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Friday, March 30, 2012

Graveyard Reflections


So, here I am in the world.  And the world is a very loud place.

Maybe people drown themselves in chemicals and sitcoms to avoid the sensory overload.  I find myself wondering again if autistics are just an extreme example.  If their withdrawal is simply a last-ditch act of sheer desperation, to try to shut out a world that has just too much crap going on at once.  Too loud, too bright, too much motion, too much data.  If so, my sympathies.

When we first got our current TV, we’d put it on volume 15 for broadcast, and that was apparently about right.  At night, I’d turn it down to between 8 and 10, depending on what I was watching, if I watched anything at all.  I didn’t watch it much.  It gave me headaches.

One morning, Ariel was watching TV with the volume set to level 8.  It was too loud for me, so I set it down to seven.  She said that was still plenty loud enough for her.

Later on, the TV was drowned out by the Big Boom of a passing car’s radio.  It hurt.  A lot.

Nowadays, when I watch something on the TV, I watch at night.  That way I can have the volume at 2 or 3.  So long as it’s night no one is drowning it out, and I can watch comfortably.  Contests of noise do not appeal to me, and my heart lies with the House of Usher.

A few nights ago, I went for a walkabout.  It was a beautiful night.  I wandered and meandered, and ultimately wound my way to the graveyard not too far from my house.  I walked along the ditch on the North side, I washed my hands in the basin of an old statue.  I left plastic flowers on the graves of the forgotten dead, their stones worn and crumbled.  When I could read them, I spoke their names aloud.

There are a few houses with their back yards facing that old cemetery, the ditch lying between them, a border between worlds.  One of these houses has a motion-sensitive light, so sensitive that it turns on even if a person is in the cemetery. As it did this night.  Bright, vast, and fluorescent.

Afterward, yet another light turned on.  A very powerful one, like a search light, or perhaps a big maglight.  It tried, without success, to find me in the darkness.  In the past, the hand of the person holding has been known to shake badly as they searched.  But on this night it did not.

The first time this happened, I had waved at them.  They’d tried to train the light on me, so I’d stepped into a tree’s shadow.  Then I’d called out to them, asking if I could help them in some way.  They had just kept shining their weapon around into the graveyard, hand shaking.  I had finally got tired of it and left.

So this time I didn’t bother hailing them.  No sense frightening them with courtesy.  I waited, hidden, as they turned on their big light, waited a few minutes, and then turned it back off.

I planted a few more faux flowers and left, keeping to the shadows I adore.

It’s quiet at night.  Dark, and soothing.  You can hear the wind rustle in the tall grass and the leaves of the trees.  There aren’t that many motor vehicles, roaring and big-bass-booming their way along the hard black scars burned into the earth.  Not many people out in general, for that matter.  And as I said, it’s quiet, and that suits me right down to the ground.  Just the wind, the sky, and whatever animals are in season.  Fireflies, perhaps.  Dancing in secret places while the bats dive after them in silence.

It is indeed a shame that in order to run my various errands, attend class, and even to go to the gym I must emerge during the daytime.  Even what social life I maintain must often take place at least in part during the day.  Most of my friends and family (those who are left in this city) do not start their free time at midnight.

Which is a loss.  For in doing what they must to survive, they do miss out on so much quiet, dark beauty.  A few of my friends do walk with me at night though, and when they can such times are priceless treasures.

But now, my time is nearly up.  I must prepare to again brave the day, to humor the civilization around me a little more.  Such a pity it must be so loud, so bright, and so desperate.

--Coyote.

Wednesday, March 28, 2012

The Heirophant's New Clothes




     The story you are about to read is true.  Okay, it’s a conglomeration of stories that are true, and which I have seen repeated in various forms and sub-cultures over the years.  The names have been changed for the usual reasons.


     Quite some years ago, when this ancient land was not quite so ancient, there was a priestess named Wind.  Not wind like in watch, she told the chat-rooms, but like the Air.  She was the High Priestess of Zephyr Coven, and loved the respect that this brought her . . . to distraction.  She and her beloved coven-mates could often be found in sunny glens and psychic fairs, dancing in ritual garb or clad in the sky, showing to all the world a confidence and ease with themselves.  An ease that none of them felt, quite as much as they thought they did.  Wind loved celebrating the freedom her faith gave her, with friends and with lovers, and of watching the auras of those around her: the mixings of gorgeous reds, purples, blues, and yellows.  She was especially fond of helping others in psychic or magical distress, and of sharing her visions and insights with others. 

