Needing an Antidote.

I think I should stop watching Japanese horror films. Things happen when I do. Things in the house move; things disappear; technology plays up; I sleep long hours and wake up feeling like a half-eaten chicken vindaloo that’s been left to fester for two weeks on the crumbling, vomit-strewn stairway of a block of council flats in the darkest part of Wolverhampton.

I was warned about this. ‘Don’t watch Japanese horror films,’ I was told. ‘You’re attracting unsavoury influences.’

I wonder whether it might be right. I wonder whether the squeaky clean, ultra efficient, technology-obsessed surface of modern Japanese culture hides a dark underbelly where entirely different rules pertain and other-worldly forces drive the imperative. And maybe they have long tentacles which travel through cyberspace and wriggle unseen from the computer monitor.

Am I going a little mad? Probably, but being mad doesn’t necessarily mean being wrong. I think I need Tiger Lily on my team (or a French mistress, or a cuddly kitten…)