Halloween night, being sick with Hitchcock

I have come down with my second batch of amagdalitis....tonsilitis here in Chile. As it is Halloween, americanized Chile enjoys in the spirit as well. So I spent my sick evening in bed, all by myself, with Alfred Hitchcock's Psycho. I love this movie. I have always, for some reason or another, enjoyed the morbid, disturbing, off-putting stories: real or fake. I saved all the newspapers from the Columbine tragedy when I was twelve. I found myself drawn to watching America's Most Wanted when I was between six and eight, a reenactment of a man offering children candy and taking them away in a van is forever burned in my mind, due to its scaring the shit out of me as a littlun. A friend and I recreated scenes from Scream, the original , I was probably nine. Jawbreaker was also one of my favorite around the age of ten, the sexual innuendo I did not understand until revisiting the film ten years later, but regardless, you get the picture of my tastes and preferences. That is not to say that the morbid was my only fascination...I played sports up my ass, loved animals, and read too many Roald Dhal books. That is just a contrived disclaimer signfying: I had a normal childhood, I did not grow up to be a sick and perverted individual. For some reason, I found, and still find, these types of stories, fiction or real, to be intriguing. I think it says something about our deepest unconscious. I would love to sit down with Fraud and discuss this topic at length-perhaps he would go to the bathroom to powder his nose a few times-but hey, whatever keeps him enthused.

When I was flipping between shows last night, feeling sorry for myself being sick, I thankfully found Psycho. The story of Norman Bates, a shut-in with an awkward disposition from the beginning, we realize there is more behind the surface. When I saw it again last night, the first thought I had when laying eyes Bates was "he looks exactly like a serial killer." White male, between twenty-eight and thirty-four, above average attractiveness, and a seemingly above average IQ. He is so creepily awkward, his monologue about stuffing birds just puts you over the edge, thinking "please, blonde lady, get in your car and drive away, this dude is a P S Y C H O." But that is exactly the point, and Hitchcock is a master of suspense, so the blonde lady stays, to be killed in the iconic shower scene we all know and love to see appropriated over and over again.

But why does the American, world, public find itself going back again and again to scary movies? Why are there constantly airings of television shows about serial killers? Why do people watch this shit? Why is the tombstone of Ed Gein in a museum in Wisconsin (this may say more about the alcoholic state of Wisconsin home to many of the notorious serial killers of the day)? To die at the hands of a serial killer is the worst way I can imagine to go. Why watch something that represents this? Maybe it is that the proximity to death, even on a screen, truly makes you feel alive. This is not to compare a soldiers brush with death in Iraq, but for us normies in the safety of our living room, a scary movie is as close as we want to get. Scary movies provide us this adrenaline without going into the combat zone. And Psycho gives us this desire in an artful manner. The dramatic black and white, the lighting, and the acting all give a sick and deadly story life. Two swollen tonsils up!

my childhood reaccuring dream

this is a dream i would constantly have as a child, and had again one time last year. but i remember it so well because it would recur so often when i was young.

the dream consists of two scenes that cut back and forth between and over and again.

the first scene is a kind of harold and the purple crayon type design. it is a flat view of the back of a little blonde girl (cartoon form) in front of a striking white wall bent over drinking from a drinking fountain. she was wearing a nice white dress, something a little girl in the 50s would wear to church. there is no sound, and it is a very calm scene.

then it quickly cuts to the second scene which is a huge machine warehouse. it is dark and matrix type machines are working on something im unsure of what exactly they are making. it is loud as fuck in there as the machines move huge materials and are spraying those fire sparks from welder type tools.

it would cut between these two scenes about 5 or 6 times before i woke up, and it was never a pleasant dream. i would always awake in the middle of the night from it, and the memory of it stuck with me. it was always a very disquieting time when i woke up from that dream, not a nightmare but just disquieting.

the birthday present

"I need another drink." Brit said this as she simultaneously grabbed Rick's arm and proceeded to navigate through the sweaty bodies off the mist filled dance floor to reach an overly-crowded bar. 

Brit was in the final weeks of her study exchange program in the Netherlands. Although she was naturally slender, a slight pouch from the excessive hedonism was developing, which looked misplaced considering her ribs were still quite visible. She had long, blonde, curly locks and big, brown childlike eyes. Rick was a typically tall Dutch man with the well

built trunk of a surfer. He had a buzzed head of blonde hair, but it was around a months worth grown out which looked unkempt. His eyes were a piercing blue speckled with green, and he had a constant smirk on his face. 

The two had become friends while sitting in the back of their 20th century British literautre class, playing tic-tac-toe, hangman, and the box game. They entertained a mild flirtation throughout the semester, while keeping it friendly due to Rick having a girlfriend and Brit perceiving the relationship entirely platonic. 

"Let's go chill out a bit in the lounge, I know the tender so we can get drinks free and fast!" he said, then added "and we can sit for a few."

This time he grabbed her arm to be a more aggressive navigator and into the lounge they went. The sound of the house music vibrated through the room, where the walls were decorated with forest tree wallpaper. The lounge was intimately lit, with black leather couches evenly spaced on a step above the ground. Rick was at the bar talking to his bartender friend getting the perks associated with having a friend at a popular dance club. Brit went to the first empty couch and drunkenly fell onto it in alleviation. It was her birthday and she had been drinking and dancing for hours; she was quite relieved to take a rest. 

"Cheers and happy birthday, I almost forgot." He said this smiling while handing her a beer. 

