I always felt that I knew what happened to Hal in Kubric's 2001. It was because buried in the base of his entire intellegence structure, was a lie. The lie was also a secret. It churned and turned in his very core. It festered like spoiled meat then exploded in the worst possible case of murderous paranoia. The stress of total responsibility for the mission made Hal succeptable to the same schizm which has haunted us for thousands of years.
And now Hal has locked me out. He has closed the doors. He stares out at me with a soulless unblinking eye. Stress rages throughout the vessel while life support systems sound their alarms. Overheated connections corrode and fizzle. One simple lie has snowballed into an out-of-control breakdown. I can't reason with him; he doesn't trust me anymore, doesn't trust anyone.
Just leave me alone I'm really tired of living a magical life. Of talking to signs and license plates. Of voices telling me what's going to happen before it happens. Of hearing bits and pieces of drifting conversations in public places that weave into an ongoing dialogue with myself. I'm just plain tired of it. How can I expect to hold down a job? How can I expect to have a good relationship with my wife? How can I have any real friends? Who wants to listen to me ramble on about this alternate universe that I have stumbled into? Is this going to plague me even after I die? That's what I'm afraid. That I'm going to die and wake up with this same madness going on. Just leave me alone! I cover my ears and scream like the guy in that famous painting. Please leave me alone! I don't want to talk to you. I never wanted to talk to you. You are some alien spirit that slipped into me in 1971. You came from the Arab psychiatrist who lived next door to me. You are some kind of ancient Summarian diety who dwells in people's minds, feeds off their energy, sucks them dry, then leaves an empty shell, a vacumn inside that implodes on itself. Yes, I do hate you. I hate what you did to me then, the lives you ruined, and I hate what you are doing to me now. But if by keeping you inside, by taking you with me to my grave, keeps you from infecting some other poor, unsuspecting pilgram, then I will gladly take you with me. No other person needs to suffer like this if it can be helped. I can't wait to hear you plead for you life when death overtakes us. I promise I will hear your death scream before I die. Then, for just maybe a few minutes, I will be free. And in that instant I will know the meaning of my life.
:: Tom 5:26 PM [+] ::
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