TheCrashTest

Burnt out and back again.

   Has it really been forever, or has the eternally perpetual ticking clock in my mind finally set off the time bomb, sending me, flames and all, back into the present, not worried about the future? For over a month now, I’ve felt lost, uninspired and quite frankly, hopeless. People, places, and things just didn’t shine like the burning lights they once were, rather they resembled funeral pyres, stacked with the lifeless bodies of the loved and what I would have found lovable. Yet, somehow, I have returned from this purportedly inescapable madness, with a new sense of purpose.

   After maddening internal conflictions, “Can I write coherently today? Should I try and write today? No? I’m useless. Purpose has left me to die!”, I feel it necessary now to fill your delicate, fragile little minds with information and vernacular, so that you may be prepared for the trials of life ahead. Not that I am the be all, end all for any kind of reason whatsoever, but maybe I’ll provide for you a little slice of the secret life of whom we’ll call, for the sake of context, “the awake”. Those of us who have built their lives around what they see, hear, and feel. The ones that have not let capitalism and the almighty “slow down” of age take hold of the reigns, steering them down the proverbial creek, with two broken paddles, to where they will meet a certainly miserable, unfulfilled fate at the end.

   I am not “the enigma”, or another lost soul. I am real. I can think. I can live.

   Now, I shall.

   Welcome home.  

Ryan Gosling.

   Henry Rollins is easily one of my all-time greatest inspirations in my literary quests. His work has had profound effects on both my writing and way of expression, in which he has taught me to bear my soul more openly and fluently. Fear, usually being my number one impediment in most cases, normally bogged me down, causing me to constantly question whether or not what I had to say would mean anything to anyone. I was just another punk kid, trading in the internal torture of feelings gone awry, left to the only device he had, to purge his heart of what ailed it: pen and paper. It’s nice sometimes to know you’re not the only one, and in finding so much of myself in Rollins’ work, it’s now easier to feel a little less lonely in my travels.

   After purchasing “The First Five”, a collection of Rollins’ earliest writing, I decided to strive for something a little bit more visual, but still deeply literary. Just released this past Fall, “Occupants” is a beautiful documentation of Rollins’ journey across the globe, displayed in pictures and words that attempt to capture the magnificence most of us overlook in each waking moment of our lives. As the book begins, the pictures start off grainy and underdeveloped, but as it progresses, the potency of the visuals become increasingly stronger, to a level of mind-blowing proportions. What’s truly amazing though, are the blatant effects these images had on Rollins and his literary craftsmanship, causing him to create some of the most powerful prose he has ever written.

   Having given “Occupants” a test run, at my local Barnes & Noble, I’ve finally decided this is a book I can’t have missing from my collection. Not only is it inspiring to read, but the comfort of knowing it’s there to wake me from the impending boredom of some days is a kind of comfort I don’t want to live without.

   Oh, bookshelf. Here I go again, filling you up as always with great reads and more Henry Rollins.  

Black Sabbath (Dio-era).

   Petering out, the lights in the room diminish to nothing, but a dull glow, as I look on from the back of the room. Time is of the essence, and the days off from the mire of a corporate work week will be coming to a close, sooner than I can imagine. I rush to collect my films, stacking them neatly in a pile, so that I can pick them off one by one. This evenings choice is almost perfect, if not slyly remarkable. Into the slot, “Eyes Wide Shut” slips smoothly in, as though it’s plot becomes one with even the disc it’s been etched on.

   Sexually charged, and emotionally bereaved, “Eyes Wide Shut” is a journey into the darkest realms of lust, hideous deception and the wandering eye. When Alice (Nicole Kidman) begins to fantasize about having an affair on her husband, her fantasies trigger her husband, Dr. Bill Harford (Tom Cruise) to opens his mind to enacting some of his most sexually repressed desires. Slipping into the dregs of some of the most wealthiest people’s depraved orgies, and swinging parties, he seeks to satiate his darkest hungers and brooding jealousy. As Bill realizes he is falling prey to his desires, he comes face to face with the idea, that the only way to save his marriage is to follow his wife into the depths of emotional bankruptcy, where he finds that the world around him is much more lecherous than he once perceived. 

