I See the Battlefield

With all the attention I gave to #setlock, I still have no idea why the Sherlock promo suggests Hopper’s Nighthawks. I swear I haven’t the faintest. But I happily accept it and delve into it.

Sherlock Series 3

This an interesting fanart I found on Twitter. Maybe it’s Nighthawks because of the dark suit? Or because of Hemingway’s The Killers supposedly being the inspiration? Does anybody know to begin with?


It is good to be alive, isn’t it? When I was like twelve I used to dream at night I was dead and a ghost. I would hover around my friends, all annoyed because I could not join them in their, our, everyday life, normal things, like going out on a Saturday afternoon, or watching tv.

Don’t worry, there is a perfectly normal explanation why I used to dream I was dead and a ghost as a twelve year old. I was constantly surrounded by anxious people back then, and unfortunately anxious people are toxic to me, they worry inordinately and I’m led to believe there is some actual danger I cannot see, so I panic. By the time I was sixteen I had realized anxious people are just anxious people and there is no actual danger, and so the dreams of death stopped. What remained was a vague preoccupation of being excluded by peers, and  an urgent awareness that adults were actively preventing me from growing up. I still have troubles dealing with anxious people, as the only strategy that works for me is that of keeping them at some distance and this is not always possible. I’m coping.

Anyway, in my dreams of death there was no true despair, that’s why I’m not calling them nightmares, I was just very very annoyed that my friends were living their normal days and I could just hover ghost-like.

I missed the small things, everyday life. Not the big events. When I was dead and a ghost, in my dreams of death.

Ok, this year I had to face two cars coming the wrong way, in two distinct occasions. It’s something that happens here because there are several luxury car manufacturers in the area so the occasional monster, still covered in plastic film and without a plate, speeds at 200 km/h on the bypass, overtaking on ramps. It’s clearly tolerated by the local authorities. The drivers are professionals and they know how to avoid you at the last instant, but while you hit the brake and glue to the guard rail of course time slows down and you’re supposed to see your life flashing before your eyes.

Well I don’t see my life flash before my eyes. I still see a moron in an offensively expensive car, burning up a lot of fossil fuel, emitting a lot of carcinogens, deliberately threatening me with head-on collision, with the complicity of local authorities.

I see the battlefield.

And I do hear a voice in my head. It’s my own voice. Saying, I am determined to survive to see Sherlock Season 3.

It’s good to be alive. It’s good to be here talking about Nighthawks.