreather!!!". You should be warned, shouldn't you. The hero's job, the subjective, universal hero of these sad times' only jobs are to "try" (as he defines it) and to feel good about himself -- that's the fuck it. What do you mean do any particular thing ?! But doing is fucking hard, not to mention it might not even come out! Wanna talk about some feelings, perhaps ? There's so many great ways to procrastinate, why not pick one of those! It'll be okay, nobody could possibly see through it -- and if some sociopath nevertheless does... well! Let him be warned, he's breaking the social contract! The deal! The fundamental deal at the root of contemporary insanity. An'... um... the consequences!! They are never gonna be the same!!! [↩]
- Engineer is not an English word, but a French import ; it does not come from engine, but vice-versa : engine comes from engineer, because they had the word and no clear sense of why they should have it, so they... gave it some. Like they do, this is what Englishers are : this thing they do,
"Daddy, daddy! What's a cancan ?"
"it's... umm... it's a kind of tree. You know, like that one growing behind the outhouse there. See the gnarly one, third from the left ? That's a cancan!"
What, who's to say only the papists can have cancans, are you saying Englishtards are backward or something ?! But they're gonna promote some local bitter weeds in the field! They can have homegrown cancans of their own! Would you like to read from the scripture ?
The original French was an Italianism, they took a virtue (ingenuity) and personalized it. Like lazy urban bums do ever since forever, she's not an unemployed cocksucker, she's a barrista ; he's not a bum, he's an ingenuitist. That's precisely what it was all about : that "human beings" have "genius", which is to say the magical capacity to equal the creator, in principle. As a potentiality, it is possible some humans can raise to godhood some of the time. Occasionally.
Well... that's a wrap then ; it should be good enough. If some could sometimes, how could you accuse him of not ? On what basis ?! Are you Satan ?!?! Aren't we all equal and therefore nobody has any work to do anymore ?! Because they could have done it ?
See ? [↩]