     Most priestesses are busy women indeed, giving help to those they can, seeking to help others learn and learn from those others, and to walk always in whatever way their path calls for.  Wind, however, was always busy showing the world how free and humble and insightful she was, and thus she became very popular.  Many people came to visit Wind and her coven, and her life was full of celebration.

     One day, as Wind and her sister-in-heart Sybil were lazing in a clearing, Wind was playing her pan-pipes.  A stranger came up to them both, ignoring their nudity, and complimented Wind on her pipe playing.  She smiled, and pointed out that she had no training in them, but had merely been playing what was in her heart, and thanked him for the compliment.  He looked at her in amazement.

     “I thought perhaps another had taught that tune to you," he said, "but now that I see you more closely, I understand!  I have a gift, fair ladies: I know not only all my own past lives, but I can see the past lives of others, as well.  For I see now that you are both sisters, or were hundreds of years ago, and daughters to me.  That song was known only to my tribe at that time, and has not been played for over a century, since we were wiped out by a grim betrayal.” 

     At that moment, his calm broke, and he wept openly and unashamed at his grief, even as the two sisters moved in vain to comfort him.  Asking him more about himself, they learned that he was Roivas, and was a wanderer in this life, destined never to know a place of true rest because of the call of the Nainilyh, the guardian-spirits whom he served.  Being house-mates, and compassionate to his plight, the two sisters invited him to their house at once, and he became their guest.

     Wind and Sybil gave Roivas their blessings and protection, as he was their guest, and introduced him to the rest of their coven.  Raven, Heather, She-Wolf and Delilah all received him, and made him welcome.  After Roivas brought the conversation to numerology, Heather noted that his addition brought their number up to seven, a very potent number.  Although she had only referred to his company, Roivas interrupted, and said that he could never join any coven, for the powers that flowed through him were only for the protection of women.  And anyway, he said, they would overpower and outbalance any circle’s harmony.  He then retired to his guest-room, to perform his rituals of prayer according to his vows to the Nainilyh.  There was a brief time of silence, and the room exploded with questions and conjecture.

     Which was, of course, how Roivas had wanted it.

     Day and night he stayed in his room.  Save for brief forays to seek food or some spending money (his traveling ways, required by his vows, made it impossible to hold down a job), he worked his mighty magics on behalf of the coven that had welcomed him. 

     “You see,” he explained, “only I, or another trained as I have been, can craft such magics.  I dare not perform them before you, or you might be harmed by their power, for you have not been consecrated to them as I have.  Please allow me to do this, in gratitude for all you have done for me.”  The fact that he had made no sexual overtures to any of them seemed to give credence to his claims of a sanctified life.  When he was alone he rested and laughed heartily, for the coven was coming to trust him and his mystery more than they trusted themselves.


     Wind had a nagging feeling that something was awry, but she did not want to seem rude, or a fool.  So she asked Raven to speak with Roivas in his room, and quietly scan the energies therein.  She shared none of her misgivings with Raven, and told no one else in the coven of their actions.  It seemed the wise thing to do.

     Raven knocked, entered, and saw nothing unusual about the room at all

     “Lord and Lady!” thought she, “I can’t see what he’s been doing at all!”  But when she strained to see, she thought perhaps she did see something.  So fearing to lose the respect of Roivas and of her coven, she pretended to see the energies and rituals he had been crafting.

     “What do you think, Lady?” asked Roivas, “I tried to tone it down a little, to be subtle.  Did you notice the way I wove the elemental powers together, here and here?”

     “Yes indeed,” said Raven, now half-believing that she saw what he spoke of. 

     “I’m glad,” he said warmly, “that you think it might help.  You know, most people couldn’t grasp the intricacy of this work, as you have done . . .”  They spent the next few hours talking, and Raven returned to Wind and told her how marvelous the spells he worked were.

     A few days later, Wind was again curious about how the work was progressing.  Something seemed not quite right, but she didn’t want to offend her guest, or hurt Raven’s feelings.  This time she quietly sent Heather to view his craft, again telling no one else in the coven of her concerns.  As had happened with Raven, Heather could see nothing, but betwixt her insecurity and his flattery returned to Wind aglow with tales of Roivas’ power and insight.  So it went with She-Wolf and Delilah, as well: over the next few weeks, Roivas revealed that Heather had been a Highlands wise-woman and his lover in a past life, that She-Wolf had always been a hunter and warrior, and that Delilah had been a priestess of Atlantis, helping him with the sacrament of the Old Gods.


     Then Jane came to visit.

     Jane was not a pagan, nor a witch, nor a sorceress of any stripe or hue.  She was the owner and operator of a health food store down the street from Wind and Sybil’s house, and had been friends with them for years.  Wind and Sybil told her how wonderful and insightful Roivas was, and she smelled a rat.  She said as much, and advised them both to get rid of him.  They refused.

