Saturday, March 13, 2004

The Others

I have just watched "The Others" for the first time, whilst shamefully neglecting an assignment that wants to be finished. That film hella spooked me... I actually screamed at one point. I like its mood and weirdness, makes me feel creeped out all over. It was good to see Christopher Eccleston (sp?) in it as well... he was well weird, but it's just nice to see a Brit playing a Brit for a change... and not an American with a dreadfully fake accent (Tho Kidman did quite well, I thought. But what do I know, being German and all?). Was I the only one who was totally creeped out by the housekeeper? And the book of the dead?
OK, I shan't spoil it for anyone. But do go and watch it. The ending is hella weird.
Just my kinda film, morbid as heck, and romantic and moody and scaring me outta my wits. No wonder I have nightmares all the time.
It is pretty funny. Have lived in that all-Christian community where they told you watching creepy movies is wrong and whatnot, and I tried giving them up, driven by peer pressure.

But the truth is, I have always loved them. Ghost stories were always my favorite. My writing lecturer noticed my morbidity right away, and it was always the thing by which I was recognized. It's almost my trademark.
Heh, you preachers out there... can I be morbid and be a good Christian at the same time? Discussion open now.
I just wonder, cos does it make me a bad person to like that kinda stuff? I mean, I have never killed anyone (except mosquitos, but that's only cos I'm allergic to them). In fact, I saved a slug today. Occasionally, we keep finding slugs in our house... I have no idea how they get in, cos I can't see a hole anywhere... but they manage... and I found slug trails on the kitchen floor today, in front of the garden door. If you didn't know what they are, they'd look pretty... silky and glittery. But then, someone points out to you they are just slime, and it's like a gush of cold water. Anyway, I found this little curled up slug on the step that leads to our garden, looking all lonely and neglected, and I picked it up with a paper towel. At first I couldn't tell where the front and back were. But being suddenly lifted to wuthering heights, a shy snail eye slowly emerged from one side (which I had previously believed to be its ass).
"Hello," I said. "Come on out and be not afraid. I am not French. You and I, we hate the French. Let's be friends!"
Apparently trusting my gentle words of peace, eye number two, which had been in reserve until then, extended and pointed in my direction.
"I shall name you Kevin", I said.
Kevin looked pleased, oozing slug slime onto the paper towel.
"Well, Kevin," I said. "I don't think you'd be particularly happy in this house. I shall release you into the garden."
We went outside. Kevin was thrilled to see his habitat from a bird's perspective. He hung on with all his might. I put him down on the grass. Saying goodbye was hard. But it was best this way. Kevin's telescope eyes pointed up, filled with the pain of separation.
"Don't make this harder than it is!", I said, welling up. "Run along now. Run like the wind!"
I stood and looked till he faded in the distance. Then I returned to the house, my heart heavy. But I can say I have lived. Better to have loved and lost than to have never loved at all.

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