harold_maude's journal

Beatrix Kiddo

# 45717

I just finished watching Kill Bill and Kill Bill 2.
I'm not sure how many times I've seen them before, but each
time I've seen one or both of them, I have, as with all movies
that become the stock and trade of my favorite movies, walked
away with something different, each time.

This time was no different.

I thought about the story, the characters in the story.
Them being symbolic types for different people I have either met,known or have wanted to be like, for real.

Since I seem to spend more time in the phsychology department of life than any place else, I really don't find it out of the
ordinary that this view would finally get here.

After watching both of them in order, in one night, I couldn't get them out of my head. I kept seeing scene after scene of the different meetings, the bits of explaintion dropped into our laps, like bread crumbs to lead you
all the way though the story.
A good juicy story line.
Lots of blood everywhere, but done with style and class.
With purpose in other words.

The story unfolds, we get to meet the sojourner
and the meter of justice
and the sinners who are deserving to die
.
We get to listen and watch mini stories unfold and see why things are the way they are in the world according to Beatrix Kiddo. Bits of inferance here and there leave the story even after two installments, open ended enough that if Quinten Terrento decited to make a prequal and a sequal to the whole thing, he definately could.
But I can't see that happening, and in actuallity I wouldn't want that.
The story has just enough of the complete story so that you undestand why everything happens, that it's all you need.
If you want any more from this story you have to think about it and look for what you want from it.
But it's a good juicy story and it has lots of stuff to show you.

I guess that's because it's very japanese honor centered in so many ways.

But back to Beatrix Kiddo. I didn't look at the credits to see if that's how the name is spelled, because at this point, I'm not worried about spelling things correctly.
Individual language expressions is something I want to address but not here just now.

So, once again, back to Beatrix. She is the story teller.
She is the one who dies first,and ironicly the only one who surivies death to come back and as a result, completely stop a group of very highly specialized killers.
We get to see life from her perspective, and the drive that comes with the want for revenge, or from a very old view that mankind has opperated in until actually very reciently with the invention of the judge and jury and judicial and legal system
which is good to a point, but has become bogged down and over crowed with pointless activity.

I think it might be of better benefit if everyone on the planet were allowed the freedom to deal with people that offend them, themselves. They would take revenge or justice how ever you view it themselves with the understanding that they take all the risks, including the very real possiblity of loosing their lives in the process.
No interfearance or societal demand for justice.
Just acceptance of it.

Think about it for a minuet. Put yourself in place of Beatrix for a minuet here. She doesn't go to the justice system to get justice, she goes and takes care of it herself.
She assumes all risks, including the knowledge that if she fails, she dies.

Her ablity to keep her emotions and her purpose seperate allows
her to do what she came to do and nothing more.
The conversation between the second person on the list of death
shows that it's simply unfinished business and nothing more.

Beatrix responds to the question of wanting things to be even by saying basicly this statement of purpose:
"If I was going make things even then I would kill your daughter and your husband and you, that would make things square."

My appoligies for not remembering the names of the people, I have a hard time with remembering names.

The first person on the list, we get to hear the story of how she came to be someone who is feared and respected.
Her path to power begins with her witnessing the assination of her parents.
The immage of her mothers blood dripping like rain from the matress on to the little girls face,is so powerful, it implies the cry of the innocent for justice to the only one who understands what has been lost and is willing without hesitation to answer justice.
Something the legal system tries but so often fails to accomplish.
She, the little girl, is very much like Beatrix in the beginning.
And when she exacts revenge for the death of her parents, there is a sense of "YES!!!" that we feel for her.
She is a hero for all children who suffer and are wounded by someone bigger than them.

We watch with admeration as she takes control of the mountian.
She has earned our respect.
But she becomes the enemy when Beatrix and her daughter become the vicims.
But as we find out, at the end of the first movie, that her daughter is still alive, but Beatrix doesn't get to find that out until almost the very end of the second movie, a surprise that she must not let over take her.
She keeps her focus and purpose.
The japanese phillosophy that in order to exact revenge you must feel no compassion, no mercy, just taking a life for a life.
There can be nothing to dissuade you. Other wise your honor will not be regained.
Something like that.

Beatrix has to go through an army to get to the one.
But the death battle between the two women is in a setting that is beautiful and peaceful.
How ironic that it should be a garden where the snow is falling.
It's so quiet, and the white of the snow speaks of pure intent, and innocence.
The spattering of blood, a breaking of innocence.
Both women set out on the path of revenge, but we only see one end result at this point.
A life that started with revenge and became something deep and dark in it's nature.
We see the other life, Beatrixs' at the beginning of the path of revenge.
For her that is all there is.
Her life before she gets pregenant, is about taking life.
She learns how to be an efficant killer.

