Untitled #1 (a.k.a. This story does not have a fairy tale happy ending.)

Music: Me singing "Kill the Messenger" by Jack's Mannequin, with the electric fan whirring noisily in the background

A snippet of a short story in the making, just to get the ball rolling, get things (re)started, so to speak. Unbeta-ed, of course, so grammatical errors, subject-verb agreement errors, and typos may/might abound. Currently untitled too.

This story does not have a fairy tale happy ending.

Unlike Cinderella, there is no fairy godmother to grant wishes and no glass slippers to try on. Snow White’s seven dwarfs are not present to battle the evil witch, and no woodcutter to save Little Red Riding Hood from the hungry wolf. The beast continues to be a beast, and no Belle will ever fall in love and turn him back into the prince he once was.

There is only the lost young woman walking in the rain, bare feet caked with mud, white dress soaked with raindrops. She wanders around a deserted highway, summoned by an invisible force unknown yet familiar. She doesn’t remember her name, doesn’t know where she came from. She does not remember anything. She woke up and found herself in a shallow grave two months ago, but panic did not overcome her. She merely dug her way out and started searching for the source of that silent voice that beckons her.

And so she finds herself walking aimlessly in the streets, the pitter-patter of rain her only melody. How she survived those cold nights alone even she cannot tell. Many a times she felt danger lurking her way, and always she would escape before evil stops her in her tracks.

She feels that she is near her destination, that sooner or later she will meet the owner of this voice, the sole reason why she rose from the grave, why she, a lady Lazarus, continues to walk this earth.

back from the dead

Music: Someone Like You by Adele

Okaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay.

I have absolutely no excuse for not updating this journal since forever.

(Well, actually, I do, but they're boring excuses and are better off left unsaid.)

That being said, I promise to TRY (note the key word: TRY) to post more regularly, and wreck havoc upon the virtual world again.

/cue in evil laughter

For those who dropped a note (especially for my Sirkulo post), I apologize for not replying any sooner. I promise to get to that soon. I mean, right now. Right.

/bounces off to answer her e-mails

Horror QQ #17 - Girls are always supposed to be so pure

Music: Make Me Over by Lifehouse

I don't have much to say right now, except that I want to say a lot of things, but I've been tired as hell for the past couple of days that I don't even have enough strength left to write a lengthy post. So I'll just do this little excerpt thing and be on my way. This one's from one of my favorite books, George Orwell's 1984.

"What are these books like?" said Winston curiously.
"Oh, ghastly rubbish. They're boring, really. They only have six plots, but they swap them round a bit. Of course I was only on the kaleidoscopes. I was never in the Rewrite Squad. I'm not literary, dear--not even enough for that."
He learned with astonishment that all the workers in Pornosec, except the head of the department, were girls. The theory was that men, whose sex instincts were less controllable than those of women, were in greater danger of being corrupted by the filth they handled.
"They don't even like having married women there," she added. "Girls are always supposed to be so pure. Here's one who isn't, anyway."
She had her first love affair when she was sixteen, with a Party member of sixty who later committed suicide to avoid arrest. "And a good job too," said Julia. "Otherwise they'd have had my name out of him when he confessed." Since then there had been various others. Life as she saw it was quite simple. You wanted a good time; "they," meaning the Party, wanted to stop you having it; you broke the rules as best you could.

Horror QQ #16 - Cant' think of name

Music: City sounds at night

I'm so sleepy right now that I will postpone my rant about Ryan Murphy ruining Chord Overstreet for me because of that stupid Justin Bieber song. Or how he also ruined "Take Me or Leave Me," one of my favorite songs from RENT. Hopefully, a good night's sleep will stop me from sending him black, ticking boxes that explode upon contact. And I'm not even a Gleek.

And now, before I fall face-first on my spunky keyboard, I bring to you a passage from A Scanner Darkly.

A black-and-white evidently had noticed something in Charles Freck's driving that he hadn't noticed; it had taken off from its parking spot and was moving along behind him in traffic, so far without lights or siren, but . . .

Maybe I'm weaving or something, he thought. Fucking goddamn fuzzmobile saw me fucking up. I wonder what.

COP: "All right, what's your name?"

"My name?"(CAN'T THINK OF NAME.)

"You don't know your own name?" Cop signals to other cop in prowl car. "This guy is really spaced."

