New Year's Day Cthulhu (Welcome to 2022)

(Warning: This blog post does NOT contain hugs and sunshine)

 

Another day, another year. The Covid pandemic continues, the planet warms, political leaders (mostly) continue to be crappy, etc. Maybe it's time we just realize that it's all going to shit and the only thing that can "save" us is to bring forth the Lovecraftian cosmic deity, Cthulhu, to cleanse this earth of its mediocrity and evil.

Cue Metallica (and the San Francisco Symphony Orchestra) - The Call of Ktulu (Cthulhu) - and bring on the apocalypse!

"I'm Not Your Mary"

[This post was going to be some photos of Pyramid Head, James and Maria but it seems to have morphed into a (highly intellectual) dissertation of Silent Hill 2]

In the 2001 psychological horror video game, Silent Hill 2, gamers were introduced to the enigmatic creature named Pyramid Head. His name is somewhat self explanatory:

Pyramid Head has become something of an icon among horror gamers of Earth. Much wordage has been devoted to the deconstruction of "that red triangle thing" and especially to exploring his connection to the tormented psyche of the protagonist of the game, James Sunderland. Here is James, displaying his tormented psyche:

Many analyzes see Pyramid Head (as well as most of the monsters, certainly the 'bubble-head' nurses and 'legs' mannequins) as representing James' unsatisfied sexual desires and the resulting frustration he feels. The reason for his sexual unfulfillment being that he hasn't been getting any lovin' as his wife had been very sick and he wouldn't be unfaithful to her, and even after she died - apparently 3 years earlier - he hasn't been able to move on. Pyramid Head's seminal (albeit without any semen or, indeed, a penis) first cutscene appearance has certainly influenced this theory:

This scene is often referred to as the "Pyramid Head Rape Scene", though I question if 'rape' is the correct descriptor. If this scene does depict rape (or a representation of rape), does this imply that James has raped? Or contemplated or fantasized about rape? Given that the received wisdom - and specifically, James' statement before his final battle with Pyramid Head - is that Pyramid Head exists to punish James (for his weakness and transgressions), then it would be reasonable to link Pyramid Head's actions in this scene directly to James. But it may not be explicitly about rape.

The "rape" that's being witnessed in the cutscene may be more akin to a weird, and unsettling, sex dream. Are Pyramid Head's motions/gyrations during the scene actually violent or are they somewhat rough or 'violently' passionate or overtly dominating???? The distorted moaning noises heard during the scene evoke a sexual context, with a suggestion of pain - maybe James associates sex or sexual intimacy with pain (physical and/or emotional). But if this scene is sexual, it's not clear to me if the mannequins are consenting or not; Pyramid Head grabs their legs, which are flailing around, but that doesn't inherently mean that the mannequin's legs are pushing him away; maybe they're just kicking around with reckless abandon, without a specific purpose. When the scene ends, the mannequins are motionless on the ground; seemingly they are now dead. Did Pyramid Head rape them to death or (consensually) shag them to death? Either conclusion is pretty messed up. But are the mannequins even dead? The mannequins don't attack James once Pyramid Head is finished with them but I don't know if this is proof that they are dead, maybe they just lie on the floor once James/Pyramid Head has finished his crazy sex dream.

A subsequent cutscene involving Pyramid Head and another monster (officially known as a Lying Figure, though I call it a Puker) is further amped up, with the moaning noises sounding extremely orgasm and pain but with more ambiguity - to me at least - as to what the hell Pyramid Head is doing:

I think that a definitive interpretation of Pyramid Head in these scenes is not entirely possible and any analysis is greatly reliant on the subjectivity of the analyzer. But in terms of James' response - in both cutscenes, upon witnessing Pyramid Head's actions, James is visibly distressed and attempts to flee the situation - it is clear that the part of James' psyche from which these scenes have been extracted and distorted is very frightening to James and he would prefer to run away, or hide in a closet:

Then there is The Maroon Menace, or as she is actually named, Maria. James keeps mistaking Maria for his dead wife (named Mary). It happens, we've all been there. Maria looks like Mary, sounds like Mary, but in James' mind, she couldn't possibly be Mary because Mary behaved and dressed like a nun, whereas Maria is a total skank. And, for good measure, Maria is a dancer (though not a reggae skank dancer) at Heaven's Night, Silent Hill's very own nudie bar. Here is Maria, explaining to James that she's not his Mary:

