Monday, December 14, 2015

The Farce Awakens: George Lucas, Star Wars And The Death Of Episode VII

I have always been a Star Wars fan. The first time I walked down the toy isle at the local Zellers and saw a Yoda action figure I was hooked. I grew up as a small child watching The Droids and Ewok cartoon shows then as I aged I watched the Ewok movies. I was enthralled by this universe that George Lucas created.


"Duh dah da dadda duh, dut duh da. Star Wars trilogy on video!"

I still remember that commercial! I was so excited to see the actual Star Wars films. 
Soon after I walked myself into the local drug store and rented Star Wars: A New Hope. 
Blown away!
The next night I rented both, "The Empire Strikes Back" and "Return of the Jedi".
I never knew that a film series could be so good. 
I soon owned many copies of each film. Special editions, the originals, VHS to DVD. 

I read everything I could get my hands on that was Star Wars related. I soon found out that the original trilogy was just part of a larger story. Episode 4,5 and 6 were the middle trilogy. George Lucas had written a much longer story from day one. He had decided that it was much too lengthy for one film. He separated them into three trilogies. The classic episodes, 4 to 6 told the story of young Luke Skywalker and his journey into defeating the dark side of the evil glactic empire, as well as coming to grips with his father, Anakin, who turned so many years previous, from being a faithful Jedi knight to becoming the evil Sith, Darth Vader. Lucas planned a prequel trilogy to tell the story of how Anakin Skywalker turned to the dark side. Lastly he had a sequel trilogy plan telling the stories of Luke and his children. It was a generational saga, like a space version of "East of Eden."

In the 90's I wondered if these films would ever be made. It was years since "Return of the Jedi" was released and there was no talk about the prequels or sequels.

Then they announced Episode 1 was being filmed. This was what I was waiting for all those long years, to get the rest of the story. I started collecting everything I could with "Star Wars Episoide 1: The Phantom Menace" written on it: Every Pepsi can, McDonald's toy, poster, or magazine I could get my hands on. 

I didn't get to camp out and see it opening day. But I saw it opening week and I was blown away. Lucas had done it again! Another masterpiece. I remember taking a friend with me to the cinema who had never seen the originals. He sat there awe-stuck. He went home and watched the originals that weekend and concluded that Episode 1 was the best of them all. 
Lucas released episodes 2 and 3 with similar effect. Though Hayden Christensen was a disappointment as Anakin, the rest of the cast and the fantastic story made up for his lack of acting skills. 

I finally was able to see how Darth Vader came to be, how the Jedi and the Republic were destroyed as well as being introduced to a whole slew of new characters, each as deep and fascinating as those introduced in the original trilogy.

With the prequels came the cartoon shows and more novels and comic books. I lapped it all up.

Then in 2012 the bottom fell out! George Lucas sold Star Wars to Mickey Mouse! 

"What! Where are my sequels? I have been waiting twenty years to see the rest of the story unfold."

George had already started pre-production on episode 7. Then his girlfriend had a baby. George is an old guy and he knew that jumping fully into bring the last chapters of his saga to completion was going to take a lot of time and energy, so he decided to pass it off to Disney and stay at home with his young family. 

Originally the plan was for him to stay on as advisor of all things Star Wars. "Would this character say this or do that?" "If we take the story this way would it line up with your saga?" etc. Disney originally told him they were making the films based on his scripts.

Well none of that ended up happening. They threw his scripts, plots and many of his characters into the garbage. They made it clear they didn't want him to advise them on anything.
They wrote a whole new story and called it, "The Force Awakens"

"What! When did the force go to sleep?" 

They hired over-blown and over-rated J.J Abrams, the creator of "Felicity" and "Alias" to direct and co-write the script.

So they want Star Wars to be pretentious and whiney like everything J.J has ever done?
They are trusting the creator and writer of "Lost" to keep the continuity of Star Wars intact? Great idea because Lost had no continuity. He made a mess of his television shows, he will make a mess of  the Star Wars canon.

Great! Fantastic! False fans celebrated everywhere. You see, many people disliked Lucas' directing on episodes 1 through 3. They felt he focused more on the special effects than on the characters. That's all fine and dandy to have that opinion, I suppose, seeing as George Lucas only directed episode 4 in the original trilogy, leaving "The Empire Strikes Back" and "Return Of The Jedi" in the capable hands of others, who did extraordinary jobs. Whatever criticism faux fans of Lucus could be remedied by allowing others to direct his stories, not butcher the saga by writing a new story when the originals are not yet finished.  

