What’s Up Man: Llewelyn Moss

No Country For Old Men

Llewelyn,

What’s up sir. Hey, wanna go shooting sometime? I’m not actually that good, but my brother and father are pretty good. I’ve seen both of them hit a penny with an air loaded pellet rifle from about 20-30 yards, scopeless. It was a Sears brand rifle too, the kind that leaked if you primed the chamber more than 3 or 4 times (we were really young, and always primed it more, because we were stupid). Anyway, I’m kinda pissed at the Coen brothers, they killed you off before the ultimate confrontation, before the mano-a-mano battle of you vs. Chigurh. You were gunned down by a bunch of trigger happy drug runners; an end totally un-befitting a man so obviously versed in combat and clearly a survivor of some heavy Vietnam shit. You didn’t deserve that.

You should have faced off against Chigurh and you should have, would have, won, but maybe, perhaps, the movie would have lost something if that had happened, I don’t really know, I’m not a critic, all I know is I wanted to see you dismantle Chigurh and affirm all my unjustifiable lone-hero fantasies in what would have been the most spectacular, suspenseful example of that genre to date. A la: “I’m gonna make you my special project”. That didn’t happen, obviously, but I am still in awe of Moss. Compassionate yet cutthroat, invincible yet vulnerable, seemingly omniscient but fatally flawed, he is a perfect hero/villain. Greedy, but only greedy because he is ultra competitive, and skilled, holy hell his skills, his intuitive grasp of situations and implications and real world tasks. He can weld anything, he’s trained in reconnaissance, self defense, short and long range firearms, he’s a problem solver and pragmatic wizard, a man amongst men. A patient, intelligent, unstoppable force of one, just as all my wildest self-indulgent dreams would have it. Until of course he gets Uzi-ed in a hotel pool because his mother accidentally betrayed his location.

So yeah man, lets chill sometime, drink a bud heavy or two and sit on buckets near a campfire in almost total silence (I imagine this would be your choice of activity) and maybe I’ll soak up some of that steely invincibility, that cold and almost impossible ability to focus on the task at hand, and then maybe I’ll quit wasting days on end on facebook, or ‘new media’ sites, or lamenting how much time I waste at said locations. Perhaps I’ll shed my tiresome twenty year old laments about ‘meaning’ and hone in on a skill and do it well, for decades. Perhaps, that is, if you’re willing to hang out.

Cheers,

Devin

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