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Monday, July 17, 2017

I am Jack's fetishised misery. Your good self?

Every time I'm on a flight, I idly think of it plummeting to the ground, crashing with a pretty boom. Debris and destruction and the crushing despair felt by 3 people on the ground who weren't nice to someone who died on that flight, not realising they'll never see them again. They'd be terrified, mortified, petrified, stupefied... for 8 seconds, before moving on to being annoyed at Ola Share algorithms. Because, let's face it, that rubbish thing is infinitely more infuriating than a piddly little demise.

Every time I fly I think of that scene in Fight Club, of Edward Norton on the flight, not wanting to kill himself but wanting to die all the same, hoping for a convenient air disaster. Air pocket, turbulence, stewardess running over your food with a trolley full of tasteless cup noodles, air pocket, flight crashing right into mine, jolly good, goodbye world. Nicely done Chuck Palahniuk, you little shock-value-ho.

Certain characters and scenes and dialogues will always remain with me, whether I liked the parent books/movies/shows/voyeuristic peek into others' lives or not. The image of a succubus consuming people whole, a la American Gods, is forever burned into my brain and wouldn't she make one helluva patronus?! Little less growly, more cuddly and dozy, wanting back massages and chocolates and hair pettings, slaying a dementor or two before bingewatching Bojack Horseman and feeling miserable (but very productively so, don't you think?). What an excellent patronus. I would name her Alice.