Star Trek Vs Game of Thrones and Breaking Bad

I’ve never made any secret of the fact that I hate most of the prime time tv that gets the attention these days. Walking Dead, Lost, Breaking Bad, Game of Thrones, Battlestar Galactica etc. It’s nothing new. Just prime time soap operas making a come back, but blended with genre fiction in several cases. For the most part I try to ignore it.

For those who are curious, some of it is simple taste. I don’t like overly serialized tv shows for starters. TV is something I watch for enjoyment, not to get addicted to because I have nothing better to do with my life than obsess over entertainment.

I generally don’t spend any time talking about what happened on shows I watch. I take it in, then move on to something else. I honestly don’t understand the impulse to sit around discussing fiction. Not unless it’s at a professional level. Since I am a writer, that is how I view things like this. Seriously… Do you REALLY not have anything better to do, than talk about tv shows? Is your life really that bereft of substance? Okay… sure, chit chat is one thing… but discussing the politics and personal BS of fictional people like it actually matters? REALLY?!?!

I can’t stand soap operas, and/or shows that spend a lot of time on personal life melodrama BS.

Or shows that aren’t showing me anything I don’t already know. Or perhaps, more honestly, treating things that are obvious like something amazing that I should spend hours or my life watching. Like breaking bad. The premise is ludicrous to begin with, but I simply have to ask. Why should I watch this? Why should I give a fuck? The answer, simply, is that I don’t. I already know getting involved in meth is a bad idea. AND that power corrupts. It’s only one of the oldest plots there is. AND, there is the fact that in order to get from Mr passive pussy… to drug king pin, requires a whole lot of really contrived set ups. To have characters who consistently make the worst possible decisions, never using their heads, never applying any sense… That is something I just can’t tolerate. Rampant stupidity, incompetence and a general lack of thinking things through. I may have to tolerate it in the real world, I don’t in fiction. THAT has always been one of my biggest issues with all soap operas, and melodrama. The writers who feel a need to have EVERYTHING be dramatic. The stupid fuck can’t even order a pizza or deal with a house fly without it getting turned into a fucking drama. It’s… I don’t know if there’s a word for just how pathetically ridiculous it is.

To me the criticism is reversed. I like episodic shows like CSI. Every episode is a new case. A new puzzle. Competent, intelligent characters using their brains to solve problems. Breaking Bad and those others? Same characters doing the same shit every week. Until they get killed off, and then another character shows up to fill the same role, doing the same shit. Just like all soap operas. Incompetent, stupid, moronic characters who do nothing but make MORE problems. Which I guess is another personal thing. But then, I don’t enjoy misery or pain. I don’t get anything out of watching real or fictional people feeling bad, it just makes me feel worse. Same reason I can’t stand shows like The Office. It’s just a way to laugh at people behind their back, without feeling guilty about it. Because that’s the psychology it uses. It’s sociopathic.

And honestly, I got tired of depressing, melodramatic, over the top, grimdark, misery fest shit a long time ago. I watched part of Irreversible, that was MORE than enough for me.

Even CSI, and similar shows, often leave me wanting to take a shower and watch something funny.

I hate zombies, because they ARE the stupidest movie monster of all time. I don’t care about some moron who thinks cooking meth is a good idea. I don’t give a scuttering fuck about fake politics in space, or a fake version of real life politics in the case of shows like The West Wing. If I want to watch fantasy, I will watch fantasy. If I want to watch history, I will watch documentaries. Not some bad fanfic, sword and sorcery soap opera version of history.

Basically I have zero interest in these shows for a variety of reasons.

There is ONE show that sort of falls into the same category I do like. Farscape. But it doesn’t really count because it had a sense of humor, and was actually smart and creative.

 

So, that aside. The reason I wanted to post this is because I’ve been arguing with some jackass on youtube over a comment I made. Stating that Star Trek was superior to breaking bad and game of thrones. I’m no trekkie. In fact, I really can’t stand fanboys of anything. But Star Trek I usually give a pass to. And this reply pretty clearly states why.

