Luke+Leia are the Same Person

Luke Skywalker CANNOT Defeat The Emperor.

Luke+Leia CAN - Because They are the SAME PERSON.

Two Bodies, One Soul.

You Must Tear Out Her Dark Heart

 “You Must Tear Out Her Dark Heart!”

- Pazuzu 

Exorcist II - The Hertic

( for which The World was Not-Yet ready.....)

A Black Mirror

The fact that Ray is yelling at him and threatening him ( like a Tyrant ) is NOT helpful... he’s turning himself into a halfway suitable host — he can’t possess The Clown (Peter) , The Mage (Egon) or The Soldier (Winston), but Ray he finds he has some affinity with....

Exorcist II : The Heretic — An Apologia and An Explanation, not a Review

I speak a lifelong and devoted lover of The Exorcist, not mere the greatest ‘horror’ movie ever made, but also the finest and most important movie on the subject of Spiritual Warfare ever filmed.

I am, however, also, an unashamed apologist for Exorcist II : The Heretic (for which The World was not-yet ready....)

apologist (n.)

"one who speaks or write in defense of something," especially "a defender of Christianity," 1630s, from French apologiste, from apologie, from Late Latin apologia "a speech in defense"

At the outset, let me say this — put on your David Lynch Glasses.

A film such as this can only really be approached beginning at a firmly pre-conscious level; where it begins to fall apart however, therefore, is that while David Lynch maintains total and absolute authorial control over every aspect of the production (cinematography and sound in particular, in case that not being too obvious), and only picks out and works with actors who he knows and trusts to plumb the depths of their own psyches and the collective unconscious enough to tap into what he wants (even if he very often does not know what he actually wants, or indeed what he is doing until it is done being captured on film).

What happens instead here is that there is a baggy creative looseness (no-doubt excacerbated by John Boorman’s 6 week illness in the midst of principle photography), so the whole thing drifts about alarmingly and looses focus, so your inner-eye and attention is never drawn quite where it is supposed to be for much of the film and the actors don’t really know exactly what they are meant to be doing, so the emotional tone is just all over the map in places.

So when something in a David Lynch film comes across as absurd, tacky or bad, its because (and you can be assured of the fact that) Lynch WANTS it to be absurd, tacky or bad — it isn’t because it just doesn’t work.

And in Exorcist II : The Heretic that isn’t the case — so the viewer, even the most charitable apologist such as myself — is constantly being challenged to decide : is this consciously esoteric and dream-like (as much of the film is, or could take place viewed from the perspective of a dream), or is it just an attempt to do something over-ambitious (such as a man falling off the side of a mountain and his body becoming lodged in a tight rock crevasse) that didn’t *quite* work.

So your brain is constantly being overstimulated, and your mind cannot relax on being immersed within the film.

There are also some horrendous errors of judgement that might have been very easily resolved and made the film less superficially ludicrous and absurd. Personally, I have no problem whatsoever with the hypnotic “Synchroniser” device used to achieve shared states of deep trance, it’s both scientifically and spiritually not only plausible but also very largely accurate — unfortunately it just LOOKS completely silly and ridiculous, with the black and red plastic-rubber ECG headbands, and the various bleeping noises are, again, probably clinically accurate but not cinematically helpful.

With every year that passes, more and more I am reminded, with regard to Exorcist II of the great, untold Sherlock Holmes case touching on the Giant Rat of Sumatra (“For which The World is not yet ready”, notes Holmes).

The central theme and message of the film — one which stands in stark contrast and defiance to that of it’s predecessor, where it was the very randomness and seeming pointlessness of Reagan’s ordeal which is speculated to be the whole reason a point to her being singled out for possession — that it is the purest GOOD souls on the Earth who are singled out BECAUSE the diabolical hordes want to take such powerful spiritual warriors off the board by corrupting them and bringing about their self-destruction) stands as bold a statement of Jungian psychic theory as was ever committed to film.

