HOST (Based On The Movie)

Video: HOST (Based On The Movie)

Video: HOST (Based On The Movie)
Video: Host - Official Trailer [HD] | A Shudder Original 2024, May
HOST (Based On The Movie)
HOST (Based On The Movie)
Anonim

Silence. SILENCE. Silence…

Can you hear the rhythm? Silence has a rhythm. Obsession is born in the silence, as well as in the rumble of a drum.

What are you obsessed with? War, religion, yourself, a partner, children, dancing?

Maybe in the silence you choose the words to fit them into the rhythm of the next article? Can you hear the rhythm of the article?

Ba-dum-tts! No, not like that, damn it. BA-DUM-TC !!!

The master enters the room. All eyes are focused on the Master. The Master is surrounded by a crowd of his disciples, his followers. The Master's job is to breathe Dionysian power into his disciples. The task of the students is, following the Apollonian discipline, to grind, trim the edges of their talent, cutting out of it, that is, excuse me, from themselves a work of art. What are you obsessed with?

The master is in the room. Neat, stylish, tough and straight like a bamboo bunch. His every gesture is filled to the brim with power, his gaze is prickly and ironic, his movements are temperamental, but accurate to micro-frequencies. Everything obeys and follows the Master's hand, the Master's gaze, the slightest movement of the Master's facial muscles. In this silence, each of us has no more than three seconds to show what he is capable of. No more than three seconds to give your best and catch a positive swing in the Master. Who's talking about praise, huh ?! Who?!

If I am out of rhythm, my Master will be displeased. He will throw me out, put a cross on me, scream in a terrible voice - "out of my sight!" just as the grape crushers do, trampling the berries, crushing them under themselves, subordinating their nature to the glory of Dionysus and his madness. Obsession hits my Master's head, and now he is ready, without hesitation, to forcefully drink each of those present, weakening his will, introducing into a trance, the illusion of the only possible goal in life, and the illusion of life only for the sake of this goal …

Well, who is ready to get close to the Master? Who's ready for a drink ?!

Drink, drink, drink! There is no value in you! This is what the Master says. There is no gift in you, no talent in you, no taste, no feeling, no sex, nothing! But you sincerely think that you must somehow awaken it, having introduced yourself into the same berserker madness, furious and stupefying, but - giving a RESULT. This is tunnel thinking, narrowing the entire diversity of the world to a single tiny point, in which, in general, there is nothing, but for you it becomes everything, the center of the Universe, the meaning of life, the only goal that should be achieved, no matter what and on whom. Corpses? H-ha. And they did not do this in the name of the gods, the head of Orpheus remembers this!

Do you want to be near the Master? Deserve it! You should be the best every moment next to the Master, but who is ready to pay more ?! More! More! MORE!!! MORE VICTIMS !!!

Obsession kills empathy. Makes us anxious, nervous, tense, aggressive, and finally just cruel. You have to understand that this cruelty begins with yourself. Allowing to cut ourselves in a lively way, we become insensitive first of all to our own pain, and then - where else to someone else's? Where to? Obsession leads to damage incompatible with life. Does the Master care about that, huh? Who's better? Who quickly? Who is brighter? Who is tougher ?! The incandescence of the anvils, on which the next rhythm is knocked out of the pliant disciples, the illusion of a dizzying rise invariably lead to the collapse of this Babylonian tower overnight. Ashes to Ashes. You are either a dead man or a Phoenix in the eyes of the Master. And the Master is not interested in the dead. He is only interested in the alchemical formula of success, the perfection of his craft. The essence of pure talent mixed with obsession.

It seems that obsession inevitably arises where apathy is. In conditions neither good nor bad, neither fish nor meat, not too cruel, but not too kind. In the nest where Aspiration is slain. Where they don't dream of the stars. Where you are too soft and tender for the unbearably grounded, rough ground from which you are trying to germinate. Where beauty is lacking, but the child is overwhelmed with it to such an extent that the light of his own inner obsession attracts the Masters. And through pain, humiliation, manipulation, the Master pulls this obsession into the light, showing it to the frozen spectators, like Perseus the severed head of a Gorgon. The spectators, who did not understand anything, were petrified with delight.

And you, obsessed, do not even have this concert in your head - it doesn't matter anymore … You are the best 24/7, of course, you are the best at this damn concert. And in place of a feeling of pride, or joy from one's work, or satisfaction, there is emptiness, a burnt field, and alchemical formulas. How, how, how to be the best ?! You cry from the realization of the infinity of the Universe, strewn with unattainable stars that you cannot touch. And what a pity, how unbearably painful, that you are unable to understand that you yourself are the real, most authentic part of this Universe, and the stars rotating in space are as inaccessible to you as you are to them …

Who is willing to pay for success with blood?

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