"If you can learn to control it, V will open up your mind to everything you're missing around you." Jason stands outside the church and hears the voice of his guide. The flowers on the tree -- magnolias? -- shine with life, throwing sparks everywhere. It is beautiful, a rare moment: to see the life in a single flower, and to feel connected to it and through this moment come to the realization that you are connected to everything else in a deeply felt and unexpressible way, and that we are only the movements of God through time, expressing Himself through us, and His name is only love. Or else Jason's just all fucked up on drugs.
Some trash guys come in; you can tell that they are bad guys because they are smirky, wearing mesh caps and a thousand other signifiers that indicate their class and intellect, and the lead one is blonde and a bit of a beard. They bitch about how it's less like a vampire show and more like a zombiefest, due to all the old racists in attendance -- "More like Descendents of the Walking Dead," awesomely -- and they use the word "pick-'em-up" and generally act the way somebody from like Maryland thinks southern trash acts; they sit further back. Tara continues to wonder if white people are an elaborate prank, when the punchline walks in, staring right at her.
I know a Bonnie Raitt song about sparks flying out across "the wilderness between me and you," which is a metaphor I love, obviously, and I recently wrote a recap that used the image of sparks in at least as many ways as this episode does, so I'm saying it's impossible to extricate from this episode my own recent thoughts and obsessions, and I have no idea about the title or where the song comes in, but I do know I'm quoting this for the second time in a month: "Yet man is born unto trouble, as the sparks fly upwards." It's such a strange, beautiful little image; normally you think of certainty in terms of gravity, but sparks do fly up. And Jason was born unto trouble for real, just like anybody else. I don't know, but it's from the book of Job, which is a story about pretty much the exact same thing: What if the entire world were an elaborate prank?
Jason watches -- and hears -- the sweat run down her neck, endorphins and adrenaline, water, sparks. There are certain kinds of crazy and a lot of drugs that imbue a relevance to things that they don't usually have. Things are more themselves; they have significance unto themselves, like the images on Tarot cards: The Dixie Flag. The Old Racist Bitch. The Girl With A Fan. The Sweat On Your Neck. The Feeling Of Walking. The Slow Motion. It's the first sweat and the last sweat that anybody ever sweated, in all the world it's a thing he's seen but never really seen. It runs wet, like blood, but it reminds him of sex, sweat on skin, and maybe he loves her back. Maybe he's in love with her, and always has been, but the world conspired to keep this knowledge away from him by distracting him with hobags and ADD and Alabama Thunderpussy, whatever that might be, and all the bullshit that keeps us apart, and keeps us from expressing that essential union between people, between spirits, that is divinity meeting itself, saying "Hello," and "I remember," and "I know you," in a single kiss. Or else Jason's just all fucked up on drugs.