Month: September 2013


Women were born with the ability to daydream, and those of us who don’t, should. What a cruel world to live in if we could not paint a picture in our minds of things that won’t ever be, but can be envisioned anyway!







I’ll share this with you now: I have a thing for older men. It’s been that way since…well, forever I think. Being submerged in the art that is cinema, I almost always fell into a frantic crush for the ones that most of my friends dismissed.

I remember my first cinema crush was an old Dracula. I think I was eleven, mayhaps twelve?  According to recent critics, he wasn’t even a great Dracula. I’m sure, back then, he was about 40, and the movie was made in the late 70’s…he had longish thick black hair and dark eyes and something about him made me uncomfortable and I liked it. After seeing the movie I fell asleep thinking about him every night for weeks.


Soon after, I became entranced with ” V ” in all its secret green-skinned glory, and I discovered the pre-Freddy Robert Englund.  He was a little younger than my Dracula crush, but nonetheless I was smitten, and I have no idea why. He wasn’t particularly gorgeous…but something about his eyes. There’s always something about eyes that will motivate you to feel, or reel.


It wasn’t long before I was trapped by the voice, the gyrations, and the sneer of David Bowie, in Labyrinth as the delectable Jareth.  Oh, how he made me sweat.  I live inside my own head, and between my ears exists a constant little storyteller, unwinding tales where I am smuggled away into a land where I am helpless to do anything but the bidding of the Goblin Prince.





Jareth gave way to the strong return of Robert Englund when Freddy Krueger slashed his way into my head and heart and gut with no apologies and more than one evil laugh that haunted me night after night.

Heart of Summer

I remember one of my geekier friends gifting me with a copy of a magazine; inside was an 8 page layout of the process in which Freddy Krueger is brought to life via many smaller pieces of fake flesh and Robert Englund slowly disappears into the evil that is burned and horrid.


Yes, to this day I still crush on Robert Englund.  I remember watching one of his movies involving alligators or crocodiles and I HATED HIM and I loved him and anyway…moving along…


Always the older men, you ask? No, not always. Lately I have noticed those talents who are my age, and I shake my head and think, where the hell did you come from? All this talent, embodied into some of the most delicious vessels and the icing on the cake is the brilliant mind bubbling with the unbelievable cutting edge storytelling abilities.


MATT FARNSWORTH.  His eyes will burn holes into your soul. I don’t believe I’ve seen such pools of liquid blue embedded into any other human. Have you? Comfortable in his own skin, whether covered in soft cotton or smeared in gore, he’s one of the few people able to tell a story, tell it well – and make you question his sanity all in one fell swoop.


Likeable? Oh, yes! There are so many stars in the skies of Hollywood — unobtainable, untouchable, the Too-Good’s and the High-and-Mighty’s of the movie industry. And why not? Why would said untouchables want anything to do with us lowly fans? All we did was adore them, and that’s not much…is it..?

This guy, this actor…he writes.  That has, first and foremost, caught my attention. Much respect for the writers of the world. Tell the story because we want to hear it.

He is an actor, a director, a writer, a producer — he edits, creates, and he interacts with his fans.


Yes, it is possible. His interaction whips many of us into a frenzy on a regular basis. 

So…likeable? Absolutely.

Lickable? So I’m hearing on an ever-increasing basis (Oh, ladies, you are so perverted!) and why not just say it outright.  Matt Farnsworth keeps most of his private life just that: private. How refreshing! But, at the same time, he has granted an all-access pass to those who wish to reach out to a star.

He gifts his fans with regular photos. Sometimes, he smiles…and it drives the ladies wild.


I think this attitude toward fans should have been this way in the beginning. But I also think the industry doesn’t like to allow ordinary people access into the hearts of the beloved stars who shine down on us all. I suspect Matt Farnsworth doesn’t give a damn, because he doesn’t mind being accessible, enjoys it, enjoys our reactions to him.


This guy pushes the envelope – his storytelling ability makes me squirm. I see the images flashing before me in particular sequences and automatically my mind wants to shut down. There are those tales no one will tell.  Someone forgot to tell him that.

