Wednesday, July 10, 2013

SOME DAY SOON

SAM:
You sound worried.

JACK:
Me? if I'm worried about anyone, it's you. What happened to you, Sam? You were the brightest of us.

In his waking hours Sam Lowry was a cog in the machine, a brilliant but drab functionary who never measured up to the expectations of his family and friends (or himself, for that matter). In his dreams he was a winged warrior, a badass without peer who fought The Man, won The Girl and lived happily ever after.

Terry Gilliam's Brazil made Lowry a hero to people like me — people who walk through life without visible hopes, wishes, and dreams. Inside our heads, however, are the vivid landscapes of repressed desire, the places we visit when sleep finally overtakes us and the voices of the dead implore us to keep our hopes alive, even when the silence becomes a roar, even when the dreams become nightmares, or disquieting visions of the future.

I am going to sleep now. No old habits. No dosing myself into a coma. Just sleep, a hopefully deep and lasting slumber, where I will wear a small smile of brooding peace. To sleep: perchance to dream of hopes and wishes, and even the pangs of despised love.

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