backbeat.

I should be writing an essay for Teacher Cadets, or reading for AP European History. Instead I'm listening to music and toying with a Rubiks Cube and wondering what makes a person like a certain genre of music. I'd like a head to take apart and mark the way it works; maybe fix the kinks that seperate me from them. I'd like to figure out why no two people ever like the same thing; and why I can't write an essay about one person I've always been able to depend on, when she's managed so many words about me.


Stephen King stated, in an essay, that people enjoy horror movies because we're all a little crazy. My English teacher aimlessly rebuttled that crazy doesn't exist in the South, it's labeled eccentric. Stephen King went on to state that people enjoy horror movies because it gives them a tingle and a surge of life that they haven't experienced since youth. That every human alive is a potential-lyncher, simply out of the zest in living life. An acquaintance, Rex, has stated previously that if he could have any super power, he would choose the power to control weather; because power alone is power worth having and power well spent.

So that's what I've gathered in the past few hours; no two humans enjoy the same thing, and yet all enjoy the experience of fear for the experience of thrill. The power of controlling what they're going through, and expecting what's coming; no matter the fact that it's going to be awful.

So what of us who don't like horror files?
What of us with zero sense of potential-lyncher?
What of us who don't enjoy the writhe of someone else in pain, or someone else in disappointment while we bask in something beautiful? Are we the few who have it together or those who, even by Southern standards, fit in to the line of crazy?

I hate horror films.
But I can't say that I'd never be the potential-lyncher, who finds comfort in the pain of another living being. I feel a bug beneath my feet and almost instantly, I feel content. The death of something that makes me uncomfortable, causes me a bit of uneasiness, is enough to make me calm and allow me to recollect my composure. It's not the bug's fault that I lost it in the first place; it's my own, personal nature that I never bothered to alter when I was a baby because no one ever made me simply deal with it. It's not the bug's fault, and yet it's playing sacrifice for the sake of my comfortability.

In my mind, I am the first, the foremost, and the most important. The only thing to take priority above myself are those I love, and they will continue to do so. Beneath me are those I dislike, and beneath them are non-Sapiens.

Nothing gives me this right.
I hate horror films.
I love myself.
Nothing gives me this right.