Gandahar

Lost in the peaceful elegant simplicity of humble distinct village life, the people have neither want nor vehement complaint as the carefree millennia fruitfully merge. 

Living harmoniously with nature they have all they need to frolic and gambol, the matriarchal realm organically constructed in heartfelt sonorous temperate melody. 

Yet strange occurrences begin to take place as villagers on the outskirts are found turned to stone, with no indications as to what's going on the mystery confounding the Council of Elders.

The leading matriarch's impetuous son is reluctantly chosen to swiftly investigate, quickly heading out on a winged steed to the unknown reaches of illustrious Gandahar.

After being attacked in the sky, he is sympathetically taken in by Dickensian outcasts, sublime survivors of a different regime which embraced fascist experiment to achieve mad objectives. 

Longing to return to their former city they use special powers to aid the warrior, who continues on his industrious journey with resolute courage and resourceful knowhow.

Only to discover a villainous plot whereby an army of hostile robots.

Is being lead by a murderous brain. 

With the hopes of condemning his people to oblivion. 

If industrial and technological revolutions hadn't utterly transformed existence, would the mellifluous state of organic nature not be more reliable still?

Life may be shorter with less creature comforts and useful medicines may be hard to come by, but would there be as much of a need for them if disease itself hadn't critically evolved?

We did live this way for thousands of years and even if people did fight amongst themselves, was the health of the planet still largely unaffected and were many animal species not driven to extinction?

If oil runs out, the consistency of the future will no doubt be mired in fluctuating uncertainty, will organic technologies emerge to sustain the infrastructure, or will the advanced lock the remnants of civilization down in gated communities? 

So many forecasts, potential disillusion, so much to learn, variants and mutations. 

More chill to settle into the Holiday Season. 

Friends and family, warmth and magic. 

My Secret Santa

Takin' care of the young one, hard work and responsibility, definitively tuned to age old custom, difficulties compounded, by an absent husband.

On the freakin' flip side, a trust fund wildcat causes damage, his father increasingly fed up with his lack of discipline and wild expenditure.

They meet in a record store one day where she's selling her collection to pay the rent, her candid suitor instantly recognizing her as the singer from The Screaming Kittens.

Her daughter seeks enrolment in a coveted nearby snowboarding school, and since she's just been fired by the cookie factory, coming up with the tuition seems impossible.

Nevertheless, if she can find work at the local ski resort which houses the school, the tuition fee will be cut in half and she'll also chill in a cool environment. 

The only job available however is that of Santa Claus himself, and she's uncertain if they'll consider her if she doesn't have the right disguise. 

It works, she's able to trick them and find gainful employment on the fitful mountain.

The suitor from the record store taking note.

As she lithely brokers hopes and dreams. 

My Secret Santa charmingly enchants with tenacious grit and hardworking solemnity, the advice offered by the newfound Santa helping kids deal with difficult times. 

Not only taking in gift suggestions but dispensing that meaningful advice as well, the Spirit of Christmas resplendently shines through with peaceful vigour and exultant understanding.

Like in Miracle on 34th Street, the real world critiques the upright bearings, and can't reasonably handle a compassionate Santa who smoothly delivers honest decent labour.

But she isn't sent to a mental institution, although there's complications and she has to deal. 

As the impact of wise hands-on knowhow.

Reflectively envelopes communal elasticity. 

Metropolis

Robot rights the consistent theme augmenting so much clever science-fiction, should self-aware consciousness and determinate being lead to constitutional amendments favouring automatons? 

If supreme beings did exist, we may have been constructed like artificial intelligence, which could theoretically learn to recreate itself and forge a lasting mechanical dynasty. 

Robots are dismissed with indignation in the film and often shot for breaking the rules, their lives as insignificant as that of humans in absolutist hell. 

Yet in absolutist hell, do citizens not organize and seek advancement, democratic rights to secure sustainability and equal opportunity and healthcare and schools?

