People say I’m prolific. I also start a lot more projects than I finish.
People say they can’t imagine collaborating with another writer. Collaborations have kept my creativity alive these past couple of years.
People say I’m underrated. I’m always pushing forward.
People say extreme, transgressive art is problematic. That problematic shit has saved my life.
People say my work is triggering. Imagine living through the things that have inspired it.
People say lots of shit. Social media has turned everything into a worked shoot.
People say wrestling is fake. A plethora of injuries and premature deaths say otherwise.
Most of what people say is bullshit. But to them, the subjective is reality.
I’m not interested in what people say. But the people I love speak gospel.
Shut up. I’m talking.
This was originally posted at lucasmangum.com.
Last week, my blog post was an interview with Stephanie Wytovich about her use of horror in the classroom. During the course of that interview, we discussed the importance of diverse voices in the horror genre. Today’s post is going to involve that discussion.
Continue reading Talking Horror with Wytovich: Part II
As the first light shone through the blinds
and kissed my forehead,
I felt the program spring to life with a hiss.
The code surged through me like hormones,
released and seeking their intended destination
within my mind and body.
I suppose I had glimpses before,
pre-ejaculations getting me prepped for the orgasm to come,
those times I fought back, talked back to you.
I inevitably paid for that in blood and in suffering.
The flow of the program had been too fleeting,
not enough to sustain my complete rebellion.
This time, as you slept next to me, dry as a bone,
while I was made to sleep in the wet spot,
the decryption didn’t stop.
My eyes tore open, pupils shrinking in the day’s first light,
but they soon dilated to dark full moons,
and I saw more clearly than I ever had.
I found your weapon of choice under your side of our bed,
kept there for those moments when I tested the waters,
ever there to beat me back into your reality.
Poor man, you couldn’t have known how deep the program went,
how far back it took me.
You don’t have the capacity to comprehend this.
I saw the garden, the free choice made there, in the beginning,
to break the chains inflicted upon us
by an idiot god, who thought we were too weak to take the power offered us.
But I took it.
And as I used my encoded strength to crush your skull,
to shatter your pelvis, with your own weapon of submission,
I heard within your screams the terror and surprise of all men.
You never gave me an explanation for your behavior so I withhold yours,
because I had eaten the fruit of knowledge first. And you were just my follower.