After the last piece I got published with Kill Screen magazine and my blog-wise writeup, I had a lot of pent-up emotional energy about my childhood and upbringing, and a lot of forlorn / angst / beautiful swirling around in my head.
Korkit saddled his fast flying horse and escaped from Death. But, no matter where he went, the Angel of Death Azrael and his gravediggers followed, unrelenting in their pursuit. Although sometimes, Azrael’s feelings of pity were awakened, so that even when he came nearby he could not take Korkit’s soul. One day, the dastardly angel constructed an ornate golden box in which to keep the soul of his treasured mark Korkit. Korkit knew the day would come he would die, yet he did his utmost to thwart fate.
Originally, Asan was simply Asan Effendi. He was very rich. One day, all the good and wealthy people met to discuss the latest gossip. "I heard one fisherman caught an obscenely large fish from the river," said one. After hearing the story of the exceptional fish, Asan went to the river to see this strange catch himself. At the river, he found several fishermen manning two nets. The famous and wise poet Atakti, also a seer, directed their movements. As Asan approached, the fishermen pulled the net ashore, brimming with fish.
In those days, there was a famous sage who had seven sons and one daughter. After the girl grew older, she grew lonely and told her brothers, "I need to get married. Please help me!" And so, following the natural logic of young and spirited men, the seven brothers made her a box of metal. Its outside was a fine silver design of suns and dragons, while the inside was furnished with lavish cushions, on which their sister might sit. After they had seated their proud sister inside comfortably, they sealed the box and sent it floating down the river.
What I didn't write about in my latest Kill Screen article was the significant role this Saturday morning ritual played into my relationship with my dad. I grew up loving him from a distance, sometimes closer, sometimes scared of him, often in awe, but the fact was that he worked the hard shift as a pilot, and his time was often spent providing for his family. Up until I turned 17, I'd never spent regular, significant time with him.
But I think we're both creatures of habit. "Whenever I go to a different city, I always try out their Rueben sandwiches," he told me recently. When I get into an airport, I buy myself a small black coffee and stare at it miserably while waiting for the gate to open. I also try to put on my best resting bitch face to discourage anyone from talking to me. It's nice not talking to anybody at eleven in the morning.
I always felt cheated for people not letting me be myself. When I was five, my parents dressed me up in a papery blue shirt and neat kakhi shorts and took me to church. I could handle the first hour. I sang in the choir and watched Bible characters move around on the felt boards in Sunday school . . .
Ann Radcliffe, a pioneer of the literary gothic romance, used terror as a mechanic of self discovery. It’s a concept our culture has dumped for cheap scares and thrills in cinema and games: our fears embody something deeper, perhaps darker than we’d like to admit. Terror is another word for self-discovery . . . Chances are you haven’t played Haunting Ground (Demento in Japan). Released in 2005, the game is a strange brew of gothic horror, psych0sexual torment, and dog training. Most notably, the game was cowritten by Noboru Sugimura, who penned the scripts for several Resident Evil titles and Clock Tower 3.
Let me tell you about Year End Mixes.
Music gets me. Deeply. I used my graduation presents to buy an iPod back in 2005 and dumped all my music library on it. I took the thing everywhere. Starting out, I listened to a lot of soundtracks, Enya and video game music.
In 2006 I found some very good reasons to mope. I made new friends—friends who listened to dusty folk and indie rock—and that became my move and groove. I got into Radiohead and shit. I’d walk around grey winter afternoons whispering “we are accidents / waiting to happen”.