The whole Mary/Maria thing is a bit too virgin/whore, in my opinion. I would prefer that a doppelganger of my dead spouse (if I had one, either dead or alive) be more nuanced (though I wouldn't mind him being sexually available to me whenever I wanted! as Maria seems to be implying she is to James). Maria is another manifestation of James' (somewhat sex-obsessed) psyche but she also exists to punish him. [Spoiler Alert: It is eventually revealed that James actually smothered his Mary with a pillow after years of watching her deteriorate, both physically and mentally, and being subjected to verbal vitriol from her]. Many releases of Silent Hill 2 contain a sub-game titled Born From a Wish, where the protagonist is Maria. Maria has been created purely for James to interact with, and her manifesto is to be totally for James. Here she is, following James around with total devotion (and possibly checking out his butt):

Of course, such single minded devotion to another is not healthy and it takes a toll on both James and Maria. James (and when I say 'James', I mean me when I'm playing as James) starts to get a little creeped out by Maria's over familiarity with him and unnerved by her constant hovering. Maria, meanwhile, is doing what James' psyche created her to do, ie clinging to him, yet he keeps pushing her away and mistaking her for Mary. Fuck you, James! What a cunt. Don't you realize Maria is the embodiment of "Be careful what you wish for"? Maria, quite understandably, starts to lose her shit at this impossible and unfair situation and lashes out at James:

And lashing out at James is exactly what Mary used to do, though presumably only when she was dying and she was angry about dying and maybe the disease physically affected her brain (I'm not completely clear on this last point). James became torn between loving Mary and resenting, even hating, her. As James' journey through Silent Hill draws to an end, and after dodging or killing or maiming many manic monster manifestations (!), James eventually finds a video tape which reveals to him that he killed Mary (up until this point in the game he had been in a disassociated state believing Mary had died from her illness, three years earlier). It is also worth noting that at various points during the game, Pyramid Head 'kills' Maria (Maria keeps reappearing, though, 'cos Fuck You, James!), hinting to James the ultimate shocking truth. James, quite understandably, freaks out after finding out how Mary really died:

James finally has a conversation/confrontation/battle with a Silent Hill version of either Maria or Mary (depending on the player's actions during the game), which is then followed by one of three possible endings (on a first play through): Leave, Maria, In Water.

Leave sees James accepting what happened and moving on with his life and away from Silent Hill.

In the Maria ending, James decides he wants to be with Maria (I take this to mean he'll be continuing to live in some kind of delusional state of mind) and the two of them appear to be walking away from Silent Hill when Maria starts coughing, just as Mary had at the beginning of her illness. I had initially felt this to be a creepy ending, but upon reflection, I decided it could act as a form of therapy for James, still in a very fractured state, whereby he explores his demons with Maria, maybe eventually overcoming them and moving on. It could form the beginning of a healing process, though it could also send him insane.

For the In Water ending, James takes a wild, and presumably suicidal, ride, driving his car into Toluca Lake to 'be with Mary' (a commonly held belief among Silent Hill 2 enthusiasts is that Mary's body is in the back seat of James' car - so, by driving the car into the lake, with Mary's body in the car, he can be with her both on earth and in the afterlife...unless they're not going to the same place...).

Silent Hill 2 is a very narrative driven game (maybe 'game' isn't quite the right word...perhaps 'experience' is more apt). It poses some tough moral questions and has provoked much discussion and theorizing about James' actions, the imagery and noise of the monsters and of the environment, and the themes the game explores. Its underlying story is very real and very human. James' real world ordeal and trauma is not outlandish fiction. Near the end of the game the player is shown a note from Mary which states that despite James' apparent surly demeanour, he is actually very sweet. I suspect this is true. I imagine that James, being a man, especially a young man, would have been subject to notions of tough guy masculinity, and so could likely have believed that he was expected to cope with whatever the world threw at him and not admit his distress or pain or seek help or counsel. And even if he did admit that he wasn't coping and tried to seek help, where would he go for help? I wonder if James had been older, with a bit more life wisdom, he might have found the reserves to endure his "long three years" (it is revealed, in the 'Maria' ending, that Mary was actually sick for three years), but if he had endured, then we wouldn't have this beautifully disturbing image:

🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻🔺🔻


Special End Note: For a maximum high level psychological horror experience, Silent Hill 2 should be played on a pink PlayStation 2 console (with bonus pink memory card):

The Hideous Tentacled Slime Beast

A recent, and mercifully short-lived, bout of existential loneliness seems to have been effectively curtailed. The soothing salves included port, marshmallows, tea, video games (Tomb Raider 3 and Silent Hill), sleep (replete with freaky dreams), and watching Slow TV (The Ghan: Australia's Greatest Train Journey).

