G. I. Joe- the rise of Cobra screenplay

“G. I. Joe: a real American hero” screenplay or G. I. Joe: the rise of Cobra...

Dream cast

Hanno Raudsepp as Cobra Commander / G. I. Joe



Winona Ryder as the Baroness



Scarlett Johannson as Evil Scarlet, Evil, tragic Scarlet and innocent hippie Scarlet


Christina Ricci as another hippie Scarlet Zen

really important character and actor, I keep on drawing a blank when I try to think of him
Jackie Chan as Stormshadow

Brad Pitt as Zartan



Ewan MacGregor as Duke

Liam Neeson as Destro

Barak Obama as himself

Sarah Palin as herself

Tina Fey as the evil, tragic Sarah Palin clone


D. G. Cotrono and Channing Tatum and Tom Hanks as the Desertors

Kiera Knightly as Lady Jaye



Kevin Costner as Hawk

Ewen Bremer as the Doc

with Dennis Quaid as Flint



and Johnny Dep as Serpentor

Evil, tragic Scarlet: Let's go, Snake-eyes.

Snake-eyes leaps through a light-maze of illuminati fluorescent blueprints, like horizontal Tron-graphic sheets of blue light arrayed vertically, with an integral graph of orange light oriental chinese letter patterns and chinese calligraphy patterns in between. Each chinese letter and each chinese paint-brush stroke of chinese calligraphy, all as light patterns in the air between the blue sheets, are the coordinates of his martial arts motions through the air. His motions spell out chinese letters in the air as well, perhaps trailing motion-drawn images in the air of sentances in chinese. Ray Park can do it.

Evil Scarlet's journal

Death in my soul... iron in my soul.. which is it?... is it will?... a matter of will?... a will powered by death?... by a wild death of the will which is my beginning?...

Hippie Scarlet's journal

... I am the invisible Scarlet. The Scarlet which never was. The Scarlet which preceded the beginning. The beginning of G. I. Joe. I am the Scarlet who perpetually, eternally needs to be protected. I am the protected '60's. The decade which needs to be protected. From sedation. From drugs. From the death of reading.

I read in my shed in Cambodia. I rub the ink of scattered news articles against my naked body so as to feel the various pressures of ink of various leafs of news. Each news article like a leaf I rub against my body. Feeling the autumn pockmarks of its ink. Feeling the ink of the event, of the phantom event recorded in the article, a phantom recording. I feel my body immersed in phantoms. Phantoms of the press. The ink is the soul of the phantom, the ink which seeps into my skin. My skin is the recording of the ink trails of phantoms. My skin is an autumn leaf, my body is an autumn leaf. The news, the scattered, random, or apparently random, news articles I collect are a massive puzzle I'm putting together, a puzzle made up of apparently random pieces, the puzzle is Scarlet Zen.

Evil Scarlet's journal

Where do I begin? I begin with war. I remember nothing before war. I. War. I survive to build an American monarchy, and American hegemony. My survival is Scarlet Zen. My survival is a ladder. I do not know which rung of the ladder I occupy. Am I at the top? Or is the top merely the inverted lowest rung of the ladder. Which is the a and which is the b of the integral? The Riemann Sum of the Scarlet Zen ladder. The vast ocean of war I command, Ahab's ocean. The ocean of soldiers. G. I. Joe. Who is G. I. Joe? Is he my soul? My man's soul? I can't help but feel my soul is a man. A man I hopelessly love. A man who is my survival; I would not survive without him, without G. I. Joe. Is the vast ocean of soldiers my vision of this man? How many men do I need to feel myself with one man? How many men to fill my soul with one man?

The Baroness's journal

Darkness is in our souls is it not. Our souls, shame-wounded by our sins, cling to us the more the more the more.. a quote from 'Ulysses'.. Stephan Daedelus, my Cobra Commander... the darkness in my soul is in its natural element.. it seeks honesty from my naked body, it seeks honesty outwards from my core to the surface skin, the surface light.. I run naked into closets... to escape the poisons, the drugs...

That World Trade Centre bombing I sent Yousef on didn't go so well. It was before I met my Cobra. CommanDER. I remember the bombing, I was working for the Russians at the time. It was like some black propaganda. To make the Muslims look bad, I mean. Poor Muslims. The Russians never stopped their war with the Afghanis, they just went Baroness. I'm the one ticket in town to arrange mediation between Marxists and Muslims. Kaboom.

Cobra Commander's journal

Where is the Baroness. None of our mission will succeed without her. She is the linchpin of COBRA, it's touchstone. She's a team-player. She is the foundation of a future for the world. The planet needs her. For its salvation. She is the Baroness.

The Baroness's journal

I love my Cobra. We're a match made in heaven. Romeo and Juliet. As long as Juliet is naked. I'm naked for my cause. COBRA! I always feel I'm cheating if I wear my glasses. But that feeling only makes me feel more naked, which I like. Cobra Commander is my friend. We're friends. I'd like us to be more but we can accomplish a lot being friends. COBRA is my emancipation. I know I'm the salvation of the planet. Cobra knows it too. Kaboom.

Cobra Commander's journal

God Bless the Baroness.

Evil Scarlett: (to a silent, masked Snake-eyes) The choice, for evil or for good, is a choice you have the deadliest sight given you to divine, to configure to your tempest soul, or rock band acoustics and light-shows, this deadliest of sight, this deadliest of choice, and to configure to our own politic of design. It is only through blindness and muteness that you can travel in tandem with me. We may not always travel the same paths, the same arcs of the same decade, but I will always have worked to give you the most engineered of skill-sets for the sightliest of choice, for the most refined, the most sophisticated political channels of choice. You have a vision we've given you which spans the arc of death, which sees death and bids it pass you by.... snake-eyes.. you'll always come up snake-eyes if we've given you vision of guided-missile precision, of death precision...