She took it, returning his smile with her own. Brit looked down to see Rick sitting next to her holding a small white pill in the palm of his hand. She knew what it was; the topic of conversation had come up before but now she was now she was not sure, only because her ignorance of the effects of E on her already dehydrated body. 

"I don't know Rick, I mean I have been drinking so much tonight and that is a 'real drug.' I've never done that before, and more importantly, drugs are bad for you remember?" She said this with a sarcastic smirk, but internally believed her words. 

"Oh you will be fine, it's a low dose." he said reassuringly "but high quality shit, " he quickly added. "You don't have to be scared" he told her as he put his hand on her thigh, "You can trust me."

The base from the house music was relentless and Brit was prudently thinking about taking the drug in addition to remembering every anti-drug commercial she had seen. Rick sensed this as hesitation and proceeded with the persuasion game. 

"Ok, Im not going to force you to do anything you don't want to do, but I know you want to do this Brit. Trust me, you will have a blast."

She took the pill, shortly thereafter chasing it with a beer. Wide eyed, and grinning, Rick also took a pill. 

"It will take about an hour to set in, so lets go back and dance while we wait for the experience to kick in" he said. He took her hand and they walked drunkenly bumping into uninhibited dancers flailing about. They got tot the middle of the dance floor where Brit grabbed Rick's wrist to take a mental note of the time. 

"It's 12:00," she obviously stated. 

"So at 1:00 we will be feeling it," Rick finished. 

They began dancing but her mind was on how excited and nervous she was to feel the E she just consumed, and at the same time how awful the music had been all night. "Dutch music sucks" she said to herself. "WHAT?" Rick shouted at her. "I LOVE THIS SONG" she lied back. 

As she continued dancing, Brit's heart began to race. She looked at Rick's watch, which read 12:45, and a gradual but strong feeling of euphoria washed over her. Instantly, senses were heightened; anything she could feel, see, hear, smell, and taste was amplified tenfold. She was consumed by her environment: the music she once described as euro-trash crap was a symphony motivating her to dance; the strobing lights she once deemed a seizure lawsuit waiting to happen seemed to be individually dancing to the bass; and she discovered that washing her hands felt as if her hands were tasting a refreshing glass of water. 

The two began dancing closer and closer, hands all over each other. Rick spoke, heri proximity close enough that he could say this in her ear, "I want to kiss you" Brit looked at him smiling only because it was impossible not to, and shook her head no. "You have a girlfriend," she replied, but she did not care, she was just happy to be alive and dancing with a friend. She was accepting his groping only because the sensations of his hands on her body felt so incredible. 

At 4 a.m. the lights in the club came on and the music stopped. All the 17 to 24 year old sweat dripping bodies filed out to the street. 

"Let's go back to my place and chill while we come down. We can listen to music and enjoy each other's company while we pass out" he said while handing her another pill. Brit was engulfed by the feeling of euphoria and smiling, she took another in unison with Rick. They walked home, the sun rising in front of them and birds chirping around them, all the more beautiful due to her turned up awareness. The pair got to Rick's apartment where Rick took a seat on the bed. Brit immediately took to the computer where she was scouring his ITUNES for the perfect song; at this point music was her priority. 

"Come lay with me," Rick subtly requested. 

Brit, feeling that music selection was the inspiration in her life, ignored him. She asked him what he wanted to listen to, and he replied with some band she had never heard of. She put on The Beach Boys instead, reasoning that their happiness mirrored hers. He went over to her, bended over the computer and began rubbing her shoulders, which she did not protest. "Come over to the bed and lay with me," he insisted again. 

She felt comfortable and the feeling of his hands on her body sensational enough to give in. She was still drunk on top of being high and bumped into the night-stand along the way making the lamp on the surface shake. They both laughed at this and she collapsed onto the bed where they amalgamated into the standard spooning position. 

"What is your girlfriend like?" she asked. 

"She is cool, very chill, you would like her."

"Would she like me right now?"

Rick chuckled and began to kiss her neck, she pushed away but he continued anyway. 

"Rick," she whined, "you have a girlfriend, we can't, I'm not participating in that." Although as she spoke she was fingering his stomach and turned on her side where she could feel his excitement, which she neither minded nor appreciated. At that moment, as Brit was about to stop the situation all together, Rick's weight shifted on top of her and she shoved his tongue down her throat. Brit pushed his heavy shoulders off. Surprised and pissed off, she asked "what the hell are you doing?!" He responded to the inquiry by kissing her again. "Just come on" he pleaded "it will feel so much better"

"NO! RICK, STOP IT!"

But he ignored her and continued forcefully disrobing her. She franticaaly treid to push his , hit him, anything to physically remove him but nothing seemed to deter Rick. She could not believe this was happening to her, after such a great night. His head was face down giving his attention to his struggle with her jeans button. This allowed her not only to notice a growing bald spot but also to free her arm. She used all her adrenaline to rip the lamp free of its chord and smash it on his head, aiming right for the bald spot. He fell limp on her. She lay there panting, Rick's heavy body spread over her, she was stuck between the bed and a motionless body. She crawled from the trap by inching herself out and then stood up to survey her work: glass strewn about, concentrated and stuck in his head wounds. Brit went closer to Rick's limp body, picked a shard out of his head, and blood began to ooze which make a small stream where it continued with the curve of his head until it his the mattress to make a small pool of blood. She put the shard in her pocket and left the apartment.