Skip to main content

Game of Dwarf

Game of Thrones (hereafter Game of Dwarf or just Dwarf, in honour of the only reason to see the show) is about as banal as the prose in the novels which spawned it. Though I continue to watch (for the dwarf, of course), I don't care about the vast majority of the characters, fights, or intrigues on screen. They tend to be as joyless as the sex-as-penetration-only to which we are regularly treated in Dwarf, which seems to hold a world with perhaps five people who are even aware of the possibility of foreplay.

Though much of this is likely the fault of the ham-handed George R. R. Martin, I do not blame him. What more can be expected from a formerly illiterate pirate? You may think I'm just making this up, but how else would you explain the prominent 'R's in his name; his poor understanding of strategy and better grasp of tactics; his tepid and repetitious prose juxtaposed with his crisp banter; his largely transactional (or rapey) and generally uncomprehending view of sex; his interest in a retired, repurposed pirate learning to read; or the fact that the coolest character in his series is a pirate?

Considering his past, I'd say he's done pretty well with Game of Dwarf. But surely we can do better than sticking with the writing of a once illiterate robber who knows more about knots and waves than words or women.

I envision an improved, happier show, where the whole of Westeros suddenly learns there is more to sex than simply slipping it in, and that there is more to life than unimaginative fights and plots. This would be Game of Bones, and it would be both a porno and a literary criticism of putting plot or story above technique, of placing ends (be it getting off or telling a story) above the means, and of forgetting that the little things matter.

That last bit was a pun.


Popular posts from this blog

Well now.

I think I'm going to try to revive my online writing habits, outside of Facebook.

And what have I been thinking or feeling in the interim, across the last couple years or so? Well, I'm glad you asked.

In part, this.

Pointless Ruminations on the Absurd

The world around us is in no way required to conform to our expectations, beliefs, or desires. Rather, it is all but guaranteed to disappoint us, at least once or twice a lifetime. The loftier (or more deeply felt) our ideals, the more this may be true.

When we accept this incongruity and are keenly aware of it, but cannot change our thinking, absurdity steps in. The world no longer quite makes sense. It is untethered from rational or moral concerns, adrift in a bizarre joke told by no one.
Desire for normative order is often irrational and misplaced. Placing ethical constraints on amoral matters makes no sense. Yet these appear (sometimes, seemingly) inescapable conclusions. Hence the sensation of absurdity.

We can apply these incongruous demands to anything and anyone. But this is not a universal philosophy. It is a philosophy of the self, a diagnosis.

Happy Valentine's Day

Mindful concentration and earnest effort make health, safety, and creativity more likely, but there are no guarantees. Every plateau has a cliff. Each incline can become a decline. These paths require attention. When we traverse uncertain ground in the darkness, if the wind sweeps past, we may keep our feet or we may lose our footing and tumble down.
When I requested February 14th off from work, I didn't expect to spend the day alone, you know. Now, it's just another day on which I should be doing chores. There is so much to do around my small apartment. It's almost amazing. But of course I realize, keeping our spaces clean requires persistent effort, as well.
Still, there are cliffs all around. Some of them seem treacherous, others quite comfortable.