Sequels and why they don't work for me, their infrequent consumer

It's all nonsense. Our collective fixation on shiny objects. Mocking moth's while we float deadpan to the sun. Sequels typically suck. Why is that? Is it simply a phenomenon of poor writing or slacklined execution due to metrics, graphs, data and figures? Sure, coroporate America, America, people, exploiters, will make the next one half as good and sell it for the same price. Unless you're Harry Potter. There are, of course, exceptions to any rule and any rule is just something also made up by someone equally incompetent as you. So make up some rules why don't ya. Guide yourself along the path because the jaguars lurk, hulking behind the shrubs are manifold ingredients to compose the chemistry of your death. Already you're dying. Pretending to be so alive. You're so incredible, remarkable you. Like distilled water, posturing yourself as better than just fucking water. Hot piles of wet flesh. Expressing to one another, keeping ourselves from ripping into each others throats. Paper cuts hurt the most. So does the attacks we sling at our foes. As they present themselves to us, to show us that there is conflict, there is competition, the stakes are all life or death, as we glide towards the sun, dangling on a moth's sap. We mock ourselves each time, obliviously blithe. We're all one big massive sick. If not physically, mentally, if not those, financially, if not them, spiritually, if not that, barren, if not that, raped, if not that, enslaved, culled, exploited and duped. I haven't really connected with anyone ever. I don't think I've ever really connected to myself. What am I but a swirling changing wet heap of gas, never rectifying yesterday's disorder, while plunging further into the chaos. I need an assistant.

Sequels don't work, since you need the answer to this silly propisition, because you've been spoiled to the magic already. The magic you discovered in the first glimpse of the story, swept you and your imagination into a feverishly thirst quenching deliverance of all the things we always wanted to be true. Life is good amidst magic. Then once you get as close as you can to the firework, it bursts and you are sprayed and flayed into euphoria. The peak of the high, exilerating and entirely relieving. Then the sequel comes, and you've already been introduced to the magic, but you thirst for it, wanting it to redeem your diurnal anguish. The exeptions to this are; The Godfather ~ arguably meant to be a large installment, Harry Potter ~ a series that started as a book series which was all framed as one world and one long story that needed telling, Rocky II or III ~ I don't know I haven't seen it but I believe what I've heard and seen from the trailers. These and more are exceptions. Avataar Way of Water was delightful for me because it was a mega task to introduce new magic and I think James Cameron did that by expanding the world of Pandora and seeing other Avatars and how they adapted to their world. It was an annex to the magic we got used to the first time we saw the big blue versions of us jump around on another planet filled with Pokemon.... I have to go to a meeting right now. I wish I could finish these thoughts.