Trauma, trauma, trauma

As I settled down to watch Clockwork Orange with my friends, I was warned by all 3 boys that I might not find the movie enjoyable. I rolled my eyes a little and stood up for my girly self, insisting that I liked creepy fiction and would be totally fine with whatever this film threw at me. I praised the eerie, reveled in the scary, and marveled at creativity--surely I would like this literary classic turned movie. I could not have been more horribly mistaken.

It was terrible. The words, the images, the music-- it was like nothing I had encountered before despite my life-long passion for "scary" movies. But let me tell you, this was not just a scary movie. It was, rather, a gruesome display of sex and violence. I could barely sit still and found my head buried nearly constantly in the shoulder of the friend next to me. To tell the truth, it was not long until I excused myself from the room, apologizing for my inability to endure the film in its entirety. I walked back home (quickly and cautiously, of course) all the while perplexed by the mind that had created the storyline from which I had just run. "What kind of person even thinks of that?" I asked myself. I was wholly distraught by the outward expressions of this obviously (?) deranged mind. But soon, my confusion and distress turned to anger. I became enraged that a person felt the need to pour even more violence into an already corrupt world. I was not just reacting to the film at this point, but I was also infuriated by whoever was involved in the production of that very film. To me, there was no separating the creator from his creation. In the same way, I find it difficult to separate the words and cyber-actions of Mr. Bungle from him as a person. His expressions were as dark and perverse as his mind...