Category Archives: inspiration

NEW YORK, HERE I COME!

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So, as I mentioned last time, I had an interview in New York last Monday for a television company. Not even joking, on Friday, just FOUR DAYS after the interview, I received a phone call.

Ladies and gentlemen, it appears the Dark Horse has had a victory. I will be going to New York in January!!!!! WOOOOOHOOOO!!!!!

And this got me thinking about my journey here in grad school. When I first arrived at Harvard, I had nothing. I didn’t know a single person in Boston. I had no internships or connections to professors.

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I picked up a job at Whole Foods to pay for rent (and luckily I have federal grants for tuition). I had no real skills that I knew of, although I knew I was smart, and I knew that I knew how to survive. But nobody had every cared about me, or had ever given me a chance in life. Mostly, I just felt alone and stupid.

Essentially, I had no real skills to speak of that would make an employer outside of the food industry think I’m worth investing in. I had always taken the first job I could find somewhere, completely terrified of the idea of being unemployed and homeless. This means I’ve lived an entire life slogging through whatever restaurant or retail chain would give me a job. And thus was the cycle. Restaurants lead to restaurants. Retail leads to retail. My brain slowly rotting away with boredom in the process.

I always knew I wanted more. I was never one of those people who could work their 9-5, bored out of their fucking minds, and then justify their horrible life by going to bars and drinking it all away every Friday and Saturday….just to then have to repeat the cycle the next Monday.

 

But, growing up in Ohio during recession made me afraid.

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I watched as adults with college degrees applied to work in the diner I worked in. I thought it was so strange and scary that I, a high school student, was working the same position as someone with a college degree.

I watched my mom lose her job due to a merger, then lose her next job due to a merger, then the next due to the company going bankrupt. By the time America had finally climbed out of the hole, she had been through 5 jobs.

 

But the whole time…I knew something was wrong.

Everyone kept telling me to be thankful for what I had. They kept telling me to get my head out of the clouds. They kept telling me about the dangers of big cities (which actually, is hilarious, because my hometown has a worse crime rate than cities like New York, Los Angeles, and San Fransisco). But, when you’re 16, and everyone around you keeps telling you that being a waiter is better than being homeless, it’s hard not to let it get to you.

 

And so, I worked and worked, and the depression, the misery, and the boredom grew until it was intolerable and I lost my mind.

Flash-forward to being in grad school. I knew I needed to make a change in my life. I knew I had what it took to achieve my goals. I knew that if I could just have some way to prove myself, I could show the world that I was a force to be reckoned with.

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And what better place to do it right?

And so, the job at Whole Foods turned into a job on campus, giving me more flexibility to get involved in school,

which led to me joining clubs,

And then I picked up an internship with a nonprofit where I created Facebook posts to help inspire students,

Which then led to another internship managing social media for a literary magazine,

which led to editing for that literary magazine,

which led to me getting an internship at a second literary magazine,

which led to me getting an internship with a podcast,

and then my internship with the literary magazine started paying (woohoo!),

and then I created and hosted a huge event at school,

and there was that paid job I had in Shanghai over the summer that I never would have gotten without all the other experience from being back in school,

and now, the real fuckin’ deal. Working for a big TV channel in New York City.

Is this the fabled American Dream ? 

Have I just made something of myself ? 

 

giff

 

Am I about to be a writer living in New York City? Just a small-town boy tryin to make it in the big city?

(Also, (Groans) Im sorry for using yet another Sex and the City GIF… God, Im such trash…)

 

 

Anyways, I’m excited for my future.

I’m excited and I think my writing talents have grown. I believe in my writing now. I believe that I can get published.

I also believe that my life can be filled with adventure.

and most importantly, meaning and happiness. 

 

Are there people out there who are happy living in Ohio or Iowa or Indiana? YES.

AND GOOD FOR THEM! THEY CAN DO WHATEVER THE FUCK THEY WANT.

But just like they’re allowed to work at H&R Block in some city like Dayton, you’re also allowed to go big, and want to work a big city, doing whatever the hell you want. Never let the people from where you’re from try and tell you you’re not allowed to dream big. Because changes in this world only happen when people dream big.

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~ The Dark Horse

(#NotProofRead. Proofreading is for your grandma! Live on the dangerous side!)

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The Highs and the Lows: Riding The Emotional Wave

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So, I just got back last night from New York City. I was there for an interview.

