In W_ic_ An Inmate Discusses T_e Texas C_ainsaw Massacre Wit_ _is Psyc_olo_ist
“So I suppose it was pretty soon after Dad retired was a massive depression — for Dad, I mean, not me — but my take on it is it started from plain boredom. It’s not so important, maybe, specific reasons, just Dad’s symptoms. I really really felt so bad about it at first. I did. You ever see someone as can’t see any reason to be alive? For fuck’s sake, even insects and cows and bacteria just are alive for no reason at all. Animals just survive, no need for a bloody reason. But Dad, over on like a smelly loveseat — you call it a loveseat?”
“Probably. Maybe it’s not important?”
“Maybe it is. Dude loved to sit in it, anyway. So, after like maybe a few weeks of melodramatic-ass reasonlessness-pretense, just before it ended, bloody loveseat sofa unit smelled. Dad never left it. Just stared at all sorts of, you know, terrible flicks. I mean, films as feature masked blokes and massive like bladed bloody culinary instruments and like total safety only for plucky bimbos as don’t do like overly pleasant stuff to anyone, wink, wink. Stupid. Secretly Dad lied a little, about no reason to live, I mean, because Dad played favourites. I mean favourite films, and seems to me like favourite films are just maybe a tiny like difference from proper indifference. About life. I mean, if you’ve preferences, it’s a little reason not to top yourself. Maybe. Seems like a start, anyway, but I suppose not to Dad.
So Dad’s total most favourite was about a crazy family. One dude rocks like a mask made of skin and sometimes an apron. One’s all stupid and manic and like self-mutilates in a van. Oldest one comes to dinner and beats on someone’s live skull and everyone eats people. It’s not important — “
“I’ve seen it.”
“Yup. Soon Dad started to complain about our family dysfunctionality. Said a family like in said flick was proper non-dysfunctional and could kill and cannibalise as a family. Dad wanted a reason for our family to be as not self-contained and self-insufficient as it was, as Dad saw it. Crazy. I’m twenty-nine and I live in Dad’s flat — “
“Lived.”
“Aye, true. Anyway, me at twenty-nine in Dad’s flat is as self-contained as a family can properly be as far as I was concerned. So I was pissed off and I took Dad’s words real literal. First, crazy bloke never let up about ‘no more reason to live’ and second, went on all bloody day about ‘members of non-dysfunctional families cooperatively pursue members’ aims’. I just sort of added up two and two and nailed Dad to a loveseat. Dad didn’t even die from loss of blood. Poor dude starved.”
[Note: Two letter keys on my keyboard don't work properly, an important constraint above.]
W_en are you _etting a new computer? Can I just mail you a keyboard?
On the other hand – I will say that necessity does often seem the mother of invention. Or at least of stylistic deviation, the root of all artistic progress. Or at least, of really cool blog posts.