TITLE: A Study in Situations
FIRST PUBLISHED: May 31, 2012
SUMMARY: Thoughts on and from every episode of TOS, written in April, 2012. -Some of it uploaded in May.-
oOo
They beamed down to a planet fair illusions all around the air the Captain was a man named Pike he never joked at all (oh my!)
Mr. Spock smiled at a singing flower two women were stolen with alien power the Captain was trapped as if in a zoo but of course he figured out what to do Number One helped, with a phaser on overload— and finally the Talosians let them go.
Is this a dream? You ask in confusion. No, only Star Trek as it could-have-been.
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Hey, said the Salt-Vampire, want to go out? I can be your heart’s desire all you have to do is die for it. You humans have such salt— don’t be scared—it’s not your fault, and soon you will feel…nothing.
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All I ever wanted was for people to like me. I didn’t know what to do to make them. I tried, but they said I was wrong. I had no idea what to do. I got angry when they laughed. So I made them disappear. Please, let me stay. Please, help me. I want— please…
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I killed him. He was strange, changing, like a god, he said; smiling— “you should have killed me while you could” but I couldn’t, though I should have—I know I should. —Just thinking
Here, about my best friend, laughing at us all. And his threatening— but he was my friend. He was good. I killed him.
It was Spock, who eventually convinced me, when no one else could, I should hate him for that. —I should. I can’t. —I killed him, it was me… I killed him.
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Even as I speak, it is a lie for I can feel my control…slipping…away… and sudden emotions like a bottle uncorked… and I don’t…I can’t… “I am in control of my emotions.” I’m not. not now. Love preoccupies my mind— my mother…how lonely she must have been… the loneliness I feel now. A stranger…if only I could have told her that I loved her… was that too much to ask? how could I have been so… so…. he comes in now. My Captain, my friend. a friendship I can’t acknowledge even to myself. because it makes me feel ashamed. He is trying to tell me something, but I interrupt… because if I do not say these things now, they will never be said. because I want him to know… because I want someone to understand.
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I am
Good Superego Unafraid Kind Hesitant Logical Intelligent Compassionate Beautiful Ugly
Evil Id Fearful Unkind Decisive Emotional Instinctual Self-serving Ugly Beautiful
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Hello, my name is Harry Mudd, if you have a problem I’ll help! Want to be beautiful, rich; and live far away from this…planet…of yours? Well I’ve got a ship so hop right in!
My name is James T. Kirk Captain of the Starship Enterprise and I don’t trust you, Mr.… ‘Leo Walsh’? You or your women.
My human name is Spock and I have observed that something is going on. Something to do with magical women and Harry Mudd. And all our lithium crystals are broken so we are off… we have not yet reached the bottom of this mystery.
My name is Eve and I once wanted to be beautiful and rich and live far away from my miserable planet. I said I would do anything so Mr. Mudd helped me. Now I am not so sure…
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I knew Spock would know that the android wasn’t me— he knows me too well.
The dark of the cave hid the silent assassin of the two redshirts.
The proud scientist was not man—but an android— quite unexpected.
Why is it always the Enterprise that finds the strange crazy people?
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(This poem could be about either the scientists on the planet, or the Enterprise crew.)
It was present in the way we didn’t think about it in the tense voices as we fought to find a cure in the silences lousy with smouldering anger and despair.
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they say it is impossible to die of loneliness. But they don't know. They haven't been alone like that... truly alone.
I have always known I'd die alone.
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A/N: This is an acrostic poem
There was a strange, glowing cube Heading for the ship when they tried to steer around it Elsewhere, Balok lay in wait.
Corbomite was the Only thing that could save them—once they Realized the game that was Being played. One by one, the Minutes counted down Immeasurably long, immeasurably fast The seconds counted down: three, two, one— End.
Mayhap all was not as it Appeared. They met the alien— Not Evil as they had thought. Under the low ceilings they Ventured to meet their opponent. Except for the explanation, all was over and Right with the world.
–
All the evidence pointed to Spock but I couldn’t believe it when I could ignore the truth no longer, I wondered—if I had never known him. I thought he would have some logical reason—some important, logical reason— it wasn’t till later that I realized how wrong it was. Logic is a tricky thing—something can fit the rules, and yet be based on a faulty premise. In the same way, an emotional duty can be carried out with cold logic. And that was it, wasn’t it— duty. Not logic, but duty.