   While I am not a fan of Tom Cruise, this has to be his most perfectly executed portrayal of a character on film. Since his first steps on a Hollywood set, I’ve despised his supposed skill as an actor, grieving the many lost roles that could have been given to someone with a much greater skill-set. “Eyes Wide Shut” is my sole exception for him. The forever gorgeous, Nicole Kidman, shines as the illustrious, not so physically dangerous, but definitely physical, femme fatale. Delivering as the collected, yet lustfully depraved nymphomaniac, Kidman makes you believe in her simulation of the carnal desires hiding deep within her characters psyche. The way she lets them slowly seep out with her every scene is almost addicting, leaving viewers on the edge, wondering, pleading for what will happen next.

   In the dark, under the heat of director’s bulbs, I will remain immersed in the awe-inspiring last film by Stanley Kubrick. What an amazing final contribution to the world of film by such an undeniably, artistic soul. My mind melts at the thought of what could be, had the habit of death being so sudden, not taken such a great talent.

   Tonight, although I am alone, will be a beautiful addition to my memories.

Kreator.

I am, the Chicken Man.

Love,

The Chicken Man.

   One of the best mid-tempo thrash albums of our time, Slayer’s, “South Of Heaven”, has been tearing through my car speakers all morning. Maybe it’s the cloud-covering gloom of the sky overhead, and the mixing of the melting snow and dirt below, but this record seems like the perfect soundtrack for a day like this. What makes it all even better, are the irritated looks of the passerby’s as they’re caught off guard by the ruckus pouring from my little metallic blue box. The sludge-infested ruckus, pouring from the windows, that so beautifully seems to fit the overall mood of the day. 

   Sometimes I wonder if that’s what agitates people. Are they so busy sweeping the gloom under the rug as they go about their day that they don’t ever bother to see how much there is to take advantage of? Ah, I don’t care! Let them find something to mind as I swerve through the streets.

   There’s nothing, but beauty in darkness, and today, I’m immersed in it.

   Check out one of my favorite songs from “South Of Heaven”, here, then go pick up this album from your local record store, and let it eat your soul. 

Thora Birch.

   The horror movie world has seen its fair share of cinematic screw ups, so there’s definitely an amount of desensitization plaguing movie-goers across the globe. When there’s one folly, there’s sure to be MANY more, so there’s room for forgiveness, right?

   Wrong. With such amazing subject matter out there to be had, and toyed with, and given justice, Hollywood certainly needs a HUGE kick in the ass, but that’s why we have independent producers and filmmakers to right the many wrongs of the big wallet executives. One such wrong that easily takes the prize for victim with the most under thought script is the Sam Raimi produced film, “The Boogeyman”. Yes. “The Boogeyman”.

   Lacking any kind of imagination, and a plot over-saturated with horror cliches, “The Boogeyman” took a great fall. The special effects were overdone (and not well, might I add), and the characters were weak, lanky puppets to the supernatural happenings taking place through out the story. There was nothing scary about it.

   Come on! Give me what I was afraid of. Growing up with stories of ol’ boogey, I spent so many nights hiding under the blankets, hoping that whatever the noise was I had heard emanating from the darkened corners of my closet, wasn’t a horrific marauder from my worst nightmares. So, justifiably, when I had heard Hollywood was taking a shot at the scariest of all childhood fears, I expected something worth while. Seriously, how could you screw up the boogeyman? Well, there’s “The Boogeyman” for you, here to usher a new kind of cinematic pain to movie-goers, through its every unbearable minute.    

   Since its release in 2005, I have come across articles on the nets and in magazines, but due to the first films awful effect on me, it was simple to pass them up. Accidents happen though, and this morning, while flipping through the channels, my journey landed me on the Syfy network where I beheld the sequel to such awfulness, “The Boogeyman 2”. Rarely do I find sequels amusing, or even worthwhile, but this. THIS was an exception. A humongous one at that.

   With such a bum send-off, it’s easy to see why I passed this series up, but “The Boogeyman 2” is the saving grace that you’d be hard-pressed to find in too many sequels. While the older characters are portrayed rather dully, it’s the energy of the younger actors and actresses that drive this film from start to climatic finish. Mystery and horror has never looked this good, with the twists and turns really being what defines this film, differentiating from it’s predecessor. Might I add, the terror and gore have been turned up a brutal notch to boot?        

  It makes me happy to see that Sam Raimi got behind something a little more frightening and lively this time around. With such a failure in the first movie, it’s nice to see that the filmmakers hit the refresh button successfully and made a true horror movie out of such classic subject matter.

   Now, with my hope restored, maybe it’s time to finally give “Boogeyman 3” a chance, eh?