Dark Babylonian Aspect

Angelus,
The Other Angel :
Hey Dawn — Yeah, it’s Me.

Is Your Sister Home...?

She is...?

The Angelus hangs up the phone, scowling with irritability

It’s The Other One .....

Hail, Lord Someone Else !!!

All Hail The Dark Overlords of The Universe !!!

WESLEY
A lot's happened. Not just Angelus. 

I've been—I've changed. 

I've seen a Darkness in Myself. 

I'm not sure you'd even begin to understand —

WILLOW
I Flayed a Guy Alive 

and 

Tried to Destroy The World.

[ Who Hasn’t? ]

WESLEY
Oh. So... 

(stands, doesn't make eye-contact) 

WILLOW
Darkness. 

Been There.

WESLEY
Yeah. Well, I never flayed... 

(seems sickened)  

I had a woman chained in a closet.

Dude?!? Seriously...?

NOT-Cool...

I Bet You Didn’t Even Think to Put a Bucket in There with Her....

The Seven Ages of Rocky Balboa

All the world's a boxing ring,

And his whole life was a million to one shot

He has his exits and their entrances;

And one man in his time plays many parts,

His acts being seven ages. 

At first the Loser and a Bum,

Mewling and puking in some Plain Jane’s arms

And then the Cinderella kid, with track suit

And shining morning face, creeping like snail

Unwillingly to the junkyard. 

And then The Champ,

Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad of The Tale of Clubber Lange,

Made to his mistress' eyebrow,

As Another One Bites The Dust

Then a soldier,

Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,

Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,

Seeking the bubble reputation

Even in the ICBM silo’s mouth. 

And then the Mentor

In fair round belly with bad brain damage,

With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,

Full of wise saws and modern instances;

And so he plays his part. 

The sixth age shifts

Into the lean and slipper'd Patriarchal robes,

With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,

His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide

For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,

Turning again toward childish treble, pipes

And whistles in his sound. 

Last scene of all,

That ends this strange eventful history,

Is second fatherhood, Lukemia, Unk and mere oblivion,

Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

How to Be Charitable

"But you were always a good man of business, Jacob," faltered Scrooge, who now began to apply this to himself.

"Business!" cried the Ghost, wringing its hands again.  "Mankind was my business.  The common welfare was my business; charity, mercy, forbearance, and benevolence, were, all, my business.  

The dealings of my trade were but a drop of water in the comprehensive ocean of my business!"

charitable (adj.)

c. 1200, in reference to the Christian virtue, "benevolent, kind, manifesting Christian love in its highest and broadest form," from Old French charitable, from charité (see charity). Meaning "liberal in treatment of the poor" is from c. 1400; that of "inclined to impute favorable motives to others" is from 1620s. Related: Charitableness; charitably.

charity (n.)

late Old English, "benevolence for the poor," also "Christian love in its highest manifestation," from Old French charité "(Christian) charity, mercy, compassion; alms; charitable foundation" (12c.), from Latin caritatem (nominative caritas) "costliness; esteem, affection," from carus "dear, valued," from PIE *karo-, from root *ka- "to like, desire."

Unk.

The way Campbell explained it, 
Young Men need a  
Secondary Father 
to finish raising them.




Beyond their Biological Father, 
they need a surrogate, 
traditionally 

a  
minister 

or a 
coach 

or a 
military officer.




The floatsam and jetsam of a generation 
washed up on the beach of last resort.



That's why street gangs are so appealing.   


They send you men out, 
like Knights on Quests 
 to hone their skills and improve themselves.



And all the TRADITIONAL Mentors -- forget it.



Men are presumptive predators. 

They're leaving Teaching in droves.


Religious Leaders  
are pariahs.


Sports Coaches 
are stigmatized as odds-on pedophiles.



Even The Military is sketchy with sexual goings-on.

A Generation of Apprentices 
Without Masters.

Seven Ages

All the world's a stage,

And all the men and women merely players:

They have their exits and their entrances;

And one man in his time plays many parts,

His acts being seven ages. 

At first the infant,

Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.

And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel

And shining morning face, creeping like snail

Unwillingly to school. 

And then the lover,

Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad

Made to his mistress' eyebrow. 

Then a soldier,

Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,

Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,

Seeking the bubble reputation

Even in the cannon's mouth. 

And then the justice,

In fair round belly with good capon lined,

With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,

Full of wise saws and modern instances;

And so he plays his part. 

The sixth age shifts

Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,

With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,

His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide

For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,

Turning again toward childish treble, pipes

And whistles in his sound. 

Last scene of all,

That ends this strange eventful history,

Is second childishness and mere oblivion,

Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.