Face Me Again

"Time passes. Horror does not."
Alan Dean Foster

It's been a year and two (three?) days since my little blog was born. Totally forgot about the anniversary. Anyways, I filled my life again thanks to some minor changes. This is how it looked last year and here's myself right now:

Also, I've seen Paranormal Activity 2. Instead of writing another What Happens When You Sleep?, I've judged it five seconds movie style:

If you'll ever watch the whole thing combined with a drinking game, make sure to take a little sip every time that pool is on screen at night. By the end, you'll be screaming.

With laughter.

Even Deeper

Leo and Nolan were wrong; dreams do feel strange while we're in them, although in REM state we are far less skeptic, more willing to accept and embrace any kind of wonders we came across. And of course your subconscious always recreates from memory, with a bit of alteration. And remembering the true nature of those memories - Just how damaged have I become - could be the most painful thing to one's mind. Probably.

The so-called Operator Symbol is the thing that scrawl in my last post was supposed to be. This is the sign that appears around Slender Man sightings in Marble Hornets. Mammon's (Satan's son) sign looks almost identical to this in the Hellblazer Keanu Reeves movie Constantine. Interesting, I'd say.
Anyways, we created a Slender Man blog, the first Hungarian one of its kind, with surprisingly positive feedback, and I'm also working on a "dedicated-to-animal-attack-and-creature-features" one. Looks like my creativity has returned after all. Maybe this mind stinger will see some more life soon. For now, here's some music.

Childreeeen

Goddamn, some bad feelings are all over me. Anyone seen that guy lately?

This Post Contains Stuff

This is 57-year-old Charla Nash after being discharged from the hospital. The thing that did this to her was a famous animal actor, a chimpanzee called Travis, familiar from Coke commercials and such. He was owned by Nash's friend, Sandra Herold. On February 6, 2009 Travis, the usually friendly and intelligent, beloved house pet went berserk during Nash's visit, and attacked her. This is the recording of the 911 call Mrs. Herold made while the 14 years old, 91 kg. chimp was tearing his victim apart:

Losing her eyes, ears, nose, lips (Travis literally chewed her face to pieces) and both hands, Charla did survive the attack, and after seven hours of active surgery, the doctors were able to stabilize her condition. A few months later she had an experimental face implant surgery.

Not long after his rampage has begun, Travis was shot down by policemen. After autopsy and testing for rabies, his remains were cremated at All Pets Crematory in Stamford. His owner, Mrs. Herold has died in May 2010.

You know my blog, you know me. Countless times I've found myself sitting in front of a shitty creature feature, eco-horror or monster movie and laughing like an idiot at these kinds of things. But this real-life "incident" I've learned about only a few days ago, it was quite shocking to me. If Good Ol' Life, Fate, God Or Whatever did this to one of my friends, the people I like, that would be... well, let's say that I don't like to think about the possibility. At all. Don't be shy to appreciate your physical health, Dear Readers.

The mind-stinging thing is, regardless of the causes and who was responsible, there was nothing overly unnatural about this freak accident. This is how life and death works. Humans and chimpanzees are over 94% genetically identical. We share a lot of their genes, so I guess it's not too surprising that they are the only creatures with behavior that can match our skilled viciousness and precise, may I say highly sophisticated killing techniques in the whole world.

A fucked up world, that is.

This Isn't a Cry for Help

I'm lying on my room's floor, listening to Colin Newman. There's my laptop in front of me along with a can of beer, leftover from last Friday's movie night - guess what, I've finally get the chance to see Jerry O'Connell's penis being eaten on the big screen, with all the glory of that three D letters. Smiling at the memories I take a sip through the straw. Some would say this shit tastes like pure pain itself.

Pain is nothing to be afraid of. All it takes is some will and strength. You can kill it away.

There's a fact that's comforting and terrifying at the same time: there are things in this world that are very much unlike pain. Take this as you wish, but remember it, just for the joke of it, 'kay?

Dear Quentin,

please stop using the Wilhelm scream.

Seriously.

Nowadays it's a widely known, overused, clichéd, tired tradition.

Yes, we get it, you know movies and movie history. You can stop reminding us now.

Soon I'll write something worth reading here again, it's a promise.

Too Good Too Bad

I smoked a cigarette tonight. Unable to sleep, I stepped to my window around one A.M. and lit this fag I got from a lady friend last weekend. Taking a leak from the very same window five months ago, shooting into the flow of raindrops from four stories high didn't feel nearly this strange. Damn drunken summer nights.

And damn leather jacket pockets. The cig broke at more than one points, its filter was completely destroyed, and I still can't get used to that old shitty taste. It's not like I wanted to, but still managed to feel it way too many times in the last two months. Damn freshmen camps.