"Don't shoot me here." Charles Freck in his horror-fantasy number induced by the sight of the black-and-white pacing him. "At least take me to the station house and shoot me there, out of sight."

To survive in this fascist police state, he thought, you gotta always be able able to come up with a name, your name. At all times. That's the first they look for that you're wired, not being able to figure out who the hell you are.

Horror QQ #15 - Not an aerialist

Music: Dusk and Summer by Dashboard Confessional

True to my promise, here is my second horror QQ for tonight. I wanted to quote something from Odd Thomas, but then I remembered that I lent my copy of the book to a friend and will probably not get it back in a couple more months. And because I'm lazy to look for an excerpt online, I'm quoting something from Life Expectancy instead.

I'm not really afraid of clowns, but for those who are, you might want to skip this novel and search for something more happy-go-lucky instead, like, say, A Series of Unfortunate Events. Pfft. Right.

For an instant, Dad thought Beezo had used a clown gun, some trick firearm that squirted red ink. The doctor dropped to the floor, however, not with comic flair but with hideous finality, and the smell of blood plumed thick, too real.

Beezo turned to Dad and raised the pistol.

In spite of the rumpled porkpie hat and the short-sleeved coat and the bright patch on the seat of his pants, in spite of the white greasepaint and the rouged cheeks, nothing about Konrad Beezo was clownish at that moment. His eyes were those of a jungle cat, and it was easy to imagine that the teeth bared in his snarl were tiger fangs. He loomed, the embodiment of murderous dementia, demonic.

Dad thought that he, too, would be shot, but Beezo said, "Stay out of my way, Rudy Tock. I have no quarrel with you. You're not an aerialist."

- Life Expectancy, Dean Koontz (p.22)

Horror QQ #14 - A skull and a shoe and a pot full of goo

Music: For You to Notice by Dashboard Confessional

There's nothing much to say about this next book. It's supposed to be a petrifying parody of Goodnight Moon, except that I actually find the monsters cute, so they didn't scare me at all. Of course, I can't speak for all the three- to five-year-old kids who will read this. I'm jaded and cute little monsters do not scare me anymore, but I hope these little kids still have most of their innocence intact so that they can enjoy a good scare.

In the cold gray tomb

There was a gravestone

And a black lagoon

And a picture of--

Martians taking over the moon

And there were three little mummies rubbing their tummies

And two hairy claws

And a set of jaws

And a loud screechy bat

And a black hat

And a skull and a shoe and a pot full of goo

And a hairy old werewolf who was hollering "Boo"

(no, you have to get a copy of the book to see the other half)

Sticky Note: No horror QQ tonight

Music: Equilibrium movie in the background

Due to circumstances beyond my control, I will not be able to post a horror QQ for tonight. I will, however, make up for it by posting twice tomorrow.

Tomorrow, then! XD

Horror QQ #13 - It is only the sacred things that are worth touching

Music: The Spirit of Giving by The New Pornographers

I like Dorian Gray. I think there's something tragic about his life (which is pretty much the case with some book characters anyway), and I feel sad with how his innocence had melted away and replaced with such perversion and...emptiness. I also like Ben Barnes...well, actually, Ben Barnes in the movie version of the book. I hated the Emily character though, and the fact that they changed the ending and added another woman character that wasn't even supposed to be there, especially since I kind of like Sibyl Vane, or at least, what she represents in Dorian's life. Plus, Sibyl was an actress, and the actress who portrayed her in the movie is the same actress who did the Wendy role for Peter Pan, which I absolutely loved.

But I digress.

For the night before Valentines day, I've decided to quote a passage from the novel The Picture of Dorian Gray by Oscar Wilde, specifically the conversation between Dorian and Lord Henry (never liked him, both in the novel and film) about Sibyl.

"But an actress! How different an actress is! Harry! Why didn't you tell me that the only thing worth loving is an actress?"

"Because I have loved so many of them, Dorian."

"Oh, yes; horrid people with dyed hair and painted faces."

"Don't run down dyed hair and painted faces. There is an extraordinary charm in them, sometimes," said Lord Henry.

"I wish now I had not told you about Sibyl Vane."

"You could not have helped telling me, Dorian. All through your life you will tell me everything you do."

"Yes, Harry, I believe that is true. I cannot help telling you things. You have a curious influence over me. If I ever did a crime, I would come and confess it to you. You would understand me."