I want to ask him ten questions, followed by ten more, but I hesitate; after all he is incredibly busy, and my interview is for my own selfish curiosity only. 

I remember a friend returning the copy of TOK she’d borrowed from me, and she said, “I haven’t been that disturbed for a long time.”

I said, “Really..? Did you like it?” She replied with, “That’s some scary shit there. You actually spoke to the guy that wrote it?” to which I answered in the affirmative.  She just shook her head. “That’s one disturbed individual.” 

I pulled up a photo and showed her. I could see the reaction playing across her face. She liked what she saw. Finally she said, “Of course, he’d have to be hot. All the crazy ones are.”


Au contraire, dear friend. He’s not crazy…at least I’m fairly certain he’s not.  He’s just got some kind of insane gift, creating a creature destined to slash through many a heart and mind in the coming months and years. Marcus Miller is not going away anytime soon. I wouldn’t have it any other way.





The statements within this document are mostly opinion, with some facts thrown in, y’know, to keep it interesting.


Thy Name is Diane

O, she doth teach the torches to burn bright!
It seems she hangs upon the cheek of night
Like a rich jewel in an Ethiope’s ear;
Beauty too rich for use, for earth too dear!
So shows a snowy dove trooping with crows,
As yonder lady o’er her fellows shows.
The measure done, I’ll watch her place of stand,
And, touching hers, make blessed my rude hand.
Did my heart love till now? forswear it, sight!
For I ne’er saw true beauty till this night…

—William Shakespeare, Romeo & Juliet


Why are we threatened by beauty? I can remember seeing my dearest glance over at some passerby, and then doing a double-take because she was (admittedly) pretty smokin’ hot.  I remember seething inside, angry at him for noticing…angry at her for existing.  Ah, Youth, you are a fickle bitch, aren’t you? 


Several years later I can look back and see that jealousy is such a waste of energy.  Don’t misunderstand: I am no expert in matters of the heart! I just have a knack for noticing human behavior. Last I checked, I was mostly human…


I know a guy in his seventies. He’s been married to the same woman for over 35 years. To this day he is ‘not allowed’ to go to a particular store because some woman works there and his wife would absolutely pitch a bitch if he stepped foot inside that store. Jealous much? 


Ladies, I hope you know that all that energy you burn with jealousy could be put to all sorts of other uses.  Try admiring some of the pretty things; you are one of them, you know! There are many more beautiful creatures in this world, way more beautiful than me — am I okay with that..?  I better be REALLY okay with it or you’d be dealing with one bitter bitch of a writer right about now.

While I have my crushes (you might have read about those) onscreen, there are a few women in the world that I can admit: they have put stars into my eyes.

I grew up out in the country, y’all. Yes – I have a southern accent. I grew up in a tiny southern town, and what better show to watch back in the day was The Dukes of Hazzard.  As a child, I loved Catherine Bach.  I believe she might have coined the term to describe those tiny shorts known as Daisy Dukes. She was athletic and tan and I liked her because she had those bad-ass brothers, and anyone who watched this show liked at least one of them.


Having lived in aforementioned Tiny Southern Town, USA – we held on to the Eighties well into the Nineties, both musically and otherwise. I loved Cyndi Lauper as a teen.  She was ridiculously cute and she was the music behind The Goonies…naturally I had to love her. 


While I was crushing on Jareth, a.k.a. David Bowie in The Labyrinth – I was secretly jealous of Jennifer Connelly for having been offered a place beside him.


She was so beautiful, and still is today. 


I will tell you that I have overcome jealousy.  It took years! I remember my dearest mentioning his slight obsession with Halle Berry.  Oooohh…at that moment I was all, “Yeah I hate that bitch.”


Really? Why? Halle Berry is not going to show up on our doorstep and take my man.  Yes, she’s gorgeous. Lesson learned:  unless your guy is prone to accidents where he slips and falls into someone else’s bed, let him look and let him have his crushes. You have yours, so get over it.