Yes. Someone actually thought I was good enough to be interviewed in New York City. (I can’t believe it either, trust me)

So, anyways, it goes like this. I was here alone for Thanksgiving break. The entire city clears out because Boston is one of those places where people move to, not someplace where they’re from. So the city is empty. It’s 10 degrees F, everything is closed. And I’m alone.

I feel like shit.

Until….

I get an email. 

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This email is to inform me that I have an interview, for a very large company. A media company. A media company whose offices are in a very trendy building with other very trendy companies in a very trendy part of town.

So, my dread turns to intense anxiety and joy, and I head to NYC as fast as I can…

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So,  wind up in a hotel, next to Bryant Park,

during the holiday season

in New York City.

It was like a movie.

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I ate sweets as I watched ice skaters while Christmas jazz played, with the Empire State Building in the background.

I got donuts, I went to New York delis, I got amazing Chinese food. I walked fifth Ave. and Central Park.

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It was like life had gone from zero to hero. Finally, I had a real tangible piece of evidence to prove that I was making something of myself. An interview. (This was actually my second interview…the first was via phone). So, it was like a MEGA self-esteem boost to see that someone thought I was good enough. And not just someone, but a fuckin huge awesome company.

 

So then the day came. The interview. OMG people it was amazing. The office was amazing. And it was located in an awesome building. As someone who had grown up working retail and restaurants, and being told constantly that I’ll never get anywhere… THIS WAS FUCKING HUGE!!!!!

I hope the interview went well. I would love the job. I would love to live in New York. I would love to have a chance to show the world my skills. To show the world that I do mean something.

So, I walked out of my interview, and got myself a tea at a trendy little cafe.

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(I couldn’t write a post about NYC and not reference Sex and the City….cmon people!)

 

 

But now, Im back in Boston. The interview is over. The whirlwind is over. And It’s like someone has slammed on the brakes again.

And I have this feeling in my throat. Like a weight, pulling me down. A weight saying YOU KNOW YOU’RE MEANT FOR THAT LIFE. YOU KNOW YOU’RE MEANT TO TAKE ON THE WORLD. YOU DON’T LIKE YOUR LIFE BEING SLOW BECAUSE YOU’RE NOT A SLOW PERSON! YOU WANT TO LIVE IN THE FAST LANE AND THAT’S OK! YOU SHOULD! 

I’ve spent too long listening to people. Too long listening to anyone and everyone who’s willing to spend their time putting me down. Telling me I can’t. Telling me I have no talent. Telling me I’m worth nothing.

But GOD FUCKING DAMN I CAN’T ANYMORE.

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Every time I get these little tastes of a life I like, the voice in my head gets louder and louder. It keeps telling me this is where I belong.

It keeps telling me that I AM ALLOWED TO DREAM. That I am allowed to fight for a good life.

I’m allowed to have friends

I’m allowed to fall in love

I’m allowed to have a career I love

If I feel like I want a high profile job then listen up MOTHERFUCKERS… I CAN!

AND WE ALL CAN. FUCK ANYONE WHO TRIES TO KEEP YOU DOWN.

I read a great quote the other day that said something like, “The only people who try to put you down are those who are already beneath you.”

So boys and girls, let’s find out nicest clothes, polish up our self-esteem, brew a little confidence and rock out our best Carrie Bradshaw

carrie

 

PS – Ive never actually watched Sex and the City…is it even good?

 

~ The Dark Horse 

 

Another PS- I also never proofread. Oh well.

 

Crossing The Sea: Finding Your Way In Dark Times

 

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So, I’ve recently started submitting my writing to literary journals and publications.

So far, I have received nothing but a lot of rejections.

I even applied for an internship at Houghton Mifflin Harcourt, and was rejected. However, their email said, “Although we’re impressed by your credentials…”

Maybe they say that to everyone? Or maybe not? Who knows? 

Point is this: The more I write about my life, the more confident I’m becoming, despite the rejections. I’m realizing that I’ve actually been through stuff. Stuff that’s worth of being written about.

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I intern at two literary journals right now, and for one of them, I’m helping with editing. AND I TOTALLY DON’T SAY THIS TO BE MEAN, BUT…. Some of the stuff we publish is mind-blowingly uninteresting. Especially in this 2018 environment. The amount of stories I get that are like, “I’m a woman and one time in 1972 A man grabbed my breast (shirt still on) and It’s destroyed me ever since and it’s ruined my entire life, and I don’t know how I’ll ever recover…

Literally, we’re about to publish a story right now about a woman who claims that, back in the day when she was a young beatnik, she hung around the dirty art-scene bars in NYC. And at one point she saw a semi-famous artist there. She approached him and flirted. Then he smacked her ass, and she claims, art was forever ruined for her. Like… a guy touching her somehow destroyed the entire concept of art. She claims she couldn’t even look at paintings for over forty years. And not just paintings by this artist who touched her, but any and all paintings by any man.