     “I don’t trust him,” said Jane, “Your business, you’re grown women, but please be careful.  This sounds a bit too down pat, somehow.”  The two sisters invited Jane to their house to meet Roivas, confident that if anyone could bring out her hidden talents in the mystic arts, it would be he.

     The evening went well at first, if a bit guardedly.  Then, Roivas began talking of the difficulty in mastering more than one style of magic, as he had. 

     Jane didn’t care, and wasn’t concerned with spells.

     Roivas started telling her of her past lives.

     Jane said she was Christian and therefore didn’t have any past lives.

     Roivas told her of his vows to use sex only in its highest, most pure and magical form.

     Jane didn’t care if he was found naked in a bathtub of lime Jell-O with two hippos and a hummingbird, and said as much.

     In the end, Jane left, after quietly asking her friends to kick the fruit cup out before something bad happened.

     After Jane left, Roivas told the sisters that his worst fears were realized: the traitor that had killed their tribe lifetimes ago had returned, masquerading as their friend!  This was why Jane denied having any past lives, he explained, and why she pretended not to be magically active.  She was destined to destroy them all, life after life, so long as she got the chance.  He wept openly in his love for them, and his fears for their fate.  She had probably tried to turn them against him, divide the three of them, hadn’t she, to better pick them off later.  Just when they had re-united as a family!

     That night, Wind slept badly, and her few dreams were sorely troubled.  She awoke with a new resolve: she would see his spells and works herself, and judge him by his actions rather than by anyone’s words.  She gathered the whole of the coven together, and as one they went to see Roivas in his room.  These were serious charges on both sides, and it was time to see for certain.

     She knocked.  He answered.  She explained, and he let them all in with good grace, understanding and compassionate.  All were in awe at Roivas’ magical workings.  Even Roivas himself half-believed his stories by this time, and joined them in the dance of words - but no contradictions – describing the mastery of his magical works.  “Magnificent!” said Wind’s coven-mates, “How elegant, yet so simple.  No wonder it takes so long to prepare!”

     Wind saw nothing.  She moaned inwardly, thinking the fault must lie in her.  Yet she feared to lose the respect and love of her fellows, so aloud she said, “It’s dazzling, beautiful!”  And everyone agreed.

     Over the next few days, change came rapidly.  Spells were crafted against Jane in the name of defense and justice (Roivas was "powerless to help," as his vows forbade him from "ever working against a woman"), and sure enough, her health began to suffer.  Roivas spent little time in his room any more, saying that it needed the space to grow during its last stages, and alternated sleeping in Wind’s bed and Sybil’s.  He knew that this would only be for a short while: the rest of the coven were nearly convinced that his magical path could only be taught through lovemaking, and he was mentally preparing to propose that the original, Atlantian Great Rite was an act of group sex.


     The months passed for the coven in a rushed, dreamless sort of way.  Roivas kept them all busy: between lessons in Atlantian Sorcery, Ninjitzu, and Sex Magic, not to mention all their jobs, there was little time for reflection.  Or thought at all, for that matter. 


     At last came the weekend of the great fair, when the protections he had placed upon them all would doubtless be most sorely needed, and the training he’d been giving them best displayed.  They walked out in full glory, proud of the powers they had gained from beloved Roivas, and wishing he could have accompanied them.  Practitioners of a hundred arts, not to mention a variety of groupies, stopped what they were doing to watch Zephyr Coven pass by.  Word had spread of their new-found powers, of their angelic auras and impenetrable shields, and all strained to witness the marvelous new magics at work. 

     No one could quite see these shields or angelic auras, of course, for they existed only in the imaginations of Wind and her coven.  There were echoes, from their belief, but that was all.  But each person was afraid to be thought a fool or headblind, so everyone strained to see more of the higher magics that these women wore, and many “Oh’s” and “Ah’s” sighed through the crowd.

     Children had been brought to the fair, of course.  And one little girl, head cocked to one side, said in a much louder voice than she thought she used, “But there’s nothing there!”

     Slowly at first, but with rising speed and clarity, everyone began to realize the truth.  The magnificent wards were only dream-stuff and shadow, no more substantial than a promise made in wine.  Wind knew the truth too, as did her coven, but they kept their heads held high as they finished their procession.  They counted on the short memory of humans to repair their tarnished reputation and ease their humiliation, a humiliation made no less for having been shared.  By the time they returned to Wind and Sybil’s home, Roivas was of course gone.  Along with cash, many of their valuables, and several credit cards.

