-Mobile continuation from Xanga blog PinkyGuerrero, this blog is PinkyGuerrero, ongoing continuation at blogs Pinky & Janika & Basically Clueless & PinkFeldspar, in that order.
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Showing posts with label Moriarty. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Moriarty. Show all posts

Saturday, January 9, 2016

f(x) where x = "reflection John"

So we're inside Sherlock's mind palace, not just watching him watch himself, but watching him watching himself ignore his own reflection in a mind palace mirror. I could go deeper, but I'm not sure you're ready for that.



But who cares, here we go, I'm diving in and you'd better close your eyes if you don't want spoilers.

One of the complexities is the symbolism of Moriarty not having a hole in his head in the mirror reflection that Sherlock is ignoring in his mind palace, yet obviously having one later, which he shows to Sherlock once they've moved away from the mirror. Why is this deception necessary? What is Sherlock trying not to see, and then later trying to tell himself?

Let's dive into metaphors. Sherlock wants to see how Moriarty did it, so he works on solving an older similar case, but in his mind palace, he can't see the obvious because, as Moriarty points out, it's not real. Remember how Sherlock told John it wasn't real on the rooftop, just a magic trick? Except now Sherlock is telling himself in his head through a character that it isn't real because it's in his head...

But let's back up for a few seconds. Metaphor and symbolism are both as real to the brain (and to both the writer and the viewing audience) as 'reality', whatever that is- a definable actuality, let's call it. We still don't have a definable moratorium on Moriarty (god, I love words) as far as definable actuality is concerned, but we do have a grasp on Sherlock's reflection of John in his mind palace, with Sherlock recognizing that John is a reflection and fondly embracing that John's reflection is the core conversationalist he needs in order to let go of his house of mirrors and leap out of his mind palace back into definable actuality.

A mind thinking thoughts is definable actuality, if we want to get technical (thought is a form of reality, if you're lost already), and a stream of consciousness, no matter how twisted, is part of all our paths. Consciousness inside one's mind is just as viable as consciousness outside one's mind while one is experiencing it, is it not? We vaguely define what is 'real' or not, but what was very real to Sherlock was that his own perception of the outside of him (definable actuality) was deeply layered in his own perception of the inside of him (in his mind), and his approach to problem solving depended on layering his perceptions to reveal truths. Some of the truths turn out to be things he doesn't want to know about himself or admit to himself, but I'm jumping the gun.

Just as Sherlock and Moriarty moved away from the mirror in the mind palace, Moriarty said the truth was boring, just wonderfully done symbolism, in Sherlock's mind palace. He's playing out his own symbolism of hiding truth from himself. Since Moriarty is a character in Sherlock's mind, Sherlock is the author of what Moriarty is saying, basically Sherlock telling himself that truth is boring and that's not why he's in his mind palace. We know Moriarty was bored before he shot himself in definable actuality and used Sherlock as part of his morbid mind game, and we know Sherlock was bored, too, because he said so. Two very bored souls found each other on a rooftop, made a pact, and Sherlock psychologically internalized what was essentially a marriage vow in hell. "You want me to shake hands with you in hell? I shall not disappoint you." And then Moriarty shot himself, and you could go into the whole blood brother suicide pact (and even Romeo and Juliette) thing. Don't fear the reaper, per se.

pic clicks to a pretty good, albeit very lengthy recap and analysis
"The Reichenbach Explanation"
It's not much of a leap to realize Sherlock's mind IS hell, and that the leap in his mind off the painting of the Reichenbach Falls away from both hell and reflection John was an emotional reset after the way he left definable actuality John the first time with a real leap.

MY question is- Was Sherlock high when he met Moriarty on the rooftop? The question is starting to come up between Mycroft and John in The Abominable Bride whether Sherlock uses every time he goes deep into his mind palace, since Sherlock hinted that's how he problem-solves. Sherlock is quite used to morgues and corpses and body parts, but was Moriarty right? Was Sherlock a suicide witness virgin? Was it Sherlock's first time to witness the transition from life to death right in front of him? To go from the gripping handshake to witnessing violent death while still holding hands? Because that is quite the pact. And if that's what it was, Moriarty stole Sherlock's innocence, consummating their deal.