She claims that when she looks at a painting by a man, all she can see now is the destructive angry beast behind it, looking to abuse women.

NOW LOOK: I am a full supporter of the #metoo movement. And I also believe women when they discuss their experiences. Like, Dr. Ford for example, that is fucking bravery. The women who came forward about Cosby, and others like him, also bravery. I fully embrace them.  And I even embrace this woman for having gone through that moment in the bar.

But I also believe in stakes. In writing, we have stakes. Stakes are the what happened and why is it important enough to be telling a story things within a story.

For example, what’s at stake in The Day After Tomorrow? The entire human race’s survival. Get it?

And when stakes don’t match the circumstances, the story tends to fall flat, and die. For example, using The Day After Tomorrow: If the scientist at the beginning of the movie was like, “Global warming has melted a section of the polar ice cap, and within the next year, global sea levels will rise by 1/9th of an inch. ALERT THE PRESIDENT! TELL EVERYONE TO GO TO THEIR UNDERGROUND SHELTERS NOW!!!!!!

That seems like crap right? It’s like, something in your brain goes, YES THAT IS BAD! WE SHOULD WORK ON THAT….BUT THE END OF THE WORLD IS HAPPENING RIGHT NOW? BECAUSE OF 1/9th OF AN INCH?

And that’s how I feel with a lot of memoir-type stories I’m seeing these days. I’m like, yes. It’s crappy that the artist slapped your ass… but, then the entire concept of art was ruined for you for 40 years after that? Really? You promise you’re not embellishing a little in the hopes of riding the wave of #metoo and get yourself published? Or perhaps, if this is true…is it possible that you’ve really just let this slap on the ass effect you a little too much? Is this really a #metoo moment story, or is this a mental illness story? Or a story of self obsession, about a women who, if this is the worst moment of her life, is actually extremely privileged? Because the stakes don’t add up. I’m sorry. They don’t.

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ANYWAYS, I’VE GONE WAY OFF TOPIC.  POINT IS THIS:

Reading stories like these is really annoying to me. (And it actually makes me a little bit angry too, considering that I think these women are demeaning the #metoo movement by embellishing their stories for attention) BUT, It also gives a breath of inspiration. It makes me want to write and share my stories. And most importantly, I WANT TO CHANGE THE NARRATIVE.

When I write about the time I spent in LA on the streets, or the my agoraphobia in Melbourne, or being beaten up in high school – I want to write about this with humor and hope. I hate the self-pity and misery that accompanies the modern-day personal narrative genre. (Don’t believe me? Well, here’s a NYT article stating it too…just so you can’t call me crazy: THE PROBLEM WITH MEMOIRS )

I just scrolled ALL THE WAY DOWN TO THE BOTTOM OF MY BLOG, TO MY VERY FIRST POST. (Oh god…THE SCROLLING!!!! THE SCCCCRRRRROOOOLLLLLLIIINNNGGG!!!!!)

My first post was on December 13th, 2013. I was trapped in my apartment in Melbourne with agoraphobia. Completely alone. I had just gotten on the phone with the Lifeline. The woman on the phone told me I should blog. I should have an avenue to vent through. I started this blog that very day. At the end of that post I said this:

oh oh ! Before I forget.  the BIGreason for this blog is because I have HOPE.  I have hope that I can be happy and feel good about myself one day.  And I want you to have hope as well

 

I’ve felt like a lost boat at sea for so long. Like I didn’t know what direction to take or where to go. All I knew is that I didn’t want to die. I didn’t to give up. But where to go? There was no land in sight, and I was lost.

But now, I feel more motivated. More structured. I want to share my stories. I want to inspire people. I don’t want to dwell in self doubt. I want things to be better. I want others to be better. Fuck the self-pity memoir. Let’s all be more like Jenny Lawson, Carrie Fisher, or David Sedaris. Let’s look back at our lives and laugh,

cuz bitches, WE SURVIVED IT!

We triumphed. Let’s remember that.

sail

I think I’ve finally found land.