"People like you--the willful sunbeams of life--don't commit crimes, Dorian. But I am much obliged for the compliment, all the same. And now tell me--reach me the matches, like a good boy: thanks--what are your actual relations with Sibyl Vane?"

Dorian leaped to his feet, with flushed cheeks and burning eyes. "Harry, Sibyl Vane is sacred!"

"It is only the sacred things that are worth touching, Dorian," said Lord Henry, with a strange touch of pathos in his voice. "But why should you be annoyed? I suppose she will belong to you some day. When one is in love, one always begins by deceiving one's self, and one always ends by deceiving others. That is what the world calls a romance."

Horror QQ #12 - An adult wolf has 42 teeth

Music: Mirrors and Smoke by Jars of Clay

About two years ago, I went through a very short "fetish for wolves" phase in my life as a children's books collector. I have no idea why or how it all began, but by the end of my temporary madness, I managed to buy six picture books, which include, but not limited to, The True Story of the 3 Little Pigs! By A. Wolf (which I found after digging through piles and piles of children's books in five different Book Sale outlets) and Lon Po Po (a Chinese retelling of Little Red Riding Hood).

One of the books I bought during that phase is Wolves by Emily Gravett, which won the Kate Greenaway Medal in 2006 for its illustrations. (I haven't found a copy of her other book Wolves Don't Bite, but I am not giving up.) Quoting the whole book will not make any sense because the illustrations are what made the book special (and a little scary, if you're a three-year-old). So with the help of ever-reliable Google, I searched for uploaded pages of the book, just so you guys will get a feel of what the story is about.

Credits for the illustrations belong to Emily Gravett. Credits for the scanning/ uploading of the pages on the web belong to the respective scanners/ uploaders.

An adult wolf has 42 teeth. Its jaws are twice as powerful as those of a large dog.

Wolves eat mainly meat. They hunt large prey such as deer, bison and moose.

They also enjoy smaller mammals, like beavers, voles and . . .

(well, you have to read the rest of the book to find out)

Horror QQ #11 - A book with teeth and claws

Music: City sounds on a warm Friday night

It's 11:30 in the evening, and I just came home from a funny, feel-good play by Ateneo de Manila's Blue Repertory entitled Stages of Love, and although I do not celebrate Valentines, nobody said I couldn't laugh about love. (Actually, I got home at around 10:30 p.m., but had only gotten around to writing now.)

So laugh I did.

But hormones are terrible things, and combine them with a wave of mean cramps, and BAM!, we got ourselves a very cranky little me.

No review for the play tonight, sorry.

Plus, since I'm technically in a bad mood, I'm quoting something from a children's book, because children's books always make me feel better (well, most of them, anyway). This is a lesson for young kids not to read a book with smudgy, syrupy fingers. Because some books eat people. Like this one, whose title is, well, what do you know, The Book That Eats People by John Perry, with illustrations by Mark Fearing. I'm excerpting lines worth two spreads, so, well, enjoy.

This is a bad book. A book with teeth and claws. It's a monster that eats people. You should throw it in the fireplace on the coldest February day. You should grind it page by page in your daddy's coffee grinder.

Experts say that when a book eats someone it's either self-defense or a mistake, and the book never eats anyone again.

But this book ate Sammy, Victoria, Mr. Singh, and then it ate Joey, Juan, and Isabel when they found it in a heap of boxes on a street in Philadelphia.

Of course, someone from Neighborhood Watch saw the book eat those three kids and called the police.

They took it and locked it in a jail cell, where it ate Chuck Anderson, who deserved it.

Some people it's cruel to chain a book. The guards did it anyway.

*****

Horror QQ #12 - An adult wolf has 42 teeth

Horror QQ #10 - Life's too slippery for books

Horror QQ #10 - Life's too slippery for books

Music: TV noise in the background

I wanted to quote something from Left Behind by Tim LaHaye, but I couldn't find a nice enough excerpt (or rather, I'm too lazy to go over the whole book again). So I'm quoting something from Thomas Harris's The Silence of the Lambs instead. This is the only Hannibal Lecter novel I've read, although I hope I can read the other books in the future. I haven't seen the movie either (I only saw Hannibal Rising and I didn't really like it), but again, I hope to be able to watch it some other time. In the meantime, I'm quoting one of the many conversations between Clarice and Dr. Lecter, and hope that this will suffice.