Evil Scarlett: (speaking at the podium of a political press-conference) The planet is worthy of American hegemony. Monopolization operations are underrated. Under the umbrella banner of “G. I. Joe, we have the most logistically efficient international organization of soldiers of the future installed and established for posterity's sake. The future is our reality, our American investment into future high-tech industries. The military foundation of G. I. Joe branches out into civilian industrial and technological endeavours. Civilian realities are our core investment, our core software of ideology and political dialectic.

Cobra Commander: See, “she”, and I can only think of her in quotation marks, is everywhere, so everywhere, that it's hard, inconceivable difficult, to anylize her in a sense or style that is autobiographical. Style is important. There is a style to writing that defines the vernacular, that defines the soul of the writer, if you will. Style is what I seek for in this town, to be the inside-man of autobiographical exegesis, the autobiographical exegesis of a town, of an industrial-military complex. She takes over towns, town after town- is the takeover of towns the military-industrial complex? Is it made up of towns, of small towns? See, I want to stay in a given town. But I never can for long, not longer than a day. It's a consumer ethic of town

She wants to kill every woman who looks like her, so she's the only woman who looks like her, so she's the only face looking back at someone in the mirror, only her face in a mirror- her face a mirror, a mirror into our souls? Into the internal optics of our souls? So our souls are a wilderness of mirrors? .. every question mark is an optics, to invent by a mirror gaze which is a mirro that doesn't invent itself gazing into our souls an optics of mirror-industrial complex, inside our internal soul-workings a military-industrial optics of – what? - satellite laser technology?

Cobra agent: Were you Sherlock Holmes in a former existance, boss?

Cobra Commander: Good question. Who was Moriarty, the Napoleon of crime, the land-tycoon of crime, who bought up crime-real estate until he was on a margin of majority, like the PC party once in Canada. Sherlock Holmes was merely an entrepreneur, if that, a private, concerning citizen concerning himself with business he had no nose in, no business or shares in, as if the public corporation which is a town or city or city or town was prey to the intellect of a man with no shares. He was like some no-account swindler, who saw law and local politics as a house of cards because only so would it match Sherlock Holmes's moral sensibilities or intellect. Which was it, his moral sensibilities or intellect, which he had to have stock in a corporation to digest his events well? Moral sensibilities? He had none, according to repute. But, in fact, he had as many moral sensibilities as species of cocaine in his pipe for forensic analysis. In other words, widely distributed into meaninglessness, a sortin' morality of cocaine sortings. He had an indifferent interest in the public good, as long as if provided a sufficiently challenging mystery to solve. If it was a mystery that appealed to him, as a claimant, in the form of a man, I believe, usually a man, walking into his office to appeal for his help in local politics. Such men would appeal to Anton Checkov as well for advice. (pause) This is a dark game we're playing, with dark characters, even darker colours, dark colours made evil to serve proof of evil, to make a character of the character of fiction or evil, are we fighting the most brilliant of foes? Is it a laser-show, a loser-show, typographics?- nonsense, my dear Watson, which we're fighting? The work-ethic of lasers which take no time to reach their destination because they're already at their destination, like the two coordinates of a quantum particle across the breadths of outer space, before they leave. Colours, colours, and colours- because colours have no distance, colours have no shape to distance, colours have an imaginary soft-focus suggestion of quiessence which they call distance, a distant colour. Or not. Are there simply colours, vivid, ink-toned colours, which are vivid for their distance? Vivid as a vivid traversing of distance for stormy weathers, by all-encompassive tempests, colours which are tempests and therefore great, mountainous distances, tornadoes which are mountains, paintings which know colour therefore know women and thereby know mountains of scale.

I imagine the first introduction of Cobra Commander in the movie happening in concord with track 13 “imagine the fire” of the musical score for “The dark knight rises”. It begins with Cobra Commander walking purposedfully, steadfastly through the corriders of the innermost black, laybirinthine areas of the Pentagon, using advanced Cobra technology to decode his way through sliding after sliding door. And there's an homage to the scene in “Alien”, when the computer screne is showing basic “Tron” schematics of the two corrider's of the Alien, and I think it is, Tom Skerrit's character, until the two dot coordinates of the two are in one place. Kind of a computer graphic like that showing Cobra Commander representing one coordinate, and all sort of G. I. Joe troopers are various scattering “Chaos random” style coalescing together around the coordinate of Cobra Commander. Finally as he's making his way to the deepest, blackest core of the Pentagon, he's arrested by the G. I. Joes, but they know he's set a time-bomb to the costume, so they don't get near him too much. Then the scene changes to various television broadcasts, the screen is a black background against various smaller TV screens, a black background which then changes into the exterior of the Pentagon. TV broadcasters are reporting the capture of the most wanted terrorists on the planet, Cobra Commander, and giving biographies of his actions. We see scenes on some of the suspended screens of Cobra Commander leaving the Pentagon accompanied by G. I. Joes. And then, when they're on something like a tarmac or airfield outside, Cobra Commander is looking up, and the sky shows a dot in the distance, like the entrance of the Green Goblin in the first Spider-man movie. The dot becomes rapidly bigger, revealing itself as an individual dressed in white. Then Cobra Commander pushes the G. I. Joe's aside, and the white-cloacked individual, Stormshadow swoops down on his handglider, which Cobra Commander seizes, and Stormshadow, the hanglider and Cobra Commander swoop upward at quantum speed into the heavens. Jostling TV screens announce the sudden escape of Cobra Commander, and we see helicopters going after the two figures on the hanglider. Cobra Commander has a gun and he shoots back at the helicopters. Then the hanglider still speeds away, leaving the helicopters in the dusky twilight, and the scene shows the sunset from Cobra Commanders vantage point.