 

~ The Dark Horse

AMERICA, YOU ARE JUST LIKE MY HIGH SCHOOL

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In my last post, I was in a weird mood. I was pretty depressed.  In fact, the last two weeks I’ve been really down. The thoughts of depression and anxiety were nagging at me: You’ll never be a writer. You have no talent. You’ll always be alone. You are the problem, it’s always you. you, you, you! 

And then people were killed at Kroger.

And then a bunch of bombs were mailed to people all over America.

And then a synagogue was shot up.

    People, look. I don’t care what your political party is. The Trump administration is a disaster, and it’s ruining our country. The hateful rhetoric coming out of that man’s mouth (and those in his administration) is fueling the fires for the already hateful amongst us.

And to make matters worse, his followers are completely separated from reality and therefore are putty in his hands. As a Kathy Griffin fan, I felt compelled to write on Donald Trump’s Facebook page that he and his family spent an entire week destroying her; Calling her disgusting and evil. They did everything they could to ruin her career. She was put on a no-fly list, and had to take part in a federal investigation that accused her of actually plotting to assassinate Trump.

And yet, when bombs were sent out.

Actual Bombs…

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The Trumps were oddly silent. A few comments here and there. Trump, you could tell, was forced to say it was wrong, and he said with the conviction of a wet mop. And then hours later he went back to blaming the media for all of this.

So, I felt like posting on his Facebook page, reminding him that he spent more time talking shit about Kathy Griffin than he did about 12 bombs being mailed out that could have taken multiple lives.

Yes. Ladies and Gentlemen, your President.   

I was immediately bombarded with tons of responses from Trump supporters informing me that the bombs were clearly a liberal conspiracy. Planted by Democrats to garner sympathy and persuade the “libtards” and “snowflakes” to hate Trump. 

First off, why? Wouldn’t Libtards already hate Trump? Where is the logic in this?

Apparently, to Trump supporters,  liberals are jealous of Trump. Trump does so many amazing and wonderful things that liberals are lost in jealousy and are determined to hate him no matter what.

But then, wait what?!?

bomb

It turns out that the bombs weren’t actually sent out by the Democratic party?

…wow, big shock (cough).

And of course, the responses on my Facebook post went dead silent.

So I probed a little further, and responded asking anyone if they cared to share with me how they felt now that they learned it wasn’t a liberal conspiracy.

more silence.

But within a few hours, Trump supporters were once again vocal around the country, hailing Trump and saying all of this was the fault of someone else, anyone else. Lost in delusion.

And that’s America. This is our country. The place we have to live. The place that has gone completely insane. 

And I think this is where a lot of my recent depression and anxiety is coming from. Part of me honestly feels like there’s no hope for this country, or for a future life here. I hate Republicans for how insane their greed has made them. I hate Democrats for not standing up to them more. I hate that it feels like the bullies are somehow on top. We have coyotes running the henhouse, and we all know that can’t be good. 

And that’s when it hit me: THIS IS LIKE HIGH SCHOOL. 

This is why I’m stuck constantly looking back at life in Ohio…because this country is running like a giant recreation of my high school experience. The bad are rewarded and get to live happily in their delusions. Nobody holds them accountable.

In high school, it was just accepted that because I was gay, I was bad. It was my fault, I was the problem, I brought this all upon my self.

And now, it’s just generally accepted that Trump and Republicans are in power, will say insane things, and then we just let them. Even as a synagogue is shot up, bombs sent, a car runs over a protester in Virginia, people are stabbed to death in Portland by a racist, and a black church is set on fire an has the words VOTE TRUMP written on it.

Listen bitches, I’ve been here before.

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I’ve dealt with these shitty little twats my whole life. Growing up in the Rust Belt has given me firsthand experience in what the rest of America is now experiencing. And this one thing that I need to remember, and that I want to share with all of you as well:

They didn’t take me down back then, so they’re not going to take me down now.

 

I waited tables all throughout high school in my crappy Ohio town so I’d be able to escape and go someplace better. I worked and worked and worked and managed to move to LA for college. I’ve been able to live and work in Australia, New Zealand, and China. I’ve overcome fucking agoraphobia.

I aint gonna let some uneducated greedy racist white trash piece of shit make me feel like this country doesn’t belong to me.

Oh honey….hellz to da No you aint!

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Today, I’m re-vowing the same things I did when I was fifteen. Back when I was in my bedroom, friendless, watching the movies that inspired me to go see the world:

“I will not let these people take me down. I will not let them make me feel bad. I will not let them force me to give up. I will not give them what they want. 