The knowledge that she is now carring another life within her
makes her change course so that the innocence with in her will be protected from seeing and being a part of the dark world of death by assination that she has spent so much of her life apart of.

The half japanese half american woman who is the first on the death list of Beatrix is a symbol or archialtype of intent changing course and taking on a new persona.
I've wondered over the last few days if this character continued
to see her self as a bringer of justice, the hand of justice metering out revenge for other people.

The the third person on the list is someone very likable at the beginning.
Easy. Laid back. Not at war with the notion of hiding at what is comming.
We find out about somethings that are in place as his story unfolds.
We find out along the line, that he is the brother of Bill who is the primary and ultimate target for justice and revenge.

We find out that he is not so charming and gentle and willing to just lay down and take what's comming to him.
We find out that he understands that he must do his best to kill Beatrix if he is going to keep living.
There is no way around it. We see the acceptance and the willingness not to run.
We see his strength and his ablity.
We also see his greed at work as well.

We see him attempt to kill Beatrix a second time by burring her alive.
We understand the intent to cause further harm and pain in this process.
The we get introduced to a teacher by the name of Pi Mae, I think that's how you spell his name.
A very cruel teacher.
A very nessisary teacher for the training of fine tuned assins.

We see the whole story. The discipline and shapping of Beatrix into a warrior.
We understand her pain. We see her war with her body to not listen to the pain and exaustion and brutailty that she faces to learn the ways of the samari.

This makes her as she takes up the path of revenge, the most deadly person on the face of the planet.
We watch as she proves that she is the warrior hero of the story.
She faces death again and again and prevails.

I found it elouquint that her symbol of the black mamba is brought in by the fourth person on the list to kill Bill's brother.
The mixture of money, information and the black mamba offers a view of truth about greed and self servatude, and the end result.
The fourth on the list of death is probably the person who I wanted to die the most.
The chacter is played by Darrly Hananna.
One of my favorite actresses. She plays in this movie someone I want to hate.
Someone who I am glad ends up blind and alone with a deadly snake.
We hear the hate pour out of her in shreeking rage.
We have come to understand that she hates Beatrix because she is in love with Bill.
He owns her. Lock stock and barrel.
She wants to be Beatrix, she wants Bill to feel about her the way he feels about Beatrix.
And the only way to get there from her perspective is to kill Beatrix and make her suffer durring the process.
She, infact would probably have tried to kill Beatrix if this story never existed the way it does.

That's what we learn as the movies unfold.

The we see the meeting between Bill and Beatrix.
And we hear the reasons that everything in the story took place at all.
Unfinished business.
At this point, there is no room for mercy, no place for compassion or love.
Even that has not stopped for Beatrix. Her love of Bill.
And her hate for what he did to her.
The fact that he is her daughter's father doesn't keep her from completing her journey.
We see at the end, that it's done in her heart and soul and mind.
The whole life of taking life is done.
That her world now is making a life for her self and her daughter.
That's where the story ends in the movie.

Over the last few days it has been going through my head in big bold immages.
And I have come to realize that I want to be like Beatrix.
I want to be strong and focused. I want to be just in what I do.
I want to move like she moves too. I want to be able to move like the wind and never need anyone to take care of things for me.
I want to be at peace with being all I need to take care of me.
That is something that has been a driving force and war for me over the last 7 years now.
I think maybe that that's why I want to be like her.

She has not come to make things even.

This post was edited by harold_maude on Apr 19, 2008.

Friday night

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# 45708

Another week done, from the work perspective.
It wasn't a bad day outside of the crazy winter weather we are still suffering under.

Spring is just a dream at this point. I've come to terms with that.
For all I know it may stay winter here forever...just like in the movie groundhog day.

I have so little energy and no ambition, so I try to keep busy to counteract this.
I noticed that I'm writing alot lately, trying desperately to keep from sucumming to the feelings.
I got a letter from a sister of mine and I'm two behind. It made me feel horrible that letter writing is so hard.
Far easier to sit down here and just write about what ever is in my mind and on it at the moment.
I've been reading alot of the entries here, and that stirs my mind, but beyond that it's been one long hard road.

In two days time I will be getting ready to go back to work monday morning.
The truth is that I don't want to go anymore. I don't want to do anything anymore. I wish this would lift away, and then it wouldn't be such a deep struggle.

In a short time, I'm not sure how long, this job will come to an end as I am there for one main reason, to be support for the manager there, to help her keep going until she is ready to leave.
After it's done I have no clue as to what is next.
Maybe all I really need is a good long cry. I wish I had some strong onions in the house right now because that would help.
I'm very glad that most of what I write is taken no notice of, because most of it tends to be a draining of the overload that my mind tends to be in most days.

