My Bloody Valentine – 3D
February 2, 2009 by Brazilla R. Kreep
Filed under Kreep's Korner
Cupid is right outside a suburban window. An old angel with dirty wings, he stands there peek-a-booing through the frosty glass of someone’s living room. He takes a withered hand and wipes away the chill, wonders why the roses and the paper hearts aren’t hung around the living room akin to the holly and blinking lights that the Christmas angels all adore. He thinks his lovely celebration is dwindling. Cupid deems our hearts are growing bitter. So our wee-sized cherub with a duffle bag filled with dusty arrows and a bow shakes his head, walks away bewildered.
Cupid passes a movie theatre where the marquee flickers the latest show: My Bloody Valentine, now in dazzling 3D. He buys a voucher as the ticket taker rips it with a smile full of metal. The young boy behind the ropes doesn’t even notice the seraph, not at all. Which is a trick that Cupid mastered long ago. If you saw him, he would simply appear as someone you once loved.
Now Cupid hasn’t taken-in a picture show for ages. Of course he knows that this is a really creepy one, but he’s watched a few before. He remembers Alfred Hitchcock’s Psycho and Steven Spielberg’s Jaws and figures incorrectly that the valentine in the title suggested something easygoing; at least it was “theme appropriate” to his cause.
It wasn’t long before the first 3D gore hit the big screen with a splatter. He ducked, stopped eating his popcorn too. More than anything, Cupid loved to munch on buttered popcorn. After today, he would never eat another kernel. He spit the rest back into the greasy cardboard bowl and slid it under his seat. He was glad no one noticed that he did that. They were all too busy screaming.
All around him couples were clinging to one another, shrieking n’ shivering from the horrors director Patrick Lussier (Scream I, II & III) persistently threw in all their faces. And they loved it. Every last adolescent one of them was in cheesy splatter heaven. Holding onto one another as if they were dropping off the face of a way too complicated world, My Bloody Valentine – 3D delivered such gratuitous ultra-violence to make their little hearts explode.
Later, Cupid finds himself peeking through the same suburban window. Two teenagers are sitting uncomfortably on the sofa. He knows that they are the next to fall in love. Without a thought, he summons a most severe malevolent demon from beneath the floorboards that’s more than willing to oblige. The creature pushes his face right into the couple’s. It scares the b’jesus outta ‘em as they scream like little girls. The demon disappears as quickly as he manifested. There was silence for a while. A little bit of steam from where the creature vanished hovered in the air. Then, as Cupid had predicted, they fell lovingly into one another’s arms.
In E†ernity,
Brazillia R. Kreep
Cupid’s FliGHT
Uncertainty made him shudder
That old Cupid was quiet baffled
Tucked away his bow and arrow
In a faded ancient duffle bag
Shook his head in wonder
‘Cause he simply didn’t know
Why the arrow was deflected
Left stuck in barren soil
For he knew what he was aiming at
Seldom ever misses
While a tear falls down his cheek as he recalls
Buttons-up his color
Heading toward a highway
Of another lonely friendless concrete town
Looking in the mirror
Reflecting neon from his motel
Cupid does not need to shave his face at all
Although he’s older than the sunrise
Given wings by God almighty
For two lovers born in a garden long ago
But he doubts himself, you see
For the world truly keeps evolving
It seems love is playing awful hide n’ seek
So before he leaves forever
He visits one last time
Looks at them to touch their hearts to show
If it is him or something other
Hidden beneath the silence
Which is the sorrow come between them he can tell
Cupid searches for the answers
But swears it is so confusing
As he notices for the first time that his tiny hands are swollen
Much older than before
As the solace finds him
Holds him for several seconds
He decides to leave his duffle bag behind
Standing on the shoulder of an interstate leading nowhere
Cupid bids the world a sad farewell
Vanishing into thunder
Like when he first arrived there
While suddenly God’s tears begin to pour
Headlights cut the shimmer
As a couple stop their car
Pick up this drenched angelic wonder just to see
Written on the side
In crying magic marker
Love just wasn’t welcome anymore
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Dust T’dust
January 18, 2009 by Brazilla R. Kreep
Filed under Kreep's Korner
I have lived through many rigid times in America. Over the centuries, I have witnessed some awfully strange and fantastic trials surrounding our cultural composition. Especially during the Crash of 1929, preceding the Great Depression.
