Showing posts with label Daryl Dixon. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Daryl Dixon. Show all posts

Thursday, 28 June 2018

Sin Came to Your Door Like This Sexually-Aroused Cat-Predator Thing,and You Invited it In

" Buddy, you can walk right out that back gate there, and 
I won't say anything to anybody. 

I'm supposed to be there now
but, listen, I'm -- 

[ but you're not - you abandoned your post to eat a sandwich... ]

I'm just trying to get by
just like you. 


[Pipe landing] 

Jesus : 


[Breathing heavily] 

Jesus :

[Pipe clatters] 

Daryl Dixon :
It ain't just about gettin' by, here. 

It's about getting it all.

Sin came to your door like this sexually aroused cat-predator thing -

And you invited it in. 

And then you let it have its Wicked Way with you. 

 It’s like you entered into a creative—he uses a sexual metaphor. 

You entered into a creative exchange with it, and gave birth to something as a consequence. 

 What you gave birth to, that’s your life. 

And you knew it. 

You’re self-conscious, after all. 

You knew you were doing this. 

You conspired with this thing to produce the situation that you’re in.

Wednesday, 27 June 2018

Daryl and Shiva

Your Crazy Matches My Crazy - Big Time.

Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more;
Or close the wall up with our English dead.
In peace there's nothing so becomes a man
As modest stillness and humility:
But when the blast of war blows in our ears,
Then imitate the action of The Tiger;
Stiffen the sinews, summon up the blood,
Disguise fair nature with hard-favour'd rage;
Then lend the eye a terrible aspect;

Let pry through the portage of the head
Like the brass cannon; let the brow o'erwhelm it
As fearfully as doth a galled rock
O'erhang and jutty his confounded base,
Swill'd with the wild and wasteful ocean.

Now set the teeth and stretch the nostril wide,
Hold hard the breath and bend up every spirit
To his full height. On, on, you noblest English.
Whose blood is fet from fathers of war-proof!
Fathers that, like so many Alexanders,
Have in these parts from morn till even fought
And sheathed their swords for lack of argument:
Dishonour not your mothers; now attest
That those whom you call'd fathers did beget you.
Be copy now to men of grosser blood,
And teach them how to war. And you, good yeoman,
Whose limbs were made in England, show us here
The mettle of your pasture; let us swear
That you are worth your breeding; which I doubt not;
For there is none of you so mean and base,
That hath not noble lustre in your eyes.
I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips,
Straining upon the start. The game's afoot:
Follow your spirit, and upon this charge
Cry 'God for Harry, England, and Saint George!'

Exeunt. Alarum, and chambers go off

 The Son of The King is still alive,
despite the fact that The Son is absent
and the land is ruled by a Tyrant.

One of the things that happens in later adolescence is that the formation of Male Gangs is frequently broken up by the proclivity of one or more memebers of that gang to get involved in an individual romantic relationship.

And so, the idea that The Female is The Carnivore Which Will Devour The Group is exactly right.