     Wind locked herself in her room and wept.  “I was wrong!” she sobbed, “I’m not a priestess!  I’m not worthy of anything!  I’m nothing!  I should die!” 

     Eventually, Sybil managed to pick the lock, and they held each other until the tears stopped, and they could think again.  The coven met again that night, and each member resolved, then and there, never to allow herself to be duped again.


     Zephyr Coven still exists, though it has never been the same. It‘s the Walking Wounded Coven now, and while people meeting them can see the love and trust between them, it’s nothing like it was. 

     Wind stepped down from her role as High Priestess, and has never forgiven herself for “betraying her friends.”  Later, she left the Craft behind her entirely.  She tries not to think too much about it, or the friends she needlessly left behind.  Wind went into a partnership with Jane, who is in turn still trying to get her to talk about what happened.  Wind trusts herself little, loves herself less, and is weaker for it.

     Sybil is High Priestess, and has been ever since Wind stepped down in spite of her friends’ protests.  She rarely laughs, now, so heavy do her responsibilities weigh upon her.  She takes responsibility for her own decisions, and for everyone else’s too.  This leaves little time for laughter.

     Raven and Heather were married six months after the fair disaster, and are completely devoted to each other.  Raven trusts no one now, save for Heather, who in turn keeps trying to force her to trust again, “for her own good.”  Thus they have established a cycle that could go on forever.

     She-Wolf has come to believe that all men are evil and that love is a weakness, and is training the daughter Roivas left her to bear accordingly.  The rest of the coven quietly tries to soften the impact of so much bitterness, but there’s a limit as to how much they can do.  She-Wolf’s daughter, Lilith, at least knows she can talk to the rest of the coven.  But she still dreads the day she’s caught dating anyone male.

     Delilah hasn’t been able to feel whole or loved unless she was in a sexual relationship ever since Roivas, and so bases her self-image solely on the pleasure she can give men.  She and Lilith are each determined to help the other through these trying times, blind leading blind.

     All these psychic scars naturally caused their own problems in due course.  But that is a story for another time.





--Coyote.

Saturday, March 24, 2012

My humble apologies for the lack of posting this week.  I've been held up by copious testing - some pointless, some not.

Friday's update will post on this coming Wednesday, and the next update will be on the Friday immediately following.  Again, my apologies.

--Coyote

Friday, March 16, 2012

Time

I like to think about time.

It isn’t a line, you know.  At least, it’s not just a line.

Here. 

Take a piece of thread. 

A nice, long one.  Hold it by one end.

That’s how people like to pretend time is.  A straight line, with a little curve here and there. 

A start, and a finish.  No flow.  Just a neat, tidy, thin braid.

How very dull. 

Still.

Take your thread.  Hold it as high above your head as you can.

Make it a pretty one.  Gold, maybe.  Or a deep forest green.

Now. 

Drop it.

Watch it glide to the ground, like a snake making love to the ocean.

That’s how time really flows, my friend. 

It doesn’t march, or fall, or run.  It glides.  It soars.

And then, when your thread coils on the floor, watch it carefully. 

(Before the cat starts playing with it, I mean.  Fell beast.)

You see how some parts overlap the others?

Time does that.  It loops, it coils.  It slips and slides.  It memory-chills and deja-vus, it prophets and past-lifes and eight-hundred forty thousand missing person-per-years.

Careful.  Don’t slip.

But sometimes, just sometimes, you can jump.

From one coil to another.

Like a little flea.

(Boimp!)

Oh, it takes it out of you, no mistake. 

But it can be done.

You have to be careful, though.  Not too far.  No one needs their first stroke at age twenty-six. 

And for your father’s sake, please only jump forwards.  There are much kinder pathways to madness than that. 

It all depends, like so much else in the world, on how you look at it. 

After all, there are always ways.

But I don’t mess with time much.  Not really.  Not like that. 

Because time isn’t just a thread, either.

It’s a web.

And when you’re walking a web, with gemstones like dewdrops, there is one thing you should always remember:

It is not your home. 

And some of those threads . . . are sticky.

Beautiful Arachne is never far away.


And that’s not even mentioning the cat.


--Coyote.

Sunday, March 11, 2012

Jar-Jar Gets What is Coming to Him.


(This is something I like to pretend is a missing chapter of Galaxy History, 
taking place sometime during Star Wars Episode III.  I first wrote it for 
my friend Guin, but I thought it would be fun to share with the rest of you.
There is, of course, no evidence to suggest that it happened, that it could 
have happened, or even that Mister Lucas ever even considered its 
happening.
 
But it should have happened.) 