Jung’s ideas and concepts of The Shadow and Spiritus Contra Spiritum inspired the original founders of Alcholoics Annonymous, first originators of the 12 Step model for personal spiritual purgation of the demon drink, and the many other that followed, via formation of “societies of mutual sufferers” - 

“You Must Tear Out Her Dark Heart” 

Very Excellent, Sound Advice. 

For Which The World was Not-Yet Ready.

Be Kind. Don’t Be Nice.

nice (adj.)

late 13c., "foolish, stupid, senseless," from Old French nice (12c.) "careless, clumsy; weak; poor, needy; simple, stupid, silly, foolish," from Latin nescius "ignorant, unaware," literally "not-knowing," from ne-"not" (from PIE root *ne- "not") + stem of scire "to know" (see science). "The sense development has been extraordinary, even for an adj." [Weekley] -- from "timid" (pre-1300); to "fussy, fastidious" (late 14c.); to "dainty, delicate" (c. 1400); to "precise, careful" (1500s, preserved in such terms as a nice distinction and nice and early); to "agreeable, delightful" (1769); to "kind, thoughtful" (1830).

3 Days

All right, if the applicant is young, tell him he's too young. 

Old, too old. Fat, too fat. 

If the applicant then waits for three days without food, shelter, or encouragement he may then enter and begin his training.

White Coffee

Cooper, you may be fearless in This World. 

But there are Other Worlds. 

Worlds beyond Life and Death. 

Worlds beyond scientific reality. 

My people believe that the White Lodge is a place where the spirits that rule Man and Nature reside. 

There is also a legend of a place called the Black Lodge. 

The Shadow Self of the White Lodge. 

Legend says that every spirit must pass through there on the way to perfection. 

There, you will meet your own Shadow Self. 

My people call it The Dweller on the Threshold. 

But it is said that if you confront The Black Lodge with imperfect courage  —

It will utterly annihilate your soul.

The Forest of Arden

Essential services have been disrupted due to an Unexpected Forest.

We'd like to reassure you that the situation will be rectified very soon. Please don't be scared. 

And please don't chop, spray or harm the trees. They're here to help. 

Be less scared. 

Be more trusting. 

Oh, and Annabel Arden - Please Come Home.

DOCTOR: Maebh Arden. Maebh Arden. Which one is Maebh Arden? Which one's Maebh? Maebh? Maebh? Maebh? Maebh? Maebh? Maebh? Maebh? Maebh?

(The Doctor looks at each child in turn whilst saying the name.)

RUBY: Oh, my God. Maebh's gone. Maebh's lost in the forest. Maebh's going to die!

DOCTOR: Argh! 

CLARA: Ruby, that's enough! Doctor?

DOCTOR: We've got to find her!

CLARA: Yes, I know that we have to find her. Doctor, listen to me. Her sister went missing last year. She's on medication. The child is barely functioning. She hears voices. She's very vulnerable. 

DOCTOR: What do the voices say? 

CLARA: I don't know. She takes tablets and they stop. 

DOCTOR: You people. You never learn. If a child is speaking, listen to it.

DANNY: Oh, like you listened to her?

(The Doctor turns on the scanner, and it shows a large solar prominence flaring off.)

DOCTOR: He's right. She was trying to tell me something and I ignored her. Maebh Arden is tuned to a different channel. She can lead us to the source, to the heart of the forest. We have to listen to her. We have to find her. 

CLARA: Not everything can be fixed with a screwdriver. It's not a magic wand. 

DOCTOR: Does she have a phone? 

CLARA: Well, yes, she does. 

DOCTOR: Have you got the number? 

CLARA: Er, yep.

•••••

No, no. Not her medication. We don't want to shut her up. 

We want to know what she knows. 

Maebh, what's the. Maebh, what is this? What is this?

•••••

What is it with you people? 

You hear voices, you want to shut them up. 

The Trees come to save you, you want to chop them down. 