I wish I could turn on humor and let go and laugh until everything I can't do anything about would melt away like the snow.
But even that has become a difficult task lately.
Yesterday held thoughts of jumping off the mortal coil so to speak. I don't listen to thoes thoughts, as it's not as easy as it sounds, and it would end me up in the one place that would take away any sanity.
So we don't go there.

My hope is this, that a tomorrow morning will come and it will be different. Things will fall into place, the path will be clear and I will feel the excitment at going forward.
That is my hope, always.

Words, a thousand words and more

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# 45704

I've been looking up things on the net. Something that can end up getting one caught up in chasing something for days.
I heard about this book, only one in existance, the vonynich manuscript, so I typed in the word and found lots and lots of information about it.
I started bookmarking everything. I don't know if I will be able to wade through everything, it is truely like a sea of information. I wonder what drowning in words would look like.
Maybe something like this:

There I was, minding my own business, just walking along and something hit me on the head. It bounced off just as I got hit by another thing, and yet another.
I looked down as it started to rain things, and discovered they weren't things, but words.
They started falling faster and faster. First by the hundreds then more.
All the words I knew and could think of and ones I'd never heard.
The wind started to blow and pretty soon I couldn't see anything.
I was word blind by now. Groping around hoping to find my way to some place safe, I was stumbling over words.
If I coulda just kept my balance I think I would have been ok, but I couldn't, so I went down and thoes words just kept comming.
Painful ones and ones that induced laughter, which isn't a good idea because then they start getting in your mouth and you have to spit them out because they like it in there, and will start dragging other words in there with them.

After awhile, I stopped struggling. I lost conciousness.
The next thing I remember is someone talking about the words and how they were everywhere, and I was just another victim of word drowning.
There were words embedded in my skin, my hair and even some in my eyes.

:) Seems words could be dangerous, and often are. Sometimes it would or could seem that words over take everything...after all we are a very wordy species.
Ah boy, I'm thinking literally here. Not symbolic, but literally. It would be strange to see if when a person said somthing what came out of their mouth was a literal thing instead of just a word or series of words.
Visualize it. A traffic jam, curiousity killing a cat, it's raining cats and dogs, going off the deep end. That one in particular could come with the question, what end are you going off of?
Biting off more than you can chew could be a good one.
How about making a point. I don't think I want to be close enough when someone makes one of thoes, I might get poked!

I wonder what elbow grease actually looks like. And then there are thoes lovely oximorons. They would be fun to see and not just hear about.
Goverment intelligence is the first one that comes to mind.
I know there are others, I just can't think of any at the moment.
I think I'm going to have to illustrate some of this for BPC.

More thoughts

# 45698

I sit here reading a conversation that is encapsulated in a few words, written a couple of years ago.
I wonder what happened.

I started looking through the pages of people that have come to this place, and I noticed dates of last visit.
So many people, so many lives, voices that still echo off the walls.
Pages of a book that is a world unto itself.

Another wensday conquored

# 45697

These days it feels like getting through the day is alot like going up a really steep rocky hill.

I made it through another wensday. The last few days have been very strange. They almost feel like I've been asleep and am dreaming again.
I wonder how many other people in the world feel this way at least some of the time.

I'm not talking about getting loaded and then beginning the day, I'm talking about waking up and not being absoulty sure if you really are awake or still asleep.
I've actually had several of these days over the last year or so.
They are strange to say the least. The ablity to concentrate is difficult at best, and sometimes it feels alot like a running dream where everyone is passing you by at high speed and the more people that pass by the more you feel like your sinking into oblivion.

I was writing in my private journal and all these strange random thoughts kept going through my head.
I wonder if that's part of this experience.
In alot of ways it reminds me of the month I spent a couple of falls ago in a state of hallucination.
I still have trouble trying to discribe what I saw that month.
Some of it I was able to, but other things I still have seen nothing to compare it to.

I've talked to alot of people about that time, hoping I could find someone who experienced something even similar, but no luck yet.
It makes me feel very alone when I think about that time.
I wonder if down the road a peice someone else will write about something like it.
I've had other experiences like that too. Doing something that no one else that I could find was doing and then a few years pass by and someone starts doing it on their own and it becomes a fad of a kind.
Makes me feel that maybe I'm spending most of my life in a somewhere else state, and anyone else here is so far away that I will never meet them.

I had a crazy dream last night by the way. I was in this old house, and there were soilders everywhere rounding people up, the reason everyone was told, was so that a physical censes could be taken with physical I.D.'s.
I met some people I knew, but can't remember who they were, and we were trying to calm each other with happy stories.
Trying to make light of things so that we could hide the fear we all felt, that none of us were comming back.
Funny thing is that I wasn't scared.
I woke up thinking if the future holds something like this I will ask the soilder that I face if he loves his country and his country men? And if he says yes, then I will ask him to shoot me because I have no interest in listening to my fellow countrymen and women screaming in pain.

