Possession (Lyric Essay) [ ] A #Horror Inspiration

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I’m too far into this film to turn back to who I once was: a monster groping the bed, the monster of my wife, her skin, the monster who will end up murdering her new age lover. Set the luggage on the ground. Sigh. She will not carry me up the stairs. We are bound, weeping. And I will touch my son’s rib cage to remind me of how water feels like life. Of how horror can and should carry us beyond our normal preconceptions: an argument, a rocking chair.

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This is more than #horror. This is a hate letter to a person I no longer know. This is my vengeance, the ultimate catharsis of separation (a haunting). Make a monster full of condoms. Make a monster built by men stuffed under the mattress. Make the tentacles writhe, dear, and pray to a God who listens to women who shriek shamanic miscarriages in subway tunnels and men who fall in love with doppelgangers, who must meet their own doppelgangers and be murdered by them on spiral stairs. I will not relent. I will crash this car and fire pistols at men in pink socks.

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To write a film: a fever, a trance, a not knowing what the body is doing. A slowing down. A revamping. A remaking. A letting out of ghosts. A pouring out of hate. A coming to terms with a past you never knew. A house of doors opening and shutting on fingers. This is our Isabella Adjani and our final kiss. This is our Zulawski. I will write as if Zulawski is near. I will move him near in my mind: how a kitten dies on grass, how a dead dog crawls under the porch. This is the experience of transcendence. My love in blue. My lover’s green eyes.

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There is no smoke here. No suitcases full of cash. When I first saw Possession I couldn’t bear the grief. I couldn’t bear the screams (a static), how a camera can move from bedroom to kitchen to doorway to hallway and down stairs. The entire movie is a siren as if the storm is near. Perhaps our redemption is around the corner. Always around a corner. It’s a genuine closeness. This bond. This lurching out. How he is always moving toward her. A grasping at love. A love that does not exist.

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I want to bury my words in Berlin. Somewhere in Poland. In Alabama. This house. I will enter when no one is home. There are secrets. A phone call. A steering wheel splattered in blood. Let us move toward the familial. Let us hold close those who change in hopes that our holding will not suffocate, will not bludgeon, but release. Set free. Become lifted. Become a crucifix. Become a white substance foaming from the mouth. Become smothered in radiance. Become blossomed in horror. The creation of horror. I will stand in the house, until the house laps at my heels. I will strain at a grandmother’s death bed, wipe secrets from tear ducts and howl. And scream. May it never end, my possession.

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Zulawski’s POSSESSION was an inspiration for this script. Help us make it.

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