Scary Movies: Why We Love Them

Tags

Gore, Horror, Movies, Neurology, Theory

More than anything in the world, I cannot resist a good scare. But how in the world can I love something so inhumane? Believe me, it’s easy to make my heart pump like a fire hydrant. I jump when I walk into a dark room and bump into a chair, foolishly mistaking it for a killer/demon/cannibal, whatever suits your fancy. Yet I am still attracted to those heartless killers. So, naturally I have the urge to describe why, because it is such a gruesome and controversial pastime. It’s taken me years of watching gore flicks and experimentation to develop a theory on my masochistic desire.

In the early months of my schooling this year I would feel bizarre moments of aesthetic happiness. Not only was I practicing Buddhism and meditation during this time, but I was smoking a regular amount of pot. Now this has not been proven to have caused my newfound feeling, but I assume it was a factor. This feeling rarely comes to me now, and I still cannot describe it to it’s full potential but I’ll do the best I can: I would concentrate on my breathing cycle, let the blood flow through my veins and then an odd thing would happen. My gut would explode in incredible contentedness. I would smile for no reason, look around the classroom and simultaneously experience the breathing of every other body in the room. Strange, it sounds, I know. But it was a few of the happiness months in my existence.

Now thinking back, this visceral emotional outburst can be compared to similar sensations of elation. First of all, sex. Sex occurs in the gut and when an orgasm ensues, neurotransmitters in the brain release feelings of extreme bliss. Second, my bizarre experience in school. I have no idea what caused it (my memory is unfortunately fleeting) but all I know is I can compare it to the visceral joy that I assume other people have discerned several times in their life.

These events bring me to the main topic, of why j’adore le filme de gore. I’m currently watching a traumatizing movie entitled Seed from 2007. (I will give you this warning now: Seed is the name of a real life serial killer, and in the movie he kills animals, infants and humans. It is extremely graphic. Do not watch if you’re faint of heart.) My warning of course will only intrigue you further which was not the intent but, reverse psychology is difficult to ignore. So I will grant you a follow-up warning: Bad movie with bad acting, terrible directing, incoherent script and nothing you won’t catch in any other sadistic terror flick. Now past all this… as I’m watching I’m getting a brutal and wrenching feeling in my gut. But wait! This does not have to be perceived negatively. I have been given the blessing to compare it to my other visceral moments. Although I once theorized that feelings of extreme happiness are rooted in the gut, I know longer feel this way but I believe a strong connection is made between this mid area of the body and the brain.

In conclusion, watching horror movies is like getting an orgasm. You keep building up and clenching tighter in your stomach while you tremble and quiver in anticipation until… Ahh it is finally released. I almost feel guilty, because the reaction I get while watching a killer stalk prey on screen is almost like getting cheap sex. But that may all just be the S&M side of me. (Sorry for the outburst of personal information, but it is honestly the only describable way I can account for the fulfillment of being scared.) Any other horror fans in the building may or may not receive the same vibes as I do (all of this is based off assumption) but it would be awfully strange if I was the only lover of my horror-viewing affair because of gut reactions. I could care less about rating and promoting, but I want some damn opinions. Why do you like horror movies?

Tonsillectomy Aftermath

Tags

review, surgery, tonsillectomy, tonsils

Yesterday, at 8am I got a tonsillectomy (meaning my tonsils were removed). I think anyone would be fed up with 6 cases of tonsillitis in two years, so I was very thankful to have the two large assholes taken out. The surgery was quick and painless, and later in the day I felt completely energized. I thought it was due to the painkillers but, as it turns out I have a high pain tolerance AND incredible healing powers. Today I awoke with no pain whatsoever and barely a sore throat, with an extremely large appetite to compliment the fact that eating would irritate my scab.

I am also surprised at how little this operation has bothered me, considering I smoked large quantities of pot and cigarettes the day before (whoops). But it didn’t appear to thin my blood or cause surgical complications, and to that I am thankful. While reading comment threads in the Internet regarding tonsillectomy’s I noticed how painful it was to other patients, which appeared drastically different than my own experience. I also had incredible, not nightmarish, dreams that tripped the hell out of me. Very entertaining. If I could get a second tonsillectomy with the pain meds and all, believe me, I would consider.

I Have Been Kissed By The Mother Soul

Tags

existentialism, life, poem, poetry, shrooms

Sorry, I completely understand how tedious and difficult poetry can be to comprehend but this one is pretty basic. Do not worry, friends, I check my WordPress every day; I’ve just neglected to write in it having neither time nor available resources. Hopefully that will change soon. In the meantime, while I fine-tune some narrative works, here is a poem I wrote about my first trip on shrooms. Enjoy:

In days of confusion
I wandered and watched
Engulfed in seclusion
Feeling lonely and botched.

So under nighttime gray
I speculated life
And an aura came my way
Appearing dull but dreadfully rife.

Once again I found explanation
To grief and unease
The journey to elation
Was masked in disease.

The irony is clear
When we resist to decompose
Only an intellectual can cohere
What every man knows.

In absence of order and desire
We will finally be one
But unless glory we retire
We’ll be forced to endure suffering of our son.

Thank you.

P.S. I am not referring to Jesus Christ (I’m an atheist in all honesty) but what I mean is our actual, physical, child.

