I should berate the fact that such a film should ever be watched (should exist however), but the generation of today I acknowledge has a profound curiosity for the obscene, bizzare, and downright gruesome. Sometimes I ponder if our cautious need to fascinate and acquaint ourselves with death in defense will in return find our own deserving unmaking thereof, more than one way of contradiction as it is the Twelve Monkeys that find itself chasing death in order to escape from it. There is much zest, zeal and wonder in this place called life, and as we continue this path leading to preservation, have we elude from the grasp of what it is like to feel alive, or live? Though perhaps, the true question lie in whether the benefit of living in ignorance outweigh the burden of carrying what we know. Ever yet still, if we have two boy prodded each other with stick hoping to be the better of the two, and along comes the blacksmith that forged swords, hence ending the bickering and lives of both. So then, is their death the consequence that became of the weapon being made and carried or the one who chooses to wield it? Neither could be the wiser or just and we would still find a fault and blame.
In the end, the insecurity consumes like a voracious craving that never ends, nudging the edges of a helter skelter that had always seem to be of reaching through by the rippling depths. And all at once, everything and nothing one the same in way of befitting a worthwhile and worthlessness.
