MY LIFE IN HORROR - FEED THE WORLD

Every month, I will write about a film, album, book or event that I consider horror, and that had a warping effect on my young mind. You will discover my definition of what constitutes horror is both eclectic and elastic. Don’t write in. Also, of necessity, much of this will be bullshit – as in, my best recollection of things that happened anywhere from 15 – 30 years ago. Sometimes I will revisit the source material contemporaneously, further compounding the potential bullshit factor. Finally, intimate familiarity with the text is assumed – to put it bluntly, here be gigantic and comprehensive spoilers. Though in the vast majority of cases, I’d recommend doing yourself a favour and checking out the original material first anyway.

This is not history. This is not journalism. This is not a review.

This is my life in horror.

Feed The World

December, 1984. I am six years old. Neither of my parents were the kind to turn off their TV’s when the news came on, so I’d seen it, and I’d asked the kind of questions kids ask. These are the ones I can remember, with the answers I recall. All, some, one, or less of them may be accurate. They feel right, though.

“Where is that?”

“Africa.”

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