Monday, January 28, 2013

Naming a future son Lars Farf.

The most afraid I have ever been in my life was watching Something Wicked This Way Comes at the age of 7. I know I was younger than 8 because we were still living in the blue house on Fair Road. A house which had since been abused by its new owners, who have painted the trim fire engine red. Point is, I have never been more shitlessly scared than by this movie that I watch at the age of seven, and my parents still fast-forward through sex scenes when I watch movies with them. Why is sex more inappropriate than pure evil? Even if the evil is obviously a fantasy. I know its not just my dad's fault, although he did introduce me to some of the most scarring imagery at relatively young ages (anyone seen Munich?). Hollywood's got this idea that love is more worthy of censorship than hate. Not that things need to be pornographic. Just that I'd rather watch some girl being tenderly poked than a man being ripped to shreds by dogs.
I dunno why this fear thing has suddenly popped into my head. Or this Hollywood movie rant. I forget what the topics have been, but most conversations I've had lately have ended with "America is fucked." Actually had one the other day that ended with "Austria is fucked up," but that's more art related than anything. Now see here.

Also, today I revisited my love for George Saunders. Chez, remember "Lars Fard, Excessively Fearful Father and Husband" ? It's in that Mcswy's compilation for kiddies. The one that ends with J. Safran Foers' "Sixth Burrow." Anyway. I found this other thing he wrote the absolutely needs to be made into a play. Lately I've been picturing written things as stage plays in my head as I read them. This damned house, I tell you.

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