It’s like watching one of my very favorite movies ever, Trading Places, and expecting him to turn his head when Jamie Lee Curtis flashes the camera for a moment.  C’mon. They’re just boobs.


Back to me, and my little obsessions. Two words, one of which I can’t pronounce: Milla Jovovich.


Actually I don’t know anything at all about her on a personal level, but once I saw her on The Fifth Element, I was so hooked that I get all happy whenever I see any movie she stars in. So beautiful…I just freakin’ like her!





My favorite lady of the new millenium is someone with unabashed confidence and natural beauty, the inspiration for the title of this article.





There is only one Baby Sister, and over the last several months, I’ve heard many a mouth profess devotion and love to her. She is Diane Foster, and she is breathtaking.


Early in the story that revolves around The Orphan Killer, I saw the little angel that was Baby Sister.  She was shielded by her older brother from seeing the carnage of the death of her parents. He saw enough to permanently fuck his whole world up, she heard only a bit of this and that and, being so much younger, those memories just drifted away I think.  How lucky to be Baby Sister…how fortunate her brother was there to protect her, keeping her quiet so that they both could live.




Baby Sister grew up to be so incredibly gorgeous and leggy and…well, I suppose I could just go on and on about her, yes?


Why yes, I could.

I have such respect for Diane Foster. Heavens above! I can’t think of another female on this planet who can carry off such a modicum of decorum whether dressed in a sheer frock, or painted in rivers of blood. How can this be possible? I don’t know how she does it, I only know that she does.

The most amazing thing can happen: If you were to see a video clip of her, standing…the wind blowing her blonde locks about, her lips parted, eyes wide and gazing at you — you could accompany said video with the most soothing sounds of classical music dancing into your ears…and it would work.

Take the same video clip, and watch her watching you while the raunchiest and heaviest metal pounds into your skull…it would work.  She makes it work.  Baby Sister is a new driving force. I’m so honored to have heard the name “AnnThraxx” uttered from her sumptuous mouth.


Such sweetness…surely you won’t hold her violent actions against her. After all, for Baby Sister, she has no choice.  Her insidious reactions can no more be helped than the raging urges her murderous brother follows. Marcus will not take NO for an answer.

Ladies, remember – if your guy is looking, and his eyes aren’t falling out of his skull, there’s a good bet that he’s human. Let him look and let him be. 

Guys, that doesn’t mean you should drool. Have a little respect.

And so I end my humble ramblings with the words of a woman far wiser than me. Maybe she dreamed over a century ago, of the TOK creator dreaming of Audrey and Marcus…

I died for beauty, but was scarce
Adjusted in the tomb,
When one who died for truth was lain
In an adjoining room.

He questioned softly why I failed?
“For beauty,” I replied.
“And I for truth, -the two are one;
We brethren are,” he said.

And so, as kinsmen met a night,
We talked between the rooms,
Until the moss had reached our lips,
And covered up our names.

                –Emily Dickinson, 1830-1886






Conversation with a non-horror fan:

(She walks up to me while I’m working on a photo of Marcus Miller. I’m already a little irritated because I want to bring out the blood a little more around the eyes of his mask, and my touchscreen is not cooperating.)


Her: What is that?

Me: Just a photo I’m working on.

Her: (she walks around behind me and looks) Who the hell is that?

Me: Marcus Miller.

Her: Who?

Me: (trying to end the conversation) Marcus Miller. The Orphan Killer.  He was an orphan, and he kills people. Especially annoying people.

Her: Is he for real? Where’d you get that picture?

Me: He takes selfies when he chops people up.

Her: (looking at me as though I’ve grown a third eye) What the fuck? Why are you painting on his picture?

Me: Just because.

Her: So…you like killers?

Me: I like Marcus Miller.

Her: I think you’re crazy.

Me: I think you’re next.

(She walks away, and I can hear her muttering, “Crazy bitch…” and at the same time, I remark – to no one in particular, “What a crazy bitch. Glad that’s over.”)

