Monday, April 20, 2009

love is blind...

...especially that of the family generated variety.

whilst on an excursion on the back streets of newtown in search of cardboard, i stumbled upon this crowning jewel of parental pride.

mohammed's current age is unknown, but imagine the fun [insert terror] of being picked up from school in this bad ass set of wheels with your cherub-like baby image plastered everywhere, every day. going over to mohammed's house for dinner potentially wrist-slashingly mundane: you'd never get through the obligatory family album, thousands of static semi-identical phots of mohammed in various much adored & analysed environments. our precious son, nicknamed god.

or what happens the day the rear vision motif is taken down and replaced by, i don't know the house pet, or the new family kebab franchise advertising, done at the same print copy place that did mohammed's baby shots at such a good price. doghouse anyone?


so i've been thinking about serial killers a bit lately. questions of ticks, triggers, all part of the course for realistic character development for my protaganist which we'll be filming later this year. she won't be shooting anyone but she lives on the sharp divide between myth and reality.

in the course of my research which covered psychological profiling, weird factors invariably come up. there's a lot of mythology regarding this area of human endeavor manifested mostly through the media.

one aspect which is consistent are dysfunctional family backgrounds featuring at least one overbearing adult figure. there's ALWAYS a conflict source, often violence, sex, drug abuse of sorts just to pathologically spin the adolescent mind off even further from the intense flux of the teenage condition.

once again, we're so over-exposed to all this stuff now it's like being hit with the 40 hour famine on high repetitive mode punctuated by recycled imagery of bloated, fly bown malnutrition children who can be saved by jesus organisations, right? in this case religion really is their last hope, because noone else seems to care. we're all too consumed by our little lives or for some, those of our neighbour [he looks like norman bates].

what comprises dysfunction is hugely subjective and has been immersed into popular culture vernacular. however the main definition used by medical practitioners relates to where relationships in a family unit do not promote or are conducive to emotional & physical health. dysfunction is bigger than the individual. like everything in life, it's about connections, or lack of.

which brings me back to this car.

it's very likely that the dear boy will not grow up to be a serial killer or some psychopath who will overwhelm the world with his reign of terror.

far be it for me to suggest that well meaning bursting pride at the birth of your child could logically result in such a thing. you want to poster it everywhere and shout from tall buildings. love does that to people & i wouldn't want it to stop. bring it on i say! but then, my name's not mohammed.

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