You Need to Rewatch Weapons

I’ve been Weapons running all over the place since watching the film in theaters. That was back in August; it’s now December, and I have yet to be able to get the wing-armed run out of my head. I wonder if anyone has seen me doing it. I have Weapons run back home from a night out; I have Weapons run in the subway; I have Weapons run in broad daylight; I have Weapons run in the woods. Zach Cregger has effectively implanted a Naruto run in me; he has hijacked my brain like he’s an old witch; he has picked a point where time stops and my life comes crashing over me in waves. I don’t know any other way to snap out of it, except to rewatch Weapons. 

Previously, I mentioned how I believed that everything already exists. I’ve been cooking on that idea, and I’m finding it to be more and more true. It’s all borrowed energy, and trying to find the source of that energy is a bit like staring at the sun. I have had the incredible intelligence to not stare at the sun, except for when there’s an eclipse, and I’ve found that the same should apply for my perspective on life. I shouldn’t try to figure out the source of all my thoughts and desires; I should just trust in my expression; I should trust that the sun will come out every morning. That is much easier said than done because my thoughts and my emotions can still be excruciating even if I’m generally aware of them. What it is is the individualistic desire to be original and unique, even though it’s all derivative, and even the most creative people have to come up with comparisons when they’re pitching their work. People have to be able to recognize you or your work as a part of something or as related to something. This year, the theory that everything is connected has been drilled into my brain over and over again. That theme or idea has been the cultural zeitgeist in today’s day and age, and maybe in every day and age since film was invented. It’s coupled with the idea that your experience is a reflection of you, it’s coupled with the idea that everything is a mirror, and it’s coupled with my personal conundrum that everything I see in the mirror feels uncanny; desperately trying to be unique and original, for me, makes my experience feel unsettlingly recognizable. Trying to be creative drives me to constantly compare myself to others. It was exactly what I was scared of as a kid: my parents comparing me to other kids. That fear– along with all of my other phobias– is life-affirming, which explains why I find horror films to have the same effect. That fear tells me to buck up and move forward. Everyone else also has to face their fears. I just hope that I’ve been honest.

Good horror films, in my opinion, are good at shining the clearest mirrors back at the viewer. I’m afraid of looking at my own reflections– maybe I have dysmorphia or low self-esteem– even though I stare at screens all day, which are mirrors at the end of the day. I think I’m just describing Black Mirror at this point. Anyway, Weapons is a very clear mirror, and it’s so scary that you have no choice but to laugh. Maybe me Weapons running has that effect on whoever has seen me doing it. I realize, writing this, that I have no choice but to laugh at myself.