INT. OLD AIR SPEEDER (MOVING) - MORNING 
 
(An old, dirty, white air speeder barrels across the sky above a homeless-
ridden street in Corellia.  In the front seat are two young Jedi -- one white, 
one black -- both wearing traditional Jedi robes.  Their names are OBI-WAN
KENOBI (white) and MACE WINDU (black).  Mace is behind the wheel.)
 
MACE
All right, now, tell me about Anakin.
 
OBI-WAN
What so you want to know?
 
MACE
Well, he’s having some problems, isn’t he?  I can sense his turmoil . . . 
 
OBI-WAN
Nothing that can’t be handled.  
 
MACE
Would you care to elaborate?
 
OBI-WAN
(sighs) Anakin is going through a great deal of difficulty right now.  
 
MACE
Has he confided these difficulties to you?
 
OBI-WAN
Not as such.  But I know that he’s having difficulties.
 
MACE
What difficulties?
 
OBI-WAN
The stress of the war is mounting, and he’s had to make some decisions 
that even a career general shouldn’t have to make.  
 
MACE
Example.
 
OBI-WAN
Well, there was a planet where he and a group of his fellow padawan were 
stationed, along with their masters.  He and I got separated, and then the 
other masters died, and it was just the students, trying to deal with a local 
rebellion against the Republic armed with Count Dooku’s armaments and 
droids.
 
MACE
I think I heard something about this.
 
OBI-WAN
Anakin ended up having to leave the loyalist forces behind to die, after all 
his friends were slain in battle.  Shortly thereafter, he heard news that I 
was dead.  He spent months without a master, in the thick of the war.
 
MACE
(nods)  Sadly, such events are becoming more common.  Many Jedi are 
having crisis, not just the padawans.  Some fear this war may tear the Order 
apart completely.
 
OBI-WAN
And fear is the first mistake.
 
MACE
Exactly.
 
OBI-WAN
What are you afraid of in Anakin, Master Windu?
 
MACE
(shakes head)  I don’t trust your student.  I still feel he was taken for training 
too late in life.  He has too many attachments, too many outside concerns.  I 
can feel his turmoil, and his anger.  I also think all of this – his becoming a 
knight, even your being made a master – was done too hastily, and we are yet 
to face the full consequences of that haste.  No offense.
 
OBI-WAN
None taken.  Do you sense something else about him that I should know?
 
MACE
No, but there is much that I have not sensed of late.
 
OBI-WAN
Would you like to talk with him?
 
MACE
I already have.  He wants to learn Vaapad.
 
OBI-WAN
Your lightsaber fighting system?
 
MACE
(nods)  I said no.  It’s a much more aggressive style than any of the others, 
and I feel that it ill suits his temperament.  With so much conflict 
unresolved within him, the Vaapad system is not what he needs at this time.  
Its aggressive style can bring one closer to the dark side.
 
OBI-WAN
What did he say?
 
MACE
He wasn’t pleased.
 
OBI-WAN
(smiles)  I can imagine.  And now you’re concerned about him?
 
MACE
More concerned, yes.
 
CUT TO:
 
EXT. APARTMENT BUILDING COURTYARD - MORNING 
 
(Obi-Wan and Mace, their Jedi robes rustling as they walk, walk through the 
courtyard of what looks like a hacienda-style Hollywood apartment building.)
 
We TRACK alongside.
 
OBI-WAN
What do you know about Padme?
 
MACE
I know she was the youngest queen of Naboo in the last few hundred years.  
She’s their Senator now, and a staunch ally of the Jedi.
 
OBI-WAN
Do you know how she and Palpatine met?
 
MACE
I don’t know.  Probably at some governmental function
 
OBI-WAN
Have you ever had a chance to speak with her?
 
MACE
I had a chance to speak to one of her star-pilots.
 
OBI-WAN
Which one?
 
MACE
The female Hussar.
 
OBI-WAN
And?
 
MACE
They all love her, trust her, and would lay down their lives for her.
 
OBI-WAN
So, either she’s a very good person . . . 
 
MACE
Or an excellent politician.
 
(They enter the apartment building.)
 
CUT TO interior hallway of the apartment building.  The two men stand in 
front of the door numbered "49."
 
MACE
Wait.
 
OBI-WAN
What?
 
MACE
(frowns, shakes his head)  The time isn’t quite right.  
 
(They move a little away from the door, facing each other.)
 
MACE
Why are you so interested in the Naboo senator?  Do you think she knew 
about this?
 
OBI-WAN
No, nothing like that.  But the council is sending Anakin to Ceti Alpha 5 
and he wanted me to keep an eye on her while he was gone.
 
MACE
He suspects her?
 
OBI-WAN
No, she’s a friend.  He just wants to be sure she’s all right.
 