“I understand those shows just fine.

Star Trek inspired people. That makes it superior.

No one is inspired by game of thrones or breaking bad. Hopefully. The language of the fans of those shows is how horrible they make you feel. That, and the tribalism, pretentious BS, and dogma used to justify watching them. At best it shows people what NOT to do, but then… if you needed a tv show to inform you that getting involved in drugs, or raping and killing people was bad… And there’s the rub. Star Trek showed people something they hadn’t seen before. Opened up their minds to possibilities. New horizons. Game of thrones and breaking bad are just over dramatized, fictional representations of things people already know. Banality. Which just leaves the question… why did you feel a need to watch it?

Game of thrones is a sword and sorcery soap opera. George Martin worked on soap operas in the 80s. There is nothing complex about it. Not in the way you want the word to mean. Complex in the technical sense that there’s a lot of shit going on, and to keep up you need to give a shit about it? Sure. The same is true of all soap operas. But it isn’t hard to understand at all. There’s a bunch of generic characters, most of whom have no actual personalities or character traits, that are all fighting over a throne, or for revenge, or whatever other generic, random plot they pull out of the bag. No one has ever heard of diplomacy. No one has any sense, or ever uses their brain, they’re all driven entirely by their emotions. Because intelligence isn’t dramatic. You could see all the same shit on any day time soap that’s been on for the last 60 years. Adding gore, overt sex and nudity, and basing it in a Conan the barbarian style world, doesn’t change what it inherently is.

Claiming it’s actually trying to make any statements about war is asinine. Especially when the war elements take up practically zero time in either the books or the show. It’s ludicrous to claim it’s about war, when the vast majority of what happens has nothing to do with war. Also, there is nothing ambiguous about the characters. Nearly all of them are just straight up black hat. It isn’t grey, it’s shitty mud. Besides, you can’t get grey without black and white, and that means knowing what right and wrong are. Which no one in that series seems to have an concept of. As for the so called fantasy elements, they don’t do anything. The dragons are just a convenient way to propel the dragon bitch from one plot to the next, and the ice zombies have had no real impact on anything. The fact that Martin stole everything from history, or other authors, doesn’t endear him to me either. Nor the fact he’s a sheltered, middle class, pacifist writing about shit he’s never even come close to experiencing first hand. He gets it all from other people’s books, then regurgitates it. Making him a fanfic writer.

Farscape did it all better, was far more entertaining, was actually creative, and thankfully had a sense of humor.

Breaking Bad is Scarface with an idiotically contrived set up premise. Dragging it out for several years doesn’t change what it inherently is either. Nor is it a concept that anyone with a working brain doesn’t already understand. Power corrupts, it’s only one of the oldest plots that exists. Big fucking whoop. The question then becomes, why did you feel a need to watch a series that contrives to do that story at a snails pace?

Anything you might think they are about, has been done better, and far more succinctly. Which just leaves the real reason you watch. Once all the pretentious BS and ego stroking is gone. You’re addicted to misery and melodrama. You’re a girl watching her soaps. Deal with it.

As for how well it’s done, that’s subjective. The ren faire shite dialog of game of thrones is laughable, and Cranston makes Shatner look subdued. He’s one of the worst over actors I’ve ever seen.”

Not Fair

So much time passed me by. All the time I could only sit and cry.

Maturity I’ve got, but not the things that are supposed to come with it.

No matter how hard I try to decry, I cannot deny.

Whatever I have to offer, mostly I’m just a piece of shit.

I keep trying, my apparent fate I defy.

Broken as I am, I still have my intellect, imagination and wit.

I’m not a drowning man, waiting for someone to save the guy.

Just cursed with a combination of traits that suck and make me a misfit.

Tortured artist, girls seem to like that, but not when you look like me and are cripplingly shy.

Still, when I see some of the pricks they go for I have to wonder… what makes me so unfit?

 

Books of Poetry and Stories:


Bitter Walk Home

Stepping along the street, heading to see her again.

