Sunday, October 19, 2003

On seeing The Texas Chainsaw Massacre

Things have been quite heavily resting upon my mind. Due to this, I shall try and articulate the inarticulate of sorts; attempt to describe the one thing that is burning into my head and gripping me. I am trying to sort out a solid picture of suffering, a solid picture of why's, when's, how's; a basic thought of it all.

I came to The Texas Chainsaw Massacre believing it was "inspired"--for that is what the poster had said--by a true story. Inspired is such a vague thing, so I didn't know how vaguely or vividly to place what had "inspired" this story.

I came into the movie rather thinking it was as close to truth as could be. And through the whole thing my thoughts went around the point of suffering.

This movie moved me, for some reason, more than any other has in quite some time. I do not know what it was. But it did.

What is suffering, exactly? Is it pain, is it hate, is it death--what is it? It's...hard to put into words what I'm trying to say. I don't know. I feel that suffering is such a dumb, ignorant thing.

Suffering is something like Christ upon the cross--something like a slave being beaten and beaten again--like a man starving and dying.

But really, all it is is a word trying to describe something. So what suffering is doesn't matter. What matters is it happens. And why does it happen?

I think it's human nature. It is built into us from the moment we are born. I believe in original sin in this sort of way, I guess. I think we're born with the potentialities of good and bad.

There's a murderer in us all. There's an angel in us all. There's a lover in us all. There's a fighter in us all.

We just choose not to feel and hear all these parts of us.

So here is the main strain I've come to in my thoughts. Love is what causes all pain and suffering. Feelings. Love being the root of most feelings.

Love itself needs suffering to survive.

And I ask, why does a murderer murder? It is because he is in love with death. Why does a lover love? Because he is in love with love. Why does a human sin? Because he is in love with his natures. Why does man create? Because he is in love with beauty. Why does man fight? Because he is in love with what he thinks is love. Why do we suffer? We suffer because others love different things which cause us the most pain ever.

I will never, ever know the feeling of a hook up my spine, stabbing me, causing pain to rack my whole body. BUt that, I hope, is what suffering feels like. I hope that suffering is death; I hope that suffering is loving. Why do we die? We die because we suffer because of age. And why do we age? Because we love life enough to live it. We die because it is an end, a reason to all our suffering, a twisted thing to give us a purpose of our lives. Without death life wouldn't taste so meaningful.

Knowing that people enjoy killing other people chills my spine. But how is it any different than killing a cow and slaughtering it? It isn't. A cow is an animal--and all we are is an animal that has the power to overlook and see things. But we don't kill them just because, but we kill them for food.

But think about it. If we couldn't comprehend canibalism, didn't know, then we'd kill anything for food. Desperate tides call for desperate suffering, and desperate kills. If we were brought to dying or killing another human for food, we would do it if we couldn't comprehend what we were doing.

It chills me though to think of all the things that people suffer from and for. I am quite moved from this. I can't even put it into words. The poignancy of actuality and life as it moves is too hard to place words to it. I just can't paint what suffering is in words.

There are some very sick people around here, on this world. Ed Gein, the man whom I found inspired Psycho and Texas Chainsaw Massacre...wow.

He'd go to graves and dig people up, and take their body parts. I can't even imagine this. He'd also kill people, take their body parts...I am just so disgusted and...oh my god. So scared to even imagine this.

Yet when I think of these things, images pop into my mind..sick, twisted images. There really is a murderer in all of us...whether we choose to not admit it or whatso. And when I get to thinking about what I am now, it just really scares me.

Pain is such a universal thing. I love to feel it yet hate to know it all at once. That's all that needs to be said in general.

Even I find some pleasure in the images I see of blood and such in my mind..
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