Jodie Won't Fail

" Each Life creates The Next - no wonder Time Lords and Buddhists get on so well. " 

- The Chorister

"The Old Man must die;

and The New Man Will Discover,

to his inexpressible joy,

that He has never existed...!"

- Buddhist/Time Lord Aphorism

K'Ampo Rimpoche

"This is above all Strangeness..."

" This Doctor keeps cropping up all over the place. 

Political diaries, conspiracy theories, even ghost stories. No first name, no last name, just The Doctor. 

Always The Doctor. 

And the title seems to have been passed down from Father to Son. 

It appears to be an inheritance.... "

- Clive Finch, 2005

Not-Shakespeare :

Perhaps it's time I wrote about Fathers and Sons, 
in memory of my boy, my precious Hamnet. 

MARTHA: 

Hamnet? 

Not-Shakespeare :

That's him. 

MARTHA: 

Hamnet? 

Not-Shakespeare :

What's wrong with that? 

Old Grandfather

The Cosmic Hobo

The Established Dandy

The Exception That is The Rule

The Chorister

The Colourful Jester

Time's Champion

Life's Champion

Intermezzo

"You were The Doctor on The Day it Was Impossible to Be The Doctor"

The Designated Survivor

Perfect-10

( The Life So Nice, I Lived it Twice )

The Chin

Dr. Disco - The Wait of The Whirled

(Davros is crying.)

Dr. Disco :
Okay, don't ever tell anyone that I did this...

(He waves his hand around until a golden glow forms.)

Dr. Disco :
A little bit of regeneration energy.

Probably cost me an arm or a leg somewhere down the line.

Or, I'll just be really little....

The Wait of The Whirled: 

Sontarans! Perverting the Course of Human History! 

I Don't Want to Go. 

When The Doctor, When The Doctor Was Me. 

When The Doctor Was Me. 

It's starting. 

I'm regenerating. 

No! No! No! No! No! No! 

(The Regeneration stops, and The TARDIS has materialised.) 

The Wait of The Whirled: 

Where have you taken me? 
If you're trying to make a point, I'm not listening. 

I Don't Want to Change Again. 

Never Again! 

I Can't Keep on Being Somebody Else. 

Wherever it is, I'm staying. 

( He runs outside and the Cloister Bell sounds. )

[Snowstorm]

The Wait of The Whirled: 

No! 

( He plunges his hands into the snow with a sizzle - )

( HE HEALS THE EARTH )

( The Regeneration stops again. ) 

The Wait of The Whirled: 

I Will Not Change. 

Old Grandfather: 

I Will Not Change.

I Will Not!

No, no, no, no. 

The Whole Thing's ridiculous. 

The Wait of The Whirled: 

Hello? Is someone there? 

Old Grandfather: 

Who is that? 

The Wait of The Whirled: 

I'm The Doctor. 

(The elderly figure in checked trousers, cape, scarf and astrakhan hat comes into view.) 

Old Grandfather : 

The Doctor...? 

Oh, I don't think so. 

No, dear me, no. 

Old Grandfather : 

You may be a doctor, 

but I am The Doctor. 

The Original, you might say!

The Woman.

"The Old Man must die * ;

and The Woman Will Discover,

to Her inexpressible joy,

that She has never existed...!

...and so She says :

'Oh, brilliant...!' indeed, matey!

" To Sherlock Holmes she is always The Woman. I have seldom heard him mention her under any other name. In his eyes she eclipses and predominates the whole of her sex. 

It was not that he felt any emotion akin to love for Irene Adler. All emotions, and that one particularly, were abhorrent to his cold, precise but admirably balanced mind. He was, I take it, the most perfect reasoning and observing machine that the world has seen, but as a lover he would have placed himself in a false position. He never spoke of the softer passions, save with a gibe and a sneer. They were admirable things for the observer—excellent for drawing the veil from men’s motives and actions. 

But for the trained reasoner to admit such intrusions into his own delicate and finely adjusted temperament was to introduce a distracting factor which might throw a doubt upon all his mental results. Grit in a sensitive instrument, or a crack in one of his own high-power lenses, would not be more disturbing than a strong emotion in a nature such as his. 