Stormshadow leaves Cobra Commander at a plateau near some mysterious computers. Cobra Commander feels rustling the air and draws out his gun. Evil Scarlet appears, her own gun drawn out. The two engage in a stand-off. Evil Scarlet knew where to find him, but she considers him irrelevant. As Cobra Commander gradually walks off, a long monologue for Evil Scarlet which I haven't worked out yet ensues. She yells out after him, saying she's not even aware of him, who is he even? She has no idea who he is. And she yells out after him as he walks away that she leads America's military-industrial complex, that it's all in her power, and that all the Joes answer to her, that they're all fervently loyal to her, she make disguised, ominous allusions to Duke. And as Cobra Commander walks, as sinister trombones play in the musical score, with a Hungarian ambience, the camera focues on this steel-mirror mask, a long close-cropped shot as he walks at a somewhat angle toward the camera which follows him. And then he walks into a room, where his blue hood is located, and a first-person perspective shot shows him removing the mask and putting on the hood. Then we see a scene of him walking on the top of a skyscraper, such as in the Al Pacino, Keaunu Reeves movie, “The Devil's own, except at night, except the city-lights and stars. He looks down at the light-bejewelled city, and then rips off the hood, revealing his face to be the beardless, original G. I. Joe, and yells out, in a trumpet-like voice, “COBRAAAA!!!”. The shot pans down to the city, and we hear faint, ghost-like voices answering, “... Coobraaa.... cobraaa....cobraaa...”.

Evil Scarlet: Who are you, you're nothing, you're nothing, I don't care who you are, are you listening to me or walking away, I own the system. I own the whole military industrial complex trumpeted over the internet, I occupy the hierarchy, they all trust me with their lives, because their lives are aces if they work for me, I'm at the heights of the hierarchy, but I'm not lonely, everyone wans to work for me, everyone knows their's order as – as long as – fucking editing! Their fucking order if their's fucking fractals! Got it??! As long as people pay attention to fractals they've got it made in my employdom. It's not that hard. Just read a few books and you're hired. Not every fucking book in the universe, you idiot! Just the important ones. ..everything is free will if their's order, pal. Order is free will, as long as I'm at the top because I'm the most fucking qualified, not those lazy bitches pretending to be me. I'm tops with everyone because I provide them with manuals. Manuals for living, manuals for reading. Manuals for living in towns. Ever heard of radio – just listen to once in a while and that's all you have to hear to live in my town. Who are you? I can't even see you. I don't want to fight you because I can't even see you – to naked Scarlet good, looking at herself in her military jumpsuit with subtle, aggrieved, affrighting gesture – because you probably haven't read a single fucking book on fractals, the real ones! You can't fight order if you haven't read the book. Universal order is a few books you haven't read and will never read because they're not your style, and you're all about the style vs. Content or some such shit like that. It's form and content, you idiot, not style and content, I'm not writing – whose autobiography in – what military-industrial complex – edit – edit – edit - .........

Cobra Commander looks back for a sec and then walks away slowly and reluctantly to Hungarian trombones, as if his proximate presence is strengthening the demon to its victim, so the victim can struggle free with the absence of his presence, his symbol conscience-vibration/vibrations presences as if his conscience was the “viol” in “violin”.

G. I. Joe felt tardy in his values. He was very much a man of real beliefs, however, he was not a man of few namesake values. He believed in nothing as a faith. He felt nothing was as real as anything. He felt his own emptiness in insufficiency. He was a man of- what? What of nothing? How much did he work at some given thing. How did he feel his own work when so blind in its cognizance. He felt non-real presently.. he was lost in space, lost in empty acoustics.

Innocent, hippie Scarlett's naked body is desert dune sands (cinematography in G. I. Joe). She is Scarlett Zen.

“Hey, Scarlett, when are you not naked, if you don't mind my asking, just out of curiosity?”

Scarlett: “It keeps me warm.”

Naked, innocent Scarlett is watching Disney's “Snow White and the Seven Dwarves”, watches the mirror scene with the evil Queen “mirror mirror.... there is one fairer than you..”.. then edit to the scene where (in the Disney film) the Evil Queen asks to be delivered her heart in a jewelry box. Then Naked Scarlett gets up, goes to her own mirror, looks at her face with the mirror reflecting a waist up breasts visible profile, breasts of milk, breasts of life.. and the mirror starts freezing over with crystal ice patterns and the animated face of a Scarlett with a snide, cruel, snidely smiling, cruelly smiling upper lip appears, says “Hi Scarlett” and the mirror and including +3

.the whole shot, expandingly, with mirror image scaling shatteringly into real-Naked-Scarlett-containing reality shatters into blackness. Utter blackness behind the shattered glass-ice of reality, scaled into reality from mirror reflecting-fiction, like the opening title credit of the Tom Berenger movie of the namesake just described. And Scarlett cries out, and Scarlett whimpers with fear, with whimpering sob, one sob, of tearfears.

Let's do the toppling of the Eiffel Tower scene again.

The Eiffel Tower disintegrates from its foundations and topples. The next scene is of Cobra Commander sitting at his desk, writing and attending to documents, while the Baroness, standing behind him, leans over him, seductively, as the disaster happens outside their window..

Baroness: Do you want to admire your handiwork, Cobra?

Cobra Commander: I'm busy.

Scene containing excerpts from the book, “The origins of the first World War: Great Power rivalry and German War aims”, edited by H. W. Koch

“Shout! Shout!” by “Tears for Fears” is playing during this scene.

The Cobra lair. Cobra Commander is sitting at a desk in the middle of the room, with a pile of documents on his desk. He is surrounded by busy Cobra agents, including Destro. The room is lit by a a dark, bluish, fluorescent light, a light the same colour as Cobra Commander's costume.

Cobra agent: Rathaneu has declined to offer proposals for electoral reform in Prussia.

Cobra Commander: We'll arrange another meeting

Cobra agent: We must follow the Morocca crisis.

Cobra agent: .. and the failure of the Haldane mission

Cobra agent: They're often taken to be the same mitteleuropa project.

Destro: (unmasked, walking lackadaisically to the desk, picking up a paper from it and looking at it) What does this have to do with Scotland?

Cobra agent: We're all committed to our accompanying hunger for prestige.

Cobra agent: Nor is ther any validity to the theory that the Germans wanted to advance to a new position of power through the war.

Cobra agents: (together, randomly) WAR!

WAR!

