Once a year, I get drunk in a darkened house for a week.
I get drunk and watch...Eraserhead.
As we all do, I think?
It's my vacation.
Once a year I have a little black and white drunk-a-thon. No phones; not a single luxury. My horoscrope has been suspended.
Loud, industrial noises.
The first two days I just watch. Well, I *drink* and watch...Eraserhead.
The third and fourth day I find myself pacing, circling the TV, looking at the glow from behind. I'll pause for a pizza. I won't eat it; I just order it to prove I'm still -- in control. Eraserhead.
By the end of the week, I interact with this majestic little film.
Not so much words as -- gesticulations. I kiss the screen. I rub my buttered belly on the screen, as I think we all do sometimes.
I roam around the house. The darkened, drunken house.
Sometimes, and this has got to be an hour before dawn, I put a rose up my bum. You know, the business end sticking out. And I sort of improvise a playful dance in my surroundings: "La la la la la la la Eraserheeead." If you were there, in my house, you could follow a trail of those rose petals, and they would lead to me, curled up, fetal position, quivering, crying, my teeth chattering, industrial, Eraserhead-type noises coming from inside me. And as you pick me up, and wrap me in a blanket, my vacation would be -- complete.
This behaviour might disturb me if Eraserhead weren't such a fine little film.
Don'tcha think?
http://www.kithfan.org/kith/sbm/eraser.html