And yet there was but One Woman to him.

I had seen little of Holmes lately. My marriage had drifted us away from each other. My own complete happiness, and the home-centred interests which rise up around the man who first finds himself master of his own establishment, were sufficient to absorb all my attention, while Holmes, who loathed every form of society with his whole Bohemian soul, remained in our lodgings in Baker Street, buried among his old books, and alternating from week to week between cocaine and ambition...

*****

"What a Woman—oh, what a Woman!” cried the King of Bohemia, when we had all three read this epistle.

"Did I not tell you how quick and resolute she was? Would she not have made an admirable queen? Is it not a pity that she was not on my level?”

“From what I have seen of The Lady, she seems, indeed, to be on a very different level to your Majesty,” said Holmes coldly.

[ He ain't kidding... ]

“I am sorry that I have not been able to bring your Majesty’s business to a more successful conclusion.”

“On the contrary, my dear sir,” cried the King; “nothing could be more successful. I know that her word is inviolate. The photograph is now as safe as if it were in the fire.”

“I am glad to hear your Majesty say so.  [ Because I failed - She beat me.  And She knows that She did. And then didn't rub my nose in it by gloating over having humiliated and emasculated me (and The King) in front of my client and employer - who is The King. And a Fool. ]”

“I am immensely indebted to you. Pray tell me in what way I can reward you. This ring—” He slipped an emerald snake ring from his finger and held it out upon the palm of his hand.

[ What a Tool... ]

“Your Majesty has something which I should value even more highly,” said Holmes.

“You have but to name it.”

“This photograph!”

The King stared at him in amazement.

“Irene’s photograph!” he cried. “Certainly, if you wish it.”

“I thank your Majesty. Then there is no more to be done in the matter. I have the honour to wish you a very good morning.” He bowed, and, turning away without observing the hand which the King had stretched out to him, he set off in my company for his chambers. 

And that was how a great scandal threatened to affect the kingdom of Bohemia, and how the best plans of Mr. Sherlock Holmes were beaten by a woman’s wit. He used to make merry over the cleverness of women, but I have not heard him do it of late. And when he speaks of Irene Adler, or when he refers to her photograph, it is always under the honourable title of The Woman.

[ * Letting go, as He does so, to thelast  physical renmant of the mourning of The Memory of Prof. River Song ]

The Woman

Our Lady

RUN AT THEM SCREAMING

The Romance of Dueling (1868)


Waterloo Duels :

When the British Army occupied The South of France,especailly in Bordeaux, French officers came over the garron, for the sole purpose of insulting and fighting The English, who were, in many instances, absurd enough to meet their wishes.


As The Challenge usually came from The English, The French has the choice of weapons and invariably selected their favourite, the small-sword.


Strange to say, the result was usually in favour of our countrymen, who being utterly helpless at carte  and tersse, and all the nicities of The Science just rushed-on in defiance of guards and passes and spitted their enemy at once.

In vain, The French protested that this was brutal, unchivalrous and a crying outrage against the rules of fencing. Stalwart Englishmen stood by their friend and produced loaded pistols, threatening to shoot anyone who attempted to intervene.

This system gradually produced a more wholesome sense of feeling.

Two Witnesses

P.S. I know you two, and if I'm gone, I know what you could become.

Because I know Who You Really Are - 

A Junkie who solves crimes to get high,

and 

the Doctor Who never came home from The War. 

Will you listen to me? 

Who You Really Are, it doesn't matter. 

It's all about The Legend, The Stories, The Adventures. 

There is a last refuge for The Desperate, The Unloved, The Persecuted. 

There is a Final Court of Appeal for EVERYONE. 

When Life gets Too Strange, Too Impossible, Too Frightening, there is always One Last Hope. 

When all else fails, there are two men, sitting, arguing in a scruffy flat, like they've ALWAYS been there 

And they ALWAYS will. 

The Best and Wisest Men I have ever known.

