Why is horror is so enticing, so arousing? It seems like sex and death, desire and fear, are closely linked. Is it an affirmation of life to follow up a really good scare with a really good shag? I don’t know. Enough pop psychology, I can really only speak from my own experience.
The depths of my subconscious have always been filled with outlandish romantic imagery. As a child I had a recurring dream of going up into an attic and finding a living skeleton. He would dance with me and I knew he was my one true love. As a teen I dreamed I was Pinhead’s girlfriend. He was very gentlemanly. I don’t know how we kissed, so don’t ask. He may have been asexual. It was still awesome. As an adult it follows that the dreams developed darker and more explicit scenarios, but you’ll have to pay to read about those. Suffice to say it’s all rather fascinating and makes for great writing fodder.
Not that I’m holding myself up as the example of the typical human psyche; that would be a bit alarming. But I do think that everyone has a dark streak. Why not celebrate it? (And I don’t mean in the grey silk tie kind of way). On this day of overblown, farcical, commercialized love, celebrate the right way: Watch Hellraiser. Snap the heads off some roses. Eat your chocolates from the tip of a sharp knife. Embrace the Darkness.