Nosferatu

I have a new favourite film.

I love old films; ones that were made when it wasn't about making a lot of money and there was still an art to capturing a story onto film.

One of my favourites is Un Chien Andalou, probably the best example of french avant-garde film. It was made in 1928, but does not seem so with its clever effects.

But last night I saw a screen of a very old film entitled 'Nosferatu'. As it is my last week here before I head home I thought I'd treat myself to a ticket. I'd heard of Nosferatu before in high-brow conversations and had seen footage from it but this was the first time I had seen the whole masterpiece. It was the second horror film ever made and probably one of the first breaches of copyright as it totally plagriarises Bram Stoker's Dracula. Harker is Hutter, Renfield is called Knock and the famous character of Dracula is renamed Count Orlock.
Made in 1922 and can still give someone the creeps.

I'm going to try and get a copy.

Itch

Itch is a strange word. It is spelled in a strange way and it is pronounced in a strange way. It is one of those words that, when you write it you have to double check its spelling. Itch. Itch. Something just never seems right about that word. Itch. Is it even a word?

It was hot last night. And Evo went for a wander. I am staying in my brother's house, which I think is incredibly kind after I attacked him and everything. Because I left home at an early age and he is younger than me I never really grew to know him. But I'm learning fast.

So last night Evo went wandering, as bored dogs do.
The sun was setting, rather quickly might I add, and darkness was turning everything into a blob of not much. I spotted Evo in the yard of a house not far up the road.

Not wanting to disturb the occupants I whispered:
"Evoooo, get over here!"
He gave me that look. The "I know I should obey you but this thing I am smelling is soo interesting. Just give me a sec."
Not that dogs would say words like "interesting". That would just be silly.
After a while he came back to me and we went back to my brother's house (I still find it awkward to call him Fennard).

I had about 20 mosquito bites on each foot from standing around and waiting for Evo. The itchiness was driving me insane. I was writhing on the floor in a bout of insatiable itchiness.
Itch Itch Itch.

Good riddance

What do you call the feeling between grief and joy? If there was a word for it, I'd be using it right now.

My mother died. Death is never a great experience, for anyone involved, unless you like the experience, but that would just be awkward.

I never liked my mother. Well maybe there was a small time near the beginning of my life that I may have somewhat enjoyed her maternal company, but for as long as I can remember she was a right cow.

She treated me and my siblings like we were the scum of the earth. One would blame it on the disappearance of my father when I was four years old. But that would be a lame excuse. No one in their right mind would treat their children that way just because their husband abandoned them. Though I never thought my mother was very sane.

The only thing I have inherited from my mother is an envelope with the papers stating the change of my brothers name when he was only twelve years old. That was six months after I left and she changed his name to Fennard. Probably to replace me. God only knows.