(Why I love violence)
" I'm not quite what you might call a mild person. When the audience sees my films always seem frightened by the fact that I find everything in that mood that lovingly portray violence. \u0026lt;How can think of things asked orribili?> Critics always more generous. \u0026lt;How else so I could enjoy myself?> I wonder sempre.Tremo to think how my life would be boring without the throbbing excitement of the violence that surrounds me. It makes it worthwhile to spend a quarter for newspapers, lifts the services on local news, it helps the economy and may even make an exciting worldly walk to the shop only if you are fortunate enough to attend a 'aggression or a car accident. Not that I want to hurt someone, I never used physical violence in my life, but I think the violence serves to relax and gives me comfort. Even when the violence was directed at me personally, I have managed to maintain a cheerful attitude. Attacked recently New York, after suffering a blow I managed to stagger to the apartment of a friend rather snobbish. As soon as I opened the door and saw me covered in blood they say that I have blurted out: \u0026lt;I just killed five people and I came here to get involved>. Life is nothing without a good sense of humor.
"Ever since I was small I was intrigued by the violence and I've always identified with that Diane Arbus photo of a child holding a toy grenade, and his mouth twisted in a grimace of mock horror.
"My parents say that they suspected that something was wrong with me from the beginning and the My childhood obsession for traffic accidents seemed to confirm their worst paure.Mentre the other kids were out playing cowboys and Indians, I was lost in fantasies of crumpled metal and people screaming aiuto.Facevo sweet little voice to relatives who are not suspected of anything because I bought some machinery of any kind, just that they were new and shiny. When I was alone I ran outside in my place favorite, a tree stump surrounded by mud that was in a dark part of the woods near our house. Here was my little fantasy world: a children's version of a center of automobile collision. I took two cars and pretended that they were going on an isolated country road until it swerved and went crashing into each other. I am very excited and started to take a sledgehammer to the car, all the while shouting: 'Oh my God! There was a terrible accident!>. I dwell on destruction for a while 'till the end I took my little toy wagon-gear (the only one who was never injured) and trailer up the wreckage to my little scrap yard game, which was full of cars destroyed. [...]
"Another obsession with child-related violence in my mind were the amusement parks. I have always loved racing with fear and yet I would now hundreds of miles to tour in eight-wheel, if I read recently that someone was killed during a race. If I could choose my death would be on an eight-wheel, leaving the rails and between the hull crowd crammed into a cabin of cotton candy at an amusement park state. [...]
Another childhood obsession were the hurricanes. We worship and pray always that one hit our comunità.Una time it happened was Hurricane Hazel, and I always remember him with love. The strong winds uprooted trees in our lawn and I sat for hours watching love with that damage. But the best view was right on the street, where a giant tree had fallen on a neighbor's house, after you could see straight into their bedrooms and at times I dined at the corner, so I could observe the damage while I ate. I remember that I broke her heart when they were the builders to make repairs. "
p.51-60 shock-Ed Lindau
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