My Baker Street Boys.

Sherlock Holmes 

and 

Doctor Watson.

Niggle was lying in the dark, resting completely; so that, as he had not been either feeling or thinking at all, he might have been lying there for hours or for years, as far as he could tell. But now he heard Voices: not voices that he had ever heard before. There seemed to be a Medical Board, or perhaps a Court of Inquiry, going on close at hand, in an adjoining room with the door open, possibly, though he could not see any light.

"Now the Niggle case," said a Voice, a severe voice, more severe than the doctor's.

"What was the matter with him?" said a Second Voice, a voice that you might have called gentle, though it was not soft-it was a voice of authority, and sounded at once hopeful and sad. "What was the matter with Niggle? His heart was in the right place."

"Yes, but it did not function properly," said the First Voice. "And his head was not screwed on tight enough: he hardly ever thought at all. Look at the time he wasted, not even amusing himself! He never got ready for his journey. He was moderately well-off, and yet he arrived here almost destitute, and had to be put in the paupers' wing. A bad case, I am afraid. I think he should stay some time yet."

"It would not do him any harm, perhaps," said the Second Voice. "But, of course, he is only a little man. He was never meant to be anything very much; and he was never very strong. Let us look at the Records. Yes. There are some favourable points, you know."

"Perhaps," said the First Voice; "but very few that will really bear examination."

"Well," said the Second Voice, "there are these. He was a painter by nature. In a minor way, of course; still, a Leaf by Niggle has a charm of its own. He took a great deal of pains with leaves, just for their own sake. But he never thought that that made him important. There is no note in the Records of his pretending, even to himself, that it excused his neglect of things ordered by the law."

"Then he should not have neglected so many," said the First Voice.

"All the same, he did answer a good many Calls."

"A small percentage, mostly of the easier sort, and he called those Interruptions. The Records are full of the word, together with a lot of complaints and silly imprecations."

"True; but they looked like interruptions to him, of course, poor little man. And there is this: he never expected any Return, as so many of his sort call it. There is the Parish case, the one that came in later. He was Niggle's neighbour, never did a stroke for him, and seldom showed any gratitude at all. But there is no note in the Records that Niggle expected Parish's gratitude; he does not seem to have thought about it."

"Yes, that is a point," said the First Voice; "but rather small. I think you will find Niggle often merely forgot. Things he had to do for Parish he put out of his mind as a nuisance he had done with."

"Still, there is this last report," said the Second Voice, "that wet bicycle-ride. I rather lay stress on that. It seems plain that this was a genuine sacrifice: Niggle guessed that he was throwing away his last chance with his picture, and he guessed, too, that Parish was worrying unnecessarily."

"I think you put it too strongly," said the First Voice. "But you have the last word. It is your task, of course, to put the best interpretation on the facts. Sometimes they will bear it. What do you propose?"

"I think it is a case for a little gentle treatment now," said the Second Voice.

Niggle thought that he had never heard anything so generous as that Voice. It made Gentle Treatment sound like a load of rich gifts, and the summons to a King's feast. 

Then suddenly Niggle felt ashamed. To hear that he was considered a case for Gentle Treatment overwhelmed him, and made him blush in the dark. It was like being publicly praised, when you and all the audience knew that the praise was not deserved. Niggle hid his blushes in the rough blanket.

There was a silence. Then the First Voice spoke to Niggle, quite close. "You have been listening," it said.

"Yes," said Niggle.

"Well, what have you to say?"

"Could you tell me about Parish?" said Niggle. "I should like to see him again. I hope he is not very ill? Can you cure his leg? It used to give him a wretched time. And please don't worry about him and me. He was a very good neighbour, and let me have excellent potatoes very cheap, which saved me a lot of time."

"Did he?" said the First Voice. "I am glad to hear.”

There was another silence. Niggle heard the Voices receding. "Well, I agree," he heard the First Voice say in the distance. "Let him go on to the next stage. 

Tomorrow, if you like."

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.