I’ve mushed my brain with the things
I watch – too much of this and a lot of
that, and I am desensitised to violence
and I don’t get scared and I have no
scars from the things I’ve watched.
None of this is good, by the way, it’s
just honesty. None of this was ever part
of a plan, just the way it’s worked out in
the end. I feel compelled to watch the
things I’m told I can’t.
I don’t know when this happened, when
it started; it was not always like this. There
was a time when I was frightened by a
horror movie or felt my heart racing in time
with the hero’s galloping gait.
But now it’s just another assignment.
I write it up and no one marks it. I don’t
even stop to wonder why I bother. In fact,
this is easily the longest I’ve ever thought
about it. That in itself, seems telling. No?