It's dreams like thoes, I've had three now over the last year,
that make me wonder if I'm dreaming about some future that is part of the waking world only it hasn't materialized just yet.

Sometimes I really envy people who die. With the exception of different people's accounts of what near death experiences are, there isn't alot of physical evidence to tell us much of anything.
Sometimes I envy them because any loss of love they knew in life doesn't touch them I don't think, anymore. Maybe it does.
I don't know.

I know of one man who was "dead" for 30 minuets. He was flat line for 30 minuets. The paramedics who were trying to resessate him were about to pronounce him dead when he sat up and asked where he was.
I asked him about it and all he would do is smile. I talked to his sister about it and she confirmed the story about his being dead for 30 minuets.
I really wish he had told me what he saw instead of just smiling at me with eyes that told me that death is nothing to fear, because there is so much bigger and better on the other side of that door.

There have been many days here lately that I can't tell if I'm still asleep dreaming some kind of lucid dream or if I'm actually awake.
I assume I am because nothing has happened to the contrary to show me that this is all nothing more than many dreams that have no end.

Last night after work I was so wiped out, it had been a busy day and we were short handed. It didn't slow down for almost 2and 1/2 hours. There was so much to do, and then truck came in and I ended up getting out of there an hour and a half later than normal.
I was wiped out. Working around people all day tends to be somewhat draining anyway. I have learned not to listen to most of what hits me when people are there, but it still exausts me.
I think I should have been a hermit after all.

Left to the immagination and personal interpretation of anyone who was curious.

Sunday night

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# 45671

Well, it's sunday according to the calander on the wall.
Winter seems to be melting away finally.
I'm glad but at the same time I don't look forward to summer which I have this feeling is going to decend on this town and cook what it will.

The last two days have been realitivly quiet for the most part.
No drama just the quiet. I love the quiet, more so now than at other times.
Sometimes I want there to it to be party on and on and on.

But lately, I've been craving quiet. I spend part of the quiet reading journal entries and thinking about what I'm reading.
It's all very much like a very huge book, many autors, many stories.
Much history of many people.
Faces sitting in front of screens much like this one bringing
their part of the world to the rest of us showing us something that what we know from day to day.

I've found myself seaching the net through links that have lead me places that have sparked questions and thoughts.

In the quiet I can almost hear the writers narating their entries, but since I don't know what each voice sounds like I have to just accept the voice I hear each one in.

I've looked at pictures of some faces, and thought with amazment at the brilliance I see. Happy faces, happy times.

Friends and families of writers that I would have probably never other wise met, how ever vicariously, and it's been alot like flipping through a photo album as I've read and looked.

A friend who I haven't talked to for almost two years tracked me down last week. It seemed that it was going to be a strong reconnection.
Then a series of events took place and my friend seems to be gone again.
I tried to get ahold of her several times, but it seems the lines are disconnected yet once again.

I am leaning again what I have known for many years, that many people come and go. Their time in my world is brief. I think that reason alone would make me like this place. It's the same reason I like books, it doesn't matter if someone goes, what ever they had to say I can read and re-read.
Unless someone does what I did, their work stays here.

So even though the person is gone out of my view, the impact of their words remain alive.

I did some more work on a chest that I started several months ago. I am learning about construction with small parts. It's alot like putting a puzzle together. There is no picture except the one you draw, and make measurments for.

Anyway, this chest I'm doing is going to be a good sized chest, and it will also be in the sculpture group that is growning.
I want to take a picture of it before I either sell it or find out who it belongs to. My art does that sometimes. I will do a peice and someone will show up and I know that the peice belongs to them.

I guess that makes everything in my life temporary. Everything in reality is temporary as well. It's just hard to see that when we seem to live longer and longer.
Some times it feels like I'm standing still and the world is disolving around me.
Layer after layer. Melting away into haze.
I feel my eyes close in slow motion and another minuet passes.
I once again feel out of sync with the world around me.
Out of time, shifted just enough out of kilter that nothing quite feels like everyday feels.

It feels unreal somedays, almost like I shift forward just enough so that I'm out of kilter with my body. I don't know how many other people in the world go through this, or if it's just unique to me.

Sometimes I wonder if maybe all of this is just some very long very detailed dream, and I'm laying in some hosptial bed somewhere else in a coma or something like that.
Everything feels real, but very often our senses fool us into believing something that really isn't real at all.
So maybe this isn't any thing more than just some dream I'm stuck in.


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