Movie diaries...eight

The Basement at The Hall Of Waters

I have this thing about drowning. Being cold and drowning.

I'm not afraid of swimming, have enjoyed water skiing the few times I've gotten to do it. Ditto, sailing, fishing, other more or less benign water sports. Put me in a situation that resembles the hold of a ship, though, and I'm fucked. The movie "Titanic" holds a special facination for me. I couldn't care less about Jack and Rose: it's the death of the big ship and the hopelessness of the passengers (particularly those in steerage) that captivates me; the scene where the Irish mother tucks her children in bed and tells them a bedtime story to distract them as the water rises chills me, makes me need to go grab my kid and hold on to her until she complains. I've never watched the first VCR tape more than twice, but I've about destroyed tape 2. I've never done a past life regression, but I wonder if there aren't a few bones rattling around in that closet, like yellowed dice in the bottom of a dusty Yahtzee cup. I don't know if that cup has a White Star Line logo on it or not; probably not.

( In terms of the paranormal, this whole movie experience has not been kind to me... )