"Dr. Bloom saw that coming?"

"He said he did."

"He saw it coming, but he kept it to himself. I see. What do you think, Clarice?"

"I'm not sure."

"You have some psychology, some forensics. Where the two flow together you fish, don't you? Catching anything, Clarice?"

"It's pretty slow so far."

"What do your two disciplines tell you about Buffalo Bill?"

"By the book, he's a sadist."

"Life's too slippery for books, Clarice; anger appears as lust, lupus presents as hives," Dr. Lecter finished sketching his left hand with his right, switched the charcoal and began to sketch his left, and just as well. "Do you mean Dr. Bloom's book?"

"Yes."

"You looked me up in it, didn't you?"

"Yes."

"How did he describe me?"

"A pure sociopath."

"Would you say Dr. Bloom is always right?"

"I'm still waiting for the shallowness of affect."

*****

Horror QQ #11 - A book with teeth and claws

Horror QQ #9 - Chitchat about dismemberment techniques

Horror QQ #9 - Chitchat about dismemberment techniques

Music: TV noise in the background (I should really start locking myself in my room when I write)

I have already quoted something from Darkly Dreaming Dexter and Dexter in the Dark. Now it's time for an excerpt from the second book, Dearly Devoted Dexter. Unfortunately, I do not yet have a copy of Dexter by Design and Dexter is Delicious, so my quotable quotes from the series will have to end here.

No time for mourning though, because I bring you Dexter Morgan once again, with his usual wit and charisma very much intact.

A reasonable being might think that he and I could find some common ground; have a cup of coffee and compare our Passengers, exchange trade talk and chitchat about dismemberment techniques. But no: Doakes wanted me dead. And I found it difficult to share his point of view.

Doakes had been working with Detective LaGuerta at the time of her somewhat suspicious death, and since then his feelings toward me had grown to be a bit more active than simple loathing. Doakes was convinced that I’d had something to do with LaGuerta’s death. This was totally untrue and completely unfair. All I had done was watch—where’s the harm in that? Of course I had helped the real killer escape, but what could you expect? What kind of person would turn in his own brother? Especially when he did such neat work.

Well, live and let live, I always say. Or quite often, anyway. Sergeant Doakes could think what he wanted to think, and that was fine with me. There are still very few laws against thinking, although I’m sure they’re working hard on that in Washington. No, whatever suspicions the good sergeant had about me, he was welcome to them. But now that he had decided to act on his impure thoughts my life was a shambles. Dexter Derailed was fast becoming Dexter Demented.

And why? How had this whole nasty mess begun? All I had done was try to be myself.

*****

Horror QQ #10 - Life's too slippery for books

Horror QQ #8 - Beautiful this little place

Horror QQ #8 - Beautiful this little place

Music: TV noise in the background

I used to like vampires. I find the idea of their existence in literature and films intriguing, mysterious. When I was younger I'd imagine what it was like to be a vampire--of living forever, of never being able to be go out in the sun, of sucking the blood of unsuspecting victims, of transforming into a pack of bats that would put Batman's little pets to shame.

Then Twilight happened.

Now all I can think about when I hear the word "vampire" is half-naked men sparkling under the sun. Damn you Meyer, for forever destroying one of my childhood fantasies.

In an attempt to salvage what is left of my childhood delusions, I'm quoting lines from Anne Rice's The Vampire Lestat. Sure, Rice's vampires cannot compare to the classics, but I'll choose Lestat or Armand over Edward Cullen any day. Heck, I'll even go as far as pick Louis over him, no matter how annoyingly boring the protagonist of Interview With the Vampire is.

It seemed Nicki stirred. But maybe it was only the growing illumination on his profile, the soft light that emanated out from the stage into the darkened hall. The deep folds of the velvet came alive everywhere; the ornate little mirrors affixed to the front of the gallery and the loges became lights themselves.

Beautiful this little place, our place. The portal to the world for us as mortal beings. And the portal finally to hell.

When I was finished, I stood on the boards looking at the gilded railings, the new chandelier that hung from the ceiling, and up at the arch overhead with its masks of comedy and tragedy like two faces stemming from the same neck.

It seemed so much smaller when it was empty, this house. No theater in Paris seemed larger when it was full.

[...]

I went past Nicki, who had never once looked up at me, and down the little stairs behind him, and came towards him with the violin.

[...]