WAR!

Cobra agent: especially in France.

Cobra agent: The transition from peace to war is on the table.

Cobra agent: Germany's increasing participation in the internationalism of industry and communications throughout the world- and especially in France- amounts to an invitation to “direct political action”.

Cobra agent: This means perfect sense.

Cobra agent: .. as reported by the German banker.

Cobra agent: We must not stake everything on a single card.

Naked Baroness runs in.

Cobra agent: Case in point.

Naked Baroness: Aren't I a pleasant anomaly? Somebody stop me! Take my clothes. PLEASE!

Cobra agent: Where are they?

Naked Baroness: I lost them in the four corners of the globe in my travels. (singing tragicomically) Ohhh, on the road to San Francisco, I came back naked to San Francisco because I left presents across the globe and deed, and died, myself naked in the process- never felt my heartstrings 'till i went insane and naked in San Francisco and never found my body that I'd lost 'till I went naked in San Francisco.. I bled my body into the coffee I drank at coffee shops I frequented in San Francisco, I drank my own body naked as I ad-libbed my body's drinkin' gallons of body drinkin' in coffee shops I frequented in San Francisco.. i'm dyin' to be naked in San Francisco 'cause my clothes in sperate corners of the globe are incriminatin' evidence to my loose indiscretions of knowin' to much my body to the crime of the moment until I reach a destination in my naked untaught cavortin' in San Fancisco..I'm a sentimental romantic at heart, that single detail is true about me if nothin' else 'cause if I'm naked out of true.. I've got a job to do to be glassenned into primeval naked nunnery of jobbin' the competence of the walls enclosing my naked form to their irregular civilizations of vibration...

Cobra Commander: (gravely) even before Britain has transmitted her declaration of war to Berlin, we must make our move.

Later, Cobra Commander is alone in a dark room of deliberate sparse lighting, formal, stylized lighting. A Cobra agent walks in.

Cobra agent: President Wilson has decided to offer the five major European Powers his good offices as mediator.

Cobra Commander: Good. We need him.

Cobra agent: If Germany accepts mediation.

Cobra Commander: Hmmm.

End scene

Later, same room, Cobra Commander is alone. Cobra agent walks in.

Cobra agent: There are two Germany's last we've ordered reported.

Cobra Commander: Well, that opens the doors to discussion.

Cobra agent: But, in fact, there may be four Germanys.

Cobra Commander: Hmm. That could become problematic. Too many voices at the table could crowd out discussion.

End scene.

Stormshadow: Stormshadow's a dove. The other grey-costumed ninja, my diabolical double, is a hawk, the hawkish-garbed ninja, who has a colour-symbol-imagery schemed affinity with “Hawk” of G. I. Joe. Stormshadow striats the lower and upper classes, the a and b of the integral, as the inveterate ninja he is, the quintessentially Marxian double-agent ninja, who cavorts with French intelligentsia in Paris, like Ho Chi Minh, or like Mossad et al., before Mossad got big and took Israel by storm, and with the lower-classes in Vietnam. Is or is not Stormshadow Ho Chi Minh, such is the mystery of Stormshadow.. or is he- wink, nudge, someone else altogether, maybe someone in Taiwan. The double agent of social-classes, “Upstairs-Downstairs”, indeed, Humpty-Dumpty, the social-class self-reversal double-play, like Two-Face spinning his coin in the morning, the classes by vector substitution inverting their positions in the vector, a dual permutation, an inversion of a rotating stage into upper/lower class quadrants.

G. I. Joe: When you're in the depths of the Vietnam blackness, the black Vietnam jungle, the black blindness of the Vietnam jungle, you don't know who to believe, or what to believe. It is an eternity of isolated confinement, to be confined by the Vietnam jungle, to be confined by blindness, to not know whichaway the tactics are going in their whirligig of orchestrations around you, around your blindness, outside of your own cognisance of your own subjective effects, a effects can be, upon the whirligig. Lost in the hurricane, lost within the tornado of the Vietnam war, lost in the blindness of pitch-brownish ashes and black dust.

Slimy moss vegetation was homely, was home to G. I. Joe. Like, Sartre, G. I. Joe liked the slimy, it was a comfortable swamp which felt like a home to G. I. Joe as well as swamp-monsters. The slime moss vegetation was soft around him, a slimepillow of softness, like a wet vegetation mattress to sink through and forward, to sink forward in the war, toward a destination, guided by softness, by softness of slime. He felt like geology had always been the homeliest religion to him... Geology was religiou slime... it guided him forward, he had the power of flight within the swamp.

Such subjectivism of guidance as the slimy swamps were was the only reliable guidance he had lost with instinctual deliberation like a chess pawn within blind jungles, blind Vietnam jungles, as a pawn who was also the chess-player, but the chess-player was only his instinctual anima, his shadow-self, his shadow-self was the chess-player and the conscious substance of the man was the pawn-soldier in the jungle. It was only instincts, a soldier's instincts blind to himself, which were at the echelon of chess players. His anima. Instincts played the game at the strategic level, at the geopolitical level.

Guided by his shadow and by the slime of the marshes (perhaps he would encounter some marsh Arabs if he got lost enough) G. I. Joe felt blinder and blinder to his own tactics, to tactics to speak of. Only his shadow was knowledgeable, only the shadow knows, what it was doing and what his conscious self was doing. At different echelons he was fighting the war, in his infinitely subjective self. The jungle environment was relevant, he knew, it was a collective unconsciousness mapping of the jungle by his mind's eye, by his buddhistic, subjective mind's eye. By the visual subjective angle of a serpent he was sequentially, in the most linear, the most delirious sense of it, swampstep by swampstep, his unconsciousself, his mapping-echelon of his unconscious self, was sequentially, visually mapping the jungle.. jungle.. jung – le.. as in “jungian”?...

G. I. Joe first-person narration journal ten or so minutes into the movie while he write in his motel room after talking to Lady Jaye.

