One.Lady Lazarus.
Dying
is an art, like everything else.
I do it exceptionally well.
I do it so it feels like hell.
I do it so it feels real.
I guess you could say I've a call. (Sylvia Plath- Lady Lazarus)
"It was raining that day as well . . . "
"You didn't come because of the rain?"
Every end needs a beginning and vice-versa . . . and such. Yet every sun that rises needs to set. When people are of course close to the end, they revert backwards to the beginning. The primary skills. The ones that drove them from birth. The basic needs to survive. The ones that are still as solid as concrete when the flames of life peels back the outer layers. The protective barriers. Truth is, we are the pets we keep. The animals we scoff at. In a time of dire need and faced with a threat to our survival they are the skills built in.
Like dogs with raw meat, or something of the sort.
We show this in varying attitudes. Waves. Some emit hope even in the face of defeat. Spike, wasn't one to do so. He was the opposite. It probably resonated for his inept hopes and wishes that he would so die.
He was like a suicide patient. Attempted suicide patient, to be correct. Pulled out of a sack and stuck together with glue. You hear about them and instead of thinking "thank God they found them in time," instead you think, "man, sucks to be them ."
How ironic is it that your life would be falling so south and so fast that you would need to kill yourself to escape it, and that you would in turn fail? How pathetic, may be appropriate.
Spike was never one to leave without a bang. Of course he was mellowed out enough to know when to stop but it was like this tick. This thing inside telling him if he had to die he definitely had to take a hundred men with him. At least.
Julia. She was Spike's raw meat.
She made him go backwards in time before he learned how to pull a trigger correctly. The code of silence. She made him go back in time to what he was before. Before . . . well . . . everything.
The sun rise to his set.
Well Julia was also his beginning to his end.
His blonde haired, blue-eyed beginning to his hopeless end.
She was the beginning to Spike Spiegel. The real Spike Spiegel. Before the syndicate's temptations took hold and Vicious changed.
She was the beginning that mattered.
Started everything.
And in his end, he would revert back to her, and smile.
"This is . . . a dream,"
"Yeah, just a bad dream,"
you're gonna carry that weight . . .
An. The quotes are from the last episode. Real Folk Blues. Review.