I've become increasingly disappointed in my fellow horror writers.
In the recent weeks we've seen mass killings, people killed by cops, protests that have turned violent, an election where nobody wants anything to do with the candidates, and terrorist attacks overseas with huge body counts.
Each time, I see fellow horror writers post sad, depressing things on Facebook about how they just wish we could all get along and how we need peace.
Bullshit.
I say, we need more violence. We need more bloodshed and more innocent lives ruined and destroyed. We need more dictators violently putting down revolts and even crazier religions with zealots so insane everyone cringes at the mere mention of them.
It's time for the streets to run with the blood of infidels. Or in this case, everybody.
Am I the only one cheering for chaos and war? Am I the only one who wants to see the world destroy itself in a global self-destructive last gasp?
I say, we need more guns. Guns everywhere! And good guns, too. Not those shitty Tech 9 spray guns where you might get lucky enough to hit somebody while you waste ammo. Nope! Assault rifles should be affordable and given to every citizen upon learning how to read. It would be the best graduation ceremony ever.
I say, we dedicate one year to a planet-wide purge. Just like in the movies, only for an entire year, and on the entire planet. Total combat for everybody. Kill, maim, rape, torture, and fillet as much as you'd like. Burn it all.
I say, we stop pretending we're more than six and a half billion miserable assholes hurling through the cold of space all alone and removed from any other living being. Nobody cares about us. Nobody is going to save us.
What disappoints me the most is how so many horror writers would whine, cry, sob, and pretty much express all the sensitive outrage they could muster regarding these news stories.
Really? You write about murder, death, torture, and all manner of monsters but when you hear about some idiot getting killed by another idiot your heart breaks? You're outraged because somebody said some mean words to another person? Fuck you!
Those who follow The Way of the Van know this but it bears repeating: I don't write to scare people, I write my fantasies, and if I could find a way to make the monsters a reality, I would do so without hesitation.
#nolivesmatter
Horror writers are supposed to look into the darkness of the human soul. It's where we live. And to see so many get upset when they get a glimpse of it in real life disappoints me.
Did you guys fall asleep in history class? What exactly do you think humanity has been up to for the past 10,000 years?
We kill. A lot. And we're really good at it, too. You write about it. Some of you even make money by writing about it. So stop with the whinging and consternation. Let humanity be humanity because it'll help some of you who happen to lack imagination. It'll give you those plot bunnies you keep complaining about.
Life is a meat grinder. Once you accept this, all the horrible things that happen around us don't seem nearly as bad, and we learn to really enjoy the smallest of things. Like the moment a person you deeply care about reciprocates just for a few moments, or when you find a dollar bill in your coat pocket in August, or when you make some ice cream and it turns out perfect.
Those tiny, fleeting moments of good seem like radiant lights of heaven. The little moments mean so much more when you're knee-deep in blood. That's when you appreciate a hug from a woman you adore and know will never love you back. That's when you do things for her just to see her smile.
Stop whinging and enjoy the violence. Take delight in all the carnage around you. One of these days, some idiot will come up with a way to make it all stop, and we'll be left with the most boring existence imaginable. It'll be like those 1950's sitcoms where the worst that happens is somebody rides their bicycle over some flowers, or the pie doesn't come out right. Do you want that?
Nobody wants that. That, to me, is the true horror we face. A mundane, vanilla existence where nobody does anything but help each other. We all wear button-up sweaters and have the same short haircut. The food is heavy, greasy, and loaded with salt. And nobody would dare read a horror story because it's just too extreme for them. The scariest stories they ever read are The Hardy Boys.
So screw your moral bullshit. Piss on your outrage at death and destruction. Embrace the violent, chaotic reality, and stop trying to make everybody a namby-pamby, wimpy, marshmallow of a human being like yourself.
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