Saturday, April 16, 2011

We Are One

Last week I've met a guy, not much older than me, who has lung cancer. When the news turned out, two things have been decided by him: he doesn't want to know how much time does he have and he wants to die in deluded closeness to happiness. He didn't go back to the doctors for an outspoken date, and he started partying heavily, grabbing all the joys (artificial, liquid or any other type) that he can find.

Damn, I use this "he" word a lot. But I don't want to give him any stupid alliterative nicknames.

Anyways, lung cancer is the very same disease that took my granddad away about a month earlier. Thanks to Herr Alzheimer, he didn't have a choice: death found him strapped into a bed, with 24/7 surveillance. That's the cruelest form of bad luck.

If anything similar happens to me, twisting out some famous "last words" from David Tennant: I don't want to go without putting a mark here and there, creating something worthy to left behind. Pulling a Burgess is the road I'll take.

If I will have the chance.

Saturday, March 19, 2011

Face Me Again

"Time passes. Horror does not."
Alan Dean Foster

It's been a year and two (three?) days since my little blog was born. Totally forgot about the anniversary. Anyways, I filled my life again thanks to some minor changes. This is how it looked last year and here's myself right now:

Also, I've seen Paranormal Activity 2. Instead of writing another What Happens When You Sleep?, I've judged it five seconds movie style:



If you'll ever watch the whole thing combined with a drinking game, make sure to take a little sip every time that pool is on screen at night. By the end, you'll be screaming.

With laughter.

Saturday, March 12, 2011

Even Deeper

Leo and Nolan were wrong; dreams do feel strange while we're in them, although in REM state we are far less skeptic, more willing to accept and embrace any kind of wonders we came across. And of course your subconscious always recreates from memory, with a bit of alteration. And remembering the true nature of those memories - Just how damaged have I become - could be the most painful thing to one's mind. Probably.

The so-called Operator Symbol is the thing that scrawl in my last post was supposed to be. This is the sign that appears around Slender Man sightings in Marble Hornets. Mammon's (Satan's son) sign looks almost identical to this in the Hellblazer Keanu Reeves movie Constantine. Interesting, I'd say.
Anyways, we created a Slender Man blog, the first Hungarian one of its kind, with surprisingly positive feedback, and I'm also working on a "dedicated-to-animal-attack-and-creature-features" one. Looks like my creativity has returned after all. Maybe this mind stinger will see some more life soon. For now, here's some music.


Tuesday, February 1, 2011

Childreeeen


Goddamn, some bad feelings are all over me. Anyone seen that guy lately?

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

This Post Contains Stuff


This is 57-year-old Charla Nash after being discharged from the hospital. The thing that did this to her was a famous animal actor, a chimpanzee called Travis, familiar from Coke commercials and such. He was owned by Nash's friend, Sandra Herold. On February 6, 2009 Travis, the usually friendly and intelligent, beloved house pet went berserk during Nash's visit, and attacked her. This is the recording of the 911 call Mrs. Herold made while the 14 years old, 91 kg. chimp was tearing his victim apart:



Losing her eyes, ears, nose, lips (Travis literally chewed her face to pieces) and both hands, Charla did survive the attack, and after seven hours of active surgery, the doctors were able to stabilize her condition. A few months later she had an experimental face implant surgery.

Not long after his rampage has begun, Travis was shot down by policemen. After autopsy and testing for rabies, his remains were cremated at All Pets Crematory in Stamford. His owner, Mrs. Herold has died in May 2010.

You know my blog, you know me. Countless times I've found myself sitting in front of a shitty creature feature, eco-horror or monster movie and laughing like an idiot at these kinds of things. But this real-life "incident" I've learned about only a few days ago, it was quite shocking to me. If Good Ol' Life, Fate, God Or Whatever did this to one of my friends, the people I like, that would be... well, let's say that I don't like to think about the possibility. At all. Don't be shy to appreciate your physical health, Dear Readers.

