Light a candle. Draw the required sigils. Now, raise your arms above your head and slowly, gently, exhale your soul. You won’t need it here. This is Audioccult, and it’s time to get low. Illustration: SHALTMIRA
I know this might be a strange thing to say, but I’m really into those ASMR videos. You know, the ones where somebody taps on a bag of beans or whispers about elves or gets punched in the stomach by a friend? I think those are all really great. Sometimes when I’m next to my computer (it’s a mac) I put them on while I eat cronut holes and talk about Miley Cyrus, Breaking Bad, and Gravity. I think my favorite ones are the ones where people eat different kinds of food. Not because I like food or watching people eat or anything, really. I know everyone’s expecting a reason with some artistic, ironic, or reconceptualist thought process behind it, like what if the Cremaster Cycle was about a shut-in doing binaural gum chewing. Or maybe you’re thinking, hahah. This guy is about to say, “Psych. You fucker idiot. This dumb shit is for creeps.” But actually I really like it. I have fifty-seven bookmarked videos of camera lens brushing. For the last two months, however, I’ve been unable to find the proper drivers that allow me to play Shrek: Shrek Forever After. Shrek will return in The Stranger Wore Green, but I’m simply unwilling to wait that long to see the animated ogre’s adventures. Jokes for me and jokes for my kids? This stuff is amazing. It’s also the worst legal drug I’ve ever experienced.
I will say it in the simplest language that I can: Shrek has enriched my spiritual life and destroyed my earthly life. Because of the amount of energy which I have invested in Shrek and Shrek fanfics where I meet the characters from Shrek and get them to sign my Shrek merchandise, my mental slate has become little more than a surface where I crush the pills of obsession and snort them into my soul. My need to expound on the subtle intricacies of Shrek The Third has destroyed several relationships and an equal number of movie nights. I’m sorry you’re too busy texting to notice when cinema is being shown to you and you’re getting the inside scoop straight From The Ogre’s Mouth (my ‘zine, write me for shipping costs), maybe just stay home if you can’t deal with intelligent discussion. I’m lying in my bed vectoring a hand-drawn photo of Donkey being digitally erased from the Shrekiverse by forward-thinking animators. An older man from the Ukraine is whispering about his kids and crumpling up a potato chip bag. I understand nothing. There is no fate but what we make for ourselves. ~
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