Disney doesn't even have the bravery to label this new travesty, Episode 7, because it's not. It's not the film, not the beginning of the trilogy we have been waiting for since we all watched, "A New Hope", all those years ago. 

I have never felt so sick about a studios' decision in all my life. Some nights I lay awake thinking about it.

Am I surprised? No.

When Walt Disney started his studio he had a standard for the art in his cartoons. All the cartoonists had to conform to Walt's style. That is what Disney does to everything: They take something original and creative and change it to fit their mold. Not improve, it but rather, "Mickey Mouse" it.

I went to Disney World a couple of years ago and saw a Goofy stuffed toy with Darth Vader garb and a Mickey Mouse Yoda. That is what they are doing to Star Wars, making it "Mickey Mouse" instead of the epic saga we have had thus far. They are not only watering down the story but replacing it with a cheesy cartoon version of itself. 

I am reminded of a scene from Chris Farley's, "Tommy Boy". He was trying to sell his brake pads to an automotive parts dealer. The owner insisted that he wanted a guarantee on the box, that it made him feel all warm and toasty inside.  
Chris Farely's character, Tommy explains why his competitors put a guarantee on the box "Because they know all they sold ya was a guaranteed piece of sh**. That's all it is, isn't it? Hey, if you want me to take a dump in a box and mark it guaranteed, I will. I got spare time. But for now, for your customer's sake, for your daughter's sake, ya might wanna think about buying a quality product from me."

I hope the new Star Wars film flops. But it won't, because the Star Wars name represents something. All the fans of the past films expect something. The continuation of the space opera that George Lucas wrote in the 1970's; of the generational saga that has been presented so far; the sci-fi fantasy that has left audiences in awe. The public sees the title Star Wars as a guarantee of these things.
The fans won't get any of those things. They will get what Tommy Boy described so "elegantly". Or how I would put it, Mickey Mouse dressed up as Darth Vader. 






Labels: , ,

Wednesday, November 11, 2015

Inside, broken, alive

Hollow me 
Hollow you 

Dig in deep and plant a seed.
Water it daily and watch it grow.

We can know much more. 
Fruit and fantasy in stow.

Broken plates upon are backs
How did we get off track?

Voice and light call us back 
To the narrow road we must go. 

Sheep we shear beside the journeys tide. 
This wave we must ride. 

Boats and tunnels,
Shapes and swallows 
Fling upwind by and by. 

Stained by windows open, painted in our minds. 
These are not ours to own
These are not ours to own

But we can burn them behind locked doors 
Smashed wide open with the Spirits sword.

We were not made to be broken
We were not made to be broken. 

Hurt you
Hurt me

Let Him fill us and we will grow. 



Monday, September 14, 2015

99 days ago


The wasp wilts in the winter wind
While the moth burns in the sun

Frozen flames lick at my face as dawn is upon the mercy seat. 

Blood in my bones and rain in my veins 
I will not fade as the sun goes down. 

My dirt stained shadow resides at your side. 
"Be mine, natures shine!" My lungs scream out. 

Tell me where the wild wolf sleeps
Tell me where my gazes leap? 

I want to let go of all of me and take the water that killed the wine. 
I want to look into beauty's eyes

Can't You see Your all I ever wanted 
Can't You see that the Kingdom  is all I ever wanted!

God, oh God
You're nothing but the Christ
You're nothing but a burning light 

Slaughter this broken man and build a Lego man
Created and reformed away from the dragon, the fly, the twisters lies. 

Can I graze upon the field of death and rise up fully alive? 

Resurrection
Resurrection 
Resurrection 

I can't deny, Yours and You in mine. 




Friday, May 29, 2015

A Story Half Written...

I am not a ghost
I am a story half told

Full of rhythm  and sound
Plot holes and characters going 'round

My goals not clear 
But leather bond
Determined to live on 
past my feet touching ground 

Twist and turns often found 
But disappointing endings abound

At every turn the plot devices fail 
And life fully known avails.  

Romance broken with crashing sounds. 
Duels poorly written and gun play rarely found. 

Write and worry and turn around in spirals 
 
Smiles and winks and furious glory 
Is this my life or a book poorly written?
Is this my life or a book poorly written?
A novel or commentary?
Prose or poetry?
Narrative or first person?
Genre type? Fiction or biography? 

