On Friday I went to see American Psycho with John. A wild ride indeed! The film, directed by Mary Harron (also directed “I Shot Andy Warhol”) is disturbingly indifferent in its approach to this sociopath’s evil little habits, which include pop music commen-tary, videotaped threesomes, long dis-courses over dinner about social and cul-tural concerns, an ex-treme, near obsession with appearances and of course, you guessed it, murder. It would be really difficult to relate to Patrick Bateman (nice Hitchcockian homage there) if it weren’t for the fact that the film keeps you laughing in spite of its gruesomeness. Dark comedy is a little light for this heavyhanded example of 80’s consum-merisim where thick, glossed-over surfaces hide the corruption beneath; where a beautiful, fit body hides a brutal killer, the smiling face of Reagan contradicts the seriousnes of the Savings and Loan scandals, and Whitney Houston’s love ballads are played loud enough to conceal a savage murder. This film is about the concealment of truth, of a cultural need to keep things under wraps, which is why, in the end the killer gets away with everything and his confession falls on deaf ears. The blood splattered walls in Paul Allen’s apartment are painted in a fresh coat of white, thereby absolving Bateman of all blame. I can go on and on about this film, but I’ll stop here. Word of advice…go see it!
[learn_more caption=”What’s New?”] What’s new? On Saturday I went to the Changeling game. I played an Eshu fortune teller of sorts. I took some pictures of my make-up. I also got the chance to see a few episodes of Rurouni Kenshin (pictured above) that were really awesome. It is a tragic, action packed tale of betrayal, lost idealism and the desire to achieve redemption. Kenshin is a little like all of us…sometimes we mean well, but end up hurting a lot of people. Go watch it, it’s great!
THE STORY Rurouni Kenshin is the story of a wandering swordsman in 1870’s Japan. Kenshin’s real name is actual-ly Shinta, given to him by his parents, who die of cholera when Shinta is little. The boy is picked up by a caravan of slave traders, who are bru-tally attacked by a band of bloodthirsty bandits. Three sisters protect Shinta as they cover him, using their bodies like shields, begging the bandits to spare his life. All three are savagely slaughtered before Shinta’s eyes. Hiko, a teacher of the Hiten Mitsurugi (a form of swordsmanship that is the most powerful in all of Japan), happens to see the bandits attacking the group of slave traders and decides to save Shinta. Hiko realizes that Shinta has been entrusted with the lives of the three sisters who gave their lives to save him and vows to teach him Hiten Mit-surugi. Hiko tells Shinta that his name is too sweet for a swordsman and gives him the name Kenshin meaning “Heart of Sword.” A couple of years pass and Ken-shin begins to questions his master’s reasoning for wanting to stay isolated. Hiko explains that Kenshin will become a poli-tical pawn if he leaves. A war is raging on in Japan; clans of people that wish to abolish the Tokugawa Shogunate are rising up and Kenshin wants to help those that are suffe-ring. Eventually Master and pu-pil don’t see eye to eye, and Kenshin de-parts, much to his master’s displeasure. Eventually Kenshin joins the ranks of the Ishinshishi, as a “hitokiri battousai” (shadow killer), killing time and time again in the name of change. [/learn_more] This weekend was a little strange. I felt very lonely in my house, like it was too big for me. On Sunday I did things around the house to keep myself occupied…to stop myself from thinking too much about things. I felt very sentimental, looking at all the things in the house that once belonged to us. The stuffed bunnies made me extremely sad…all four of them, a little family…different somehow…not as happy as before. I used to think there was nothing, no problem so large that the happy bunnies could not solve. When we felt sad we just threw them at each other…making them hop around and stuff and we got happy again. Serious animism at work. :) We were very happy once.
I finally went to the supermarket and bought food. My fridge doesn’t look empty anymore :) On Sunday I also locked myself out of my house, leaving the keys on the computer table and slamming the door behind me (accidentally of course). I climbed the firescape (because you know all hispanics are proficient at performing such feats) after my brother chickened out and solved that problem. You will be surprised at the type of people you find walking around Pathmark at eleven o’clock at night. It’s like the refuse of society does their groceries late at night…they should do a poll on this theory. I think they will find that lonely, ugly, fat, desperate men shop late at night. And if they don’t fit the description above they fit the general “Freak” label, I guess I fit in that gray category as well. I had a crazy migraine and my eyes hurt a great deal. I went to bed very late. I was very paranoid last night. Thought I kept on hearing someone in the house…not cool. While I was sweeping the floor I found some of the stray pine needles from the Christmas tree that wouldn’t stand, and I laughed to myself when I remembered R—‘s comment about Satan and how we were cursed and destined not to have a Christmas tree. I might as well tell the whole story. We (myself and my significant other) had been having millions of problems by Christmas. We had already broken up, but kept on trying to do nice things together. We were both in denial that everything was ending. So we went out and bought a very large, and opulent Christmas tree. We set it up, decorated it together, shut the lights and lied down on the floor next to it marvelling at how beautiful it was. After a little while we went to bed. Not five minutes after having gone to bed we heard a great deal of noise and the sound of shattering glass coming from the living room. We both knew it. The gigantic 9 foot tree had come crashing to the floor, my mother’s cobalt blue, blown glass ornaments were smashed all over the place, the floor was littered with pine needles and water was spilling from the cracked base of the tree. The scene was so sad…so symbolically tragic, as if God couldn’t allow us to have one moment of happiness. We both knew it. It was over, the damn tree that we had wanted so badly would not stand…it crashed, the same way our relationship was crashing. Inevitably sad. For hours we fought destiny and gravity…tried with all our combined might to get the stupid thing to stand, but the moment was already ruined. It would never look the same. Needless to say it DID NOT stand! We went to bed, leaving the tree resting on the futon. Satan had done it! We were cursed. The wheel of fortune turned against us…every time we wanted to do something nice with each other. So there you have it. The next day we went back to the tree place and had the God Damned thing DRILLED. Nothing like technology :) Never a dull moment *shrug.* Was it a sign? Maybe. Then again, maybe not. Maybe we were just paranoid, desperate to keep something that meant a lot to us…desperate to reverse our fortune.
I feel so alone sometimes, so unwanted, so overlooked. I wish so much had been different.
Thank you for passing by and saying hello.
“Your heart is not open so I must go. The spell has been broken, I loved you so. Freedom comes when you learn to let go. Creation comes when you learn to say no. You were my lesson. I had to learn. I was your fortress you had to burn. Pain is a warning that something’s wrong. I pray to God that it won’t be long. Do ya wanna go higher?” —Madonna—