G. I. Joe: Jungles, navigating through jungles, does one learn navigating through claustrophobic environs thereby? Navigating through a close-cropped isolation which follows your eternally, like an eternal, perpetual shadow of a jungle? After Jonestown, have I been living in a jungle in the past few decades, operating within an invisible close-cropped jungle, having coffee and donuts, but still within the jungle.. I never left Vietnam, I never left the jungle, I remained isolated and confined within a jungle because the war wasn't over, how they always said, “Vietnam follows you home”, “Vietnam always stays inside you, wherever you go after the war, Vietnam stays inside you, you can never go home after Vietnam”. Did I re-image myself more than once? Once after WWII and once after Vietnam? Have I grown to an adult twice now? Because another childhood I had seems to have taken place in a parallel reality.

G. I. Joe was lying naked in bed with sorrow.... sorrow for his long'slasting.. for his journey's end... not begun? No journeys end? Lickerin. He was rotten with grief. He was unaware of any loss to his name cause had none. No blame to name. He was a man of need. Of no need. He-smoked no.. weed. He read instead. To no avail for present sense. Or future wakes he read. Re-availing of the dead. Ripping pages from his soul. He walked. He lived. He did a read. It was a book gone. A book done. On to another soul. He went through them quickly. They were done in his conscience for his requites of heart's speed.

A book was a book was a book. He helt a felt loss of speed. Always for later. Never sped later. Never a speed for young's morrow. He dread himself younger. Younger with age, age with meaning, meaning with read. A read meaning. A moment of death. A read, a liffle, a rife penknife was a book's steed, in a stead of gone's read, of a gone of a gone of a gone.... of leaves of protection of leaves to die into adult age

leaves of palms

to cover naked women's breasts

in tenuous cover

of hesitant shriek

of no cover to seek

to leaf by niggle

by naked woman's wiggle

G. I. Joe journal

I feel not at my greatest strength. My weakness challenges me in questioning my own ability to navigate it, to negotiate it. I am unforgiving of my own weakness- it questions me. If I feel I lose awareness of myself, lose consciousness or am losing consciousness of myself, I want to know why, I want to know where my strength is. What it can do for me. How my weakness is an index of my strength: my ability to bear weakness, to bear under weakness. And accept weakness and contend with it- that is where I come to defining strength. I come to that margin or tangent of self-definition, of strength definition while contending with my weakness. I write.

Naked, Tragic Scarlet was up to her knees in mud. She needed a slipshod device to work the system of nanotech i-bots which were in the machine. The device was a device of living, organic mud-like compound nanobot-icicles of crystal nanomatter. What a way to survive, she thought, it was nothing like this in the compound. She was used to comfort – edit – edit – like a princess in her hippie idea of the – edit – edit – what the fuck – I'm evil Scarlet, not the comfort-loving princess- ohhh, soome dayy my prince will come – lovesilly Scarlet... The mud is my comfort, the mud is my comfort clothing.. I don't need plush pillows and – I am going to

Naked Lady Jaye: (who, like Stormshadow, always talks about herself in the third-person) Naked Lady Jaye was always gracefully awkward, the way she'd run like a naked Natalie Wood in a breathtaking naked female run for passion at nakedly breathneck naked female speed for dramatic effect on her conscience her conscience an accelleration yet naked Lady Jaye brought it to the tragicomic whereas naked Natalie Wood brought it to the melodramatic dramatic because she ran nakedly in only one direction, her own, whereas Naked Lady Jaye ran in 12 different directions at once because her naked awkwardness gave Naked Lady Jaye those parameters.

The no-man's land deserters had called themselves conscientious objectors once but just once. They'd been sent to no-man's-land before they could repeat it a second time. In case someone heard. And their own ears testified to another voice hearing. But an unfriendly voice perhaps, but that didn't matter they-... thought-... had thought- and, now- had thought- had thought- had thought-... they were thrust in a hole for reasoning to themselves that murder was murder, - and they weren't even at war yet- at wartime yet- but the time had o'erleaped like a leapfrog the destiny of volition before you had a second's quickshot – to – BLAM! - “Too late, you were slow- he could've pulled out a gun.” - to slow to respond with words, with an opening of dialogue- he leaves, you're the last- executioner standing

-

---

You defect

You run into other people who say they did the same thing and you believe them.

“Being and Nothingness”- one of them's read a copy of “Being and Nothingness” and they said it explains a lot, if they had a copy with them. - That every moment of your thought, every moment of your thought of your life is a life-choice – You can choose to desert anytime, any second, any instant, is a choice to desert or not to desert,

every choice is an instant... a second... a millisecond of a second.. of a choice... of choice itself as a reason... So - “there is no excuse?”

“that's the philosophy.”

“Wow. Maybe I know I made the right choice. Because all of them would have been stolen choices ahead of me if I hadn't made the choice to desert.”

--

--

--

“and”, he goes on, “there is no then, there is only a choice to make. A choice i then made, but made it sooner rather than- later-

..... but too late

to save the guy ...

he goes on, “because he killed him as a demostration, a demonstration to me, he needed an audience to do it- and I was there because I hadn't deserted. To provide- an audience. So-... I can't get the words out.”

“I know- it's obvious- 'cause- we aren't made to be soldiers.”

“All soldiers are scum. Because they got the law backing 'em up. They're cowards.”

“Yeah, no repercussions.”

“But what do we contribute then? Once we're gone and- ourselves again.. if- possible.”

“When we get to land. Some decent land, some decent country, we'll find out.”

“Soon, I hope. Real soon. I mean, like, NOW! FOR FUCK'S SAKE!. I'm tired of being some stupid soldier who pays his salary like it's a debt to his own comfort. I'm glad we're out in no-man's land.”