Dialogue that makes no sense 
Crowns of glory rarely found 

But this story is mine 
And my heart beats through my chest 
And so this book is written with this sound
Flesh and blood are pages written slowly then rapidly, tenderly and violently. 
There are tears, villains, fears, heros
Sickness, healing, divine moments and crippling loss. 

Through it all I am alive 
With flesh like paper
And blood like ink

Trusting the Author of all of life's chapters to write His story upon my heart. For His acts to be the purpose for my steps. 
For His plot to be etched in this paper back novel which is my life. 

Run baby run. The lines will fly by. 
When we are young, when we are old 
 
Nothing can stop what will be. 

We are women, we are men
We are stories, we are songs 
Half written 
But we belong 
We belong 
No matter for how long 
As long as we have words written 
We are words written by an author 


Sunday, June 01, 2014

In the wind of grace.

I break in the winds of grace
I glow in the eyes of saviour king
I weep as floods of thankfulness over come me. 

He has risen, He has risen. He has risen. 
I proclaimed a hundred time and an hundred more and it's healing power will never be quenched.  

How can I ask for anymore? All storms and disaster pass over me like a sweet breeze. 

The kings blood was shed so I can be free!

Kingdom people rejoice and let your voices proclaim this gospel song. 

All rivers of life flow into one:
The cross!
Father
Spirit 
SON

Saturday, July 06, 2013

winter to summer: souls wrestle at night

The winter wind cuts through the cracks of my skin.  
The blowing ice pierce my eyes
Tears sting my cheeks.

The cold hand of mystery and forlorn lost,
build a stream inside of me.

Takes me somewhere warm.
Where my winters will meet an end in your summer breath and sunshine eyes. 
Your fully colour and I am black and white. 

These legs stand against the sun 
So strong against the grain.
Shimmering like dust 

I cry out, "the beauty is too much"

Because beauty resonates in a moment and bleeds upon my head as a memory. 

I will search until I have no more hands to dig, nor a heart to spend 

For upon this grave I know there is life far more blistering hot then my own. 

Fear cannot live while you breath
Darkness flees with the voice of truth. 

Peace flows from your pores, while silent prayers come forth from loving lips. 

Skyward they soar, to bring flesh to these dry bones. 

Fight for your lungs to fill again
Fight for your heart to beat again. 

To love, to speak,
for passion to bring light to these broken vessels. 

Do not tarry Spirit! 
Do not wait to break apart this clay and stone. 
To cut the diamonds from our crusty eyes.

These tears must mean more then moisture upon your skin. 
These tears are more then salt upon your lips. 
These tears are heart cries to the heavens. 
And realities firmly shaped by truth. 

They may not see with mortal eyes,
They may not touch with humans hands. 

Two palms pressed against palms.
Two souls bleed into one.
Two rivers flow into one Spirit. 

Two souls to divide flesh and marrow.

Two hearts beat as one. 

A flash of lightning, the sound of thunder  

Hasting the day of Christ's return.  

drive-by resurrection

Your drive-by resurrection
Your loving revelation
Your dream station

Drop everything with spikes
Sharp and blistering. 

For every moment is sacred 
Every eye on you has a soul
Every deed has a consequence. 

So remember to burn bright 
Resolution, energetic light. 
Keep your loved ones tight 
And fight girl fight. 


Labels: , , ,

the passing days

Erase your memory's so you don't need to forget.
Take away the bad things so you don't need regret. 

Dream of the sun, so you don't need a gun
Live love so you don't need to run. 

We are, they got, and that's not enough. 

When the winter blooms upon the dry rocks.  

Life folds into its self and there is darkness.

Darkness has a cold dark cost.
Can't look into the black eyes of the lost. 

Circles of belief and faith. 
Turning around at night. 
Going in and out of sight.  

You are lost and this is not right.  

low light

Lungs be ready
Sight unsteady 

Realize that light lays low on days of sorrow.  

The reality is, that reality is, a farce without Christ.  

Smoke this city with sounds of the alter. 

Rain down upon us, oh strong Spirit of salvations thunder.

Bring your power upon this wasted sand.
these souls feed upon venomous lies.

Bring your truth to this broken land.



Sunday, May 13, 2012

Arts and/or Crafts





Pause these impeding memories.

Your ski mask is all wrong!
Misshaped to the slender curves of your face.
Must you wear magenta eyeliner with your turquoise jeans?