The mind-stinging thing is, regardless of the causes and who was responsible, there was nothing overly unnatural about this freak accident. This is how life and death works. Humans and chimpanzees are over 94% genetically identical. We share a lot of their genes, so I guess it's not too surprising that they are the only creatures with behavior that can match our skilled viciousness and precise, may I say highly sophisticated killing techniques in the whole world.

A fucked up world, that is.

Wednesday, January 19, 2011

This Isn't a Cry for Help

I'm lying on my room's floor, listening to Colin Newman. There's my laptop in front of me along with a can of beer, leftover from last Friday's movie night - guess what, I've finally get the chance to see Jerry O'Connell's penis being eaten on the big screen, with all the glory of that three D letters. Smiling at the memories I take a sip through the straw. Some would say this shit tastes like pure pain itself.

Pain is nothing to be afraid of. All it takes is some will and strength. You can kill it away.

There's a fact that's comforting and terrifying at the same time: there are things in this world that are very much unlike pain. Take this as you wish, but remember it, just for the joke of it, 'kay?

Thursday, November 18, 2010

Dear Quentin,

please stop using the Wilhelm scream.

Seriously.

Nowadays it's a widely known, overused, clichéd, tired tradition.

Yes, we get it, you know movies and movie history. You can stop reminding us now.

Soon I'll write something worth reading here again, it's a promise.

Friday, October 8, 2010

Too Good Too Bad

I smoked a cigarette tonight. Unable to sleep, I stepped to my window around one A.M. and lit this fag I got from a lady friend last weekend. Taking a leak from the very same window five months ago, shooting into the flow of raindrops from four stories high didn't feel nearly this strange. Damn drunken summer nights.

And damn leather jacket pockets. The cig broke at more than one points, its filter was completely destroyed, and I still can't get used to that old shitty taste. It's not like I wanted to, but still managed to feel it way too many times in the last two months. Damn freshmen camps.

You could define me a social smoker. I'd call myself as an anti-social one. Standing there alone, breathing in and out, slowly, like a dying whale that ran ashore, I was thinking about growing up, becoming independent, walking under an unearthly weight of a million responsibilities. Besides the usual I could use a Coke thought, only one thing hit my mind in conclusion: I'm going to write a filler post that makes absolutely no sense, but it'll have a crazy twist ending in the last sentence.

Here, have a look at Jerry O'Connell's chomped off penis.

Friday, September 10, 2010

What a Story, Mark!

Remember Jerky Jim and his comment regarding knowledge and universities? He said when I get to that, I'll know more and I'll be allowed to use my voice. Man.

Let me tell you something about this university thing. I won't go into boring details, that's the common September-syndrome of bloggers who want to write about their new school. I have some eccentric but fun teachers and profs, a few cool roommates (our bad movie nights are a real blast into the head even when alcohol isn't involved), and a nice city to live and learn 4 days a week. That's about it.

Now, what did I actually learn during these weeks? Let's count it from August, with the two freshmen camps I attended. Here it goes:
  • Rubber chickens can be whores too. Seriously, I saw one that would suck on anyone's preferred body parts if s/he paid the chicken's - her name was Sári - owner.

A real babe, isn't she?
  • I'm not the biggest Stanley Kubrick/Clockwork Orange fan from our city, what the hell.
  • Sex with deeply religious girls often leads to scruple. Fact.
  • You can find jocks outside America, even if they are a bit old (24 years, but the guy was grizzled already), coming complete with huge muscles (to compensate being 5.7 feet tall) and almost funny behaving problems. You don't wanna f'ck with him when he's drunk. Least if both of you are drunk.

Awright, that's all for now. Maybe I'll complete the list when something comes to my mind. The point is, what I would like to say to a certain someone:

Oh really now, Jim? Really?

Friday, August 13, 2010

Knewsick Shows Its Teeth

Well now. Seems like 5 days before the album's official release date, you can listen to the closing titles from Michael Wandmacher's Piranha 3-D score. Oh boy. Seriously.

This is the kind of badass music that makes you feel like your d!ck has grown 9 inches.

Even if you are a girl.

Presenting:

P3D End Titles from Chris Lydecker on Vimeo.

Oh yeah, baby. Oh yeah :)