I lowered the violin over Nicki's shoulder and held it in his lap. I felt him move, as if he had taken a great breath. The back of his head pressed against me. And slowly he lifted his left hand to take the neck of the violin and he took the bow with his right.

I knelt and put my hands on his shoulders. I kissed his cheek. No human scent. No human warmth. Sculpture of my Nicolas.

"Play it," I whispered. "Play it here just for us."

Slowly he turned to face me, and for the first time since the moment of the Dark Trick, he looked into my eyes. He made some tiny sound. It was so strained it was as if he couldn't speak anymore. The organs of speech had closed up. But then he ran his tongue along his lip, and so low I scarcely heard him said:

"The devil's instrument."

"Yes," I said. If you must believe that, then believe it. But play.

- The Vampire Lestat, Anne Rice (pp. 258-259)

*****

Horror QQ #9 - Chitchat about dismemberment techniques

Horror QQ #7 - The ruins of a man

Horror QQ #7 - The ruins of a man

Music: TV noise in the living room

I had dinner with some college friends earlier. Ergo, I was not able to write that reflection for that Sunday preaching...again. To be fair, I don't blame my friends. I have a feeling that even if we didn't meet up, I'd still find an excuse to postpone writing that post.

Anyway.

Time for the daily QQ. This one comes from Leaf Storm by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, and I think there's no better way to give a synopsis of the book than by quoting the teaser on the back cover:

Drenched by rain, the town has been decaying ever since the banana company left. Its people are sullen and bitter, so when a doctor -- a foreigner who ended up the most hated man in town -- dies, there is no one to mourn him. But also living in the town is the Colonel, who is bound to honour a promise made many years ago. The Colonel and his family must bury the doctor, despite the inclination of their fellow inhabitants that his corpse be forgotten and left to rot.

So, without further delay, here we go:

Nothing in this world can be more fearsome than the ruins of a man. And those of this citizen of nowhere who sat up in the hammock when he saw us come in were even worse, and he himself seemed to be covered by the coat of dust that covered everything in the room. His head was steely and his hard yellow eyes still had the powerful inner strength that I had seen in them in my house. I had the impression that if we'd scratched him with our nails his body would have fallen apart, turning into a pile of human sawdust. He'd cut his mustache but he hadn't shaved it off. He'd used shears on his beard so that his chin didn't seem to be sown with hard and vigorous sprouts but with soft, white fuzz. Seeing him in the hammock I thought: He doesn't look like a man now. Now he looks like a corpse whose eyes still haven't died.

*****

Horror QQ #8 - Beautiful this little place

Horror QQ #6 - A great deal of faith

Horror QQ #6 - A great deal of faith

Music: The soft whirring of the electric fan

I wanted to write something about the message in our evening worship service, but I feel like I need to think about certain points first so I can make a half-decent post. So I'll do that tomorrow instead (hopefully).

In the meantime, here's the daily horror QQ from the third book in the Dexter series, Dexter in the Dark. Although the first part saddened me (because it is possible for people to feel the same in the real world), the second part made up for it. Not to sound preachy (especially not by using a crime fiction novel), but really, if we do put Christ first, everything else will fall into place. That's what I believe.

'A relationship in today's world needs a strong foundation in faith,' he said, looking at me expectantly. 'Dexter? How about it?'

[...]

I don't know if it's worse to lie to a minister than to anyone else, but I did want to get this interview over quickly and painlessly, and could that possibly happen if I told the truth? Suppose I did and said something like, Yes, I have a great deal of faith, Reverend -- in human greed and stupidity, and in the sweetness of sharp steel on a moonlit night. I have faith in the dark unseen, the cold chuckle from the shadow inside, the absolute clarity of the knife. Oh yes, I have faith, Reverend, and beyond faith -- I have certainty, because I have seen the bleak bottom line and I know it is real; it's where I live.

But really, that was hardly calculated to reassure the man, and I surely didn't need to worry about going to hell for telling a lie to the minister. If there is actually a hell, I already have a front-row seat. So I merely said, 'Faith is very important,' and he seemed to be happy with that.

[...]

'Any other questions?' he asked me with a very satisfied smile. 'About our church, or anything about the ceremony?'

'Why, no,' I said. 'It seems very straightforward.'

'We like to think so,' he said. 'As long as we put Christ first, everything else falls into place.'

'Amen,' I said brightly.