She minds the counter and all I can do is stare.

Right there, feet, inches, soft, sweet, beautiful.

Pay for my shit and run away.

I can tell everyone is laughing  at me, even when they aren’t.

But nothing can compare to this ache in my fucking heart.

Get back home, I want to go back, I want to say the words.

But I stand and do nothing, it’s what I’m best at.

Write a note asking for a date, sits in my wallet unused.

Welling up inside is the self hate, fear my mind likes to abuse.

No reason for the fear, that’s what I tell myself.

But there are really many.

What if she says no?

What if she says yes?

I’m not sure what scares me more.

She’s right there, and if I ever had a chance every day it slips away.

And I tell myself to act but I never really try.

The panic, anxiety hits before I can even get half way.

The monkey of dread on my back beating me every day.

So I sit writing bullshit that means nothing.

Words are easy when no one is facing back.

When nothing is at stake.

So many words I can use when I’m alone with my pen.

They fail me when I see her, this is my sin.

To remain alone, unloved, unfucked, and unfriended.

I want to taste her skin.

I want to make her laugh.

I want to make her cum.

I want to give her a tongue bath.

I want to know everything about her.

I want to give her the world.

But I can’t have anything I want, not the love of that beautiful girl.

 

Books of Poetry and Stories:


Because

Why do I stare when I see your face?

Why do I look away and run from your space?

Because…

Why do you fill me with such dread?

Why do I run leaving all these things unsaid?

Because…

Why do I find you in my thoughts from dusk to dusk?

Why do you fill me with longing, desire and lust?

Because…

Why do i want to kiss you savagely from crown to twain?

Why do I want to ravage you with my passion again and again?

Because…

Why does the sight of you bring me joy?

Why do I shake like a child’s wind up toy?

Because…

Why does your face invade every fantasy?

Why do I want to bring you to ecstasy?

Because…

Why was it you and not someone else?

Why do you torment me and make me hate myself?

Because…

Why do I write about this because I cannot speak?

Why do I feel like a terrible, horrible, freaky, fucking creep?

Because…

Why does this hurt so fucking much?

Why do I yearn so much for your touch?

Because…

Why do I sit here with this paper and pen?

Why do I let you slip away in regret again?

Because…

 

Books of Poetry and Stories:


Passions and Dreams

Like a sweet dream, often glimpsed rarely seen.

You floated into my sight, and I was tempted beyond right.

Impossible it seems, this sweetest of dreams.

Filled with pure dread at the reality that will be said.

Still, I cannot deny what I feel.

A girl so cute it burns, over coals the spit turns.

I roast in my passions, while time marches in it’s fashions.

From the first moment seen, flames stoked to light the dream.

How I feel really isn’t right, but I am addicted to your sight.

No matter the pain of the dreams when impossible it seems.

Fear preventing words being said, desire overcome by dread.

To feel all this, and the tongue always remain still.

The wheel ever turns, and still my heart yearns and burns.

Rain pouring in it’s fashions, storms raging like my passions.

Words to remember the dream, hope dancing it is seen.

My brain filled with your sight, morning, noon, day, night, left, right.

No matter how it seems, you are the sweetest of all my dreams.

For all the dread, all the words left unsaid.

My heart beats faster still, quaking at the depths of what I feel.

Blaze me with your eyes I don’t mind the burns, the pain is worth the unending turns.

Eaten alive by my passions, while the world comes and goes in it’s fashions.

 

Books of Poetry and Stories:


The Lie

There is a lie we tell… That passion is like heaven or hell.

Truer to say it’s like a drug cartel. An obsession on which we dwell.

Love is the word we yell. Fucking is the drive that compel.

Such a cute girl with hair like caramel. Her smile for a while darkness dispel.

True I want to know her very well. But even more I want to kiss her citadel.

Make her reach heights of orgasmic decibel. She brings out the pervert within and propel.

Towards lust her sight does impel. Longing to unleash my sword and impale.

