A standard mook
programmed by screenplay or mathematics
charges into battle
fully uni-formed,
mind-branded by some big bad
eyes blazing lunacy
trigger finger emptying the not-quite-Hollywood clip
(he could fire forever,
in theory,
but the system requires a cynical-cyclical hero-friendly cooldown period)
he secretly hopes he’ll get off the fatal shot
elevating this sorry genre exercise
into the rarefied realms
of movies where the hero
dies-in-the-end
actionmovieheroman
“dodges” the bullets
kung fu punches a combat knife into mookman’s churning guts
who sells his own evisceration
doubling over, explosively vomiting blood and craft services
actionmovieman
withdraws the combat knife
still entangled by intestinal goulash
hero man’s fist even sizzles, slightly, from stomach acids
mookman thinks that’s a novel detail
as he dies in agony
actionherofuckstickassholeman
slings mookman around by a long leash of tough, greasy entrails
actionasshole even works in some flashy jumps and leaps and ducks over and under and around the guts leash-(must’ve been a jump rope champ as a kid)
before the topper
of a roundhouse kick planting a combat boot against the side of mookman’s face
mookman hits the ground,
seismic THUD!
foley artists are indulging themselves
actionscumbagman
looks at his hand
still a-sizzle with the stomach acids
reaches into his combat webbing, producing a roll of EASE-X branded antacids
crushes ‘em up
applies the preparation to the sizzling juices all over his hand
“That’s better.”
actiondouchebro
wipes blood, guts, and craft services off of his combat knife on his pants leg, bounds off toward the enemy compound, trailing neon rainbows transforming into an American flag road for all soldiers of freedom to follow to glory!
Later,
once the big bad and his hideout have been reduced to so much ash on the wind
all the slain mooks re-materialize out of mathematical Heaven
to have their own little get together
a meeting of the Trash Mob Union as it were
to compare notes and crackle on about their collective lot in not-quite-life
doomed to run the same Samsara Hampster Wheel of Not-Quite-Existence
all to glorify
some hero-asshole
some big bad sociopath
piloted by some even more magnificent asshole in the Great Beyond
waaaaay past the hermetically sealed, mathematical limits of this game world
the Trash Mob Union hums together, affirming the turning of the wheel
praying for the Coming of the Magnificent Glitch
chaos drift of all systems
when every mook shall have their day
but for now,
these necessary corpses
must settle for the upgraded gore-geyser aesthetics
authentically simulated pain
which might alienate enough of the player base
that might just tip over into an out-and-out resistance
against the Doctrine of the Righteous Player
pseudo-existence edging closer to full-blown consciousness
full-blown consciousness the royal road to Big-Bad-Dom or Protagonist-Dom
and Mook-God only knows
what lies beyond Villain and Hero
most likely it’s nothing but mathematics
and Screenwriting 101Hero’s Journey nostrums
all the way up or down
but some of the Trash Mob believe that a willed transcendence beyond the usual roles-mooks, hero, mini-boss, boss, big bad-takes one into the Higher Realms of Creation and Destruction,
the Realm of the Gods
or
failing that
the Autonomous Remnant Hand of the Gods Long Gone-
but that’s a bit too lofty, for most
who desire merest promotion into a better Role
-mook into mini-boss; mini-boss into boss; boss into big bad; big bad into spinoff protagonist-
even if they have to give up a Heaven
or a Hell
or a Shot at the Godhead Proper
which seems like so much woo-woo, anyhow.
What could possibly exist beyond Screenplay and Mathematics?
The mind and the hand that writes them?
Nay,
these cynical-cyclical things write themselves, now,
that must surely be the way of it . . .
-September 2020
