It is with the heaviest of hearts that I have to tell you California “Cali” Hunter is sleeping peacefully and eternally. I love that cat so much. There was never a cat like her, and there will never be a cat like her.
I remember the day that we brought her into our home like it was yesterday. It was the very beginning of September in 2008. I was seventeen years old, and I had just begun my senior year of high school. I was obviously a bucket of nerves, angst and uncertainty. It was the first Friday of the school year, and I came home from school with my backpack slung over one shoulder, looking forward to the weekend. I found my Dad standing in our backyard on the patio, staring into a tiny box filled with cat litter. But, let’s go back in time a bit… Continue reading “In Remembrance of California “Cali” Hunter”
“Sadness is chemical oppression.”
Said the Therapist at my first session.
“Fingerprint the cause of your depression,
But investigate at your own discretion.”
She could see the symptoms from across the room.
A long face encased in palpable gloom
Begging for sympathy to rush in soon,
As it’s been so long since last exhumed.
Far too often does the audience abate
The emotions I can’t seem to obliterate.
But, with lessons bursting through the gate
Of consciousness, these thoughts gestate:
Hope is disappointment in disguise on bended knee,
Love is an enigmatic parasite that will leave you empty,
Dreams are bits of fruit hanging from the forbidden tree,
And life is crematory ash riding a breeze into the sea.
I was dragged like a corpse to see the lights
As they promised a cure for sleepless nights.
My hope to find a gem among the lame
Would by the end be thrown into the flames.
The door swung open and all that I found
Was the pomp and pulp and peppered clowns.
My mind puzzled, and my shoulders bore blame
As I craved to play this futile game.
Silence was tangibly this soiree’s theme
With regard to the fairer sex and me.
My eyes well worn like dresses on their frames
With sorrow that I’d never know their names.
Magic women and their misdirection
Eschewed all attempts at true connection.
My arms empty and my interest drained
As I tried to recall why I even came.
My handlers with their hands full drove me away
Reluctantly as they would rather have stayed.
My home, my umbrella, peace from the rain,
And the cohorts sped off, their sympathy feigned.
I had mixed emotions, as I’m sure most fans did, when I heard Sam Raimi’s horror classic The Evil Dead was next in line for the remake treatment. Let’s face it: horror remakes don’t have the best track record. For every remake that defies expectations and reaches the heights of John Carpenter’s The Thing, there are at least ten remakes that enrage the fans and join Gus Van Sant’s Psycho in the depths of mediocrity. So, it was only natural for doubt to pervade my thoughts regarding Evil Dead initially, but after watching the trailer for the film, any concerns I had were alleviated and replaced with anticipation. Continue reading “Evil Dead: Film Review”
The trees bend their branches away from the Sun
As you move in with the clouds on a solemn mission.
A quick flash of the truth, then the apologies come
And the rain hits like bloody mist of a dirty deed done.
You wipe at your face then stare deep into mine
Your eyes well with regret, yet still look so divine.
The wind rages, carrying whispers of another time
When what we were was possible for me to define.
The flood waters rise and nearly sweep me away.
A dream that they would, as I’ve nothing to say.
You desperately wish that I’ll join the exchange
After the silence and storm have finally waned.
True, the Heavens will soon cease their wretched abuse,
And rainbows will arch over your unfortunate truths.
The sky will clear up, and the sunlight will suffuse,
And these rain-rattled streets will shine like brand new.
The indiscretions for which you feel you’ve atoned
Will all be forgiven, but far from unknown.
And as you reach for my hand, you’ll be finding your own
For when the morning light comes, I will face it alone.
I’ve heard stories from my parents of being dragged to the cinema at the age of three, while they watched and thoroughly enjoyed Quentin Tarantino’s groundbreaking Pulp Fiction in 1994. At such a young age, I imagine I distracted them from portions of the film before falling sound asleep in my rickety and uncomfortable seat. It wasn’t until I was thirteen years old that I watched Pulp Fiction again, in actuality for the first time, finally at an age that I was capable of understanding and appreciating it. The film not only introduced me to Tarantino’s work, it also inspired many personal aspirations and ignited my passion for film. So, when I see a trailer boasting that it is “the new film by Quentin Tarantino”, I know all filmgoers are in for something unique and important, and that is certainly true for Django Unchained.
Continue reading “Django Unchained: Film Review”
It has become increasingly cliché to discuss The Blair Witch Project when reviewing a found footage horror film, but that’s the first place my mind travels when faced with the now painfully overdone horror subgenre. It not only turned the idea of low-budget, high-profit filmmaking on its ear, but, it grew into a pop culture phenomenon and reached a height that contemporary films of the same vein dream of attaining. The fresh subgenre it spawned has now decayed and withered into a cheap, ineffective self-parody of itself. After watching the once mighty George A. Romero tarnish his legacy with the dreadful Diary of the Dead and witnessing the unapologetic cash-grab the Paranormal Activity franchise has turned into, I swore to never again watch another found footage horror film. Then, through random Internet browsing, I stumbled upon the trailer for V/H/S. Just when I thought I was out…they pulled me back in.
Continue reading “V/H/S: Film Review”