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The Voices That Pour Into My Ears

Tonight I uploaded a few more photos into the TOK album. As I uploaded the one I titled "I will not forget you" -- a thought popped into my head.

When I blog, I put loud music in. For the longest it's been every KORN album I own, set to repeat. I've discussed this before. I need that wall of sound because I cannot focus with so much outside stimuli drowning out my thoughts. The last few entries have been set to the soundtrack of TOK and with my modestly good headphones I can feel these driving beats in my throat.

Every song begins with something TOK said. At one point, he remarks how he's become a legend designed to scare naughty children. And that is where the thought popped into my head tonight.


I wrote Monster in a series of journal entries spanning about two weeks, if I remember correctly. Constraints of regular life restricted my ability to get it out any faster...in this time frame, two years ago, I finished the story where the Monster wonders if he is doomed to become a legend designed to scare naughty children into behaving.


When I watched the movie I remember hearing those lines and feeling more chilled than I already was, steeped in such a horrific experience. Now I know why. And now I worry that the similarities of those two instances will not sit well with the creator of TOK, even though it was completely and totally coincidental.


TOK:
"I remember the kids in the school yard talking about me. I became a legend you thought was made up to keep kids from behaving badly. But now you know different."

MONSTER:
"I was a throwback; a forgotten legend....one of those monsters the lowborne mothers threaten naughty children with."



So. There it is. Maybe if he reads he'll notice, and maybe not. I noticed because I have a thing for recognizing voices and faces, and accents, because its something I like. If I hear someone talking in a movie, but I don't see them, I can very possibly tell you 3 other movies they've been in. It's a fluke I guess.
TOK has an amazingly voice, believably tortured, anguished, rich -- full of barely controlled rage. Calm. Every time he spoke, I held my breath to be sure I heard every word because it was the perfect match for a deranged pyschopath hell bent on revenge and that was amazing.


And now, I return to the relative safety of my nest, to curl up and manipulate an image for a few moments before my body tells me, in terms that cannot be argued with, that I need to go to sleep or else.

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February 2014

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