Dream a Little Dream

There’s only two hours left. I can get through this. I only fell asleep once…I won’t do that again.


Counting down…

One hour left and Friday 13th will be over. Maybe somewhere else in the world, it will still be a bad luck kind of day. But this day has slipped away and I don’t mind at all. I fell asleep earlier this evening, and Marcus Miller scared the living hell out of me.

I swear, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.  I’ve just been really tired these last few weeks.  Going on a few restless hours of sleep every day takes it toll. 

Go ahead, do it. I can hear your eyes rolling from here.  Say it. He’s not a creepy dream person and what’s your problem anyway? You got your slashing bloody bad guys mixed up? Someone else from years ago took over the nightmare scene and obviously you aren’t well schooled on horror, are you?

I adored Freddy as a teen.  I was the recipient of many an eye roll from friends and classmates. I snuck Fangoria magazines into my schoolbag and “studied.” I had many of his nasty, catchy one-liners memorized. I took a straight razor and carved his name across my forearm.  Luckily, looking back, I didn’t think to turn those bleeding letters into a full-fledged prison tat, or I’d still be saving my money to this very day to get it removed. Ahh, memories.

Freddy killed teenagers. I was a teenager.  My parents were horrid. So what do you think I would daydream about..?  Well, anyway…

I have a modest knowledge of horror.  I have intimate knowledge of misery. 

So, I fell asleep earlier. I had listened to a particular soundtrack several times today and that voice…Marcus Miller…he was in my head and when I fell asleep the motherfucker just kept talking. He kept talking, and I felt a hand slip around my neck and squeeze. I could smell dried blood and I could feel breathing and I kept hearing something akin to laughter.


I woke up, this time. 

There’s no one around. My living room is dark. Everyone else is already asleep.

I’m just overworked and not well-rested, and this is not an obsession. I’ll be fine. You’ll see. I’ll be fine.

Boarding the Crazy Train

TOKportraitPeople throw the word “crazy” around so casually these days, don’t they?  If you do something hilarious, “Girl, you are so crazy!” or if you are on the evening news for stealing a car and ramming into the local Gas-n-Go, “What was that crazy guy thinking?!” or even if you are bored…”I am going crazy!”


Last night I boarded the crazy train, again. I slipped the disc out of the bloody-masked case and slipped it in, shaking my head at my own foolishness. It was late, I was tired, and what better way to relax than to watch Marcus Miller slaughter the foolish sheep and to hear the rich, disturbed voice pour into my ears, choking off my ability to move? Yes. Crazy.

Finishing the movie, I lay down…trying to fall asleep — every time I closed my eyes, a bloody machete came directly toward my eye and I would jump. That fucking machete. What a great night of sleep I had. Thanks a lot, Marcus.


The man who is TOK is not a gigantic guy, he’s built well and trim, and I initially looked him up before having seen the movie, but I’ve since forgotten what he looks like except he’s blonde. The mask kind of imprinted in my head; sure I know there’s a guy behind the mask, but it doesn’t seem to matter anymore. There’s every emotion, stripped down and exposed, in one perfect voice designed just for TOK. How can you accurately describe that sound? It hurts to hear it.

I loathe him. I absolutely loathe him. I can’t stay away from him. Such loathing, such hatred and admiration and fear and love and loathing — its a new kind of fear. You know the fire will hurt you, you know it’s hot and that you shouldn’t touch it. Why, then, is your hand extended..? Why are the flames licking your fingertips?

Because of my upbringing, each time I think of a few select scenes, I blanch. Automatic flinch — can’t help it. I see it in my head and immediately I think, “No, that is SO not right…” or “Oh damn that is really really wrong…”

Physically I shook my head, clapped a hand over my mouth…felt tears welling up. You watch a child go through those tortures and you  might champion such an insane beast rising up.

Even if it’s so wrong, even if I flinch, each bit has its place in the horror that is Marcus Miller: The Orphan Killer. It wasn’t meant to be a pretty story.

I would not stand to fight him. I would run.