No wonder Sherlock is still so obsessed with Moriarty. It's not just about how Moriarty did it, whether the body really disappeared, or even whether he's still alive. It's about how Sherlock made this 'marriage' with Moriarty minutes before he broke John's heart, and then abandoned John to two years of the blackest grief imaginable, straight from a pact in hell to abandoning his best friend to go root out the last of Moriarty's network. For Sherlock to succeed, of course he had to cut his feelings off, but we all saw the tear fall down his cheek on the rooftop as he said goodbye over the phone, we all know he knew the pain he'd be causing, and we can imagine reflection John showing up in his mind palace during those two years working for MI6. Who knows how many countless convos Sherlock had with reflection John all that time. Poor definable actuality John has no idea how strong this bond is for Sherlock when they are saying goodbye before Sherlock gets on the jet, because most of their friendship has gone on in Sherlock's head.

Sherlock chooses to become so cut off from his emotions to focus on crime solving that it takes getting high to process and feel them. To come full circle, Sherlock allows himself to address his own issues through John while he's in his mind palace, including allowing reflection John to express concern for him as a friend not expressing his own natural humanness. Reflection John is the closest Sherlock comes to admitting to himself that he cares that someone else cares about him enough to ask about his sex life, even if he still can't bring himself to let his own walls down in his own head talking to a reflection of someone.


Sherlock might be able to think quickly and efficiently, but even in his own mind, reflection Mary calls him the slower brother while she leads the way to solve the problem, and along the way he makes mental notes alluding to Mary being an excellent choice of wife for John. We must remember that Mary is by extension the bestie of his bestie, and that Sherlock made a vow to protect Mary (and through that vow, to also protect both John and Mycroft from Magnussen), and it is ultimately that vow, expressed back through reflection John, that overrides his suicide pact with Moriarty in his mind. I thought the imagery in the "desanctified" church was very telling of how Sherlock sees Mary as 'his', framed together through one window while John is framed alone in the next window. Before Sherlock gets onto the jet, he asks Mary to look after John (essentially asking Mary to step up and take on his role in John's life), Mary says she'll keep him in trouble, and Sherlock says, "That's my girl." Sherlock seems to openly accept Mary in his life without reservation, which is a subtle emotional bond that maybe even he doesn't realize has happened. I think the Mary bond, both in definable actuality and in his mind palace, is an unrealized reflection of wish fulfillment. Mary is the closest thing Sherlock has to intellectual competency without either being his brother or a bad guy, working with Sherlock as opposed to gaming against him like Irene Adler had.

Going into his mind palace is about beating the game. What is the game? Solving the ultimate riddle, finding all the pieces to the ultimate puzzle, alleviating boredom. What is the solution? An emotional commitment to real people in definable actuality. With Sherlock's own mind in the way, never the twain shall meet, it would seem. One could argue that Sherlock is emotionally impotent, and that keeping his relationships controlled in a mind palace is what keeps him the 'virgin', any way you want to define that, although Moriarty showing up in the lacy wedding dress pretty much disclaims that Sherlock's innocence is over now.

Despite Sherlock's careful withdrawal from emotional entanglement, Moriarty shattered Sherlock emotionally with a real event Sherlock couldn't control that psychologically ushered him over a threshold and made him capable of murder himself, as we see happen with Magnussen. Sherlock becoming Moriarty's counterpart and unraveling his network was only a tiny part of winning the game after that happened. The game never ends. If Sherlock is capable of murder now, and if he's going into himself and talking to reflections to confront his emotional problems while he solves riddles, he can't help running into himself playing Moriarty. (One can only wonder how psychotic Moriarty's own mind palace must have been.) If not for John's narrative continually interrupting his thoughts, where would Sherlock be? Trapped behind his own mirrors, perhaps.


I'm loving the hints coming up in Mycroft's book. Their mom is a Vernet...

Yeah, gonna leave it hanging there. I especially loved the hellish orange glow that came up between Sherlock and Moriarty in that wedding dress in the desanctified church.

Wednesday, July 29, 2015

titillated


Love/hate relationships are like an addiction that one cherishes quietly in the dark.


A person learns the true depths of their being in relationships like this. A really good love/hate relationship might come along once in a lifetime to one in ten thousand people.


I'm excited in a way I shouldn't be. I see an opportunity in future to rise above it all, sharply enhancing the tantalizing pull back into the dark. It will be everything I can do to stay focused on why I'm back.


"He gets off on it." Yeah, that... It's intoxicating.


If we can play the game right this time, it's going to be a really good year.


Feels like love.


But how would I know after the casualties I've left in my own wake.


It's all about the dance.

I'm excited. This clicks out to gigantic if you want a wallpaper, came from a cool review post.

