Line

The modicum, if not the absence of the plot has transfigured Immortals into one of those B-class horror thrillers that exemplifies gore in every scene and primal violence which reverberates throughout the cavalcade of tragedies. Once in a while, the silver screen will turn black thanks to the cut, creating a undesirable parenthesis that compels us to practise illegal download and a unison of boos, especially during the dark screen which conceals the sex scene . The be-all and end-all of the whole Greek myth adaptation commotion boils down to one facet, violence. Neither lachrymal moment nor inspirational modus vivendi is preached. What remains is just the copious quantum of mutilation, the ersatz hue of sanguinary, the devoid of compunction and the equanimity towards the prey's plight. The negligent attitude towards the mortals' supplication has shaped the monster that revels in the torture of victims, who have seek death as the liberty, which is left unheard.

I am always told that new can replace the old. But, they are wrong. The new provides a new vista but its reminiscing of the old's weakness is painful. While the obstreperous habitual action is banished, the bunco aims to beguile the spectators is here to stay. The Aesopian language that can only be deciphered by a certain slipshod as well as the reprehensibly crafted objection are the lock, stock and barrel of the old vendetta. The visceral action hitherto is confrontation but being sangfroid has become my resolve. The time to retract from the intoxication and self-denial and do some recollection of the past cannot be reprieved any longer. I don't want to be haunted.



Archipelago is slowly forming around the dent wearing the virga that threatens to sublime upon any careless steps. The invariable routine of dozing off in the rain returns bringing along the reminder of the inexorable infestation that has inevitably paints the room with its delicate splash of redness. I ensconced myself to the sanctuary. The sky is crying.




Sub rosa,
Silent Gazer.