Tears in Rain

"Quite an experience to live in fear, isn't it?  That's what it is to be a slave." -- Roy Batty

My days are supported by the rigid framework of repeated actions.  I must complete a set number of chores and, depending on the state of my nerves, "rituals" are included in these assignments that may or may not serve any real function aside from "shielding" or protecting against chronic anxieties pertaining to unavoidable chaos.  More specifically, I attempt to control the world's wild discord through a system of familiar places, foods, people, activities.  I was surprised by how much pleasure I took in the first days of my recent trip to Los Angeles, where I was required to establish new patterns, to try any number of unfamiliar enterprises, based in part on someone else's agenda.  It was a surprising relief and release to order food from the wide array of health-conscious vendors and to share most meals socially.  I generally only feel comfortable and happy eating if I am alone with my food and a piece of literature or canned entertainment (i.e. television or film) as accompaniment.  I see it as my reward to have this "me" time after I completing the tasks demanded by an established, expected schedule.  Even then, I am never truly free from worry and always strict with myself about what and how much is consumed.  That is why I generally return to the same selections, as I have vetted them on past accounts and seen what harm they may produce.  Given my lifelong fear of weight gain, the major ramification to avoid --of becoming "fat"-- has led me to avoid choices that might retain energy instead of ensuring the reduction of calories through exercise and restricted consumption.

The replicants, or biologically-based androids, of Ridley Scott's seminal science fiction masterwork Blade Runner (1982) are also living under constant, unassailable distress.  Theirs is twofold:  should they choose to fight for a longer lifespan, they must break free from the planet when they are assigned work, and in doing so, gain status as illegal fugitives.  On Earth, the chance of their artificially-constructed bodies lasting longer is seen as something to hope and even kill for.  In Scott's film, the leader of the small company of replicants desperately seeking extended longevity is played by a shark of a man -- Rutger Hauer, sleek and sharp as a combat model machine. His character, Roy Batty, is of the highest order produced, with an intelligence matching that of his corporate designers.  With one final plea, Batty makes a cold, calm argument for why his remarkable mind should be respected and observed.  Only then, at this instant, does he resign himself to his inevitable finish:

"I've ...seen things you people wouldn't believe. Attack ships on fire off the shoulder of Orion.  I watched c-beams glitter in the dark near the Tannhäuser Gate.  All those moments will be lost in time, like [coughs] tears in rain.  Time to die."

The solemnizing of Roy Batty is without question one of the most striking scenes in a film rife with incomparable, other-worldly moments.  It is what my mind often returns to when I encounter something truly arresting, especially if I feel alone and in secret with said experience.  I hear Hauer's taught British intonation of those words and the haunting synthesizer score that follows.  I flew across the nation via 747 two nights ago after making the decision to improve my weight from my parents' home in Maine.  Somewhere over America I awoke to the pastel portents of dawn, a white toenail moon the single ornament over a basin of curling, foamy frothing cloud-cover.  But I  knew nothing would ever capture this astonishing vista aside from mounting an IMAX lens to the wing of the plane.  Ultimately, I made a mental note of this singular, fearsome vista, thinking back to Roy and his collected memories as an off-world contract worker; how every mind must contain an equal share of marvels, whether joyous or terrible -- some, perhaps, a little of both.