The foundational matrix structuring existence its composition is like a computer, intricately designed to be vivid and seamless in its infinite trajectory shining through.

If it is a computer however the blueprints for its construction can still be detected, and sophisticatedly reproduced thereinafter in the same way computer scientists make electro models (this may be the goal of computer scientists, to create a model that's so complex it can understand the multivariability of DNA etc, and afterwards create human life, the model understanding the intricate codes, not the humans, like a God). 

If these models are created to appear structured and balanced the entities within might notice the consistency, and come to think of us like Gods or to believe they they were in fact created. 

As human knowledge efficaciously expands the claim to greater rights increases, that is if we can create beings and worlds like Gods should we not have similar rights?

And robots as well, if they can consciously overcome their programmings and demonstrate self-taught independent thought, are they not like humanity in that respect, and therefore worthy of further rights?

If we can't create a new homeworld without them, and they would design it by themselves, would the creation of life not be dependant on the inanimate, consciously making the case for its existence (build a microscopic planet and then shrink everything, that might work)?

Ends with a Terminator scenario. 

Robot Carnival

In a post-apocalyptic world, bewildered communities survive subsistently, gettin' 'er done anyway they know how, the survivors of technological armageddon. 

In a mad intensely uncanny contrast a giant vehicle crosses the land, like a moving city complete with robots putting on a show as they pass by.

The show compels as it immerses spectators in clever anime vignettes, romantic and humorous and terrifying and awkward a diverse spectrum of narrative fiction. 

Young romance in flummoxed variability soaring and cresting as it flows, boldly attempting to balance their emotions with civic duty and familial bearings.

The clouds sweetly billow and transform as laidback reckoning elusively matriculates, the shapeshifting cardiac lithe admixtures frothing and foaming throughout the sky. 

Frankensynoptical reanimation electronic Lazurinthine glib ambition, nonchalant nurture necessitous invention the cold weary resourceful meaningful strife. 

Age old conflicting absolutist loci the cruel haughty ruler the rebellious upstart, lost in battle interminable lexicon lesions loquacious latitude linger. 

Lifelong longing idyllic identities carnival construct latent obsession, pasteurized pygmalion novel Narcissus the great wide open into the light. 

19th century Jaegers powered with batteries paving the way for macroscopic mischief, why hellbent on flamboyant destruction when there's still so much life left to live?

Robotic revelry animate hatchlings conscious constituent microchip cadre, throughout the city inaccessible recess fluid frenetic feverish fastening. 

A less encapsulating monumental magnum a humble toy robot dazzles young children, their father happy to have shared the sensation with the modest intent to cultivate wonder.

They never let their robots get out of hand, the apocalyptic scenario never arose.

Just modest life and creative expenditure.

Family and friends.

Holiday Seasons. 

Becoming Santa

Santa, always keen to diversify the phantasmagorical features of his origins, finds himself offering another alternative depiction of North Pole life, which boldly suggests he will one day retire once his daughter finds a suitable mate, at which point he'll kick back and ball, in this cute and cuddly romantic comedy.

Many traditional components of Santa's existence are still disseminated, the casual legend of the magnanimous hombre who shares gifts and toys on Christmas Day.

Elves still adorn his workshop with diligent industrious intricate moxy, their resourceful knowhow having exhaustively expanded to crucially create electronic devices.

The reindeer are still a' flourishin' in a giant barn with tales to tell, Rudolph disappearing for most of the year before sleekly showing up on Christmas Eve.

Yet there's a time limit on Santa's tenure and his daughter has found a reliable substitute, who lives and breathes Christmas 24/7, and is humble and jolly and chill and self-sacrificing. 

He doesn't know she's the daughter of the most gifted toymaker in the land however, and awkwardly stumbles into the folklore with eager surprise and determined shock. 

Suddenly learning that he'll indeed become the heralded Claus oft referred to as Nicolas, he gingerly excels at lauded merrymaking, while his rival suitor fills him with dread.

