Ariel is grand, but you don’t know the tale of the little mermaid until you’ve read Hans Christian Anderson’s version. His decadent and mournful twist on mermaid lore has shaped our imaginations for centuries, and shines a searing light on the pains of growing up, identity crises, and, of course, unrequited love, which can snap an indescribable place in the heart. Cloaking this particular hurt in a macabre mythological tale gets this feeling precisely right, especially if you throw in the problems of bisexuality in an especially unaccepting time.

Whiplash an intense emotional experience, a rollarcoaster built on drumbeats, sweat, blood, and screams. It gets into your nervous system. It’s a myth-building movie, not only building the myth of these characters hurtling themselves towards a perception of greatness by sacrificing key parts of their flesh, emotional-well being, and humanity, but also rebuilding the myth of Charlie Parker into something far more soul-gouging that it already was. I saw too movies yesterday. One was the horror film The Babadook, but Whiplash is the one that will probably give me nightmares.

Louise Belcher is a force of a little girl. She insidiously smart and unapologetically selfish. She thrives on drama and conflict and manipulating others just to manipulate them. She has affection for her family, mostly her father, but her tender feelings are dormant and have to be forced out by acts of terrible uncomfortableness. Her antics are relentless, ruthless, and just shy of pure evil. And that’s why we love her.

The Room’s auteur Tommy Wiseau is an American. That’s the first thing he’d probably want you to know about him. And he’s right, he is American, and like most Americans and their ancestors, Tommy is an immigrant, but he doesn’t like to talk about that. He’d prefer that fans of his magical film experience believe he’s from Louisiana, where he spent some time with his aunt and uncle before settling down in San Francisco in the 1970s, but his broken English and tangled accent are embarrassingly obvious tells. It’s been tracked down that Tommy was probably born in Poland and he has often said he spent a good part of his younger days in France, which accounts for his mixed accent. Most people would think nothing of mentioning their native country even if they want to keep some details private. For Tommy Wiseau, all details are private and the truth is something that you construct for yourself. Tommy isn’t interested in the wonderful mixing of cultures in the United States, instead he’s locked on with a vice-grip to an important American trope: The Self-Made Man. This dude is vampiric absurdist Don Draper who everyone knows is really Dick Whitman.

On October 12, 1978 20-year-old Nancy died of a knife wound to the stomach. Just a few months later her 21-year-old boyfriend Sid died of an intentional heroin overdose while awaiting a trial for her murder. Already notorious for their bad behavior, they became a myth of a couple, a punk rock Romeo and Juliet. Sid was a rock star who couldn’t really play music, but Nancy was more than a rock-n-roll groupie. She was a force unto herself.

“It hurts to look at you.” – Angela Chase, My So-Called Life Stendhal syndrome, also called Florence syndrome is a condition where it’s unbearable to confront beauty. It overtakes your senses. It overwhelms you. Turns out being slayed by beauty is another disorder. Symptoms can include rapid heartbeat, dizziness, fainting, confusion and hallucinations when exposed to great beauty, especially a lot all at once. It came happen when confronting man-made art, or just the natural world. The “illness” is named… Read more »

Why does my heart feel so bad? Why does my soul feel so bad? – Moby When our hearts break, it seems our whole body cries out in agony and shuts down.  We get chest pains, head aches, muscle aches, fatigue, stomach disturbances, insomnia, we sleep to much, we eat too much or not at all, we get sick. We long for some sort of relief, something to fill the massive hole we feel inside of us from what was… Read more »

Memories are powerful. They are the secret things that in many ways define the true essence of who we are. We’re a collection of processed experiences that shape the perception of our current reality both consciously and unconsciously. We are buoyed by the good memories, and plagued by the bad ones. The bad ones seem to linger behind every negative thought, every fear and anxiety. Just when something awful is forgotten, an unexpected trigger can send it all rushing back. Regret can smother you, even the good memories sting like a wound on fire.

We get caught in unproductive flashback loops that can flood us with depression, make us second-guess ourselves, and punish someone for a past hurt again and again. We also punish ourselves again and again.

It might be kind of wonderful to forget. To not just forget, but erase forever, and that just might be possible. would you do it if you could?