Obviously, being afflicted with the malaise known as 'the human condition' - a condition which affects an overwhelming number of people - means that there is always the threat of existential loneliness (aka The Hideous Tentacled Slime Beast) brewing somewhere below the nebulous place known as 'the surface'. However, I find that as the years move inextricably by, and the sands of time slowly swallow and digest me (with their gritty grains that frequently get caught in painful and hard to reach places), it becomes easier to subdue (and, possibly, vanquish) The Hideous Tentacled Slime Beast.

Not that The Hideous Tentacled Slime Beast serves no purpose, and thus needs to be entirely obliterated from the human world. The presence of The Hideous Beast in the human psyche, with its seeping slime and its terrifying tentacles, seems to provide some kind of motivation; though the configurations this motivation takes can be myriad and obscure, and often with a tendency for destruction rather than construction.

These Are A Few of My Scariest Things (The Handmaid's Tale Edition)

My top 5 scariest things from The Handmaid's Tale:

1. May the Lord open
2. Mutilated bodies
3. Hanging bodies
4. The Ceremony
5. Power chandeliers

Special mentions:

• Aunt Lydia
• Wing hats (though they actually provide good sun protection)
• Janine/Ofwarren/Ofdaniel

I REFUSE TO GO OUTSIDE!

Willow is taking a foetal position against going outside (not that anyone was forcing her go outside - cat logic is a unique logic). She will be blocking the door until cats everywhere are free to stay inside! (Even if they want to go outside). Also, doormats will be folded at one corner to symbolize feline oppression. (I'm assuming either Willow or the house-poltergeist folded the mat, as it wasn't me).

Harden the Fuck Up, INFJ!

Whenever I take the Myers-Briggs secret identity test (a.k.a personality test), I always 'come out' as an INFJ.
[I=introvert, N=intuition, F=feeling, J=judging]
[Whatever all that means]

Apparently, this personality type is the least represented personality amongst the people of Earth, and sometimes, other personality types think that we're crazy (sometimes we are). We can be quite aloof at times (though we do care). We like to understand and ascribe meaning to things/situations/people. We can only have a proper conversation with one other human/animal/object at a time. We shun conversations that aren't proper. We are terrified of gatherings where we're expected to conversation with more than one person. We love interacting with books/movies/television 'cos we can be alone with them or close/stop them when our brains start to go fuzzy. But the thing that an INFJ most likes to do, the thing that makes it all worthwhile, is wallowing in puddles of maudlin reverie. Oh yeah!

Dark White Noise

Oxymoronic Challenge: Focus on my inability to focus.

The signal strength to noise ratio of the thought-frequencies in my brain is producing disconcerting static - too many (signals) and too loud (strength), and too jarring (unpleasant thoughts are noisy). Translation: I can't concentrate due to mind-fuzz, but also I don't want to concentrate on my mind-fuzz as it is residing in a cranky and gloomy place. Winter, and its short, cold days, isn't helping. Nor is bereft human connection.

In order to combat such dark white noise, I might need to rethink my recent adherence to a (so-called) healthy diet; whereby I've been attempting to reduce my consumption of non-essential and (seemingly) unhealthy foodstuffs - sweets, alcohol, caffeine, babies. Maybe living healthy is mostly only good for my body, and my struggling mind suffers under such fascist food fanaticism. Perhaps, in this time of dark white noise, it is necessary to forgo some corporeal vitality so that menacing mind-fuzz doesn't collapse into a black hole of doom.

When Existential Angst Walks in the Room, Everybody Stand Up

Or, more sensibly, just keep sitting, cos nothing is real, so nothing matters. In fact, you may as well go back to bed - only your dreams can provide some semblance of meaning and connection for your withered soul.

BUT, in defiance of isolation, pessimism, and the black hole of doom, I've realized that there's an Ent living in my yard. So many years of existential angst could have been avoided if only this epiphany had been revealed to me sooner (or I'd looked out the window).

