Life, the newest movie (aside from Alien: Convenant) to pay homage (read: rip off) the Alien series, is also pretty vacuum-ous. The attractive-but-bland stock characters are paper thin, and the plot can be summarized by a phrase, like “alien kills everyone”.
Kiernan's prose provides the greatest part of that wonder. Achingly beautiful, always strange and never quotidian, she never lets the reader find any firm ground. Fittingly for a story which involves a Manson-like cult, it feels hallucinatory, dreamlike. And unlike most stories that fit, even peripherally, into Lovecraft's mythos, the story does not try too hard to replicate the feeling induced by the Master's works.
Of course its an absurdity to ask such a question. Be it resolved that everyone is different. Be it resolved that all writing is different. Even so: when you write, if you write, are you trying to say something?
After the fall of Antioch during the First Crusade, the knights were restless and without leadership. The papal legate had died, leaving the princes in charge and bickering among themselves. The Fatimid Caliphate brought talk of peace to the Crusaders' table. But the Crusaders, though partly divided, were hungry for war. They trekked their way down the coast of the Mediterranean Sea towards Jerusalem.
On June 7, 1099 CE, the Crusaders arrived at the city walls they'd so longed to reach. Some of the soldiers fell to their knees in gratitude to the Lord that had ferried them here. They prayed that God grant them the strength to take the city from the Fatimids, and 5,000 knights rushed into battle.
Today — June 3rd — is National Repeat Day. While the origins of this celebration of repetition are less than clear, it is nonetheless an auspicious day to pick something to do and repeat it, ad nauseam. Send the same messages, watch the same movies, eat the same foods.
To celebrate, we're posting a story by one of our murderers, CJ Miles IV, about the horrifying repetition of death, featuring artwork by Krowjak Illustration. "Repeat After Me" was originally published in Happy Days, Sweetheart.
Summer is here, and so is LGBT Pride Month! As we gear up for the raucous celebration to commemorate the Stonewall riots, I can already hear the complaints of well-meaning individuals—there's too many leather-clad men, why don't people wear more clothes, oh the debauchery! If LGBT people want to be accepted, why do they work so hard to be different?
I have a shocking confession to make: I don’t like horror movies. At this point, I’m assuming you’ve either picked yourself up from the floor, or else the confession isn’t really that shocking. Don’t get me wrong, I’ve seen plenty of horror movies. I just don’t go out of my way to watch them because I can’t shut off my overactive imagination. Whether it’s mirrors, the dark, looking through windows into the dark, open closet doors, or the thought of a monster ready to grab me by the ankles and drag me under the bed, seeing these things on the big screen only reinforces the real-life fears I have.
So, now that you know what you’re dealing with, I thought I would further humiliate myself and tell you about my top five embarrassing reactions to some horror movies I’ve seen.
Two thousand six hundred two years ago, the Medes and the Lydians were enmeshed in all-out war. While the two sides had much to war over, what had finally brought the two sides to raise arms against each other was the murder of the Lydian prince. A group of Scythian hunters had been hired by King Cyaxares. When they returned from their hunt empty-handed, the king insulted them. The hunters killed his son and, as part of their revenge, served him up to the Medes as a meal.