He’d read all about Transcender’s journey to Saturn, and the havoc that was wreaked upon that that hotel. It upset his constitution to think that the System’s savior, the genetically-perfected designed to fend off nether-threats, could be derailed so easily. And by such trifles, nonetheless. Alcohol. Women. Drug-beams. All of the vices that, according to many, had done in Earth in the first place.
To the moonbeam death-child, Transcender Yonder had lost his way. Which may have been true. But as seven-year old, there ain’t no way he could understand Transcender’s appreciate of fine pussy and bourbon.
Headphones clamped on tight, the moonbeam death-child tried to tune out his negative thoughts. Rather than dwell on the various ways he’d like to torture Earth’s mightiest drunkard – testicle-electrocution, force-fed glass sandwiches, and atomic bombings at the top of the list – he made his peace with the omniverse. Heck, three songs in, the moonbeam death-child laughed at the thought that people didn’t always realize that music aligns the brainwaves to the same frequencies that neutrinos use to slip between dimensions.
So relaxed by the music was the child that he fell into a deep slumber. So relaxed was this slumber that he didn’t notice the blanket being draped over his listless frame. And so gentle was the draping that he smiled the hearty grin of the runt who’s looked after by the alpha male.
Transcender Yonder was finally home, and was glad to see that his moonbeam death-child, whether or not he’d admit it, didn’t hate him.
Thanks for checking out the Monday Morning Commute! This is the spot where I ramble about the make-believe and the real-believe alike, sharing with you the various ways I’ll be entertaining myself throughout the workweek. After you peep my means of destroying ennui, hit up the comments section and share yours. C’mon, you know how it is – work sucks, life rules, let’s party until we’re dead!
Are you ready to rock?
There are few films with more buzz surrounding them this year than Paul Thomas Anderson’s The Master – his first film since 2007’s cynical masterpiece There Will Be Blood. The rumors boiling online that it’s a fictionalized look at the origins of Scientology have fueled controversy – peaking when word spread that the church’s shit-eating poster boy Tom Cruise “has issues” with the film.
But the film is not an expose on Scientology and certainly not an attack on its sci-fi theology. Although nearly everyone in the film is a member of a blooming, controversial cult, PTA only uses Scientology and L. Ron Hubbard as a loose framework to stage his perplexing and brilliant character study set in post-World War II America. At this point, PTA’s grasp of cinematic expression is ridiculous. Every shot, every camera movement is sharp and profound. As with There Will Be Blood, The Master grips you by the balls before a single line of dialogue is spoken, which doesn’t happen until several minutes in. Once Joaquin Phoenix opens his mouth…game over, man.
The French got themselves a sexy one-sheet for The Master, a one-sheet that was previously the poster for a secret screening. Dastards.
Behold! The final trailer for The Master. Hard to believe this movie is nearly at our our goddamn doorsteps.
This movie is so gorgeous it makes me want to vomit. Have another clip, count the days.
This new clip for The Master is showing off the unnerving world that PT Anderson is building in his latest opus. If the film follows the promotional clips, then we’re going to be in for one uncomfortably hypnotic descent.
Wondering like me how you’re going to make sense of a post-Dark Knight Rises world? Hang your hat on the fact that this Fall this son of a bitch awaits us.
Chhhhhhhhhhhhhhrist (or is it Xenu?), I can’t wait for this flick. Here’s the second tense-as-fuck trailer for The Master.
Tom Cruise. Totally like second in command in the cult of Scientology. Totally also a friend of Paul Thomas Anderson, whose upcoming flick The Master is a take on the wonky religion. Awkward? Yeah, awkward.