Taste sweat, skin, her scent inhale. Kiss every inch, lick the pastel.

If she’d be my honey, I’d be her carousel.

When you want it all, mind, body, heart and soul what line do you sell?

Romance, desire, lust, love… what does she want you to tell?

I’d give them all given the chance to excel.

 

Books of Poetry and Stories:


Your Own Troll

A moment catches on the heart when you spot a lovely face.

The wish for more fills every fiber of body and soul.

Fear of reality, it’s never as good as the dream.

Is the risk of a broken heart worth the chance at embrace?

Can a girl bring nourishment to a spirit so broken, burned like charcoal?

Will her touch, a kiss, an embrace be worth the pain and scream?

Negative and dark thoughts arise to overcome good, the mind does like to race.

She is right there, a chance, a taste, but it’s hard when you’re your own troll.

Stupid man running ahead, and behind, below and to the ground in extreme.

 

Books of Poetry and Stories:


Flower and Spirit

In the first rush of spring when a flower blooms, bring a light to the gloomiest place.

A spirit sees the flash and forgotten passion wakes, like a dream moving through space.

The gentle rose, a scent you long to kiss, a petal you await it’s soft caress.

Smile and the sun shines, a moment of succor in the swirling, unending distress.

Every sight brings a sigh, a whispering like a breeze in the patter of rain.

Tears from the heart, tremors inside, longing for the flower to ease the pain.

The light flickers, the gloom resumes it’s steadfast embrace.

The spirit hungers for the flower, while rose spotted red, the dream darkens like space.

The rose lashes with thorns, whip the flesh, ripping, never the soft caress.

A frown strikes faster, the smile becomes a taunt, cascade down the distress.

Each sigh a note of misery, reaching for the slapping petal, drowned by the rain.

A note of disharmony slices through putting teeth on edge, the flower is a blossom in the pain.

But still the flower remains, out of reach it seems, once more, always, and again.

A beauty, a demon, an angel shining brightly, a dragon breathing fire into my sin.

A dream floating freely on an ocean of needles, a lust unleashed from it’s cage now and then.

A pleasure to see, my destruction she be, a notion, a thought, a fantasy, reality death, till I’m freed from my vigil I wait till I know not when.

 

Books of Poetry and Stories:


Anxiety Bastard

Just a smile in the pouring rain.

Or a kiss, to soothe the souls pain.

Rush in the breast, beating it’s furious refrain.

Death of the mind, a hopeful bloodstain.

On and on the vision will go in vain.

Nothing but this addiction to a face I can’t abstain.

Is happiness for others? When darkness inside will reign.

Succor and sadness, to see her, and fear a word she deign.

Beat into pulp hope and love with every sight I gain.

Each time I go, the need grows, and the knowledge that I am bane.

Asking why she would see a thing of value in this pathetic frame.

Unobtainable the sought after heart I seek to attain.

To desire one so badly and have it torment one’s brain.

Inside a hunger to taste lips, like a fiend for cocaine.

Furious thoughts, anxiety, piercing the soul, it’s my chain.

Under a moon that sneers down on desires profane.

Look of innocence, so sweet, lust and desire I ascertain.

Leave me in a bloody pool with barbed words that pertain.

Tacit in my actions, what is felt, speech always restrain.

Obdurate in the face of what I obfuscate as happiness wane.

Many times the beat is broken and silence cuts twain.

Ears listen for a smile, but expect only disdain.

Abase on my fear, but it is the view of the view of this window pane.

Never before a feeling so strong as this campaign.

Deeply moving through, like a shock that will drain.

Intimate what you will, I believe my meaning is plain.

Wishing to be seen as more than a customer in your domain.

A man that may be interesting, a notion could you entertain?

Nerves break and the heart beats like a runaway train.

Tangible anxiety blowing through as a hurricane.

Hapless clown caught in illusions of his own legerdemain.

Eros and cupid, one and the same, ravage walking down my lane.

Reveal emotions coursing through, driving me insane.

 

Books of Poetry: