Horror immobolizes us because it is made of contradictory feelings: fear and seduction, repulsion and attraction. Horror is a fascination...Horror is immobility, the great yawn of empty space, the womb and the hole in the earth, the universal Mother and the great garbage heap...With horror we cannot have recourse to flight or combat, there remains only Adoration or Exorcism.
He felt entombed and stifled and desperately craved oxygen. He vainly raised the question: Why have you forsaken me?'Call my mother,' he yelled. He had meant to say: I'm dying. Please call a priest.The shadowy Presence, who had been in a panic, rushed over to him and, disregarding the fact that it was live, pushed the cable aside.'You're alive,' the Presence said in breathless tones. 'Mamma's here to help.'The elevator continued to descend, creating a vacuum. Barnes gasped for breath.'Breathe in, breathe out,' the Presence urged. She tapped his pulse rapidly with two fingers. 'Come on, you can do it. One, two, three. Breathe in. Mamma's here to help.' ... In his delirium he thought that indeed his mother was here to help. However, in all of Barnes's twenty-nine years of so-called living, his mother had never come so comfortingly close as this.
Wanted: Elevator Man
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He felt entombed and stifled and desperately craved oxygen. He vainly raised the question: Why have you forsaken me?'Call my mother,' he yelled. He had meant to say: I'm dying. Please call a priest.The shadowy Presence, who had been in a panic, rushed over to him and, disregarding the fact that it was live, pushed the cable aside.'You're alive,' the Presence said in breathless tones. 'Mamma's here to help.'The elevator continued to descend, creating a vacuum. Barnes gasped for breath.'Breathe in, breathe out,' the Presence urged. She tapped his pulse rapidly with two fingers. 'Come on, you can do it. One, two, three. Breathe in. Mamma's here to help.' ... In his delirium he thought that indeed his mother was here to help. However, in all of Barnes's twenty-nine years of so-called living, his mother had never come so comfortingly close as this.
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My old man's a white old manAnd my old mother's black.If ever I cursed my white old manI take my curses back.If ever I cursed my black old motherAnd wished she were in hell,I'm sorry for that evil wishAnd now i wish her wellMy old man died in a fine big houseMy Ma died in a shack.I wonder were i'm going to die,Being neither white nor black?
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A misadventurer's greatest fear is their mother.