Un Poéme Petit

Tags

depression, poem, psychology

(About a student in my biology class)

A boy holds his pen in remorse
He cries in silent disapproval;
I watch him check his watch in despair
And sit in class with obvious removal.

A boy walks down halls with regret
With eyes of scornful blue
He blushes in moments of speech,
And soaks in his morbid taboo.

I see him sink in depression,
I see him sigh in confession
When I forced him to reveal
Another tale of dismal recession.

It kills me to see that hopeless smile,
When he reads his books.
I hate that way he dutifully,
And painfully extends his looks.

If there was one thing I could say
To give him faith and care
To make him less gloomy,
And end his melancholic affair…

I’d tell him this world was violent
In harlequin composition
And these airwaves stream delirium
In provocative transmission.

~ 8 Feb. 2012

 

Review of The Theatre Bizarre

Tags

bizarre, movie, review, theatre

Last night I attended a midnight showing of The Theatre Bizarre, a seven story exhibition visually portrayed with gore, anthropological themes and torturous sub-plots. My interest in going was due to the cinematography rumored to be satisfyingly grotesque. I refrained from watching a preview prior to keep the shock value raw. I had no clue what I was in for.

The beginning shows a troubled young woman frantically drawing crude and distorted images. She looks out her window and is lured toward an abandoned theater, in which she enters curiously. She is unaware that she is about to witness six merciless performances that will change her life forever.

At first, a young American couple seem content with their French vacation, until the husband decides to explore the mysteries surrounding the native folklore and will soon regret his decision when his sanity is on the line. Although this story was filmed excellently, the acting is amateur and the plot is irrelevant.

Next, the audience is taken to world of emotional pandemonium, as they are forced to decipher the validity of true love and the danger it conceals. What pain must two illusory lovers endure before their fate is thrust upon them with irrational force? I was pleased by the actor’s performance and gruesome connotations.

Not long after, a women is gracefully followed up a surreal staircase bearing nothing but a g-string, in this story entitled Wet Dream. She leads her paramour to a moonlit bedroom to therefore introduce the scheme that begins this fucked up little chronicle. Also displayed here is the affliction of domestic violence and the extensive revenge (or karma) taken to gain back emotional destruction. I noticed some people walk out of the theater, and I realized this was my hint that something ugly was about to happen. Personally, this was the most difficult to watch and I bestow the deepest caution to any of you that are fainthearted. At first, I was disgusted by this drama, until I realized what it was truly about. Here’s a tip: these stories are not to be taken literally. This is not a typical horror film in the sense that it shows psychotic killers torturing innocent victims for pleasure, that, when imagined realistically, will cause the audience to puke. No, it is an analogy to the sort of pain that gradually suffocates the heart rather than the surface of the skin.

At this point I was afraid that each story would get more and more graphic, which when placed in comparison with the previous meant a terribly traumatizing movie. But I was presently surprised when this fourth one emerged…

An angelic little child is burdened with the entity of death as she witnesses a motorcycle accident and the slaughter of the animal that caused it. It is the least gruesome of them  all and questions the reason for life to end. In our society, people fear death. They are so hypnotized by the experience of life that they cannot accept the natural and inevitable absence of consciousness from an individual living being. The narration of this story is precious in its evaluation of the creation and passing of existence.

This next one is debated to be the best by various sources. Called Vision Stains it is an intimate approach to self-expression and identity. The heroin is a homeless addict, but not to drugs. At a persons exact time of death, by extracting the juices in their eyes via needle and inserting them into your own eyes, you will be able to see everything that they did. Our addict, the one who discovered this procedure, then writes the dead individuals story in what she describes as their emotionally arousing chronicles. By collecting these visions, she sacrifices her ability to dream. A beautifully original representation of truth and the desperation of an artist.

Finally, a tale of eroticism and pure desire. Titled Sweets, it focuses on a man in love with a women and their relationship with fatty foods. I immediately understood it as a metaphor. He was desperately trying to cling to this women but I knew that in fact, there was no women at all, only a man and his obsession. It gets to the point where he is so hypnotized by what he wants that it consumes him, literally. This twisted tale is superior in visual clarity and artistic creativity. Selected last because it was the most enjoyable to watch, it truly epitomized the entire reign of the wants and cravings that play such a vital role in our society.

By the end, I was so overwhelmed by the beautiful depiction of existence in this film that I stayed cemented to my seat, with tears on my cheeks, until the credits ended and the screen transposed to black. My friend and I were last to leave the theater. Not only was I awed by the profundity and effectiveness of the unsettling gore, but I was filled with unimaginable peace. My first thought was the relationship between this movie and Buddhism, which has been a major study of mine. A quote that resonated with me roughly stated that living another person’s life (notably celebrities, admirable persons, heroes, etc.) will end in frustrating dissatisfaction. The only life capable of purest enjoyment is the one you possess right now, and in truth, that is all you need. This is essentially the definition of Buddhism, which stresses the individual’s happiness.

The trailers and summaries I have seen fail to do it justice. I wish for anybody interested in a blatant and stimulating reality check to watch this movie and let the horrors of our modern society inspire you to change. In conclusion, from what I’ve perceived in this film, by refraining from desire and greed, you will attain tranquility and contentment. But if you succumb to commercialism and mass craving, then you might as well become one of the helpless victims in this ingenious and visionary masterpiece.