My first reaction to the movie — “No Country for Old Men” — was one of revulsion and remorse: I initially felt there was too much senseless bloodlust for my taste. Then I watched the movie again and began to appreciate its warning. Then I watched the movie again and again and again and found a depth of understanding that I find curious and vitally important for humankind.
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There’s a new — virtually instant — HIV test that only needs 20 minutes and the spit from your mouth to determine if you’re infected or not. Blood is out. Spit is in. Shooting your wad has met its salvation in saliva.
2007 is over, and I wonder, as you reflect back with me today, if you feel the last 12 months were more joyous or just bloodier than 2006?
Burma is burning. In blood. I’m not sure what to make of the monks’ protest or how to help their cause or what to do to stop the dying.
Recent movies such as 300 and The Hitcher prove there is a written disconnect between aesthetic, the body, and gore as expressed in the higher calling of community welfare and the darkest depths effervescent commodity.
One film proves there is humanity and purpose in bloodshed while the other confirms we lose our hearts in the unnecessary testimony of individual cruelty rioting in rivulets of blood across the screen.
What causes one mind to write such beauty in dismay, while another pens purgatory for profit?
Why do we require Blood Oaths and Sacred Vows? Why isn’t a person’s word their bond? Why bring the body and holy into the covenant of our truth telling with others?
Why do we place more value in vows sworn on Bibles and other imbued relics than simply assuming one will tell the truth by default?
Is there an added potency to a claim when it is sworn “on my dead mother’s grave?” What is the purpose of secret handshakes, candlelight ceremonies and swearing in those who seek public service? Is our punishment more severe when blood oaths and sacred vows are broken?
I have always been appalled by the idea that if a person has “one drop” of “Black” blood in them, then they are “Black.”
If you have “The Drop,” then no other ethnicity, skin color, or culture can trump that Black droplet.
I wonder where that notion of a single drop of blood making you Black was invented.
It seems impossible that idea came from the scientific community.
A single drop of pure water doesn’t make the ocean any less salty. Adding a single speck of sugar to cookie dough doesn’t make the cookie any sweeter.
If Racial identification by blood droplet isn’t chemical or scientific — then is it a cultural condemnation and a preservation of a social pecking order used to falsely mediate expectation?