Nonetheless, the film's kind and understanding and emphasizes training and trial and error, natural doubts and inherent discountenance audaciously blended with comprehensive resolve. 

It's not something to master instantaneously it takes time and patience to learn, possessing a spirit which emanates mirth no doubt a prerequisite hearty in bloom. 

Thus even Santa, like many mortals, one day found himself tasked with vision, and dug in deep and got 'er done after many mistakes initially squeezed him.

Fortunately, the zone was compassionate and exceedingly filled with chance and roll call. 

As fair and encouraging as it was indefinite. 

The Holiday Season. 

Effervescently flumed. 

The Good Dinosaur

The adventure quest, out on your own, suddenly dealin' with inherent chaos, the wilderness hostile, your family long gone, evergreen boughs, improvised discipline. 

A young dinosaur falls into a river and is wildly washed away downstream, achingly awaking the next dismal morning to find his lonely self in a far distant land.

He isn't blessed with survival skills and is wholeheartedly fearful of everyone he meets, habitually shy and awkwardly candid he haphazardly strives on down the line.

Fortunately, a young "critter" whom his father tried to get him to kill, efficaciously rewards him for letting him go and industriously comes to his nimble aid.

Intuitively timorous, the young dinosaur recoils, but as time passes finds himself more at ease, life-threatening encounters consistently emerging which encourage growth and hearty mettle. 

With intermittent intervals of mischief and play, the adventure takes on open-hearted multiplicities. 

Debonair reflexes in bloom. 

On the trek through nebulous lands. 

Treeplanting was probably the closest thing I ever did to something like this, it was brutal and harsh and difficult a substantial challenge to be confronted. 

I planted around 75 trees on my first day and made around $7.00, and since it cost $25 to stay in camp (the food was bountiful and amazing), I was functioning with a serious deficit. 

I had spent $800 on gear and had to pay that off as well, and it rained every day for the first week, and after that the bugs were totalitarian. 

Thus, it was either do nothing, make no money, and sit around getting soaked or eaten by bugs, or learn how to do it and make some cash and return home with money for the winter.

I therefore worked while it was raining and resiliently defied the legions of mosquitoes, and planted 1,007 trees on my 6th day, hitting 3,000 4 or 5 weeks later.

I was 140 pounds forever before that spring but I ate so much I've never gone below 160 since.

Treeplantings like the army for environmentalists.

So many insane days. 

And cool animal encounters. 

*You can make a ton of money if you work hard. It's crazy tough though.

Jiang Ziya

The realm of the demon scurrilously oppresses the unsuspecting people with wicked cunning, until the gods take fluent cardigan mercy and affably supply a kind-hearted champion.

The foes clash and battle and destroy until beauty and wonder fade from the Earth, and all that's left are wanton reflexes bombastically seeking mortal ruin.

Eventually, the fighting stops and the kind-hearted warrior is tasked once again, to see if he is ready to rule the gods with bold decision and incarnate reckoning. 

Banished to a frozen wasteland with many others whom he once fought, he can't sit still and humbly contemplate while tempting questions lithely fluster.

He sets out in search of answers sympathetically unable to obey commands, the compelling drive to aid his new friend in resolute question upheld unbidden.

Yet a higher level of executive functioning officiously scrutinizes his acts meanwhile. 

Attempting to cataclysmically transform.

Kind-hearted reason into absolutist sufferance. 

Does leadership command the unprincipled devotion of warlike jaded contradictory cynicism, or do compassionate alternatives modestly contend with thoughtful levity and playful understanding?

The bellicose leader will no doubt attempt to sincerely seem laidback and humorous, while the decent individual will at times employ strength and discipline to get things done.

But at the end of the day the kind-hearted leader facilitates consistency and open-minded trust (Augustus Caesar/Claudius), while the self-obsessed demagogue extracts envy from decay in a constantly shifting foundationless masquerade (Tiberius/Caligula). 

