Sloth, Maybe?

There's something peculiar about me. Horror movies help me sleep. Metal albums help me sleep. Jello Biafra's politically charged spoken word albums help me sleep. I noticed this happen for the first time when I purchased a DVD for the horror movie The Oozing Skull .  In the film, the brain of a dying tycoon is graphically transferred from his aged  body into that of a super strong giant with a disfigured face. The first few times, I watched The Oozing Skull all the way through.  Then one day, after a long day's work, I popped The Oozing Skull into my player, hopped on to my couch and prepared myself for some heart pounding fun. I watched the prologue scene with the dying man in his hospital bed as he made preparations for immortality.  Then I watched the opening credits. The next thing I knew, I saw the caption "The End." What in the wha--? The next day, I tried watching it again.  Again, the last thing I remember seeing before the closing card were the openin...

Whenever I've finished a day of meditation, writing, exercising, writing some more, dozing off, and not wanting to write anymore, I will settle down on the couch and pick a film to watch until the missus gets home. And the films are almost always creepy. By creepy films, I don't mean horror classics like Nosferatu , or more recent class acts like The Descent (which came out in 2006 so you can see how far out of the loop I am).  I mean films with plots and characters and a particular atmosphere which mesmerizes me and leads me through a grand tour of the worst people humanity has to offer. I suppose it began in the winter of 1992 when I saw Saló, The 120 Days of Sodom on VHS.  I was a lonely young fellow.  I had no girlfriend.  I took classes in college that had no fungible use in the job market.  I was laid off of every part time job I took on because there were people who were smarter and worked harder than me.  So one day at the local RKO Video store I h...