Man, I love my kismets, my synchronicities, my personal-pattern-finding encounters with a Universal Oneness...
THERE IS NO SANCTUARY FROM SIN.
...that's the come-watch-me tagline of this insanely despondent yet rippling with dark humour film from Russian director Pavel Lounguine. People flock to see this guy who 'heals' people of their consumerist needs, their properties and titles that haunt them, their slave lives that possess them.
But Lounguine's THE ISLAND is not exactly what this post's about, as has become my schizo-rambling style, I'm gonna sidetrack You The Reader in another direction entirely.
Robert Ludlum's THE PARSIFAL MOSAIC (a near-800-page book I've just been cramming for the last day or two like an obsessed maniac) has an island, called Poole's Island, and on this island has been built the Capital Building of Washington DC, and some sundry office buildings to actively de-brief the drug-broken eastern European strategic genius who's totally screwed up the world by planning a West takes out China, West takes out Russia, nuclear plan. It's brilliant, but it's also wrong, and will never work.
Today, I hear that China and Russia want to pull out of the United Nations/NATO Alliance financial/military pact against Syria.
Today, my wife brings home The Island for us to watch, on a Saturday night. Yeah, light weekend viewing, that's us. On 'the island' is a 'pool' where sins are admonished by the coal-dust-hacking priest of the snow-laden narrative.
Today, in Oxford, we have snow - and it's all come together.
I've heard all my married life, from family, that my wife is 'the best thing that ever happened to me' and she was here to protect me from something.
Maybe she's here to show me how it's all the same game from every conceivable angle.