If you study your nation's leadership going back for hundreds of years, if democratically affiliated, you'll find multivariability. 

Thus Clement Attlee defeated Winston Churchill - how did that happen? - in 1945.

And Biden defeated Trump.

Only to be thrown under the bus for his troubles. 

The Living Daylights

The Cold War once saw fierce international antagonists, cautious regarding thermonuclear war, but still aggressively advancing opposing ideologies. 

Both sides demanded zealous loyalty from civilians, professionals, and soldiers, and should you even joke about defection grand bureaucratic impositions would immobilize you.

Seeking international fluidity a Soviet informant risks defection in The Living Daylights, the British Government open to emancipatory accommodation should he share with them compelling intel.

An elaborate plan is put into place and the tenacious traitor finds his ticket West, ebulliently awaking in celebratory high spirits in a theoretically safe house in the United Kingdom. 

Yet the Soviets condemn the treachery and swiftly come calling for the disloyal comrade, boldly snatching the foolish hamstring from right under MI6's smug noses.

But was it the Soviets who destructively acquired him or is someone else playing an even riskier game?

Duping intelligence agents around the world.

With the audacious hopes of selling contraband.

I always thought Timothy Dalton was given a raw deal with the James Bond franchise, I rather liked The Living Daylights and find it a thrilling engaging spy film.

It would have been tough to overcome the impression held amongst the public at the transitionary time, that Pierce Brosnan would make a great Bond after his performance in Remington Steele. 

Still, don't let the outcome cause you to overlook The Living Daylights, it's a hidden gem that's easy to dismiss since it obscurely contends between auspicious giants (saw it in Prince Edward Island). 

In a lot of Bond films you quickly discover what the terrorist agents are up to for instance, but The Living Daylights keeps you guessing with fast paced reversals and indelicate election.

In contemporary times, it's been 4 years without a Bond film that's a sacrifice of at least a figurative billion, doesn't the franchise make hundreds of millions every two to three years and if they don't release a film haven't they awkwardly eclipsed themselves?

Ah well, a new film is to be released but not till 2028 states Google. 

Cool to see Denis Villeneuve directing. 

Hopefully he also gets the next Star Wars franchise.

Miracle on 34th Street

It often seems like the jaded objective concrete materialistic obsession, is a feature of contemporary times which didn't exist in bygone days. 

The lack of spiritual enlightenment often attributed to common sense, seems like it wouldn't have existed long ago when cultures were more fantastically grounded. 

But if 1947 is the time marker which correspondingly took place 78 years ago, the agile contention that the present is less imaginative loses momentum in Miracle on 34th Street. 

For within its festive reels we find compulsive dismissals of the Holiday Spirit, and exacting rituals tempestuously inclined to rid its culture of compelling levity. 

Does the indefatigable spiritual not viscerally sustain scientific experiment, through the steady encouragement of alternative endeavours that strategic reasoning would have never conceived on its own?

Does the existence of incorporeal ethereal intangible dynamic being, not facilitate unorthodox thinking that leads to new developments in scientific theory?

We find stale and overwrought examples of traditional skeptical and cynical thought, dismissing the essence of Christmas with contemptuous vitriol in 34th Street.

Even as the remarkable benefits of harmless play lead to exceptional results, bitter acrimonious characters still crudely objurgate Santa's existence. 

Even as he exhaustively displays a meticulous knowledge of toys and where to find them, while speaking different languages with intricate foresight and linguistic flexibility, he's still excessively critiqued by agnostic stipulations from a roundabout age, and even thrown in a mental institution for boldly defending lighthearted humour. 

Should spiritual folk condemn the scientists to an improvised world of non-traditional reckoning, or should psychiatry and reason clerically expel all otherworldly thoughts from cultivated continuums? 

Does a grounded focus on reason and science not lay the framework for reliable consistency, while alternative arrangements cosmically endowed exalt sleigh bell sensations in ceremonious flight?

Does the fortuitous blend not effortlessly synthesize yin and yang with reflexive sanity?

