M. NIGHTMARE SHYAMALAN
I Hate You, M. Night Shyamalan
I hate you, M. Night Shyamalan. For O so many things. For daring to invade my hours of precious sleep, as they are, already waning, and decimate them with half-waking dreams of terror, the kind where you feel like there's no justifiable reason for the fear, but are nonetheless scared out of your mind.
I hate you, M. Night Shyamalan, for having manipulated my dreams and turned them against me, converting a time of rest into fitful half-sleep. Through your ad campaigns that reveal no plot but convey every fear, I bear my anxiety solidly, in the shape of tears cried in sleep, and it woke me with a crying out aloud and a clawing at my own skin (get them off me, get them off me) that knows no logical point of origin, no natural comfort.
But I also forgive you. This is your brilliance--imposing the supernatural perspective on the masses. You cannot help yourself for delving into the darkness, both yours and mine.
And the Nightmare Goes To...
"I'd like to thank the Nightmare Academy for this prestigious award, but I would be remiss if I didn't mention all the people who sucked my night's sleep dry of any substance and replaced it with a thudding sense of fear and forboding--my landlord, for inspiring me with ever-increasing rent; my friends who keep getting married, making me feel like even more of a spinster; and of course, Chris Carter, David Duchovny, Gillian Anderson and TNT, for their late-night reruns of The X-Files, which fill my head with images no human should have to see before bedtime. And then there's the man who inspires it all. M. Night, this Nightmare's for you!"