MACE
You're going to be standing guard over a Republic Senator, who is 
replete with her own personal guards, during a secessionist war?
 
OBI-WAN
It isn’t a matter of guarding her.  It’s just looking out for a friend.
 
(Mace just looks at him)
 
OBI-WAN
This is not an unhealthy attachment.
 
MACE
Your friendship with Anakin is unhealthy enough.  It clouds your judgment.
 
OBI-WAN
It is the attachments that we maintain, as Jedi, that make us strong.
 
(Mace shakes his head)
 
MACE
She’s part of it, somehow.
 
OBI-WAN
What?
 
MACE
There is a shatterpoint, between the Order and the Sith.  And somehow, she’s involved.  Or will be.
 
OBI-WAN
She’s a politician, Mace.  Just because Anakin considers her above suspicion doesn’t mean that I do.
 
MACE
(nods)  Good enough.  And now it is time.  Let’s do this.
 
INT. APARTMENT (ROOM 49) - MORNING
 
THREE YOUNG GUYS, obviously in over their heads, sit at a table with 
burgers, french fries and soda pops laid out.
 
(One of them flips the loud bolt on the door, opening it to reveal Mace and 
Obi-Wan in the hallway.)
 
MACE
Hello, younglings.
 
(The two men stroll inside.)
 
(The three young caught-off-guard guys are:
 
MARVIN:
A small Martian with a Roman helmet.  In the face of what he is encountering here, he really misses his Earth-shattering kaboom.  As the scene progresses, he will back into the corner.
 
MOONS OF ENDOR:
A young Ewok warrior on a couch.
 
JAR-JAR:
That little twerp who all but ruined Episode One.  He also moved that 
Palpatine be given supreme executive power under the Emergency Powers 
Act in the name of Padme, Senator of Naboo.)
 
(Obi-Wan and Mace take in the place, with their hands folded in front in 
traditional Jedi style.  Mace is the one who does the talking.)
 
MACE
How are you this morning?
 
(No answer.)
 
MACE
(to Jar-Jar)
I just asked you a question.
 
JAR-JAR
We-sa doin' okay.
 
(As Mace and Jar-Jar talk, Obi-Wan moves to the kitchen.)
 
MACE
Do you know who we are?
 
(Jar-Jar nods, the others shake their heads: "No.")
 
MACE
We're representatives of the Jedi Order.  The peace-keeping force for the 
Galactic Republic.  You do remember the Republic, do you not?
 
(No answer.)
 
MACE
(to Jar-Jar)
Now then: you're Jar-Jar, right?
 
JAR-JAR
Me-sa Jar-Jar.
 
MACE
I thought so.  Well, you remember your obligations as a representative of the democratic Republic, don’t you, Jar-Jar?
 
JAR-JAR
Me-sa remember.
 
MACE
Good for you.  Looks like Obi-Wan and I caught you at breakfast.  My 
apologies.  What are you having?
 
JAR-JAR
Ahhhh, we-sa havin’ nerfburgers.
 
MACE
Nerfburgers!  The cornerstone of any nutritious breakfast.  What type of 
nerfburgers?
 
JAR-JAR
They-sa got melties on ‘em..
 
MACE
No, I mean where did you get them?  Neebo’s, Sweeney’s, Dangerous Toys, 
where?
 
JAR-JAR
Arba Burger.
 
MACE
Arba Burger.  That's that Hutt establishment.  I heard they got their license 
back.  I’ve never had one myself, how are they?
 
JAR-JAR
They-sa good.
 
MACE
Would you object if I tried one of yours?
 
JAR-JAR
No.
 
MACE
Yours is this one, right?
 
JAR-JAR
Yah.
 
(Mace grabs the burger and take a bite of it.)
 
MACE
Uuummmm, that's some tasty nerf.
 
(to Obi-Wan)
Obi-Wan, you ever try a one of these?
 
OBI-WAN
No.
 
(Mace holds out the nerfburger.)
 
MACE
Do you want a bite, it’s very good.
 
OBI-WAN
Thank you, no.
 
MACE
Well, if you like nerf give them a try sometime.  I don’t usually eat them, 
because my missions tend to keep me on nutri-bars.  But I certainly do enjoy 
the taste of a good nerfburger.
 
(he points to a fast food drink cup)
 
What's in this?
 
JAR-JAR
Tink-drink?
 
MACE
Tink-drink, good.  Would you mind if I have some of your tasty beverage to 
wash this down?
 
JAR-JAR
Um, no, me-sa no mind, massa Jedi.
 
(Mace grabs the cup and slowly drains it dry, staring at Jar-Jar the entire 
time.)
 
