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What I sensed was a series of quiet signals and tropes, little moments laid out in a specific way to guide this story to its target.
Some events are timeless, I guess, stuck between past, present, and future. They’re a different color than the rest. A different scale. A different tense. When you turn them into a screenplay or a song or a novel or even a piece of erotic fanfiction, these are the moments that will outlive your body.)
“The same goes for fear, though. You don’t wanna feel that way all the time, but it’s a muscle that needs to be exercised. There are scary things in the world, that’s just a fact, and if you pretend they’re not all around us then you’re in for a rude awakening. Horror offers a chance to recognize this truth, to explore dark places in a safe way.”
“This is how scary stories work, how horror works. We’re all still here, safe and alive. We’ve had that primal rush and exercised those muscles to remind us death is eventually coming for everyone, but not today.”
Even in the middle of nowhere, in the dead of night, something was here to bear witness to my hidden truths. In this raw state, my face ruptured and my soul crushed, I was still exposed. I was still gay.
It’s true. Plenty of people liked my work, and a small but dedicated audience loved it. I left my mark in that way, but was the mark ever really mine?
It’s not just monsters I’m battling, it’s an algorithm beyond my understanding—a calculation much too sprawling for anyone to wrap their head around just yet.
“This is why I don’t write ghost movies anymore,” I rant, rounding the kitchen island. “You can’t just have some spooky-looking fuck pop out of the dark for two hours with no development and no consequences!”
“John McClane didn’t ask to be responsible for Nakatomi Plaza, either. Nobody has to be a hero for anyone else, that’s kinda the whole point.”
This bloodthirsty conglomerate is really working to show off its support.
On a long enough timeline, endings are inevitable. Tragedy is inevitable. Fortunately, so is joy.