Tom Hanks can play the “Hawk” of no-man's-land. Never talking to the others, always writing on paper, writing notes on paper, nothing but that, making connections, connections, connections.. off in the barracks with his sacks of dirty clothing and scant food supplies which are negligible to his priorities. He's the bookworm, always writing, writing, writing on loose, dirtying leaf paper

evil naked Scarlet- the evil you can understand is scarier than the evil you can't understand- because it's infinite the better you get, the stronger you get, so you get more medication, because you're stronger to withstand the medication, so you're overmedicated by his/her date- the lonely predator, the predator abandoned by his/her prey

one more thought I can't remember now

Naked Scarlet Zen becomes grotesque, self-grotesquering if she's a naked wackjob woman, resultantly a victim- which creates a terrifying, devastating stroke of conscience, a stroke of conscience of the rock that issues water when it's struck, like a clock the predator ecology becomes a victim when it's wounded and moans, or the animal who loses its prey and forlornly, lonely sorrows its stomach

- “every time you make me good you make me powerful”

evil is remorse turned inside-out

- no -

REMORSE is evil turned inside-out

capitalization ruins it

“evil is remorse turned inside-out”

whoa, that's deep

no, that's just a stupid sentance

“I will never accept this. This is an exonerating double-play. Every time you exonerate me as a nicer person I will be her. The nicer person.”

Stormshadow: “She will take every charming character you create and appropriate her. Destroy your soul you've made of her. You're not powerful enough to stop her. She will rape every character you create. You can unrape a word but you can't unrape a person. Every innocent rape is a predator in her making. To be an innocent for her own rape. Of an innocent rape of a rapier intestine for- the hair of a body every of which will be numbered of the Last Judgement. I drinketh of this cup because a rape of an innocent is a cop in the making, because a rape of an innocent is a predating of a predator's namesake. Who will live to gut her own soul into hair of her own pubic soul- of her own pubic soulvulva.”

Tragic, Sad, Evil Naked Scarlet is Scarlet Zen II, the second tribal Scarlet Zen

So, G. I. Joe deserter Serpentor discovers his Serpentor legacy in a mystical, elaborate cave. He is told he has a daughter. He is introduced to her. He leads his daughter and the no-man's land deserters in a Serpentor League which is a third faction in the war. He becomes Serpentor in the desert wastelands of no-mans-land, like a T. E. Lawrence. Serpentor is T. E. Lawrence.

Scene early in the movie

Danny Boyle might direct this scene. As Naked Scarlet Red is dancing through 80's urban Vietnam, the most important iconic street of Vietnam, evil Scarlet appears in a brown trenchcoat.

Evil Scarlet: (mock intonation) This town ain't big enough for the two of us. I don't like your ruddy skin pigmentation. To uniform with the flashy Vietnam decor. It could stand improvement.

Naked Scarlet Red: What- the city decor?

Evil Scarlet: No, stupid. You're skin-care products are overembellishing your natural skin pigment. Oceraccentuating your natural ethnicity- what is it- Spanish-Rumanian?- your ethnic flesh tones too aggrandizingly. I don't like bravado. And you're leaking bravado all over the best regions of Vietnam. It must stop.

Naked Scarlet Red: Says you! Who are you, I haven't met you here before. Maybe I can show you the town.

Evil Scarlet: You've shown me enough, already. It must stop, sorry.

- evil Scarlet whips out bug-spray

Evil Scarlet: It'll help your skin.

Naked Scarlet Red: Uh, that's bug-spray. (in bug-voice) You're apologizing to a bug.

Evil Scarlet: Science is inventive

- evil Scarlet sprays naked Scarlet Red in the eyes -

Naked Scarlet Red: What is this, army protocal?

Evil Scarlet: Speaking of which.

- evil Scarlet takes out a gun from her trenchcoat and shoot Scarlet Red in the stomach -

Evil Scarlet: Her skin ain't lookin' so good, Sarge. I think it's almost done.

While naked Scarlet Red keels over on the sidewalk, Evil Scarlet takes a gas tank from her trenchcoat and a match- sprays her with gasoline and lights a match

Naked Scarlet Red: (wounded on the ground) Flesh can't burn, asshole!

Evil Scarlet: I only hire the ambitious.

- Evil Scarlet walks away toward the screen, throws the lit match behind her at Scarlet wretch on the ground -

Evil Scarlet: Pretend you're a Buddhist. Hope your skin improves. I'm takin' out the Scarlet. You're fired.

- evil Scarlet walks toward screen as the camera-shot moves closer toward her face, evil Scarlet lights a cigarette with a condescendingly distracted look -

Evil Scarlet: So much for Scarlet Red.

- naked Scarlet Red gets up bloody wounded and stars bravely walking forward -

Evil Scarlet: (Still looking ahead, not looking at Scarlet Red behind her, speaks in a Scottish Begbie accent of rumbling indignation) Keep walking.

“Heaven ain't close in a Place like this” - evil Scarlet's Vietnam – plays as evil Scarlett in brown trenchcoat goes through Vietnam streets and to blindingly red, colour-filled clubs- the whole screen is blinding red- she sits down at a club for a cigarette, as an inscrutable, recognizably inscrutable, diagonal camera-shot films her sitting, diagonal vertigo.

... good Naked Scarlet Red is walking wounded and starts bravely dancing her way to a G, I. Joe/ Cobra joint safehouse she knows, Dancing makes her go faster, especially with pre-established pre-muscle-memory movements, like instinct staccato of naked Scarlet Red body.

Naked Scarlet Red: Killjoy.

- naked Scarlet Red enters the safehouse room -

Naked Scarlet Red: I ran into an accident on the road to Harlow.

- as she's treated by Donald Sutherland..

Naked Scarlet Red: She bulldozes her way through the streets of culture. I don't think she reads a book.

Naked Scarlet Red has an ebony red body against the red relief background imagary overlap with the Christian Rohlfs painting a strong allusion to the black figure- The scene is Scorcese-stylized.. emanating the stylization commitment of evil Scarlet.

Is she ebony red while on the on the ground or standing up? Not sure

Directorial polyphony in the final version combining Danny Boyle's and Martin Scorcese's versions of the scene.

Hi guys, I just remember hearing Scarlet Z or Scarlet Zed, tribal Scarlet Z, was also an innocent, good person, not to say Evil Scarlet isn't a good person, if not so innocent.