The New POSITIVE Thinking

Increasingly, it seems imperative that I endeavour to be less cynical and negative, lest the black hole of doom swallows my soul. So, uh, I guess I'll have to focus on the positive:

• It's nice that I don't have a peanut allergy, as I love to eat peanut butter.
• Being myopic means I have to wear glasses, which protects my eyes from flying shrapnel.
• Possum poo all over the driveway means the possums are thriving.
• Something about rainbows.
• And snowflakes on kittens.

Kill me now.

Well, that didn't last long.

Hello, black hole of doom!

Actually, it's quite comfy here, in the black hole of doom.
There's plenty of room, in the black hole of doom.
It's not really a tomb, the black hole of doom.
It's more like a womb, the black hole of doom.

Current Psyche...Jack Torrance

I am attempting to channel the essence of Jack Torrance - the father from Stephen King's novel The Shining, who becomes possessed by the evil Overlook Hotel.


This photo - from Stanley Kubrick's film version - shows the beginning of the transformation of Jack (Jack Nicholson) from a non psychotic, non axe-wielding man, who is NOT trying to kill his family, into a psychotic, axe-wielding, passionately trying to murder his family, kinda guy. It's quite a transformation.

Okay, I'm not actually seeking to find the right psyche which would allow me to murder the peoples but I am obsessed with the above photo: the manic glare, the unkempt facade, the turtleneck sweater. It's like looking into a mirror (except for the sweater - turtlenecks irritate my sensitive neck skin). I think everyone should spend some time in the thrall of a manic glare and unkempt facade, it nourishes the soul (before the devil takes it)

Also, it's possible this most recent psyche was influenced by the events which occurred about a month ago, documented in the previous blog post.

Oh, Yeah...Another Year...

2011 mostly sucked. May 2012 suck less.


Meanwhile, Ms Willow Pussycat is VERY ADORABLE:

Hollow Distortion

I've been waving my arms around, lighting fires, and sending up flares, but I'm not on his radar. I haven't been on "his" radar for more than a decade. My true love remains elusive.

I am weary from this endeavour. This endeavour seems to have a grudge against me. I've tried different paths, time after time and full of hope, but these paths always end. Something always barricades the way - thick scrub and fallen branches, mostly, occasionally snakes. Hope hasn't ended, though, not quite. But it also grows weary.

Each year without a companion is getting harder. The clichés amass; empty spaces, absent embraces, soundless conversation, untouched flesh. The aching loneliness is paralysing and inescapable. I feel as though I am being slowly dissolved by a caustic substance, one which I can neither neutralize nor remove. I'm beginning to die.

I've sometimes thought, if I had magic powers, would I use them to influence a situation. And I've always thought 'no' - don't mess with nature. But, as the years grow longer, I'm edging closer and closer to 'yes' - let nature be damned.

I know that finding a partner is not a panacea. All my sufferings will not miraculously disappear with a kiss. There are other things complicit in creating the caustic substance, including ex-partners. I don't know if existence without caustic substance is possible. My belief (hope) is that there are ways of containing, even diminishing, the substance, and lessening its damage, and that one of these ways is companionship.

The Face in the Mushroom Cloud

This picture was taken during the first full scale testing of a hydrogen bomb. The bomb was codenamed "Ivy Mike" - I think "Humanity is Fucked" would've been a more apt title. The testing took place in 1952 on the small Pacific Island, Elugelab, part of the Enewetak Atoll. The bomb yielded approximately 10 megatons of nuclear energy and destroyed Elugelab. A 1.9 km wide by 50 m deep crater is all that was left.

It's a breathtaking photograph. The swirling cloud formation created by the explosion is beautiful and eerie and terrifying. Emerging from the wispy, radioactive cloud, is a human-ish looking face. The face is in profile, looking to its left. Its mouth is held in a tight, painful grimace, and its brain appears swollen, as though it is infected. The eyes are masked: Is the creature too frightened to look at what it has created or has it strategically covered its eyes so as not to give away its true purpose? Whatever the case, the eyes, the "windows to the soul", cannot be seen, and, therefore, neither can its soul. However, there does appear to be, very faintly, a pair of eyes hovering just next to, or possibly just above, the creature. The eyes are located on either side of the creature's brain and appear to be looking directly at the camera, even as they seem to hide behind the creature - are these the eyes of the satanic puppet-master?

