Halloween's a personal guilty pleasure; I admit to liking the Halloween spirit more than I do Christmas. But this was before Katrina de Castro and her hollow pumpkin started hosting them Magandang Gabi Bayan Halloween Specials.
I like to get scared. Honestly I do. But I'm not referring to the robbery-or-rape-at-knife-point kind of scared, or the bad-news-from-my-doctor kind of scared, or the I-might-lose-my-job kind of scared, or the my-boyfriend's-cheating-on-me kind of scared. What I mean is, I like to get scared at a leisurely pace.
Think movies. Think Scare TV specials. Think horror stories slash urban legends stretched in ten different versions. Once you get your freak on trembling in that wavelength, understand that every other kind of scared just fuck-ugly sucks. Katrina de Castro trying to scare a pantload of shit off of you just fuck ugly sucks.
I love horror movies like I love sex, and you'd imagine a taboo of gangbanging orgasms this last Hallow's Eve.
Excuse me while I try my second Cartwheel of Uninhibited Happiness.
I said I am obsessively morbid by default, and that's meant to be a confession rather than a turn off.
I was about six years old during the first time I was three feet away from a, bad pun alert, live corpse. She was this rape victim in her twenties, I think. But what I remember with striking clarity were these black ants trickling out of her dead greying lips, her mouth formed in a half open gape as she allowed life to escape around five hours earlier.
That was a lingering memory towards which I have no real objection.