When Naked Scarlett acceses the demond world of tribal Naked Scarlett Zen, she channels benign demons which give her the abilitiy to optically shapeshift supernaturally into Naked Jennifer C. Scarlett, a vibrantly nude woman of vibrantly reddish-complexion skin and vivid red fleshtones to her pigmentation and a vibrant jaunt to Jennifer C's Scarlett's naked walking and naked jaunting through the cities of American or Vietnamese or Cambodian art deco decor, Naked Scarlett becomes Naked art deco Scarlett naked art decor Scarlett whose vibrant naked she-personality matches the vivid Vietnamese urban decor

Naked Jennier C. Naked Scarlett is very much a naked she of vivid naked decor rather than a naked female desert naked goddess of naked Scarlett Zen mythic metaphysical identity

Cobra Commander: (in the battlefield) What do you suggest as our course of action, Lady Lovelace.

Lady Lovelace: COBRA, RETREEEAT! RETREEAT!

Cobra Commander: Good show, Lady Lovelace. I couldn't have said it better myself. You should be doing this, not me.

Scene of a crowd of cowardly, naked hippie women retreating in scrambling manner, throwing high-fives and the such.

Naked women: (retreating) Aaaaahhhh! (throwing high-fives)

The two guys Ewan MacGregor is playing in G. I Joe will have two kind of cinematography, respectively, perhaps one soft-focus outdoor lighting and the other soundstage stylized lighting. The brown-hair guy, Renton, will be under Scotland/Scotch land lighting, probably, I belief soft (non-stylized) lighting. The blond guy, Duke, the other guy Ewan MacGregor plays, wil be under American, stylized lighting, the kind done within a soundstage (aka Hitchkock stylized lighting, american lighting).

Cobra Commander: Cobra! REATREAT! REATREAT! Leave no man or woman behind! Make sure they all hear the command! No one left to fight the war alone!

Cobra agents: (scattering amongst the army with foghorns) Cobra! RETREAT! RETREAT!

The Baroness: May Welland with an uzi.

Baroness: Cobra, you know every comic book ever written in the late 80's. Including the ones written by Tom DeFalco.

Table full of guns.

Cobra Commander: Guns. They are so yesterday. (sweeps them off the table) I'll clean that up later.

Baroness: (in shock) Cobra, please. I never meant to take them that seriously. I think you're overreacting.

Stormshadow: Wait, Commander. I entirely appreciate the sentiment. But I really think you're marginalizing the Baroness.

Cobra Commander: She's more than a gun-waif, Stormshadow.

Naked Baroness: I feel so naked without my guns. Just like I would without my glasses.

Cobra Commander: Well...

Serpentor = Alexander II in Russia, in serpent irony

Serpentor's semantic commentary (ironically phrased polemicizing)

Serpentor: Stay away from the topic of the assassination of Alexander II by Sofia Verhoensky, and her revisions of Dostoevsky's biography of her, because the Russian Mafia is dangerous. Because that name “Russian Mafia” scares the living shit out of me. (programmed reaction. Yeah, I feel it too) There's something about putting the name “Russian” in front of “Mafia” that scare the living shit of me. These two words should never be combined together. It's a talisman.

Baroness: Look, Serpentor, there's something I should tell you about these people. See, “Fan girls of Russia” didn't sound bad-ass enough, so they decided to call themselves the Russian Mafia. 'Cause they do read comics in Russia too. I've been there. I am so not kidding about this. I'm Russian. I know theins and outs of Russia. I used to be a Russian bride and that's how I found my Cobra. COBRA derives its idealistic lineague from Madame Blavatsky. We go all the way back to Egypt.

Serpentor: Serpentor appreciates the lecture. This I command.

Baroness: Ya, boss.

Cobra Commander: Ah, guns Baroness, you did bring guns. You're irrepressible. Big, fake guns. The kind that don't hurt people. The bigger they are, the more harmless they are. Well, that's okay then. Let's go.

Baroness: Ya, boss.

Serpentor's power waxes and wanes with the moon. Lunar cycles of history. Blood of the Asp. He funded Cleopatra.

Serpentor: The Muslims are all about proving that Cleopatra was very, very intelligent. And she was, I'm not saying she wasn't. But.. well.. it's complex. And she was quite beautiful. The Feme-Illuminati go too much in the other direction and try to portray her as a monster in thier .. odd.. disconcerting fantasies which they find an amenable inhabitance for in Dostoevsky's pen and geographical echelons of the psyche that names a novel “Notes from Underground”. Shakespeare was far more on the mark. He lived considerably closer to her era as well, which matters in issues of the veracity of historical documentation, though it was more a matter of the fact that Shakespear didn't seem to, in the eyes of the Feme-Illuminati, take her too seriously, and she was always saying, “Cleopatra, RETREAT!” And Antony would follow, which was not their ideal form of male chivalry. They really did not know what to do with Cleopatra. I think she pissed them off mightily, actually.

Serpentor – a tall man - : The whole parallel reality gamuckuss is finally behind us. We can all breath easy. But this is no time to retire. We've still got a lot of work to do. Like figuring out which reality we're finally in, for starters. Got my coffee. Instant. It'll do. So, where do we begom. om.

See, Evil Scarlet Zen's modus operandi of Voodo practice self-invented is to replace and substitute herself with Cover girl/Girl each time someone/I/anyone/everyone gets close to her, as an absolutely indistinguishable decoy, so that each fucking time they will do her work and take out Cover Girl- her cover- whenever they even remotely try to get tactically close to Evil Scarlet Zen.

Renton is a dour Scotish rebel who loves his country and will die for it or at least drink to it! (oh, man, this man needs some happiness in his life so I will leave the exclamation mark where it is.)

Cobra Commander: I'm going to have to confess something about my character. I have no idea whether or not there's a rebellion in Scotland right now. I have no fucking idea. Global affairs are simply not my forte. Cultural sensitivity is the forte, the sensibility, of the Baroness.