I’m going to live my fucking life and be successful and happy because I’m fucking allowed to.”

Eye to the Sky. 

 

~ The Dark Horse

Hanson, And The Youth I Never Got To Have

DAMN YOUHANSON

 

So, feel free to judge me. I have no shame. I was listening to Hanson on YouTube yesterday.

Yeah.

Deal with it.

Anyways, it gets even more embracing than that.

So, I’m watching a live recording of their song This Time Around:

And as I’m watching the video, I realize that I’m staring at the guy singing… holy fuck dude, he was so fuckin hot! 

Look at him! 

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Look at the flawless skin. Those soft perfect lips. That perfect hair! That in-shape and healthy body. Look at that human perfection.

I’m 28. But I feel so much older. If anyone has read tis blog before you probably know, and for anyone who hasn’t, well, my past was filled with going through hell in my hometown of Ohio for being gay, running away to LA, only to wind up having sex on the streets for money, which did wonders for my mental stability, then I went to Melbourne where I struggled with anxiety, panic, and even became agoraphobic. I’ve been alone almost my entire life. Having to be an army of one. I’ve struggled with sex addiction. I struggle with my self-esteem. I feel alone all the time. And I fear I’ll never bee successful and that I’ll die alone.

On the inside, I’m not 28. I feel like a haggard 80 year old on their death bed. I don’t know how I’ve even managed to be such a horrible person. Or how I’ve managed to live this long.

And then watching this video, it just hit me. YOUTH. I never got to have a social life in high school. I hardly even had interaction with people my age. Nobody would speak to me. And then after high school when I went to LA… well, that wasn’t exactly my finest hour….

And Melbourne… I was collapsing every time I left my apartment. Who would want to hang out with me? How was I supposed to make friends when I couldn’t even walk to the grocery store without having a mental breakdown?

And now, in retrospect, I look back….

The “Prime years” of my life. The years where most people are stupid, innocent, and naive. The years when most people are their youngest, healthiest, prettiest selves. When all they want to do is have fun. Unaware of how cruel the world is.

All mine were wasted. Mine were filled with nothing but struggle, pain, and misery.

And now what do I do? 

The “Best Years” that everyone spends the rest of their lives talking about are gone. I never had them. In fact I’m hoping that most people’s Best years, are the Worst that ever happen in my life.

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ugh…. look at these little twats. They made so much god damn money off that fucking song…

Ugh… Im bitter today, sorry. 

 

 

Anyways….

So, I guess this is something I need to learn to live with and accept. My past is the past. It’s over. I will never get to have carefree years or dog days of summer. I won’t ever know what it’s like go to a Prom or a college party. I won’t ever know the blissful feeling of truly thinking the world is an easy place where the biggest worries of your day is “What am I going to do this weekend.”

That isn’t my life. And I’m hoping that there’s somehow a strength in that.

I’m hoping that it means something, or leads to something.

I’m hoping that my experience, as crappy as it was, somehow provides me with some sort of insight that will make my life better in the long run.

But who knows…

All I do know is,

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OMG WHO IS THIS ONE? He’s sooooooo sexy too!

God damn cute boys… motherfuckers should come with a *trigger warning* sign attached to them.

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But uuugghhhh….. Long hair piano boy has that voice.  OMG. This is hard. Who am I crushing on harder? I don’t even know anymore…

 

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Ok, I’m actually really falling for guitar guy. He’s clearly The Man of brothers.

 

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OH FUCKING HELL…. Please, take me anywhere, I shall follow!

 

 

Alright people, I’m gonna go cry and masturbate or something.

Keep on keeping on!

~ The Dark Horse

 

PS- OF course this wasn’t proofread, I’ve been lost in the surprisingly amazing **cough cough** voices of the Hanson brothers.

Finding Inspiration In Slasher Films

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So, I’m sure you all the know the story, or a story similar to it.  I was the gay kid in Ohio that nobody talked to. I was the outcast, the loser, the weirdo, the obnoxious one, the one that nobody felt bad about leaving behind.  (The Randy for any Scream fans out there…)

I spent my childhood watching movies. Movies were my everything. My escape, my friends, my teachers, my inspiration. Movies were my life. They were never afraid to spend time with me even though everyone else was.