You could define me a social smoker. I'd call myself as an anti-social one. Standing there alone, breathing in and out, slowly, like a dying whale that ran ashore, I was thinking about growing up, becoming independent, walking under an unearthly weight of a million responsibilities. Besides the usual I could use a Coke thought, only one thing hit my mind in conclusion: I'm going to write a filler post that makes absolutely no sense, but it'll have a crazy twist ending in the last sentence.

Here, have a look at Jerry O'Connell's chomped off penis.

What a Story, Mark!

Remember Jerky Jim and his comment regarding knowledge and universities? He said when I get to that, I'll know more and I'll be allowed to use my voice. Man.

Let me tell you something about this university thing. I won't go into boring details, that's the common September-syndrome of bloggers who want to write about their new school. I have some eccentric but fun teachers and profs, a few cool roommates (our bad movie nights are a real blast into the head even when alcohol isn't involved), and a nice city to live and learn 4 days a week. That's about it.

Now, what did I actually learn during these weeks? Let's count it from August, with the two freshmen camps I attended. Here it goes:

• Rubber chickens can be whores too. Seriously, I saw one that would suck on anyone's preferred body parts if s/he paid the chicken's - her name was Sári - owner.
  

A real babe, isn't she?

• I'm not the biggest Stanley Kubrick/Clockwork Orange fan from our city, what the hell.

• Sex with deeply religious girls often leads to scruple. Fact.

• You can find jocks outside America, even if they are a bit old (24 years, but the guy was grizzled already), coming complete with huge muscles (to compensate being 5.7 feet tall) and almost funny behaving problems. You don't wanna f'ck with him when he's drunk. Least if both of you are drunk.

Awright, that's all for now. Maybe I'll complete the list when something comes to my mind. The point is, what I would like to say to a certain someone:

Oh really now, Jim? Really?

Knewsick Shows Its Teeth

Well now. Seems like 5 days before the album's official release date, you can listen to the closing titles from Michael Wandmacher's Piranha 3-D score. Oh boy. Seriously.

This is the kind of badass music that makes you feel like your d!ck has grown 9 inches.

Even if you are a girl.

Presenting:

P3D End Titles from Chris Lydecker on Vimeo.

Oh yeah, baby. Oh yeah :)

Association, I'm Lovin' It

Back in 2000 I saw a music video for Armand van Helden's Koochy, a song which is basically a remixed-the-living-shit-out-of-it version of the classic Cars by Gary Numan. With its '80s retro feel the thing is still one of my favorite music videos, It's nothing more than and nothing sort of a stock footage glory, featuring scenes from documentaries, sci-fi movies and porn flicks, centered around a concept which is - at least I think - depicting the essence of an orgasm via technical mayhem. Check it and keep an eye out for the robot that sings, more like talks the lyrics:

He's called Box, and he stars in the classic 1976 sci-fi movie Logan's Run. Did you notice anything strange on him? Since a good third of my readers are hardcore gamers, you probably should. I've photoshopped this little picture so the ones living in blessed ignorance (= no game-addicts) could see how awesome this talking toaster is:


Yes, he's wearing the friggin' Xbox logo! And yes, he's actually called Box. What the hell. You'd think the movie somehow managed to pay homage for a console that came out almost thirty years later. Or that the designers were Logan-fans. Or maybe what we're seeing here is just plain coincidence.

But seriously, anybody heard something official on this? I did not, but this is why I associate Gary Numan with the Xbox. Let's move on.

One of the most fun games I ever played on the X360 (thanks to my pal Mykee, I never show him, but he's grooming me for being a real addict) is an FPS called Borderlands. Set on planet Pandora (no, not that one), you make your way through deserts with futuristic weapons, and... whatever, just watch the intro here. Cool, huh?

And what's the coolest thing about it? The soundtrack, that way-too-cool-for-this-Earth song, Ain't No Rest For the Wicked. It's a real shameful cliché among their fans, but that's how I learned about the artist behind it, a band called Cage the Elephant.

Cage. The. F'cking. Elephant.

These guys are this month's Dickies, something thats awesomeness nearly poked my eyes out for years, but I haven't noticed them until recently. Their music is glorious, miraculous, spectacular, amazing, sea-you-al. The whole self-titled album is so kewl with catchy tunes and sharp lyrics in every song, that I had to make a fan group for them on iWiW. I encourage you to join it if you have an account, and like their music, being the only member of my own club is a bit boring and a helluva lot embarrassing, too :)

Well, this is why your humble jellyfish associates deserts and ugly dogs with the X360 and one of his favorite bands. No summary or any kind of wisdom this time. Or maybe... association is fun, so is this song by CtE. See you later, Dear Readers.