*****

Horror QQ #7 - The ruins of a man

Horror QQ #5 - A psycho behind the wheel

Horror QQ #5 - A psycho behind the wheel

Music: The Re-arranger by Mates of State

I bought my own copy of The Bone Collector for Php35.00 about three years ago. I visited one of my favorite bookstores in Ortigas, and the manager told me that they're holding a sale for old paperbacks. Because we've known each other from the events I've coordinated for them in the past, she let me enter their staff room so I can get first dibs on the discounted titles. Jeffrey Deaver's book is one of the books I bought.

I'm not really a fan of Angelina Jolie, but I love Denzel Washington. Ergo, I have mixed feelings about The Bone Collector movie. Of course, there are elements in the book that were changed in the film, but most novel-to-film adaptations are like that anyway. In any case, I enjoyed the book better, mostly because instead of the Queen Latifa caretaker, I got Thom.

Anyway (again), here's the fifth QQ for this month, although you have to read the book (or at least a chapter-by-chapter summary) to understand what they're talking about.

"Everybody's nightmare," Cooper said, "you get into a cab and turns out there's a psycho behind the wheel. And the whole world's watching the Big Apple 'causa that conference. Wondered if they might not bring you out of retirement for this one."

"How's your mother?" Rhyme asked.

"Still complaining about every ache and pain. Still healthier than me."

- The Bone Collector, Jeffrey Deaver (p.68)

*****

Horror QQ #6 - A great deal of faith

Horror QQ #4- We're all crazy in our sleep

hair extensions, anyone? (a sort of review [but not really] of Exte: Hair Extensions

Music: None, unless you count the city noise in the nighttime as music

I might have exceeded my posting quota for the day (is there even one?), but then again it's past midnight anyway so technically, it's no longer Friday. Plus, I don't think I'll be able to sleep easily, not after the movie I just watched.

Three facts only a few people know about me:

1. I love Chiaki Kuriyama. I saw her first in Battle Royale, then in Kill Bill Volume 1, and then I made it a personal mission to see her other movies and TV series, like Hagetaka (TV), Ashita no Kita Yoshio (TV), and Ju-on (movie). If there was one Japanese actress that I absolutely adore, that would be her.

2. I love horror films. Not the watered down Hollywood remakes, but the original Asian version. There's nothing better than a good scream that comes after a truly scary scene. Unfortunately, not a lot of horror movies can do that for me.

3. I enjoy watching Japanese shows. There are quite a few exaggerated (or even lame) acting, and some really bizarre story lines, but I guess it's all a matter of perspective.

Anyway.

I watched Exte: Hair Extensions because a) it's a horror movie, and b) it has Chiaki Kuriyama in it. Because I know that Japanese films can be "way out there," I wasn't really expecting something that should be expected of a generic horror film.

But OMGWTFBBQ.

Asiamediawiki summarizes Exte's plot as follows:

A beautiful young girl is found brutally murdered within a container full of hair. A man with an insatiable hair fetish steals the corpse, which grows hair endlessly, and fashions hair extensions to sell to salons. Little does he realize that the extensions carry the fury of the girl's vengeance, killing anyone who wears them. Director Shion Sono (who also directed Into a Dream) ingeniously mixes comedy with fright in this hilarious and hair raising J-horror.

I don't know about hair-raising, but it was certainly hilarious, and not always in a good way. The main antagonist, Gunji Yamazaki (Ren Osugi) was such a creeptoid I can't even bear to hate him. His job as a mortician should be creepy enough, but his hair fetish is even worse. Plus, I keep picturing him as the bartender Shinichi in Yamato Nadeshiko Shichi Henge, so I can't really take him seriously as a villain in a horror film.

Chiaki's performance is good (or maybe I'm just biased), although there were low points here and there. Still, a convincing performance, overall. I love the parts where she would talk to herself, like narrating her actions in a third person's point of view. Not a lot of people could pull that off without looking utterly ridiculous. And then there's that scene with the broken shard of glass she tries to cut Yamazaki with (she actually did, but instead of blood, hair sprayed out of his neck...insert uneasy shudder here), and it's Battle Royale all over again. At least she didn't aim for his balls this time.

Overall, an okay movie. Not really scary (although the first scene, when the guards saw the dead woman's face amongst all that hair in the cargo container, scared me good), but not that crappy either. Can be watched alone in the house, with the lights closed, because you won't get the feeling that a cold, white hand will suddenly tap you on the shoulder. You might never want to have hair extensions after, though.

