Quatrain XBBVCIID : Goulash
Upon the rolling hills where noble steeds did graze, Their manes like rivers gold beneath the morning sun, A shadow fell, a butcher’s hand, a fiery blaze, And from their glory rose the cauldron’s steaming run.
“Equus sum, itaque perditus sum.” -Knoopsgatius, 161 VCE
This famous quote from the great Roman philosopher often gets overlooked when it comes to themes for modern-day scriptures. And that’s a shame, because hidden within those five elegant words lies a universe of wisdom for those brave and arrogant enough to decipher their true meaning. And I say arrogant because it takes a certain attitude to tackle this highly advanced philosophy. As if one were to approach the equations of quantum mechanics with the same air emitted as if one were doing number two. Multiplied by one.
Luckily for all you equestrian enthusiasts out there, I, the Doctor, happen to be a descendant of that fair and wise man (no surprise there…) so I have taken it upon myself to guide you, unwitting and blindly through life rat-racing cattle you are, so that you too can see the light as I did and be, from now until the cows come home, forevermore free. Yes. And totally not subjected to my secret mind control system that allows me to influence and control every single aspect of your life. Totally not. Giddy-up!
The Lost Weekend (1945)
Our journey deep into the enlightened heart and ethereal soul of the one and true equine wisdom starts, of course, by drinking yourself into a stupor. Now, as some of you might know, the eminent and wise light of lights that is yours truly does know a thing or two about addiction. Yes. So when I say that Ray Milland in the role of Don Birnam does an excellent job of portraying the deep despair that comes from not being able to satisfy your most urgent of urges, you, my dearest, and until this very moment still stumbling around in the stark, dark, and unenlightened swamp that is your consciousness, can have faith, absolutely no pun intended, in the fact that I, the Doctor, at least for once in my weird existence, am speaking words of infinite truth. Yes? Yes.
What I thus meant to say is: this is a superb movie about alcoholism.
Lost in Translation (2003)
Now, as we all know, one of the first things to go when you’ve been paying your respects to Lord Bacchus for four days in a row is clear speech. It is a mighty strange thing, indeed: while the thoughts in your head seem most clear and lucid to you, somehow, somewhere between your gray matter and your larynx, things get all scrambled up, and instead of conveying your innermost ramblings in the refined and sophisticated manner you think you’re capable of, you somehow end up imitating Pee Wee Herman while doing the macarena. Yes.
In this excellent movie, Bill Murray and Scarlett Johansson also experience some trouble communicating, although not necessarily because they’re stone-dead drunk. No, it’s because they’re lost, you see. All alone, drifting in the sea of neon that is the vast and endless cityscape of Tokyo. He, an aging movie star, and she, a philosophy graduate from Yale, are like two ships passing each other in the night: waving, but not stopping. Well, not really like ships, of course. It’s not like they’re made of steel and have a humongous diesel engine steaming away on one of their lower decks, burning up fuel like there’s no tomorrow. What? No, man! What on earth are you on about? Ships? Diesel engines? You’re insane!
Raiders of the Lost Ark (1981)
No, I’m not! I’m Indiana Jones! I’m an archeologist, but also at the same time an extremely hot and rugged slab of manly beef! Or something. What I mean is that women, or at least some women (nudge, nudge, wink, wink), seem to be, on occasion, because it’s not, sadly, always the case, attracted to me on a, let’s say, mostly physical level. Yes. So, it’s not like they’re after the wisdom I may have accumulated over my many years of broad-chinned, square-jawed, whip-whipping, sturdy-surly-burly archeologising all over the freaking planet that I may or may not have stored in the uppermost parts of the two or three pounds of cauliflower gone bad that’s currently located somewhere between my left earlobe and my right sideburn. No. They just want to fuck my brains out.