MACE
Uuuuummmm, that hits the spot!
(to Moons of Endor)
You, Moons of Endor, you know what we're here for?
 
(Moons of Endor nods his head: "Yes.")
 
MACE
Then why don't you tell my companion Obi-Wan, where it is.
 
MARVIN
It's in the --
 
MACE
(character break)
I don't remember askin' you a god-damn thing!
(Back in character)
(to Moons of Endor)
You were saying?
 
MOONS OF ENDOR
(Gestures towards the kitchen, speaking in Ewok)
Yu-doh!  Yu-doh!
 
(Obi-Wan opens the cabinet, pulls out a black snap briefcase.)
 
OBI-WAN
Got it.
 
(Obi-Wan enters the combination 666, flips the two locks, opening the case.  
Inside are Jar-Jar’s credentials as a member of Senator Padme’s council, 
and thus representative of the planet Naboo to the Senate.)
 
MACE
Obi-Wan?
 
(Obi-Wan nods, closes the case.)
 
JAR-JAR
(to Mace)
Looka-looka, what's-a you name?  His-a name's Obi-Wan, but what's-a yours?
 
MACE
(looks at Jar-Jar dangerously) 
I am Master Mace Windu, and you aren’t talking your way out of this.
 
JAR-JAR
Looky, me-sa just wants you to know how sorry we-sa be about how things 
have gotten so skronky between us and-a the Jedi High Council.  When 
we-sa entered into this, we-sa hads only mui-mui best intentions --
 
(Without warning, Mace ignites his lightsaber and cuts Moons of Endor in 
half.)
 
(Obi-Wan’s eyebrows clutch at his hairline.)
 
(Jar-Jar has just crapped his pants.  He's not crying or whimpering, but he's 
so full of fear, it's as if his body is imploding.)
 
MACE
(to Jar-Jar)
(Partial character break)  
Oh, I'm sorry.  Did that break your concentration?  I didn't mean to do that.  
Please, continue.  I believe you were saying something about "best 
intentions."
 
(Jar-Jar can't say a word.)
 
MACE
What’s the matter?  Oh, you were finished.  Well, allow me this democratic 
response: what does the galaxy look like?
 
(Jar-Jar still can't speak.)
 
(Mace snaps, savagely tipping the card table over, removing the only barrier 
between himself and Jar-Jar.  Jar-Jar now sits in a lone chair before Mace 
like a political prisoner in front of an interrogator.)
 
MACE
(character break)  
What planet are you from!
 
JAR-JAR
(petrified)
What?
 
MACE
"What" ain't no planet I know!  Do they speak Basic on "What?"
 
JAR-JAR
(near heart attack)
What?
 
MACE
Basic-motherfucker-can-you-speak-it?
 
JAR-JAR
Yes.
 
MACE
Then you can understand what I'm sayin'?
 
JAR-JAR
Yes.
 
MACE
What does the galaxy look like!
 
JAR-JAR
What?
 
(Mace ignites his lightsaber and points it directly at Jar-Jar’s face.)
 
MACE
(character shatters, little shards tinkling to the floor)
Say "What" again!  C'mon, say "What" again!  I dare ya, I double dare ya, 
ya Uncle-Tom motherfucker, say "What" one more god-damn time!
 
(Jar-Jar is regressing on the spot.)
 
MACE
Now what does the galaxy look like!!
 
(Jar-Jar does his best.)
 
JAR-JAR
Well he's-sa  . . . he's-sa . . . big --
 
MACE
-- go on!
 
JAR-JAR
 . . . and he's-sa . . . he's-sa . . . fulla stars --
 
MACE
-- does it look like a bitch?
 
JAR-JAR
(without thinking)
What?
 
(Mace savagely cuts off Jar-Jar’s right arm.)
 
(Jar-Jar screams, breaking into a shaking/trembling spasm in the chair.) 
 
JAR-JAR
Iiiieeeeeeee!!!  Me-sa gonna diiieeeeeeeee!!
 
MACE
Does-it, look-like, a-bitch??
 
JAR-JAR
(in agony)
Noooo!  No, the galaxy, he-sa no look like a bitch, Massa Mace Windu!
 
MACE
Then why did you try to fuck it like a bitch, Jar-Jar?
 
JAR-JAR
(in spasm)
Noooo . . .  me-sa no do that . . . 
 
MACE
Yes you did . . .  yes you did!  And unfortunately for you, the galaxy doesn’t 
like to be fucked by anybody except (pause) the Jedi High Council.
 
(Mace becomes dangerously quiet.)
 
You ever read the Bible, Jar-Jar?  
 