Want to give it a try? Here's the YouTube link, for starters:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5FEbGiC-K7k&feature=related

You can always order the DVD after :)

Oh, and just a final share, one of the funniest lines in the movie, said by the detective to his assistant/partner:

(about Yamazaki):

"Don't judge people based on them creeping you out."

Off to bed now for me! ^^

meet Dexter Morgan, polite wolf in sheep’s clothing

Music: I'll Be by Edwin McCain

This is my Darkly Dreaming Dexter review from way back March 2010. Here's hoping I can start writing the one for Dearly Devoted Dexter soon.

***

Finally finished Darkly Dreaming Dexter by Jeff Lindsay.

The back cover gives us a brief synopsis of the book:

He’s handsome and charming, but something in his past has made him abide by a different set of rules. He’s a serial killer whose one golden rule makes him immensely likeable: he only kills bad people.

His job as a blood splatter expert for the Miami police department puts him in the perfect position to identify his victims. But when a series of brutal murders bearing a striking similarity to his own style start turning up, Dexter is caught between being flattered and being frightened -- of himself or some other fiend.

Praises for the book includes:

"Demonology has a dastardly new darling." – The New York Times

"With chills like these, you can skip the air-conditioning." – Time

"Entertaining… Dexter is a fascinating character, though he’s not the kind of guy you’d like to invite to dinner." – Chicago Sun-Times

Personally, I’d invite him to dinner. I have nothing to worry about, I think. I mean, I’m not perfect and I sometimes border between meanness and insanity (wait, aren’t they from the same side of the fence?), but I highly doubt Dexter would care two cents about me. One: I don’t kill little kids. And as fans of the first book might notice (and I surely hope they did), Dexter is very fond of children (which is ironic, since he’s supposed to be void of human emotions). But he is, and most of his targets (Father Donovan, Jamie Jaworski) are kid-nappers and killers. So as long as I keep my kid-bullying to a minimum (not that I bully kids, I swear I don’t!), I think I’ll be safe. Two: Aside from the usual whacks and punches (and kicks and bites too, sometimes) I give my close friends, I dislike hurting people. No one has ever filed a complaint about me hitting them so badly they had to be sent to a hospital for a CT scan, and I haven’t pushed anyone, not even those people who irritate me, down the stairs. (Well, I threw a marble at a kid when I was in grade school, but I blame him and his constant stalking for that.) So I really doubt if Dexter will be interested in me. I’d be as boring to him as a sack of rotting potatoes… or something like that.

Now.

I guess one of the things I really like about our hero is his ability to engage in witty banter with other characters, even when the situation does not call for it. During breakfast with his foster sister Deborah, this conversation took place:

"How was your date last night?"

"A lot of fun," I said. "You should try it sometime."

"Feh," said Deborah.

"You can’t spend all your nights standing on Tamiami Train in your underwear, Deb. You need a life."

"I need a transfer," she snarled at me. "To Homicide Bureau. Then we’ll see about a life."

"I understand," I said. "It would certainly sound better for the kids to say Mommie’s in homicide."

"Dexter, for Christ’s sake," she said.

"It’s a natural thought, Deborah. Nephews and nieces. More little Morgans. Why not?"

She blew out a long breath. "I thought Mom was dead," she said.

"I’m channeling her," I said. "Through the cherry Danish."

"Well, change the channel. What do you know about cell crystalization?"

I blinked. "Wow," I said. "You just blew away all the competition in the Subject Changing Tournament." (pp.83-84, 2004 paperback edition)

Note that the date they were talking about didn’t exactly end well. But I’ll let you guys read the book to find out why.

Dexter also likes entertaining his readers by way of narration coated with dark/dry humor. During one of his killing escapades (with Jamie Jaworski, this time):

"Let’s talk," we said in the Dark Passenger’s gentle, cold voice.

He didn’t know if he was allowed to speak, and the duct tape would have made it difficult in any case, so he stayed silent.

"Let’s talk about runaways," we said, ripping the duct tape from his mouth.

"Yaaaooww--Whu--whataya mean?" he said. But he was not very convincing.

"I think you know what I mean," we told him.

"Nuh-no," he said.

"Yuh-yes," we said.

