Review of Murderball (2005) by Shane M — 29 Jul 2005

It feels like so many people are just drifters from revelation to revelation. We fulfill all the minimum requirements for surviving, and yet this malaise is killing us, little by little. I see so many simply plugged in to fill the space like props. Nobody knows how to invest themselves. The slow suicide, the attrition of passion. All this familiarity offers angles, but we don't know how to rotate what it is we're looking at. Even the silence menace of summer shares the blame.

But, sometimes, we rediscover perspective. Like a smoker getting their trusty old lighter to finally ignite. And when we do that, we shave a layer from our lens of ignorance, and bowels of our factory creak just a little. A conveyor belt trudges. A robotic arm lurches. A lightbulb flickers. It just hits us, through some complicated snowballing of thought, and you don't know how to retrace the path. When it seems like so many are losing the battle of energy, some unforeseen stratagem is revealed and we see hope again. The dawning of a new light.

But, I don't like to wait that long for perspective. Often, I can't wait that long.

I need to surge. I need to gush. I need to raise a spoon to the night and whirl the stars into a worm hole. Because sometimes poetry isn't poetic enough, and wisdom just isn't wise enough. And when I explore deeper into this maze of mortality, I want to find the owl that will lead me where my grand quest really begins.

So, I have a plan. I know how to fight the cannibalization of my inspiration. It's these trappings that squeeze all my tiny pulps dry, and I grow fuzzy and green with mental fallout...but I will try and ruin them. I must be like Wile E. Coyote and tie a rope between each side of the canyon to pull them together. What I need is the rawness of survival to be my guide, to stay in motion. I must live in alertness, live with wings, pray for more easterly winds. And perhaps, when I stir the stew of creation, I can eventually pour something truly worthwhile from it.

Thankfully, we all have magic vines to the sky that we can tug when we need help. The results may not appear immediate, but it's always there if you want to try it.

Ah, bleargh.

Though I may not possess so much of it at times, the human spirit can be beautifully indefatigable (I've been wanting to use that word). People can live with the ardor of ten humans, and yet they may be physically incomplete. The movie [b]Murderball[/b] features quadriplegics living just as fully abled people would, despite their dysfunctional, or missing, limbs. (Well, aside from them playing hardcore wheelchair rugby). The movie is satisfyingly galvanic and runs a gamut on so many emotions and perspectives. It is a glittering testament to reality being so much more fantastic than most fiction we can conceive. Seriously, it's good.