The Spike Show

There's so much going on in season five of Buffy the Vampire Slayer but, no matter what's happening, I'm mostly waiting for Spike to return to the screen. I do kind of like how the Big Bad in this season is Glory, basically Buffy's Buffy. And I hate Dawn less than I used to and Willow and Tara are nice when they're not being too precious. Last night I watched "Listening to Fear", in which Buffy's mother needs brain surgery and there's effective drama in how her tumour causes her to say strange and cruel things to her daughters, especially in how it's mixed up with Dawn's supernatural status. But the climax of the episode depends on Spike randomly showing up so he can first repulse us by stealing photos of Buffy before endearingly tossing her a knife in the fight scene.

It all really starts a few episodes earlier with "Fool for Love", an episode that builds a bedrock of sympathy for Spike. Revealing him to have been a pathetic, lovesick poet in his human life, the episode has a pretty brilliant recurrence of a line of rejection as two women tell Spike, "You're beneath me." In one case it seems outright, petty cruelty, but in the second case it seems completely justified. Which is a nice way of giving the viewer some complicated feelings.

After this episode, the writers seem to be trying to figure out what it means for a man without a soul to be in love. In that light, it makes sense he sneaks into Buffy's house to sniff her sweater. It feels a little dopey nonetheless after how cool Spike has been built up to be. But it does add fuel to the fire. Even though I know where it's all going, I still feel some of the excitement of wondering where this can all end up.

Twitter Sonnet #1474

The missing tea was found beneath the foot.
The open case was shut before a can.
The kettle popped the beaker hot with soot.
And so the public house of bitter man.
A vision froze before the blinking cast.
A creepy heart was waiting years from then.
He nailed another coin abaft the mast.
And so the private ship of restless men.
Again the poisoned peach invites the doll.
The drifting dream's as slow as living souls.
For ev'ry heart's a crowded picture hall.
And ev'ry space is black with hidden holes.
Selection shrank in banquet town to cake.
A talking moth described an ancient wake.