My dear you stand out like a tigers spots.
Be who you be when your ready for me.

Paintings fall off the wall.
Your sack is empty expect for your tricks so violent and steady.

A museum so full of art, tragic and dull,
Translucent and mundane.
Yet beautiful and plain.

Calendars that count the days of the heart beat of the human spirit.

Tick tock
If I had a rock I’d smash your weary exterior.

Don’t tell me you don’t care!

I saw you standing there.
Dazed and glazed from your subsistence abused, raincoat, caring case.

Your coat carries more than your baggage.

Condense your thoughts into emotions and emotions into sounds.

The police sirens will never drowned out who you really are.
A woman that never sleeps, and dreams of more than she can ever be.

If I could have one wish, it would be that I would be the tiny fetter, in the seams of thread that drink of your face, as your ski mask tugs at your skin.

You museum art thief!, I love the shady side of your life, I love to drive your car that gets away once in awhile.

I do all this, to be by  your side as you smile at the clanging of the paintings, that hide in your bag of hopeless canvas.

Your hair cut short to cover your hazel eyes. The cyanide pill you keep under your dash, for a taste of the wild side.
The fear that you would be caught unprepared, as your tights tightly fold under your leaden exterior.

I am ready for the speed of your life, as we flee the scene with ready-made Picasso ’s underneath ours arms.

Why do you push away with such disgust, as I nuzzle up to you as you shiver from the rain that soaks your bones and causes your eyes liner to run upon your cheeks?


Do you not see that you were meant for me? Your dragon scales and wolfs bane teeth do not scare me.

My skin is tougher then a tin can full of mystery.

Remember me as the one who commits felonies at your side.  Free Warhol’s “Marilyn Monroe” and “Starry Night” by Van Gogh.  Free me from “The Persistence of Memory” your mind is like Salvador Dali’s.

You are my Leda, my Saint Anne, my Mona Lisa with a mischievous smile. We have run through marble hallways, laid with tile, now lets walk a mile down the streets of love.

We never had to use a gun, only sticky fingers, in sticky gloves.

Do you keep me around for the amusement of my laugh?, or the sound of my whisper through painted glass? Or do you truly enjoy the company of a man who holds “your paintings” on his lap?

When the sound of the gun, takes me down, will you shed a tear as you run?
Into the night, will you look back in fear, in regret, in sadness at my demise?

I can’t keep on, as your arms move along the widow sills of my aching heart!

Can anything be real in this make believe world of cat and mouse, of scream and shout, of broken dreams and of easels that bleed!

My dear, crawl into my veins, paint a picture on my brain. Of your ways of your refrain, of your face, feed my soul, make me whole again!

Drop me on my head, because these are my last words and then, like your eyes upon my thighs, I AM DEAD.


(well not in the literal sense, but in the spiritual and emotional sense which of course is much more serious and profound)

Momentum 1 (1969)




in this place we need no eyes for the sound is here.
in this place we need no eyes for the beauty goes right through you.

i beg for those changes to change right back to where I felt this way in the first place.

in this place the rain can't fall because its no place at all.

oh meaning, desperate meaning of bealiving.

faith is here in the sound that goes between your eyes and mine.

do you hear what I hear?

black cons first on my feet.
Jump to see you, jump to meet. 

smile that smile of waiting bliss and wait for me my miss.

rain hard on the feet of the  "lovers sand",
drownd in the joy of past moments.



Tears Of The Sand



Do not blot out my voice...

Generations!

Let my open mouth release a scream....

Nations!

Do not let the deserts quench my breath.

The tears of the sand fill my lungs...

Brothers!

Let me speak! Let me yell! Let my cry!

For glory has a sound.
The bell of victory has a name.
The spotless sentence, the endless Word.
The truth unfolds.
The veins of Life.
The rivers of Living Rain...

Sisters!

Cry for me when my tears have dried,
Scream at me when my ears are shut,
Shake me, when I lose my guts.
Fast for me when I stuff my self with death,
Pray for me when my feet grow soft.

Dream with me when I return to the Sender.

FATHER!

Forgive me when I fall
Straighten me 6'3, make me tall.

Thank you for the blood.
Thank you for the infinite divine placed in my mind.

Ruin my plans that strip me of dignity.

LORD

Send me!
Make me!
Shape me!

Take me back to the lonely that I cannot see!


Inspirred by this moving video - http://vimeo.com/2843450