JAR-JAR
(in spasm, weeping)
Yes.
 
MACE
There's a passage I got memorized, seems appropriate for this situation.  
Ezekiel 25:17. "The path of the righteous man is beset on all sides by the 
inequities of the selfish and the tyranny of evil men.  Blessed is he who, 
in the name of charity and good will, shepherds the weak through the valley 
of darkness, for he is truly his brother's keeper and the finder of lost 
children.  And I will strike down upon thee with great vengeance and furious 
anger those who attempt to poison and destroy my brothers.” 
 
(raises lightsaber)
 
“And you will know my name is the Lord when I lay my vengeance upon 
you!"
 
(Mace strikes Jar-Jar with his lightsaber again and again, his face contorting 
more and more into a tengu-mask of fierce joy and rage.  His final move is a 
full-force thrust through the back of the chair itself.  Mace stands, his 
breathing hard and heavy, slowly becoming more calm.  Then abruptly he 
snaps back into character, clips his lightsaber onto his belt with an audible 
*clip* sound, and turns to Obi-Wan as though nothing had happened.)
 
(All that remains of Jar-Jar is his severed limbs, head, and some steaming 
cubes of charred meat.)
 
(All is quiet.)
 
MACE
(back in character)
 . . . And that’s the basic foundation of the Vaapad system.
 
(Obi-Wan just stares at him)
 
MACE
You can see why I am reluctant to teach it to young Skywalker at this time.  
It’s very easy to misinterpret the subtle arts of Vaapad, and misunderstand 
its intentions.
 
(Obi-Wan just stares at him)
 
MACE
As you can see, Vaapad is somewhat more aggressive than the other 
lightsaber fighting styles---
 
OBI-WAN
(Character break)  
You think???
 
(Then suddenly the bathroom door BURSTS OPEN, and a FOURTH MAN
(as young as the rest) comes CHARGING out, a heavy blaster carbine in his 
hands.
 
We DOLLY into a MEDIUM on him.)
 
FOURTH MAN
Die . . . die . . . die . . . die . . . die . . . die . . . !
 
(The Fourth Man fires full-automatic as the Jedi use their lightsaber defense 
techniques to parry as many of the shots as possible.  He screams a maniacal 
cry of revenge until he's dry firing.
 
Then . . . his face does a complete change of expression.  It goes from a 
"Vengeance is mine" expression, to a "What the fuck" blank look.)           
 
TWO SHOT - MACE AND OBI-WAN standing next to each other, 
unharmed.  Amazing as it seems, none of the Fourth Man's shots appear to 
have hit anybody. 
 
(Mace and Obi-Wan exchange looks like, "Are we hit?"  They're as 
confused at the shooter.  After looking at each other, they look at the wall 
behind them.  Obviously, many of the shots got through, but they are 
unharmed.  Then they bring their looks back to the fourth man.)
 
(MEDIUM on the Fourth Man)
 
FOURTH MAN
I don't understand --
 
(Mace cuts him in half, almost casually.)
 
TWO SHOT - OBI-WAN AND MACE 
 
(The two men extinguish their sabers.  Obi-Wan, obviously shaken, sits down 
in a chair.  Mace shrugs it off.  Then he heads toward Marvin in the corner.)
 
MACE
Why didn't you tell us about that guy in the bathroom?  Slip your mind?  
Forget he was in there with a full automatic cannon?
 
OBI-WAN
(to himself)
We should be dead right now.  (pause)  Mace, did you see that gun he fired 
at us?  It was bigger than him.
 
MACE
A Waynes-Atley Multigat.  Very deadly, especially in an enclosed space.
 
OBI-WAN
We should be dead.
 
MACE
(shrugs) We were lucky.
 
(Obi-Wan rises, moving toward Mace.)
 
OBI-WAN
(character break)  
That wasn't luck.  In my experience, there’s no such thing as luck.  
That was something else.
 
(Mace prepares to leave.)
 
MACE
Yeah, maybe.
 
OBI-WAN
That was . . . divine intervention, Mace.  You know what divine intervention 
is?
 
MACE
Yes, I think so.  That means the Force is with us.
 
OBI-WAN
(back into character)  Oh.  (pause)  Oh, yes.
 
MACE
I think we should be going now.
 
OBI-WAN
(All is right in the world again)  Quite right.
 
(Obi-Wan grabs the case, Mace grabs Marvin.  The two Jedi exit, leaving 
Jar-Jar’s bouillon-cubed corpse behind with the others.) 
 
FADE TO BLACK.



--Coyote.

(Images of Jar-Jar and Mace Windu are both (c) George Lucas and Lucasfilm Ltd.  All rights reserved.)