"a mass of glutinous coiling worms"

From the novel Solaris by Stanislaw Lem:

"Our white, naked bodies dissolve into a swarm of black creeping things, and I am - we are - a mass of glutinous coiling worms, endless, and in that infinity, no, I am infinite, and I howl soundlessly, begging for death and for an end." Page 188

Yep...pretty much describes me first thing in the morning. And mid-afternoon. And on Christmas Day.

[The passage describes part of a dream experienced by the novel's main character, Kris Kelvin, while he is in a space station orbiting the mysterious 'ocean' planet, Solaris.]

The Blob

The blob lies dormant. It is encased in a thick film of cotton and polyester and inertia. Its stillness is a cunning strategy. The blob knows that to move, or even, God forbid, to get up, is tantamount to living; a fate too horrible to contemplate.

Merry Christmas is NOT an Option

Due to the inexorable approach of Christmas, Effulgent13 is experiencing a degeneration of all its faculties: physical, emotional, intellectual, hell, even spiritual. During this most difficult of "happy" seasons it can barely keep itself fed, let alone think coherent thoughts. Basic hygiene is just a distant memory. Writing in the first person is no longer possible. Just have to make it through 5 more days and it will all be over. Need more tea.

Too Old, Too Ugly, Too Boring...

...for anything. I was going to say "for love" but then I thought "why limit this self-pitying negativity to only one aspect of existence when there are so many aspects to which such a substantive maxim can be applied":
...to go and check the letterbox
...to go to the supermarket
...to answer the telephone
...to go to the cinema
...to get dressed
...to go to work
...to have fun
...to write a blog entry...then why am I writing a blog entry?...actually, the "too old, too ugly, too boring" mania had possession of my being yesterday and so I was unable to successfully complete (or indeed start) a blog entry. But my morbid, pessimistic depression (as opposed to my jolly, optimistic depression) seemed such a fascinating topic that I decided to write about it today - now that I'm feeling quite chipper...well, not too bad.

I think I've narrowed down the causes of my self-absorbed misery - other than being human. My period came early (the beginning of pre-menopausal madness (??) a little sooner than expected, but why the hell not!) which didn't allow my psyche its usual "lead in" pre-menstrual crankiness (which makes way for during-menstrual crankiness). So I think, on Tuesday, I had double menstrual crankiness. Plus, on Monday, I had quite a bit of sugar (I even had a bit of a sugar high head-buzy-ness on Monday night), which probably resulted in a proportional "low" on Tuesday. Yep, it's difficult being a sugar-loving, possibly pre-menopausal, menstruating woman (try saying that quickly 10 times without biting your tongue).

[I think I might have overused the prefix "pre" in the previous paragraph.]

"Heeere's Johnny!!!" *

Here is a visual representation of my psyche from earlier today:



But after some hot chocolate and a chat with Mum (and driving over my neighbour's shoes**, which were left in the middle of the driveway), my psyche looks like this:



I'd say there's a definite "Tiger/Lamb" paradox going on today. (I've put this pretentious sentence in so I can use the enigmatic "Tiger/Lamb" label).


*My thanks to the lovely Jack Nicholson and the lovely Stanley Kubrick for their lovely film creation of my second favourite Stephen King (who is also lovely) novel, The Shinning. My favourite Stephen King novel is Carrie; who is a GODDESS! - and also lovely.

**the shoes were not wrecked, just a little misshapen, and I frequently have to move shoes left in the driveway when I want to drive in or out; still, now that I'm a rose-bearing child-angel I feel a little regretful for my driveway rage.

Existential Crisis

I think I've identified my problem – thankfully I only have the one problem – I might be having an existential crisis (now I really feel like a member of the human race).

Recently I watched the film “Year of the Dog”, in which a 40-something, unmarried, childless, animal-loving woman, working in a less-then-satisfying job, has a breakdown (existential crisis) after the death of her cherished dog. It’s described as a comedy but isn’t – it’s probably closer to a black comedy, but not quite – so I’ll have to categorize it as a grey comedy. It was a little difficult (sad, uncomfortable) to watch, but in the end I found it worthwhile. But I found it more worthwhile, even illuminating, when I listened to some of the commentary by the writer/director, where he used the exciting expression “Existential Crisis”, to describe what the woman was experiencing. (Interestingly, the film I watched next was “Superbad” – a film about teenage boys who are also experiencing existential crises - really).