And I’m fine with that, you know? Let them, I’d say. Let them take my glorious shaft and shove it all the way back, way, way back in their silky deep throats, and I, the good Doctor, will reward them for it with a few, if not several, cubic inches of lukewarm, slimy-white semen, slowly but surely seeping its way into their stomach. Yes. Archeologist!
Lost (2004)
What? Too explicit for you? Sowwy! But that’s just the thing! The thing! You know the thing! The thing I’ve been yammering on about since this whole fahr-kakte thing started! The THING, man! What was the thing…? I can’t… remember… Oh, yeah! The thing! Now I know! What I meant was that’s just the thing with addiction: you end up doing all these things that, at the moment you’re doing them, make you go all like, “Yeah! This is awesome! This is the BEST!”, you know, and then, when you wake up the next morning and realize, with that very special, sinking feeling in your stomach, that what you did last night was, in all reality, the absolute BOMB, man! Yeah! I mean, why, on this godforsaken ball of green and blue, free-floating space rock, didn’t I start drinking sooner!?
That is, of course, if you can even remember what you did. That’s how I ended up on this freaking weird island, for example.
Lost Highway (1997)
(Totally weird intermission about this dude, you know. This dude? You know the dude! Sure you do. Madison, I believe his name was. A musician of sorts. Although that’s probably hipster-speak for ‘jobless.’ He lived in this house. As dudes tend to do. I mean, not, like, in a cave or something. No, man. Just a house. And then, one day, he started receiving these really weird packages containing videotapes showing himself in his own house! So, not in his cave! Weird, man… And then he got accused of killing someone, and then, suddenly, he wakes up as this totally different dude. I mean, what the shizzle? Yeah, man! He’s just this totally other guy, all of a sudden! Like, totally! And then David Lynch is all like, “Ha, ha! You don’t understand my movies!” Well, fuck David Lynch. Because I do. Yes. Now, back to the real world, if you please.)
The Lost World (1997)
That is, of course, if you can even remember what you did. That’s how I ended up on this freaking weird island, for example. Hey! Déjà vu! Always nice… A déjà vu occurs when the brain experiences a brief mismatch between memory systems and sensory input. The hippocampus and temporal lobes, which process memory and recognition, temporarily signal that a current experience is familiar, even though it’s actually new. This creates the eerie sensation of having already experienced the moment. Factors such as fatigue, stress, or minor neural delays can increase the likelihood of experiencing this freaking weird phenomenon. Cool, no? Yes. So, I guess what I really mean is: watch out for dinosaurs.
Dinosaurs, man! I mean, are you really, actually, truly kidding me right this freaking minute? Dinosaurs. Like, those big, ugly lizards from a gazillion years ago. Yes. Those. Weren’t they wiped out by some angry space ball? Yeah, man! They were! I remember now! They told us about it in school! (What? Yes, I went to school! Why do you even… Now, that is not nice. You don’t see me calling you dumb, do you? I might think it, yes, of course, I think that all the time, but I’m not going to actually say it! You, sir, are a pillock. Yes.) Dead! The dinos, I mean. Dead as a dodo. So, why, on this godforsaken ball of green and blue, free-floating space rock, do I see them frolicking around over there?
Maybe I drink too much.
Horse Girl (2020)
Hi. My name is Sarah. I’m a socially isolated woman with a fondness for arts and crafts, horses, and supernatural crime shows. I like to smoke pot and drink with my friends; that is, of course, as long as we’re not interrupted by my spontaneous nosebleeds. I also experience frequent memory lapses: one moment, I’m driving my car, and the very next I’m in my kitchen, without any recollection of what happened in between. Really weird. And scary, too. Anyway, I also enjoy getting abducted by aliens and worrying about whether I’m my grandmother’s clone or not. I frequently get admitted into psychiatric hospitals, from which I promptly escape, after which I aimlessly wander through town. Other than that, I have no real hobbies. If you like to meet with me, please use the contact information at the bottom of the page.
What? You thought this was going to be about horses? Nuh-uh.
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