It is a dreadfully sad affair when you see your neighbors forced to move out of their lovely homes to bed down with friends and family; people desperately consolidating their lives to compensate for a quick n’ crumbling economy. It is frightening too because you fear the shadow of poverty and despair might envelope you next. It might tap you on the shoulder and whisper in your ear, “This way, please.”
Nothing was more peculiar, however, than to observe some of the ghosts and goblins on my block scrambling to readjust to this unanticipated human condition. Spirits were now aimlessly wandering the streets, haunting the alleyways and breadlines because their dwellings were now vacant of human beings. During these hauntingly needy times, not only the living suffered but also all the dead.
During this depression I was fortunate enough to find work on the college lecture circuit, regarding my book The Vampire – Allegory & Accuracy. Alas this only fascinated a small band of adolescent bloodsuckers calling themselves The Brood. This ragtag band of kids loved my observations, surprised by the exactness of my dissertations, and subsequently they followed me throughout the countryside. They too were falling on hard times, you see, because the wealth they amassed usually came from their affluent victims, and of late, they were as penniless as all.
Never the less, The Brood decided to create a community that, for better or for worse, feed off each other. They were, now more than ever, oddly particular in whom they let in to their tight-knit crimson tribe. It was no longer sufficient to randomly pick victims based on their stature. Now they had to assess the quality of their character as well. The Brood was morally evolving, no longer collecting monetarily but spiritually for the first time in their blood-sucking lives.
This was truly an optimistic outcome to a contemporary national crises, one that not only augmented the quality of their tribe overall, but allowed me to join them in their cause. Which I did immediately: it was inevitable; pulling together in a spiritual equality is why we survived into the next millennium–end of story.
An likewise, with today’s re-Depression looming, forcing all of us to reexamine our dependency on affluence and credit card misapprehensions, it is time to seek spiritual companionship with one another once again. Since we should never judge a person by the size of their wallet, for in these coarse times that mindset will certainly leave you, like the spirits were, wandering the streets alone. Yet the principle that we finally come together based on the quality of our hearts and not our bank accounts is a positive consequence of simply “losing it all”. And so it is my kreepy friends, dust t’dust. For you can’t take it with you in the end. For even the dead know this for certain.
In e†ernity,
Brazillia R. Kreep
Dust T’dust
O’ how we tally silver
In calm we count thy coins
Over n’ over
Over n’ over
Whilst family nurtures on
Tic tock thy clocks
Whoosh the winds of speculation
Care little for the squall
T’procure life’s devotions
Beyond white picket fences
Fancy trimmings
Gilded blessings
More n’ more
More n’ more
Fill t’brim t’overflowing
Further parent’s score
Until plastic cracks
Snaps thy credence
Bleeds upon the floor
Red, white, n’ blue
American dreaming
T’know nothing’s indissoluble
Dust t’dust
Dust t’dust
O’ tepid angels
Therefore
Wherefore
No more
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Twilight
December 5, 2008 by Brazilla R. Kreep
Filed under Kreep's Korner
Dear Love Thirsty Gothicans,
The notorious film Twilight, is a contemporary love story between a vampire and his human quarry starring Kristen Stewart as the exquisite Bella Swan. Deliciously directed by Catherine Hardwicke and based on the
best-selling novels by Stephenie Meyer, Twilight is a Gothic fairy-tale just ripe for all those young ladies and sensitive boys that adore living in angst-ridden shadows. Inspired more by Stephenie’s books, the
following ode honors the virgin emotions of falling in love for the very first bite. Enjoy.
in e†ernity,
Brazillia R. Kreep
In Twilight There
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In Twilight there
For nothing is as it appears
To be or not to be
That’s the riddle Shakespeare bled
So long ago for I was there
To see him in the mirror, then
In Twilight there
In Twilight
In Twilight
Twilight
there
In Twilight there
Is only us
two hearts beating feverishly
Beating, beating, rushing blood
To taste our own, to lick our tongues
Together while we run away
Live to fight another day
In Twilight there
In Twilight
In Twilight
Twilight
there
In Twilight there
Eyes locked
Climbing inside pupils
To see each other’s worlds
Walk hand in hand into the mist of it
See such wonder
Hear such thunder
Taste the salt that’s in the air
In Twilight there
In Twilight
In Twilight
Twilight
there
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The Exorcist
October 23, 2008 by Brazilla R. Kreep
Filed under Kreep's Korner
Dear Kreepy Krawlers,
I first saw William Peter Blatty’s The Exorcist, in a small suburban movie theatre nestled in the heart of Media, Pennsylvania–just West of Philadelphia. Afterwards, I slept with the lights on… for weeks. The idea
that the devil could just sweep into my body, and make me spew all over a priest had me absolutely terrified. I was an altar boy after all. I even knew where the Holy Water and the wine were stashed for goodness sake. I also hung around the priests, some old enough to remind me of the exorcist himself. While others had tales of actual exorcisms they had attended over the years. It was such a creepy existence after experiencing that
horror show.