So, what is an existential crisis. (Warning: film spoiler alert) In the case of the woman in the film her crisis evolves when she finds she doesn’t have anything in her life to deeply connect with, to be passionate about. A series of encounters following the death of her dog result in an obsession with animal rights; with her behaviour becoming increasingly erratic, and then dangerous, in support of this cause. (Another warning: dodgy sentence alert) Her animal obsession is both an external manifestation of her internal crisis, as well as being a strong indication of where her true passion lies. Eventually she is arrested (as can happen during an existential crisis) after she attempts to attack her deer-hunting neighbour. She finally realizes what she needs to do – she quits her job, leaves town and joins a group of animal activists.

I googled 'existential crisis' to find a definition, but it’s difficult to narrow down. Here are some possible explanations (from Wikipedia):

-A sense of being alone and isolated in the world
-A new found grasp or appreciation of one’s mortality
-Believing that one’s life has no purpose or external meaning
-Awareness of one’s freedom and the consequences of accepting or rejecting that freedom

I also found this comforting website which informs that: “You are alone.”

Does existence require meaning and purpose? Hell no. A few years ago I came up with a philosophy for life, which I can explain in 4 words: born, live, die…whatever. Other than that, we’re deluding ourselves. This might sound like a bleak philosophy, but it doesn’t have to be. It all depends on “whatever”. I’ve found so much more joy in “whatever” once I realised I was going to die – which was when I was in my mid-30’s (prior to this I believed I was immortal). So now I try to make the most of what I have, find out as much as I can (there’s a lot to know), try to make my brain the best that it can be – while (mostly) trying not to annoy anyone or anything in the process. And, hopefully, I will have made the best possible use of my existence before I keel over.

I have lapses, though. Sometimes my “whatever” doesn’t seem to be enough. I want more. I can’t be fulfilled unless I have more. Give me more! But I don’t need more. I can live quite well without more. In fact “more” might bring me misery. “More” might not be what my self-serving imagination has made of it.

Enough of the obscure. Back to the slightly less obscure.

Some people feel the need to make a mark on the world, or to change the world, or both. Is this about ego or compassion? Or both? Maybe this is the best combination for positive change. But what is “positive”? There are things I’d like changed about this world – but I don’t know how much of that is to my liking. What about everyone else’s liking? What if my way isn’t the fairest? I’ve always just survived the best I can, not trying to change the world but trying not to inflict damage. But I do inflict, not intentionally but from laziness and selfishness and inaction. And I don’t want to inflict. I wonder if this is at the heart of my existential crisis. It’s not very glamorous – be less lazy and selfish and more active. Fuck. Can’t it be something exciting, like buying red shoes or howling at the moon? Actually, I have a pair of red boots, and I am a little infatuated with the moon, but I’ve never howled at it.

Full of Grace

A song I’ve been listening to, when I’m feeling less than exultant, is “Full of Grace” by Sarah McLachlan, from her album Surfacing. I seem to be listening to Sarah’s music quite a lot these days – I now have three of her albums. Perhaps Sarah will be the musician to get me through my 40’s – just as Jeff Buckley got me through my 30’s, REM got me through my 20’s and Pink Floyd/Alice Cooper (I was a very morbid teenager) got me through my teens. Actually, Pink Floyd has been a constant through each decade but they made a huge impression on my psyche when I was 12 or 13 (when I discovered them).

“Full of Grace” is at its most powerful when heard with the music and Sarah’s voice, here are some of the lyrics:

the winter here’s cold, and bitter
it’s chilled us to the bone
we haven’t seen the sun for weeks
too long, too far from home
I feel just like I’m sinking
and I claw for solid ground
I’m pulled down by the undertow
I never thought I could feel so low
oh darkness I feel like letting go
if all of the strength and all of the courage
come and lift me from this place
I know I could love you much better than this
full of grace


And when I was a teenager, and feeling less than exultant, here is what Alice Cooper would sing to me:

I wake up in the basement
I'm so hungry
I'm dry
I must be here sleepwalking
mustn't I?
Getting up from my easy chair looking for my wife
following a trail of crimson spots
that lead into the night
suddenly I realize
I see it all through real eyes
these crimson spots are dripping from my hand
and ooh it makes me feel like a man
(“The Awakening” from Welcome to my Nightmare)

Oh Alice…you big cuddly teddy bear.