#40. The Sacrifice Game #39. Night of the Hunted #38. Kids vs. Aliens #37. V/H/S/85 #36. Haunted Mansion #35. Cocaine Bear #34. It’s a Wonderful Knife Another entry in the surging high-concept-teen-slasher subgenre (ala Happy Death Day, Freaky, Totally Killer), but this one isn’t quite as fun of a ride. Justin Long and Joel McHale are somewhat wasted here, as the writing gives them very little to do and there isn’t much in the way…
Listen, there were certainly terrible horror movies that came out last year that I have no idea existed. I don’t intentionally go digging for bad films. In fact, I try to only watch movies that were recommended, or have some buzz, or have people working on them that I enjoy – or they have, at the very least, an interesting trailer. So saying “the worst” here is absolutely not fair – none of these movies…
★★★★✫ I found it nearly impossible to give a star rating to this film. It really makes you question the nature of film criticism and the purpose of art in general. In fact, mostly all I have are questions after seeing this for the first time – and maybe, any film that does that to you, that gets you thinking in a way you hadn’t previously – maybe that IS a “good” movie. But is…
I am the worms in the yellow walls of the Concord house caused by the shit-leaking upstairs toilet. I am the molding water spot we both saw but would not ever speak of. I am the side yard weeds I said we’d pull. You are the retaining wall, crumbling, that we can’t afford to fix just yet. Just yet. I am the broken tooth becoming abscessed. I am the dishes left, resentfully, unscrubbed. I am…
Curled up in the cup of a slingshot – bands taught – which giant will I fell? note: this is one of a series of poems in a chapbook I’m working on entitled “yellows”. to read them in their intended order, start here.
We got the call and went to visit mem. No vigil. Just a business transaction. Numbers, at least, we could try to comprehend. She spoke of insurance, rings, inheritance. Bryson got pep’s final slice of cherry pie. Walter got the fresh-pressed suits and ties. The funeral was a complete fucking lie. Father spoke of the glory of Jesus Christ. He’d never known the glory of Gene Lemay, Who only went on Sunday to keep mem…
That fall morning we moved to Concord the neighbor made a V with his fingers and wriggled his arm like a charmed snake. High school ASL class failed us so he wrote on a legal pad: VINES. He mimed the digging and ripping I didn’t plan on doing, and pointed to the hydrangeas lining his side of the ruins. I recognized the next sign: Two hands around his throat. But yard work, as is wrote,…
for me writing poems is vomiting onto the bathroom floor after a blacked out thursday night I hold off until I can’t and then the act itself – convulsive, jagged glass and bile, perverse relief – sometimes I see patterns in these ink blot tile emissions revealing to me omens better left unprophesized note: this is one of a series of poems in a chapbook I’m working on entitled “yellows”. to read them in their…
raquel is in the bathtub and the dog still has his testes. on tv they eat pastitsio which donna brought with your marijuana when you were still well enough to mispronounce pastitsio. there’s a groundhog in the garden we planted and never watered but still i blame him for the fruitlessness. its three months now and I know I haven’t visited your headstone but the muffins smell like nutmeg and at least I remember to…