I wish depression were an emergency. I wish someone could take one look at how sick I am and go “oh my god, we need to get you to a hospital!” and then when we get there I get rushed into surgery and the surgeons say “it’s a good thing you brought her here when you did, this is a seriously advanced case” and then they put me under and spend the next ten hours pulling metres of long, sticky black strands of gunk out of my body, throwing it immediately into an incinerator so that it can’t infect anyone else. And then they could stitch me back up and I could rest a few days, and when I leave the hospital everyone can see how much better I am and they congratulate me saying “well done, you’ve been so brave, I’m so glad you’re ok. I love you.”
I LOVED the movie 28 Days Later when I saw it as a kid and I still adore it. I sat out 28 Weeks Later because I was so mad they’d made a sequel to a perfect movie. But this really good trailer for the next installment got me back into the franchise.
Set to a chilling arrangement of “Boots” by Rudyard Kipling. Really good use of a poem. (The Guardian has some more, also chilling, info.)
I—’ave—marched—six—weeks in ‘Ell an’ certify
It—is—not—fire—devils, dark, or anything,
But boots—boots—boots—boots—movin’ up an’ down again,
Okay, this made me pause and literally write out every letter that ‘fell’ in order (‘oomngouuhhrsrtutpntnue’), then make sure they were all contained in ‘turntomushuponthergroun’.
They are, and it’s very satisfying.
coincidentally, “oomngouuhhrsrtutpntnue” is the sound I make when it’s autumn
