in view of the beast

this little bit is inspired by several things. the first is probably liam neeson's most recent film, 'the grey', which i didn't get to see in the theater, but instead watched it at home. the ending knocked my socks off. the rest of my family hated it, because it is somewhat ambiguous and a little undefined as to what actually happens. it's somewhat hemingway in nature, and that is largely the reason i loved it so much. they used a poem in the film a couple times, that really states the entire point of the story. it is as follows:

once more into the fray...

into the last good fight i'll ever know.

live and die on this day...

live and die on this day...

absolutely beautiful. now, in this fine film, mr. neeson's character is forced to put off his humanity, especially at the end, abandoned and alone, left to his own devices to face a wild, merciless, territorial animal that wants nothing more than his blood. for this reason, he is forced, as i said, to lay aside his humanity, to silence compassion, to quiet the beauty of nature, and face it's ferocity, not as a man, but as the animal within himself that civilization has silenced and put down. armed with a knife and some broken glass, he charges the wolf.

another film also played a bit of a role in this. it's called the dark knight rises, the latest installment in the batman franchise and the last to be directed by christopher nolan. his interpretation of batman has been nothing short of amazing, but even more impressive to me have been the villains. scarecrow and ra's al ghul were incredible, joker was unspeakably amazing, and the most recent villain, bane, was an absolute animal. my personal fitness goals entail achieving the physique that tom hardy was able to build in preparation for this role, and his portrayal of the character was just as hardened and defined as the body he sculpted for it. 

a third inspiration is vincent van gogh. this month is the anniversary of his suicide, and his reasons for carrying out his own death play heavily into what i was thinking when i wrote this. he was depressed, despised, and rejected, despite the beauty he created. he could have resolved this in many ways, but the one he chose sealed his work and his name as one who gave the ultimate gift to humanity: solace. 

finally, as with all writing, some of it has to come from the mind and life of the author. and so some has, but i don't care to detail that too deeply. rather i will just say that i found the classic fairy tale 'the beauty and the beast' was the best avenue to express this, and so i wrote a snippet of the beast's point of view of how the whole tail unfolded. i have thought up the preceding statements and the conclusion, but have not yet written them, so this is somewhat incomplete, but i don't really care. these were the ideas i most wanted to explore and put down in word today. whether or not i write the rest is up to me and whether or not i have the emotional drive to do so. so, with the explanation done and over, here is 'in view of the beast.'

For years, I lived with the belief that my anger, my face, my form, and all the hideousness the witch had given me were something of which I should be repulsed, something of which I should be ashamed and try to change, to go back to the regular form of man that I had once been. I tried to change my behavior, to become what I supposed the witch had meant by “a better man.” I read the largest volumes on the nature of man, on the virtues by which a man could supposedly reach his best form. Day by day, I practiced, as best I could, the civilities and the etiquette of men. Day by day, I failed. I tried to ignore the beastly appetites brought on by my transformation, and those vices the witch had told me made me deserving of this cold and hardened curse. Day by day, I failed. The appetites could not be silenced. The vices were engrained, not only as habits, but as eternal flaws in the fabric of my soul. I despaired. I could not change. I determined the best solution was to end my life, and kill the beast I had become.

But on the eve I had designed to carry out this deed, I woke, and when I woke, the delusion was gone, and this beast that I beheld in the mirror was no longer something that I should fear; it was no longer a weakness or a deformity. It was power; raw, formidable, terrifying power. Beneath the haggard appearance and the repulsive characteristics was a body large, powerful, and muscular, with claws and fangs with which to tear. I came to the realization that this was no curse, but a gift the witch had given me. A gift with which I could strike fear into the hearts of the bravest men, and in their state of fear, with their courage broken, I could then break them, bone by bone, and tear the very flesh of their form; I could make them as hideous as I, make them beg for death, and then, with a quiet calm, unleash with violent fury all the anger and hatred and malevolence I had for men, and say, “No.”