Friday, December 09, 2005
Last night/early morning. I lay naked in bed wrapped in cranberry red sheets soft against my flesh. I dreamed of zombies. I dreamed and woke and dreamed of them again. A sort of general anxiety I suppose. A blending of living and dying, being and not-being, a body animated by something other than life. Inanimate and animate. The blend a sinister one. Now I am sleepy with that crushed velvet feeling behind my eyes. When I did finally get out of bed this morning, everything seemed tendersoft to me. The skin of my shoulder, the hair at the nape of my neck, the cat as he bashed into me for attention. Curious.
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I was watching Shaun of the Dead last night... it's funny about zombies.
Like, they're funny, because they stumble around with that vacant mouth-breather look (except they aren't breathing) saying "BRAAAAAINS!". Only, really, they're just not fucking funny.
Because aside from the whole horror-movie aspect - they may be slow, but they're strong, tireless, implacable, ravenous, and they can make you one of them - well, doesn't that just bring us around to the real horror of it?
Shaun of the Dead is damn funny, for 90% of the movie, and then in the climax it turns decidedly not funny. We turned it off at that point, 'cause we'd already seen it and why see it again?
I wish life was like that.
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