Morbid Taste in Literature

     I am reading a book, originally written in Swedish, I think, translated into several languages, including English, called, Let Me In.  It is very sick and creepy, like Stephen King, but entertaining.
     Truthfully, as much as I like horror, I cannot watch the VHS we own, Silence of the Lambs, with Jodi Foster and Anthony Hopkins, alone.
     I have thought about topics I might write another book about, but it will not be on line again, if I do.  I have thought of writing something light and funny.  I have thought of writing something suspenseful, like a Lifetime movie.  They always show the same story again and again.  I think I know the recipe by now.
     Life is intense, and so much swift karma changing, maya's clutches on the world.  Communication is not good right now, it seems.  I have already butted heads with my kids today.  Someone was saying that it is another retrograde, astrologically speaking.  I do not know that much about it, truthfully, do not really understand.  I have not delved into astrology in a really long time.
     They also pointed out that perhaps, things are worse now that Mehera is gone, Mehera J. Irani, Meher Baba's beloved.  That makes sense, in a way, I suppose.  However, things have been intense as long as there has been history.
     Well, I got off subject again.  I am not a literary snob, nor an intellectual, even though a guy I hung out with a few years ago, called me a southern belle, Jewish intellectual, which was a funny combination.  He must have thought that, because I dragged him to A Course in Miracles, and we went to see my mother's art work, and happened to come across my old papers, art critiques from college, taped into my sketch pad from college.  Wow, I could really write then.  My art critiques were rather sophisticated, to toot my own horn.
     I really do not know why I read such crap, or maybe not crap, but morbid stuff.  Perhaps, it makes me feel less morbid, by comparison.  It is hard not to get depressed when you carry a load of responsibility, and you do one thing wrong, as far as grown kids are concerned, and your other kid gets pissed at you, and it's his birthday, and on and on it goes.  

'And the seasons they go round and round, and the painted ponies go up and down...' 
    Joni Mitchell (Circle Game)
     
     So, I just want to escape, even to a world of horror, because it is not as bad as the real horror, I suppose, but I am really over-reacting, I guess.  And, I am sorry if this blog makes no sense, lol.