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A/N: This poem is a villanelle
The video played and the four men watched what it had to say.
It showed a long-ago day, in a zoo-like spot; the video played.
Pike was snatched away and the crew said “what?” What it had to say
Was of a history grey and distraught. The video played
And they sat all day much too long—but so what? The video played what it had to say.
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Lenore killed once, Lenore killed twice, Lenore killed all for her father’s life
Lenore killed four and Lenore killed five, she played her game and kept her side
Lenore killed six, and Lenore killed seven— she didn’t care who she sent to heaven
Lenore tried to kill eight and she tried to kill nine but Lenore had run out of time
Lenore aimed at nine but instead killed ten, she murdered her father once and again.
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The Balance
The important thing was the balance. Without it, there would be war, yet again— but with that fragile balance, ever shifting, ever changing, it was avoided. Before our eyes, we saw the Balance tip— and right with the destruction of a ship.
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Alice stood in Wonderland and gathered her friends around: We must make these people understand that we mean them no harm.
The knights in armour are most uncouth, the samurai are sullen, Don Juan, that man, is such a brute, and don’t start me on Finnegan—
But we are nice, polite, and mannered— We’d never try to kill or maim, but when we come to them they stammer, and then turn pale and run away!
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A/N: this is a sestina.
(Sestinas are unrhyming poems with six stanzas, where the end-words of each line repeat in a different order in each stanza. It has an envoi (last stanza) of three lines.
.
In this poem, every line is said or thought by one of the Galileo Seven. None of the characters speak more than one line in a row; except for the last three lines, which are all the same person.)
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Logically, I had no choice— I want none of your logic, you greenblooded Vulcan! We are going to die. Act like you at least care. Mr. Spock will find some way to save us. Aye, lass, that he will.
I know I'll be the first to die. I will… He's dead! We don't need your help. Our choice I want to help, but the others aren't. Look at us— It's the 'logical' course of action. You're a Vulcan. Logic is not all—how can you so little care— We have to kill them, hurt them. Otherwise—you saw. We'll die.
Mr. Spock, I have an idea—we might not have to die. I was sent to die. I know. The creature seems to follow me through force of will— I don't know why I go after him, pick up the body—What they said. Did I care? Spock, I know I'll regret my words later, but I can't stop. No choice— He infuriates me, scares me. I can't understand him. He's alien… Vulcan. I know he'll figure it out. I'll stand by him, though the others may doubt us.
Electrify the outer hull, I say—the others watch us. The creatures are gone. Maybe, just maybe, we won't die… We have to bury them—give them a proper funeral. I'm no Vulcan. Humans. So reckless. I will permit it—if the creatures will. I watch Mr. Spock as he makes a choice. It's because I'm terrified. Now I care
It's done. We have the power to try, if you care— Eight minutes until takeoff. You have ten. The creatures watch us— The spears start. Now, my words forgotten, I turn back—I don't make a choice. That choice means we will die. I watch, willing them on. You'll make it. You will. He was heartless, but just as much to himself. He's surprised me. Vulcan—
Well, Spock. Your last act was very human. —I'm no longer angry with the Vulcan. I look straight ahead, try not to care— You said there are always alternatives. I will Not now. I may have been mistaken. —I don't look at us I wonder what it will feel like when we die. I look at the button. There it is, in front of me. A choice.
As if against my will, my hand reaches out, flips the switch. It is not Vulcan. I have made the choice, and part of me wishes I hadn't—no turning back, but I don't care. Here we are—all that is left of the Galileo seven. All of us have a chance. A chance to live, or a chance to die…
–
My Name is the Squire, Trelane—
My Interests— Earth, and Humans.
They’re Just So very Much
Unusual, Fun, And dangerous—each and every one!
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A/N: this is a villanelle.
If he can make gunpowder he can win—he said, eyes glued to the screen, As if, by speaking louder
The man would hear. Time ran down the hour like a dream, if he can make gunpowder
All may yet be saved—what’s that? Strange-colored flour? No—ingredients, a mineral-seam as if, by speaking louder
He would suddenly have the power to step through, or make time freeze. If he can make gunpowder
There would be no need to conspire. If he can make gunpowder. As if. By speaking louder.
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