Books, cats, and necrophiliacs
Junji Ito has a problem.
Imagine a locomotive with just enough coal to shovel into the engine to see it to its destination. A practiced shoveller (whatever the term is man, idk crud about old trains) would add bit by bit, remaining consistent across the journey, ensuring it reaches its destination. Ito on the other hand usually says @#*& it, and shoves all the coal in at the start.
What does this amount to? Some of the most interesting horror…
I was thirteen. The perfect age where you're brave enough to watch a horror movie yet still young enough for them to have a magical effect on you.
I was at my best friend's house at the time, a sprawling estate responsible for more than one developing night terror.
"Let's watch this," he suggested when we had the run if the place to ourselves, and then he began to root around in a cloth drawer until he produced the DVD…
Enter the prison of grief: a man's daughter drowns; his reverberating screams bleed his throat as sanguine as her drenched coat.
Enter prison of grief: transition to Venice, the man is surrounded by a water he can neither escape nor admit to affecting him. You bury your grief, you turn away, sometimes even run; but it's always there, and so are you.
Enter the prison of grief: restoring churches is the man's chosen occupation. An attempt to repair shattered memories.…