Sunday, May 24, 2015

there is no U in aspienado

I'll be excruciatingly honest. I'm not made for this every day interaction stuff. I NEED deep-in-my-head time like normals just don't get. I don't crave companionship. I don't feel fuzzies when I see people I love. I am obnoxiously lacking the 'happy to see you' gene. Don't get me wrong, this doesn't mean at all that I don't love my kiddos. Just saying if you don't see me on social media this next week, I will be so deep in my cave that even the spiders will fear me.

Some stuff from this week. First of all, the sox Holly sent me keeping me sane.


And that was important because




I finally just gave up in disgust and haven't turned my laptop on much since, until this evening. Got about 1000 words written and my gurlz showed up again *boom* right in the driveway. And we've got one more day to go before this holiday weekend is officially over, which will make it 8 days in a row tomorrow. It's all good as long as no one talks to me the rest of the week.

Now the cute stuff, because even *I* am a sucker for cute nowadays.

You just can't go wrong with a squirt gun, a flash light, and those awesome boots.


You guys can't tell we're on coffee break. We were both working on our computers and she needed a coffee break, too.


30 minute drive, spitting as hard as she could the entire way, you know how that makes your nose go tickly-numb right up to your eyeballs when you do it long enough... We could tell she was experimenting. No telling what this bodes for the future, but I've got first dibs on calling high school drama club queen. If she doesn't go the theater route she'll be even meaner during volleyball regionals than her mama was, eating floor and slamming ball.


And no one will be able to stop her because they'll be destroyed by her cuteness.


I couldn't resist getting a shot of the winning hipster in town, how can you go wrong with a name like that and a chicken on your sign? Pic clicks to website.


Underneath it all, still writing.


Monday, April 27, 2015

my unstrung ukulele

Today's earlier post was a distraction. I nearly bombed you all with a hardcore excerpt and pulled it back. It would've rocked a lot more views than haikus and limericks. I'm trying not to feel impatient. I'm sleeping in 2 and 3 hour jags now, hoping a lot of it is the prednisone taper and that once I'm clear of it I'll be able to blissfully conk a lot longer than that.


amwriting is a horrid affliction, a variation of performance art requiring as much stringency as a street performer pretending to be a dead body on a sidewalk for 3 days, dismissing bodily needs and functions in pursuit of proper expression. My brain feels like it's been through a taffy pulling contest, a spun sugar machine, a drunken tilt-a-whirl, and rolled down a hill inside a rogue tire bouncing across the landscape. M.J. Caan wrote Earth's First, also on kindle.



I keep thinking of Mr. Earbrass working on his own final edit. Click this pic, peruse the bidding prices, and appreciate that I actually have a copy of this book.

I don't care that some of you are sick to death of Sherlock fanvids and spoilers and wondering if I've gone off the deep end abandoning all things Spock and Darth. Regular followers will have realized by now that Sherlock has gripped me as my muse and flung me against every wall in my house several times over this month, and the only help for it now is to just keep ripping, reordering, and rewriting until this is sent off and I collapse on the floor upstairs in an unused room, wondering where I am and what day it is.

"You should write a book," they said. For years I've been hearing that exact sentence out of so many mouths. Here, let me just trot down to hell first and pop up with an armload of abandoned bits and pieces to sort through so this will make sense. If you guys knew the real me, you'd wonder how I get anything done with all the limericks hopping around my head like little frogs while I work on being serious. Help me, Sherlock! preface

flashback of a feeling

An update in haiku and limerick.


April has been surprising
I joined the Sherlocked
And unlocked my mind.


The words washing over my soul
Keep pushing me toward a goal
Like macrame weaving
I keep on believing
  In spite of the strain
  And continual rain
That I will soon become whole


Secrets kept hidden
Bursting through my brain
While I dance for the public


Hard writing only confirms
That feeling of wrestling worms
Into a fake can
Marked "Written by Jan"
  To spring in surprise
  At my poor readers' eyes
And splash up their brains with my germs


I also found Benedict Cumberbatch's Sock Fetish on tumblr.

Thursday, April 23, 2015

Lurker Games

It's a thing we do. A game.


Three different people have told me they keep dossiers on me. None of them were joking.


Sometimes you accidentally cease and desist an amateur you know in real life and then stuff gets awkward.


And sometimes it gets weird.


I wish we could get together in a lurkers club and swap tech advice, but I know that defeats the whole purpose.


So we just quietly watch each other.


I live for the plot twists, like when an ultra dark lurker pings on top of me and someone else lurking each other. I know you know I know you know I know, but now you know.