A Perpetual Knight
Gotham’s Forever Winter
As Christmas bells chime, a gentle breeze billows across gothic structures jutting into the night sky. The infamous Knight perched atop a gargoyle. A silent protector. In this City, reality isn’t idealised. It’s bottled up then imbued with a heavy essence of eccentricity. Yet, it still accurately captures the best and worst of humanity without divinity. Mr. Wayne’s personal failures never come into focus as his quest for justice consumes all. In his never ending crusade he’s evolved from unwitting hero to indentured public servant. Vigilantism his life. A career in the dark arts of lurking in the shadows. Meanwhile his alter ego battles perpetual loneliness. A man wearing two faces. Whilst the Knight has weaponised solitude, the man Bruce is crushed by it. There is no pursuit of happiness as his self righteousness, however well intended, leaves him with a guilty conscience. Honouring his parents memory his religion. The rules he set up for himself the dogma that guides him. He is priest, parishioner and deity embodied in one man. A law unto himself. A slave to himself and to his mission. In being Bruce many of us find our being. Faces reflective of scarred souls yet perpetually marred by shadows.
In being Bruce many of us find our being. Faces reflective of scarred souls yet perpetually marred by shadows.
Gotham’s oddities don’t only lie in its anachronisms. It is a time capsule that can’t really be relegated to any particular epoch. Seldom do its heroes or villains age. They are not just institutions in themselves, they are part of the architecture. Without them there is no Gotham. The City’s character has been etched in by the character of its key players. Each a different shade of the same themes. Its citizens blissfully unaware that they are trapped in purgatory. Caught in running pitch battles between their angels and demons. Occasionally an outside force pierces through the veil. For a little while trapped in Gotham’s cycle before being ejected from the city limits never to be heard from again. The tiny ripple caused by their visit quickly dissipating as the city reverts to its usual state: A highly viscous unchanging ooze.
In the darkness new personalities emerge. Split versions of ourselves capable of carrying out the macabre while leaving us intact. Couched in the wind is the muffled sound of maniacal laughter off in one of the alley ways. Some are as mad as a hatter. Others attempt to still their demons by hiding in shadows. Even dolls have their faces scarred. Yet, unperturbed the Knight remains ever watchful. As the bat signal lights up the sky. Crime recedes back into the shadows to reappear the following night and in perpetuity. Gotham’s denizens are trapped in this hellish scape where they can never quite attain redemption. Night after night, Knight after Knight in pursuit of peace yet the war never ends. A forever winter. A Gotham Christmas.
While its denizens look to the man of tomorrow for answers they fail to grasp that in him and in all of them is the man from antiquity.
Across the bay from Gotham harbour lies a different kind of metropolis. A city whose hero descended from Olympus on high. An idealised man. The power of a thousand men yet the weakness of one man. This city may be shaded in technicolour, mirroring the aspirations of its denizens for a hopeful future but it is merely a prettier version of Gotham. While its denizens look to the man of tomorrow for answers they fail to grasp that in him and in all of them is the man from antiquity. No different from their counterparts in the dark city. Another ghetto in purgatory.
Image credits in order of appearance: Image by OpenClipart-Vectors from Pixabay; Image by OpenClipart-Vectors from Pixabay