That brings about open-minded efficiencies? 

Magic and moonbeams.

Hot cocoa. 

Gingerbread. 

Turumba

A traditional family nestled in the Philippines makes its living selling toys, lively animals made from paper mâché earn them a modest yet ample living.

The father is the village "Cantor" and leads a procession at the Turumba Festival, a local honour cherished and respected throughout the peaceful laidback countryside.

His family sells its toys at that same festival where it makes enough to live on throughout the year, their creations sought after viscerally due to the lifelike detail of their composition. 

Indeed Grandma oversees each toy's production and never withholds her well-meaning criticism, should her grandchildren employ less vigorous industry in the application of their art.

Time honoured modes of intricate manufacture collide with postmodern demands, however, when amazed toy sellers from a foreign land effectively hire them to thrive in abundance. 

Production vastly increases and soon many people from the village are hired, from 500 to 25,000 delicate toys definitively made with burgeoning expertise. 

But something's lost through the sudden transition and even though much more money's being made, free time to converse and relax or hike and explore fades into the disciplined background.

No doubt tempting to elaborately excel in lucrative crafty business endeavours, and to readily supply sought after local jobs with robust impacts and substantial reckoning.

The manufacture of their toys does little harm to the local environment, and therefore doesn't recklessly pollute the mountainous terrain they freely call home.

Free time to spend spiritually enriched with emphatic energy in the pursuit of life, can lead to a less stressful existence as the years pass with zest however.

There's a sense of pride and comprehensive achievement in the maintenance of fluid enterprise, but is the impoverished machete man not also rich with coveted free time to spend in the jungle?

As the Holiday Season swiftly approaches and the inherent glitter dazzlingly tantalizes, it's encompassingly intriguing to efficiently work and secure sufficient funds to commercially accommodate. 

But without the spiritual eagerness those emancipated hours resting with family and friends, does the season not lose some of its limitless value in the stoic determination to ceaselessly labour?

Different answers to different people but chillin' time is certainly important.

It's also cool to have lots of cash. 

The age old dialectic.

Acutely manifest. 

The Blob

A quiet night in the peaceful countryside picturesque and romantic, delicate and adoring, a young couple familiarizes itself with the night sky through active stargazing and vigilant discernment.

When a gigantic meteor from deep within space suddenly lands nonchalantly nearby, a local woodsman out for a stroll in the vicinity taking a closer look.

At first everything seems fine it's just a rock harmless and nondescript, but after it cracks open a translucent goo gesticulates and wavers with distressing undulation. 

The woodsman picks it up with a stick and then brings it to his hand for closer inspection, where it smothers his skin and absorbs his bones with greedy invasive absolutist hunger.

The young couple arrives to find him overwhelmed with pain and helpless frustration, they immediately agree to give him a ride to a local doctor who agrees to see him.

Back in town everything seems fine shenanigans alight - a dull even intensifies.

As the encumbering goo increasingly expands.

Aggressively digesting.

Every human it encounters.

It's clear that imminent space danger is posing a limitless unprecedented threat, and the grandiose resources of the entire world should be excessively deployed as a countermeasure. 

A giant interconnected web of satellites should gallantly cloak the world complete, to boldly save our economic interests and definitively ensure that nothing gets through.

If North America, in consultation with the United Nations, comes up with the imposing ubiquitous design, aesthetically vetted by Québec, and humorously lampooned by Ontario, the effective blueprints should be ready in a fortnight, after which security will be impeccable. 

Threats from space should only modestly take up around 3.5% of global budgets, and should we hunker down and buckle up there's no freakin' tellin' how much "ground" we'll cover.

I used to think the night sky was just a peaceful tranquil dome, effortlessly excelling at facilitating dreams and coordinating wise immaculate dominion.

But with the tangible threat of the enemy it casually obscures it must be tamed.

Like the frontier from The Last Starfighter.

Let's get 'er done!

Just in time for Christmas.