Obama: I am a communist. Uncle Joe is my uncle. There is no escaping this legacy. I tried to have myself assassinated twice and failed both times. I even went to Vietnam thinking they could do a better job. But Hamid Karzai failed where 9/11 succeeded. They stole the rooks but they can't steal Obama from America. Theft is wrong and Obama is going nowhere. Fast. Who's with me.

Obama's female cheering crowd: We are! Yayy!

Obama: Okay. This won't be easy. We've got at least another year of my presidency to kill, like a terrorist. Time is the worst casualty of terrorism. Satan's work. Blake's Satan was a chisler, a lobbyist that is. Lincoln had no time for lobbyists but I can do more. Lincoln freed me for the lobbies.

Female Obama fan: (crying) Lincoln did no free you for the lobbies.

Obama: It's too late now, far too late. We're in for it. Big time. People now know how to lobby a complaint with a President-merchant. At least I had my meeting with Putin and Karzai before we all go to the lobbies to get some snacks.

Obama's naked female cheering crowd: Snacks! Yayy!

Obama: But let's not be long. The movie's about to start. It's called “No way out”. Sound familiar? It shouldn't. The planet is a house of cards. Oh, great. Sarah Palin is hear. She heard me say the planet is a house of cards and decided that was her entrance. Wait, I think she's the mole. Let's get her. She's a Russian spy. Is she the one behind the trouble in the Ukraine which has caused masses of refugees.





Obama: Who is the Baroness.

Panetti: She's insane.

Obama: Outside of that.

Panetti: OUTSIDE of that?

Female Obama fan: She's naked?

Obama: Besides.

Panetti: She runs Russia?

Obama: Okay. That's a start.

Panetti: She's in debt to the Russian mafia.

Obama: Oboy. We've got to help her. Despite our allegiances.

Female fans: (crying) We have to help her. We just have to. We HAVE to.

Obama: We will. Don't worry. Obama knows the drill. Okay, everyone knows she secretly runs Russia, through some dubious black ops programs. Okay. I have to think this thru for a while. Okay. Okay. Okay. Okay. Okay. I forgot what I was thinking about. The Ukraine. There is an rebellions in the Ukraine, run and managed by Ukrainians. The Baroness- ah, I remember know- that's the Obama memory- she's trying to convicne us the Ukrainian rebels are Russians. So The Russians will stay in the Crimea. She's all about Russian imperialism and the Russian Mafia but we've got to help her. There's only so much Virag a woman can stand. Save the Baroness.





The Baroness: I am a white woman. But I need Obama's help. I have allegiances so spread out they are absolutely like tears in the wind. I have autumn tears. Tornado tears. Quantum turbulence. Chaos trubulence. I am a girl in trouble. Okay. Where do I begin.

     It all began in Breast-Livotsk. I was making a deal with Trotsky hopefully to end the first world war. That was in my pacifistic days, before I reformed. Transmuted. I am mutant know. Mutant baroness. X marks the G-spot. John Reed wrote a whole book about me – “The shaking quivering naked body of the Baroness which shook the world”. He believed in me. He believed in Russia. I believe in Russia so much I now owe a lot of money to the Russian Mafia. They said they thought the best partner was someone who could remind them perpetually that he was her benefactor, that's Mafia for you. I like being in a state of dependance. I like feeling small against the Mafia. So I accepted. Now, Raskolnikov, my Cobra Commander, my Cobra, has to save me. But Obama might presently be more politcally empowered to do so. I'm nude Sonia, naked Sofia. I crack eggs against my nude body and let the yolk slide all over my nude body.





Cobra Commander here. Maybe we should start with Vladivostock and Tavistock. Vlad and Tav. Is agriculture the new Silicon Valley. Microsoft might think so. Techno-plants. Fractal crystal crops? Crops as chemical batteries? Sources of fuel? Have to study a chemistry book. Is the mind also intended as a human battery? As the fuel source of the next milleneum?





Naked Baroness here. HELP me. HELP me. The Russian Mafia put me on a glucose-free diet. They believe in torture. They said it was part of a politcal protest against the megalithic wheat industy in Odessa, their business rivals.


Baroness: Pleeeassse, Obama, pleeeaasee, be a Robert F. Kennedy. And a John F. Kennedy. Fight the Russian Mafia.



Obama aide: There is something intensely illegal about taking on the Russian Mafia.

Other Obama aide: Wait- I'm against go at the Russian Mafia, but not for that reason.




The Russian Mafia: We have not done this. We have not done this. We have not done this. We like the Baroness. We will protect the Baroness. We will pay off her debts.







President Sarah Palin: There is a scandal in Germany. Germany didn't pay off all its reparations after the first world war. Germany owes us millions of dollars, maybe even dozens of dollars. Hitler must be stopped, along with a number of Berlin business men and women. There is a rumour the Nazis are financed by the French. This is dangerous. So we must be an equally dangerous American US cabinet. Germany is still a dark, sick, distracted and divided nation, very much sick. The Berlin wall is back, hence divided. Liberals are greatly responsible for the election of the Nazis to power in Germany. That's democracy for you. We will have no such problems in America, the land of the free, for we have left and right parties in Canada/ Never let the left party know what the right is doing. This makes perfect sense. But events are on the side of the extremists in Upper Silesia. Silly Silesia, but not so silly for long, if we're not careful. The fix is in, and Germany's on the inside. Hitler is back and better than ever. We can't fight in here, this is the war room- hee hee- so, we'll have to do it outside. But for real. We are often embarrassed and irritated by Hitler, especially by his claim to be an equal partner. He is anxious to keep control over the small but politcally dangerous Nazi party. If it was only so. Hitler is becoming more and more unrestrained in his speeches, he is back and better than ever. Love that word. The Marxists taught- If you will not be my brother, I will bash your skull in. Our motto will be- if you will not be an american, I will bash your skull in. I am so not Hitler. He is someone else. Herr Minister, I gve you my word of honour, never as long as I live will I make a putsch.





- end speech-