BB: “Crush Your Enemy Totally.” RIP Brett

September 14, 2018September 14, 2018 ~ 하늘의 조각

Stay calm and stay regular. “Take your Metamucil.” I mean, Brett played the game. I am glad Angela wasn’t surprised, in regard to Brett’s impending treachery. We just witnessed the Level 6 civil war!

Tyler, Angela and Kaycee flexed their first strike capability against Brett, before he could even make a move.

I am happy for Tangela; I just don’t do showmances well. The “I love you”(s) feel forced. Law 20, of the 48 Laws of Power: “Do Not Commit to Anyone.” It takes years to truly love someone. Fans, this is for TV. Just pull out a script.

Also, in the Stupid File: Nobody decides anything on Thursday morning. Governments and corporations have things planned out, beyond 2023. Wake up, Hay. She didn’t deserve a coup de grâce – and she didn’t get one. In Survivor, telling someone he or she is going, is risking that such a person will dump the rice.

I get excited when my favorites win comps, because I value action, over words, but Kaycee doesn’t have the killer instinct. She was really excited, to get Brett out of the house – but only once Tyler walked her through it and explained a blindside, to Kaycee, Barney-style. Otherwise, Kaycee would still be saying “Let’s Go,” for all of Level 6. That’s not how the real world works, Kaycee. Out there, some people are devious and underhanded.

Kaycee will be rocked by a betrayal – if Tyler doesn’t carry her to the end, and lose to her, in the Final Two. In the GBMs, Angela and Tyler decided to blame Hay’s exit on Brett. But that’s just poor planning, since Brett will be following her, soon after and they will compare notes, in the jury house. Hay will then wonder why Tyler and Angela had to lie to her, even in the GBMs. Again, we’re looking at a Kaycee win, by accident, not on purpose.

JC was more horrified for himself, than for Brett. JBrett was over before it even began; Tyler and Angela nipped that power pair, in the bud. JC didn’t even vote to keep Brett. JC is just trying to keep all his ducks in a row. He did jump off the Brett boat, before it went down, but JC’s still a rat, fleeing sinking ship, after sinking ship, Titanic after Titanic. Could JC still win? Maybe, but also only by accident, not on purpose.

If Julie asks you if you are going to vote for Tyler or vote “bitter,” that’s not a real choice. Of course, on live TV, Brett is going to be a good sportsman. But coach the question, in another way: voting “emotionally,” instead of voting “bitter,” and Brett is totally on board.

You cheer, when you get out an enemy, but Tyler, Angela and Kaycee really laughed, while twisting the knife, into their friend. Yes, friends expect everything and betray, at the drop of a hat, just like in the 48 Laws of Power – while enemies expect nothing, and will be loyal, for a scrap of goodwill. But Tyler and Angela are killing their chances with the jury. Pyrrhic victory? We’ll see.

Fountains in a Tea House

May 19, 2018May 20, 2018 ~ 하늘의 조각

The clouds above were roiling and gray. The wind tore through the trees, ripping off small branches. An untethered, rotted tennis court net flapped in the wind. Alli walked across the leave-strewn hardcourt.

A house loomed, lopsided and in disrepair. Alli entered through the familiar red door, swinging off its hinges, hanging by a screw.

She strode down the long corridor. The hall was lined with crumbling Corinthian pillars, some with whole chunks smashed out of them. The rest of the room opened out on both sides of her – broken windows letting in the cold, shattered mirrors, reflecting nothing.

Water from the afternoon rain poured down from holes in the ceiling. The cataracts framed the room, like the off-white pillars, stained with mildew. Streams sluiced through the ruined floor, irrigated by cracks in the tiles.

Nealy stood at the far end of the room, in her beige suit, smoking a cigar. She inhaled the exhaled smoke back into her nostrils. Her eyes glinted in the darkness at the far end of the room, away from the daylight streaming through the many gashes in the house – a sudden shift of light in the background, like the quick flare of flaming ash. Whorls of smoke twisted away into the blackness.

“Did you bring it?” she asked, spitting out a piece of tobacco.

“Yes,” Alli said, hefting the ax from behind her.

Nealy stood out of the way. Behind her, in the inkiest depths, in a shallow pool of water, was a blue and black beast, a cockatrice at least the length of a Winnebago. Its leathery wings unfolded at regular intervals, but it was wounded, conserving its movements.

“Get rid of it,” Nealy said. She turned away, toward the distant remnants of a torn-out window pane, taking a deep drag on her cigar.

The wyvern’s neck heaved in a useless bucking motion. Its teeth clacked as it opened and closed its jaw impotently. It couldn’t shapeshift anymore – it didn’t have enough energy. It was a dark avatar, frozen in that form.

The constant patter of water flowing down from the roof was all Alli heard. The whole house exuded the essence of soaked, dead wood, forgotten splinters. Alli smelled, at the edge of her consciousness, a bright, green whiff of Honduras. She raised the ax.