A thousand times the mysteries unfold like galaxies in my head.

Follow me


I just finished the third season of Weeds. The finale is quite troubling, and got me into deep reflections about the sense of reality. At the root of everyday existence lies the very question of what we are/ what we do/ what we mean. Some get lost in a transcendentalist vision of the world, of a blessed way of life which was given and which must not be overcome. Others take it their own way, and build laws upon their personal will. Either way, the question remains standing, the question deepens and the individual shatters under a crisis of identity. Individual laws cannot explain anything, as human laws are as limited as the human being itself. The Transcendent is as always silent (and in saying this I ignore the fact that for some, it might also not exist). And we are left with the answerless question of the self and of what defines us. Some admit they have roots. But nowadays all roots have become weeds, as they were displaced from the very core and substance. Wilted and left rotting. Religion is gone, family is no longer an organizing principle.
And when contemplating this simulacrum of values, of hope and joy we distance more from ourselves until we start hating eachother. Or hating everything around us. Even our echoes rot and we end living in a claustrophobic universe, screeching our mirror images.

Risking myself with spoilers, I have to conclude that this is the reason for which fire burns Agrestic. And Nancy chooses to make sure her house also burns, by spilling gasoline all around. Purification. People get tired of their own identity. And Nancy had to see the community die, just as Nero chose to admire burning Rome. A piece of art and a necessary rite of passage. I do wonder what the fourth season of Weeds will bring.

And if you still do not know what I am talking about, give a try to the first season. Compared to other sitcoms, Weeds is a subtle metaphor upon life. Conspirations and science fiction leave place here for the simple struggle of life. The gray comedy of existence.

No Comments

Post A Comment

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.