Chapter Sixty Four: Moving Pictures

Love looks not with the eyes,

but with the mind:

And therefore wing'd Cupid painted blind.

Nor hath love's blind of

any judgment taste;

Wings and no eyes figure

unheedy haste: And therefore

is love said to be a child,

Because in choice he is so oft beguil'd.

William Shakespeare,

A Midsummer Night's Dream.

JjJ

The Dark Angel reversed the reel.

There seems to be something wrong.

It blurs the clue. Deliberately. 

Hiding. Threading.

The frames do not sync.

It was an anomaly, obviously.

And the light covers the frame.

The pixels further gratify the color.

Although red was shining through.

In his clear desperation, he was baited.

The angel continued, but there is a pause.

It was abrupt, but necessary.

The overflowing light blinds the truth.

And nothing else to be seen.

The eyes succumbed to physiology.

In weakness, in carnage.

Yet again. Even in imagination.

Reality bites, and gone.

Before its over.

The cinematographer moves his angle.

And a new perspective emerges.

It lacks focus at first, and then. Results.

The picture moves, and life ensues.

In a role within eternity, life becomes poignant.

Ignorant.

And in the appreciation of the service of lies,

The film becomes a vehicle of mistrust.

The character seemingly believe,

That his role is definite.

Real. Undetestable.

But he cannot clearly see.

That reality is distinctly different!

From what the senses can feel.

That the imagined becomes true,

While the allure of fantasy fails.

Then,

Life becomes an endless coercion of role.

Slavery. Obligatory call of the world.

Of nothing but worldly experiences

Enclosed. Superfluous.

And all the falsehoods

And the enumeration of the temporal

Then existence becomes suddenly

An infinite suffering

But by the same art direction of the film.

But while life is decorated,

The set fails in comparison

To the script, to the context.

Then the whole production collapses.

Either the cinematography fails to shoot

Or miss capturing the essence of the lines!

Neither the director had a clue

In the screenplay, he interprets

While the story unfolds, the actor looks dumb.

Failing to see the essence of the voice

As the actors recite their memorized lines,

As if capable--yet, incompetent!

And nothing else. Nothing more.

It becomes a moment of routine

Boring, unappealing, predictable

All the fantasy tropes combined.

And while these subtle messages fail

It moves on, dragging. Slowly.

Because the medium itself was weak

And the story wasn't liked.

Humans themselves have capacity to think!

In the glorious presence

Of the endless opportunity

The lines begin to penetrate

As the heart succumbs, so are we.

The tears suddenly fall from the eyes!

A billion tears. Maybe even more.

In silence the script unfolds!

Then life becomes as it is--moving pictures

Celebratory! The achievement of the many

Triumphs of the human condition!

It unfolds, the actor finally realizes his role

Too late, but suffices.

And then the script becomes familiar

The clue to his humanity unlocked.

Totally oblivious to the fact,

However it came to be.

That art defines the human qualities

And expression must be truly artistic

Authentic, original

Professional, yet understanding

In its interpretation of the world

A moment of love.

As the actors see the spotlight

Then he certainly knew

That life is a crucial performance,

And the world is indeed a stage.

A big, frightening stage!

Where roles are undefined,

And the audition is fully selective.

Unfair. Unforgiving.

A game of trial and error.

The lost souls and biased disposition

Limits his scope, delimitations.

But:

Many dreams revolve around

Love, laughter, of comedy abound!

Yet:

A complete tragedy of substance

And the price of the shooting lenses 

Of the moving Camera.

It was the Devil who saw the clue!

It is time itself! The clock.

The moment is now, and the illusion

Simply do not last

Between

the Frames

Between the light and sound.

And within all of the realization

To be found embedded in the clue

A reel of film. Of course.

However:

The message is somewhat lost

The lines are forgetten again. Clearly!

An abandonment of duty.

And the world's true essence

Vanishes

And then everyone

Suffers

In their imagination

In fact and circumstances

Involuntary admission

Mostly of them,

They are rotten to the core!

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This Chapter is sponsored by Emporio Armani.