Cosmopolis Page #8

So is mine.

What does it mean?

Nothing, it means nothing.

It's harmless. A harmless variation.

Nothing to worry about.

At your age, why worry?

You should have listened to your prostate.

You tried to predict movements on the yuan

by drawing on patterns from nature.

Yes, of course, the mathematical

properties of tree rings.

Sunflower seeds. The limbs of galactic spirals.

I've learned this with the baht.

I loved the cross-harmonies between nature

and data. You've taught me this.

You've made this form of analysis horribly

and sadistically precise.

But you forgot something along the way?

What?

The importance of the lopsided.

The thing that's skewed a little.

You were looking for balance.

Beautiful balance, equal parts,

equal sides, I know this.

I know you.

But you should have been tracking

the yuan in its ticks and quirks.

A little quirk.

A misshape.

The misweave.

That's where the answer was.

In your body, in your prostate.

But I still have to shoot you.

Don't you ever walked through the park behind the library

and see all those people setting in their little chairs

and drinking at those tables

on the terrace, after work, and hear

their voices mingling in the air

and want to kill them?

No.

I'm having my Korean

panic attack.

That's from holding

in my anger all those years.

But not anymore.

You have to die, no matter what.

I can tell you my situation

has changed in the course of a day.

I have my syndromes, you have your complex.

Icarus falling. You did it to yourself!

Meltdown in the sun.

You will plunge three and half feet to your death.

It's not very heroic. Is it?

Even if there's a fungus

between my toes that speaks to me.

Even if the fungus told me to kill you. Even then, your death

is justified because of where you stand on Earth.

For your apartment and what you paid for it.

For you daily medical checkups.

This alone...

Medical checkups,

every day.

For the limousine that displaces the air

that people need to breath in Bangladesh.

This alone.

Don't make me laugh.

Don't make you laugh?

You just made that up. You've never spend

a minute of your life worrying about other people.

Alright.

But the air you breath,

this alone, the thought you have...

Is there a fungus that

speaks to you? I'm serious.

People hear things. They hear God.

Anyway, you're already dead. You look like someone

already dead. Someone dead a hundred years.

Many centuries dead.

Kings dead.

Royals in their pajamas

eating mutton.

Have I ever used the word "mutton" in my life?

Came in my head, out of nowhere.

Mutton.

I wanted you to heal me.

Save me.

I wanted you to save me.

Subtitle by ramirez

Rate this script:0.0 / 0 votes