 

Growing up I had always watched horror movies on TV. My mother is a great woman… a devout Catholic actually! However, she’s also an oddball. She’s the product of the late 60s and 70s. Her older brother was a rebellious one. He stayed up late with their father and discussed dodging the draft and running away to Canada. He showed her the Beatles, and The Stones. My mother is sort of a flower child. 

She used to let us watch The Shining with her when it was on TV. The Exorcist. The Fly (The black and white one. The real one, as she puts it). Dark Shadows. Whatever Happened To Baby Jane, Rosemary’s Baby… the “classics” according to my mother. I had an upbringing of horror from the very beginning.

But then; it was 1998. I was 8 years old. My friend (who, only 2 years later would stop talking to me for being gay, along with the rest of my hometown) rented Scream 2. It had just come out on VHS.

He had a brother and sister, twins, a year below us. And an older sister a good 4 or 5 years older than us. We all huddled in the dark basement and put in the movie.

From that very first scene in the movie theater, a scene that has become iconic in the horror world, I was hooked.

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I didn’t know it back then. I didn’t know what it was. I just knew I loved it. Especially Scream. Scream was so smart. So in-touch with everything around it. It was incredible.

And then, the Jada Pinkett Smith death scene.  OMG….ABSOLUTE HORROR LEGEND! 

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She’s going off on the white girl who’s about to die (I think it was..oh, whats her face…. Felicity Shagwell…  Whats her fucking name?  Heather Graham, that’s it!)  So she’s watching STAB in the theater and Heather Graham is playing Drew Berrymore from Scream 1. And Jada is yelling at the screen.   OMG. it was so perfect.

Random fact – If you don’t actually watch horror movies in theaters, you should. Black girls literally scream at the screen. It’s amazing, and all part of the moviegoing experience. I’ll never forget seeing Rob Zombie’s remake of Halloween in 2007 and this one girl was going off on all the white characters the whole movie. Comic gold!

ANYWAYS – then Jada realizes her man aint her man no more…

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And that was that. I was hooked. Horror became my life. I binged them all. Forever and ever afterwards, my entire life. I can’t get enough of horror, especially slasher.

One must honor the classics:

Halloween

Texas Chainsaw Massacre

A Nightmare on Elm Street

Hellraiser

And Friday The 13th (Although, AS EVERYONE KNOWS, the best part of the Friday movies, were the hot guys they casted) PS- do you know about “Frigay the 13th” and all the drama that went down on that set? GUUURRRLLL…..

 

And one must also appreciate the newer films of the genre:

Scream

I Know What You Did Last Summer

Behind The Mask

Urban Legend

Hatchet 

 

 

Ok… I’m getting so far off track, I’m sorry. Point is this: What does a loser have to love in slasher films? I mean, they’re movies about a bunch of hot popular people having sex and going to parties. It’s everything my life wasn’t right?

Wrong. 

jason

Slasher films actually revolve around the lone female who survives. Known as the “survivor girl” or “final girl” in the horror community, but more commonly known as “Scream Queens”. These women are the true force behind every great slasher movie.

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Scream Queens aren’t like the others in the movies. Scream Queens normally are virgins, normally don’t do drugs, tend to be more intelligent than their friends, and are never the most popular in the group. In fact, sometimes, they’re the ones the group believes in the least. And yet, they end up being the ones who rise above, and mange to outsmart the killer, becoming the lone survivor.  (Although, in some films you have multiple survivors)

 

And in a few films, the Scream Queen role is replaced by a male (example: Elijah Wood in The Faculty).  The Scream Queen rules remain in the cases of a “Scream King”

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Do you now see why an outcast like me would love these movies?

Watching the people who made fun of me, the people who always told me I’d never get to be one of them…they all die. And the person like me, the one nobody believed in, ends up being the strongest, the smartest, the survivor. 

Because of that, slasher movies hold a transcendent quality. And I know Im not the only one who thinks that. I know a lot of outcasts who have found great inspiration and strength in slasher movies. In fact there’s a shit ton of scholarly writing on it.

So what am I saying??

I’m saying, DO YOURSELF A FAVOR AND GET INSPIRED! It’s time to watch some slasher movies! (Because it’s good for you of course!)

jamie

 

~ The Dark Horse

OMG OMG OMG WAIT! Do you remember Freddy Vs. Jason?  (squeal!) 

That scene, when the main girl drags Freddy out of her dream and into the real world so he can fight Jason…. OMG… When Freddy first comes into our word and sees Jason and is like…. oh boy, I am fuckedddddd.   Why don’t these movies win Oscars?


fvj