The Exorcist, directed by Academy® Award-winner William Friedkin (The French Connection) is the scariest movie in the world. Period. I visit it only once in a blue moon after many glasses of wine or when I want to feel the warm release of my bowls. Such as after Regan (Linda Blair) walks backwards down the stairs like a spider in The Version You’ve Never Seen. Oh my God. I am sitting in a darkened theatre in Chicago, Illinois some thirty years later, knowing I can handle the scares because I know the film, I know it, every creepy nook and cranny. But when Regan runs down the stairs like an arachnid on speed I screamed along with several other unsuspecting souls. We all looked at each other. We were all going to be sleeping with the lights on… again.
So step on up, ladies and gentlemen! This is the original, the one and only most terrifying exorcism movie ever filmed. Watch it alone and in the dark, folks. I double-double-dare you.
In E†ernity,
The Kreep
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THE EXORCIST
Across the window pane an autumn leaf hovers
T’sway back and fourth
drop toward Boston street below
Float endlessly along concrete stairs
As hobgoblins n’ witches titter crosswalks
Whist beneath lamppost he stands in shadows
T’know duty holds him still
A Priest eyes the leaf,
Folding over n’ over
T’land at feet quite cold
How he knows what waits inside the girl
For it is endless
Without patience
All ego n’ bitterness scold
T’kill the slightest warmth
Bend most delicate devotion
Crush innocent soul
There in window peeking
Tiny leaf hitches another gust
T’disappear into the gloom
O’ exorcist t’cross himself
Stand more erect than his age permits
Removes his hat
T’approach such wickedness
Unyielding
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Halloween
October 10, 2008 by Brazilla R. Kreep
Filed under Kreep's Korner
Dear demented darlings,
Yes–being over 100 years old, Brazillia R. Kreep was old enough to have experienced John Carpenter’s brilliantly simple Halloween as it premiered in movie theatres all across America in late October of 1978. It terrified me, and my rather hefty assemblage of curious horror connoisseurs good n’ plenty (candy of choice). As I recall, our kreepy killer Michael Myers even sent some of the patrons running up the isles, and out into the lobby screaming, with a trail of spilt popcorn the only sign that they had attended this gory slash-fest. Of course such antics only added to the fun, and I knew in an instant that we were experiencing a horror cult classic of bloody-sized proportions.
Donald Pleasence (Dracula, Buried Alive) and Jamie Lee Curtis (The Fog, Prom Night) turn in bona fide gut-wrenching performances as the robotic murdering Myers turns their little town of Smiths Grove, Illinois bright red for All Saints Eve. But it was Carpenter’s score that took on a sinister personality of its own, alerting audiences that our brutal ripper was about to step out of the shadows for the kill. The theme song would become as famous as Bernard Herman’s Psycho and the Exorcist Tubular Bells theme.
Kreepy Krumbs:
Originally billed as The Babysitter Murders, Halloween received its now famous title before shooting began thanks in part to its producer Irwin Yablans (Halloween II, Halloween III), who discovered that no other film to date had used the infamous holiday for its title.
Michael Myers’ trademark mask was a last minute dime store find of a $1.98 Captain Kirk Halloween mask: eyes cut out, hair teased wild, and spray-painted all white by Production designer Tommy Lee Wallace.
Favorite standout performance: P.J. “Totally” Soles (Carrie, The Devil’s Rejects) who would go on to scream-queen stardom throughout the late 70’s and early 80’s.
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PRINCE OF HALLOWE’EN
A tinkling of boo ivory
Booming base t’deafening scream
Proclaims Michael Prince of Hallowe’en
T’splatter shameful sister dear
Strip her dreams
T’stab n’ shear
Expose all inward crimson sight
Then dawn a mask throughout the night
Unsuspecting lovers fierce
Teenies destined for the pierce
Rip thy flesh
Ribs t’heart
Bleed the naughty from the start
As the music echoes on
Count dead bodies all night long
For Michael Prince of Hallowe’en
The perfect murdering machine