During a day when things had been just awful — my mom actually threatening suicide, which was not like her — I saw in my FB feed a video of the ending of Death Proof, and though I watched it again, I remembered how much I had hated it the first time through, when I saw the film itself. It was severely off-balance. He was a murderer, and an attempted-murderer, a psychopath, a bad person … but he was screaming in a very realistic way about the fact that his leg was broken. The three heroines stood him up on his broken leg and punched him in the face until he was dead. It felt sick to me. It felt like a normalizing of cruelty.
I saw why it was in my feed. You had clicked like on the video. I got sick inside. You had not just watched it, you had enjoyed it. I began to write crazy shit in the comments section for the guy who posted it. So fucking crazy until at one point I finally started blurting out the things my mind says to me: “Murder. Pain. Death. Horror.” And it was at that point that he friended me. I accepted, with the intention of unfriending him at his most vulnerable moment. (Which I did. He had been saying how lonely he felt after someone he knew had unfriended him. That’s when I did it.)
When you saw that, well … there are some people who will always choose maintaining their friend circle as a priority over a sick loved one … and we ended up in the fight that never ended. (I’m sure it did for you, but hey, listen up.)
It was cruelty that was at the heart of it. We circled back and forth over the various ideas surrounding horror movies in general, until we had to give it up in disgust. But it was really cruelty. That when somebody is being cruel, they’re making a choice to indulge in evil.
Outside the heart of the matter was the fact of the darkness. I couldn’t stand that you laugh at horror movies, because to cruel people horror movies are funny, but to people who live in the darkness, horror movies are a free-form allegory for reality. For what those of us with fucked-up minds already know about, and always expect from reality.
And in the end it was about God. My actions are always centered on the will of God. If I fuck up, I acknowledge to myself that I’m fucking up. That’s minor, but it’s not. It’s everything. We don’t have to live under a shroud of guilt, but I think we need to know when we’re transgressing. I have no problem with my explorations of transgressive cinema, but I acknowledge the darkness I’m in. I fear that you are the type of person who would feel empowered by it. Though of course it’s as moot as can be. Though you still live in my mind and heart.