i dont think its even possible for a being such as you to exist on this plane

OK guys hear me out on this but- I think that the entire TAZ world, or at least the seven red-robes are running on a constant majoras mask/refuge year long loop that resets with the earth being devoured by The Hunger, and that there is a second voidfish that (up until now) kept this a secret

There will be a tl;dr at the end

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ghostbusters (1984)

#suicide cw

as part of this national film registry project thing im doing (yes i’m still doing that, i promise), i think i said in the past that there was little point in reviewing these films critically (because they’ve been done [looks at the camera] to death. and because its fucking ghostbusters. what could i possibly say that hasnt already been said?) and that the focus of my reviews was to be my personal response to them. this is particularly personal, overwrought and a little melodramatic.

i don’t remember how old i am. im 11 or 12 when my uncle dies. my mother has an unusual reaction to this news; initially she tells us and we (my mother, sister and i) have an uncomfortable discussion and then i am sent to bed. then in a few minutes she lets herself into my room. “no one’s going to bed sad tonight”, she says. and we don’t. i watch “raising arizona” for the first time and i laugh. this is my first coen brothers film, the first of many.
movies become the visual equivalent to comfort food.

my mother shows me a lot of movies. we sit and watch turner classic movies together on the weekends. movies come and go without me learning their titles or attaching names to any of the actors. it isnt until years later, when i accidentally stumble on the movies again that i realize what and how significant they were. these movies weave themselves into my brain. books drill, music flows and ebbs, but movies weave. i never learn the right words to discuss movies with people in a way that convinces them of my passion, i never learn how to approach them academically, i never learn how to even begin to learn about movies. but i love them regardless. i’m already an insufferable snob.
“have you seen this?” she gestures at the tv with the remote. i shrug; i’m 15, i don’t know shit. on the tv a man is administering an esp test to two participants. i’m pretty sure that’s bill murray, the ‘groundhog day’ guy.
“it just started”, she says. “sit and watch.” she seems excited in a way i learn later is unique and just for me. it’s the excitement she gets when shes about to show me something i’ll love.
something clicks that day but i dont realize it yet. that night, despite swearing off art for the rest of my high school life (it had become apparent to me that there was no money in art and my parents were pushing me to be something extraordinary or, at the very least, become something worth going to college for) i draw my own ghostbuster while lying on the floor of my room. her name is maxine…something. i’ll figure it out later.

at 20 i’m making serious plans to kill myself. i’m looking up how to write and notarize wills in nevada to make sure everything i own goes to my sister. i’m allocating my meager savings to cover cremations, funeral costs and anything else that might further inconvenience my family. i am trying to slip away as quietly and simply as possible. my current existence is so loud and miserable; i cry and vomit frequently without control. i take up too much space in a world that feels grey and flavorless and not built for me. its time for me to go.
but i dont. instead i have a moment of horrified clarity and break down in the arms of my mother. i cry (again) and vomit (again) and tell her i’m scared and there’s something wrong with me but i don’t know what. i need help. the desire to die is overwhelming in its intensity. i don’t know how to make it stop.
but i realize soon that i do. theres a very obvious way to take away power from anything. the way i’ve been doing it my whole life, to anyone who has tried to bully me or frighten or coerce me.

make jokes about it.

i’m 25. it’s friday, july 15th 2016. i’ve got a comic to make for a living, i’m behind on my buffer and mad at myself for it. its about, uh, a bunch of losers who get rid of ghosts for a living. you know…like…ghostbusters. it’s a comedy comic. it’s funny, or it tries to be. people die in this comic. people are dead in this comic. being dead isn’t the end of the world in this comic. being dead, actually, is kinda funny. kinda fun. but kinda inconvenient too.
trying to talk about my comic to people makes me red hot with shame. “like ghostbusters” i tell people, to make my suicide/death fantasy comic accessible without having to get into details. i hope my id isnt too on display for when people i have to face in real life try to read it. i worry what they see of me in it, if what i put on display is too light when dealing with serious subjects or too revealing of myself. of how blatantly unoriginal it is. i feel like the comic is a too obvious reflection of myself. i feel exposed and ashamed. but i also feel happy more than i used to.
i don’t want to die anymore; if you cant make people laugh when you’re dead, then whats the point? i’m rewatching ghostbusters right now and remembering how much i like it and what i like about it. mom texts me about plane tickets and i pop back a little joke about how i cant even afford movie tickets. a ghostbusters reboot comes out today and its supposed to be alright. i’m looking forward to it. notably, the new ghostbusters are all women.


i cant wait to see the next generation’s maxine somethings.