Probably one word too clever. My timing was off, the whole evening was off. But he got brave. He looked up at me in my shiny face. "What are you, a cop or something?" he asked.

"No," we said, and sliced off his left ear. (pp.172-173)

In normal circumstances, it is not supposed to be funny. I mean, slicing off another person’s ear was nothing to laugh about. But by that point in the book, readers have already established the fact that Dexter is an unfeeling monster whose only delight is slicing up monsters worse than him. I guess this reason shouldn’t justify chuckling at his jokes or attempts at witty exclamations, but somehow it does.

My personal favorite line from the book is found in page 284. Dexter was having a long soliloquy about the possibility (or impossibility) of sleep murder and his involvement in it. And as such:

"Weren’t we all crazy in our sleep? What was sleep, after all, but the process by which we dumped our insanity into a dark subconscious pit and came out on the other side ready to eat cereal instead of the neighbor’s children?"

Lovely, lovely. Good writing, is it not?

Darkly Dreaming Dexter is not your typical good-cop-bad-cop story, and it introduces a wide array of characters that you will either love or hate with utmost fervor (and I’m not talking about the children killers here). There’s even an interesting twist in the end as bonus. For people who are interested in crime/thriller/suspense/slasher fiction, I would like to recommend this book. For those who still believes in fairy tales and all that, I suggest you grab a copy of Snow White (Disney version) instead. Unless you want to be converted. Dexter just might show you the way.

Oh, and did I mention that this book inspired the hit Showtime series Dexter in TV? No? Well, there you go. Another reason to try it out then.

Horror QQ #4 - We're all crazy in our sleep

Music: Who Are You by The Who

Dexter Morgan is quite a character. Or, to be more correct, he has no character. He's a mean, lean killing machine. But the good people in Miami shouldn't worry. He's only after the bad guys, mostly pedophiles. Because although he's supposed to be void of emotions, children hold a special spot in his heart.

Anyway.

I did a sort of review for Jeff Lindsay's first Dexter book Darkly Dreaming Dexter a few years back, so I guess reposting it here should be easy. I told myself I'd review the second book Dearly Devoted Dexter, but my brain cells have been uncooperative so I'll do that some other time. I'm currently in the middle of reading the third book, Dexter in the Dark, so a review for that one is also in order.

In the meantime, I'm quoting my favorite passage from the first book, in time for our daily horror QQ. So, here you go!

“Weren’t we all crazy in our sleep? What was sleep, after all, but the process by which we dumped our insanity into a dark subconscious pit and came out on the other side ready to eat cereal instead of the neighbor’s children?”

*****

Horror QQ #5 - A psycho behind the wheel

Horror QQ #3 - Footprints of a gigantic hound

Horror QQ #3 - Footprints of a gigantic hound

Music: Pale Ale from the Hunter X Hunter OST

It's time for our daily dose of horror! The excerpt for today/tonight comes from Sir Arthur Conan Doyle's famous novel The Hound of the Baskervilles. This is the first Sherlock Holmes story I've ever read, and probably one of the cases I truly enjoyed. There is something to be said of Sherlock Holmes's wit. And I just love to get myself a bit of a mystery, horror, and smartassness.

"On the night of Sir Charles's death Barrymore the butler who made the discovery sent Perkins the groom on horseback to me, and as I was sitting up late I was able to reach Baskerville Hall within an hour of the event. I checked and corroborated all the facts which were mentioned at the inquest. I followed the footsteps down the yew alley, I saw the spot at the moor-gate where he seemed to have waited, I remarked the change in the shape of the prints after that point, I noted that there were no other footsteps save those of Barrymore on the soft gravel, and finally I carefully examined the body, which had not been touched until my arrival. Sir Charles lay on his face, his arms out, his fingers dug into the ground, and his features convulsed with some strong emotion to such an extent that I could hardly have sworn to his identity. There was certainly no physical injury of any kind. But one false statement was made by Barrymore at the inquest. He said that there were no traces upon the ground round the body. He did not observe any. But I did -- some little distance off, but fresh and clear."

"Footprints?"

"Footprints."

"A man's or a woman's?"

Dr. Mortimer looked strangely at us for an instant, and his voice sank almost to a whisper as he answered:

"Mr. Holmes, they were the footprints of a gigantic hound!"

*****

Horror QQ #4 - We're all crazy in our sleep

Horror QQ #2 - Copulation and mirrors