“In contrast to pornography, the fantasy of recent teen horror corresponds to a temporal structure which raises the anxiety of not being ready, the problem, in e ect, of "too early!" Some of the most violent and terrifying moments of the horror film genre occur in moments when the female victim meets the psycho-killer-monster unexpectedly, before she is ready. The female victims who are not ready for the attack die. This surprise encounter, too early, often takes place at a moment of sexual anticipation when the female victim thinks she is about to meet her boyfriend or lover. The monster's violent attack on the female victims vividly enacts a symbolic castration which often functions as a kind of punishment for an ill-timed exhibition of sexual desire.” - Film Bodies: Gender, Genre, and Excess, Linda Williams
My memory is stained with the senses of the spaces I myself have stained in my life. The smell of rain through a bed and breakfast window while you lie on the lumpy mattress crammed between a peeling wall and a nightstand ripe with sunrot. The smell of freshly cut grass on a lawn by an old house by a lake by some small town; its biggest attraction being the new supermarket built in 2006. The smell of ribs smoking in deep tin foil pans in an end of summer celebration for the founders of the town. It’s the feel of mist on your face on a boardwalk in Oregon. The burn of a hotel waffle iron, or the feel of a muggy, humid, midwest day, the kind that makes you stick to the epoxy on your grandparent’s dining room table while you desperately try to fit together a 70 cent puzzle from the thrift store. The dust that gets in your eyes as springtime wind storms the plains. The away water that tastes like doorknob, and the home water that tastes like water. The taste of fresh orange rolls and a cracked sidewalk underneath the thinning tires of a rusty bike. The sweat of the hell-hot attic, and the crust on your forehead as it dries against the cross-breeze by the window as a best of ‘62 mixtape blares in the west-bedroom, a cat meows on the porch, and a motorcycle plows down Minnesota street. Whether I let these senses seep into my skin or not, there they are, deep in my pores, so that when I sweat next I might experience them again. Shane Loewe
Shit Youth ~ Porridge
★
A stone wall. Spray-paint
Two Apartments ~ Keep Off the Grass
★
I’m Not in Grief ~ Maxton Santos
★ ★
Catalina ~ Keep Off the Grass
★
moving day ~ Maxton Santos Poison Ink ~ Split Lips
★ ★
Humid ~ Porridge
★
holden caulfield type joint ~ Maxton Santos
★
Sacramento (Or What I Imagine It’s Like) ~
graffitied onto it: “Les Enfants sont Grognons.”
Porridge Tantrum ~ National Park Society
★
One Way Track ~ Split Lips
★
Hypersensitive ~ National Park Society
★
★ ★ ★
Acid - Live ~ Kill Lil
New Mexico ~ Oppenheimer Analysis Vermont ~ Fail Better, Heal Faster ★
Cheap Beer ~ FIDLAR
“The children are grumpy.”