retreat

  And so it goes that at times I shall retreat back into the darkness and silence within and come out a new and better person. Writing hasn't held as much appeal to me lately as reading, Howard Phillips Lovecraft, to be exact. I have quite a soft spot for 19th Century literature, even though he is technically a 20th Century writer, the feel is the same; very reminiscent of Poe and all the other great decadents but with a superior twinge of the macabre and celestial.
  I forgot what it was like to get lost in a story, to feel your pulse quicken and to picture yourself there, using your brain's finest powers of imagination. Perhaps that is a writer's curse? Too busy writing all the time and not taking enough time to read.. or perhaps it is only MY curse. Either way, it's the season of spook and it is thoroughly fulfilling to lose myself in the mad and macabre, especially during the changing of darker seasons.

  And this got me to thinking again, and wanting now to put more focus on trying to write stories again, short ones, like Mr. Lovecraft, though mine would have to contain some element of mysticism or spirituality; spiritual or existential horror, perhaps.. If there is such a thing. Horror is a subjective thing, though; what terrifies one enthralls another, so it is purely an expression based off the author's own.
  Truth is, I have no ideas to start on. Never do. Sometimes you just have to start writing and get the wheel turning manually. Most importantly, I need to remind myself that it is an art and a craft, and as such will need work to constantly and consistently improve; in other words, this shit doesn't write itself, so get moving!

8.9.13

  I've been sick, or something like it, the past few days. I actually came home from work because the feeling shitty-ness overcame me and it wasn't worth the self-torture to myself or anyone in my vicinity. Took some much needed time on the couch to do absolutely nothing but listen to music and feel like a train wreck physically.
 
  I don't like being sick. No one does. And I usually don't get sick but i'm usually good for one or two good ones a year; I guess that's not a terrible track record. Be patient, I am going somewhere with all this.

  I felt miserable and just couldn't get comfortable but I had some movies to catch up on, one being Evil Dead (the new re-done, re-envisioned, regurgitated or whatever-you-wish-to-call-it one), the other was Django Unchained, a Tarantino flick.
  I'm about as art snobby as art snobs get, and try as I might to deny or downplay this fact, I simply cannot and my critical nature gets the best of me. I was watching Evil Dead and all I could think of is how terrible this is; it's like every new-school horror movie to come out in the past 5-10 years. They all have a lot of gore and camera effects/CGI for enhancement purposes and for the sake of being "shocking". Add into that the recent trend of popularity in demonic possession movies and you have another cinematic abortion of what was once a fiercely original (and hilarious) film. See, I say 'film' instead of movie.. proof of my snobbery.
 
  Now. Even with all that said, with the lack of off-beat humor from the original, lack of charismatic lead men and grandiose scare tactics, my rejection of it was almost visceral; it just really put me in a bad place after watching it. I texted my best friend and felt the need to debate about it. I wanted to pick a fight.
 
  Why?

  He was getting a little perturbed with me, I could tell, as my contrarian nature can be pretty frustrating to deal with at times (especially when it comes to debates on artistic merit or quality), and he finally just said, "It's just a movie and you're a tough critic". Then changed the subject. It was a tasteful slap in the face, which I could do nothing else but laugh at, and I whole heartedly agreed with him.
 
  It is just a movie, and I am a tough critic. On myself, on everyone else, holding the world up on its unattainable pedestal always, forever looking up the skirt of my own ridiculous ideals which I'll never touch myself. I'm on a quest for the holy grail, and I will die many deaths along the way until one day I finally learn that it doesn't exist. It's just another myth, a legend made by the hopeless to give hope to life, or at least some greater sense of meaning and purpose. That it can always be better or different than what it is, that somewhere out there something is holding all the answers I've been continuously seeking.
  This is a bit of a far stretch to go on after just talking about a movie but it's really not, in my mind. It's very much one in the same. Instead of just watching it and appreciating (or not appreciating_ it for what it is, I went on this mythical mental quest for its perfection, and all the ways it didn't add up to that for me. Thankfully, Scott inspired me to pull my head out of my ass by calling me out on my nonsense.

  What's the moral? Chill the fuck out, and if you're sick and feeling shitty wanting to critique something, turn that spotlight on yourself instead: Look at all your negative habits and find ways to turn them into positives that work for everyone, call yourself out on your bullshit and stop it before it starts.
  I also want to simply show how even such a small and seemingly innocuous occurrence of every day life can be such a huge and meaningful personal revelation. We need these daily revelations to keep evolving and re-inventing ourselves, so don't sweat the small stuff but do take it into account. It could be your next big revelation.


p.s. I watched Django Unchained later and loved the shit out of it. But, would I have loved it as much if I watched it earlier when I was still in my mood? Before I got  a reality check and got over myself? Ponder that.