How do we justify our morbidity when faced with true horror? We, the revelers and writers of fake fears, and dreamt up demons. How do we justify our fanciful imaginings when faced with a truth that puts it all to shame?

I had half written a different sort of rant. Like the rest of the sleeping country, I was oblivious of what foul beast towards Bethlehem crept: Katrina.

Anyone of good conscious has been horrified by what has occurred. And though the tragedy started with a storm, and was compounded by a flood, it is the all too human elements that hit us hardest. The families unable to save the elderly, the abandonment of the bodies of loved ones, humans plucked from trees and rooftops. And then there are the crimes that in light of the tragedy can only be called abominations. Rape, murder, complete brutality. I dare not even begin, if you have read or watched --you know.

I will not here rehash Katrina's carnage. You know, we all know, and wish there was nothing to know. What I will share with you now is what has been buzzing in my brain lately, the questions and ideas that always haunt me when I witness the truth of what I imagine for my amusement: is horror writing of any worth when true horrors write themselves real onto our present?

It's the old accusation that is never clearly spoken yet always implied every time the self-righteous feel the need to condemn Horror: that to read and write Horror is corruptive and akin to committing such horrors. As whenever a section of society condemns another, there is latent potential for guilt, and one cannot help but wonder--is it true? No matter how much one can deny it, by speaking the accusation the accusers make the potential of it real even if it is not. That in itself--the potential--is the seed of discontent and guilt.

When a true horror rears its ugly head, the seed may sprout.

How dare we entertain with false horrors when so many suffer true horrors?

Do not fear--I will defend the genre and dark imaginings I love--but let me start with an incident.

Over lunch with co-workers our conversations mulled over Katrina. The over all theme was shock. This was before the buses had come for the survivors. This was when only bad news was coming out of New Orleans. When a co-worker commented on the rapes, the murders, the looting and shooting, another co-worker kept repeating over and over: I don't understand. She understood perfectly well that these things were actually happening, what she failed to grasp was why. She even asked, why would anyone do that? She could not fathom that in the middle of chaos individuals would compound the gravity of the situation by adding human evils.

Anyone that reads Horror understands.

To understand human evils is not to condone or be a part of those evils.

Human nature is complex, there is so many aspects to it, that not a one of us can truly say that he understands it thoroughly. We have to pick and choose our blind spots, because to try to understand it all would be overload. Why else would Buddhist monks have to totally isolate themselves from society and meditate all--the--time? It's the only way one could come close to grasping all of human nature. And we cannot come to our understanding of it just by living and breathing. We have to seek it out. Not all of us can know true love, not all of us will be great men or great thinkers, but we can still understand these concepts and the human nature alive in such instances. There has always been ways to learn about human nature other than trying to live every aspect of it. First there was oral history and religion and song, then poetry, then theater, then the novel, and so on. Entertainment has always been our teacher, teaching us about ourselves because there is no way one human could experience every possibility of humanity. We laugh at the comedian, whether we have humor or quick wit enough to see the ironies of life--or not. We cry at heart break, whether known it a thousand times over ourselves or not at all. Horror is our teacher as well.

Horror serves the function of teaching us about aspects of human nature most other forms shy away from. Religion defines this and that as evil, but never delves into the why it is evil or why someone would commit such evil. Many other forms of entertainment do the same. How many times have you seen the completely stereotypical villain? These villains, these shadows of evils that barely touch real villainy just prove that most people do not want to look too closely into the darkness--perhaps afraid it will look back? Horror faces those evils others cringe from, and tries to understand it in a way no other form dares. Even to the extent where we are inside the mind of evil, feeling its rejoice in evil, feeling through catharsis what it is to be evil. Hence, why so many condemn Horror--because in a way they're right. We are evil. To dream these acts, to put ourselves in that moment, and in that moment we are evil. But it is not wrong to want to understand evil thoroughly, and we can only do that by reading Horror and putting ourselves in that place.

I know, some of you are thinking: I don't read Horror for some silly sense of trying to understand evil! I read Horror because I like it. Gimme the gore!

I know, I do too.

When I was thirteen and devouring The Shining I sure as hell did not care whether it was teaching me anything or not.

But it does teach, whether we realize it through our entertainment or not. Hell, it is a part of our humanity to enjoy delving deeper and deeper into human nature, to seek out further and different expressions of what is human. It's fun, and slightly obsessive. We all fixate on one aspect of human nature. Just go to a sports stadium full of half-drunk screaming men--we fixate baby, boy do we fixate. It just so happens Horror fans fixate on what most people prefer to condemn rather than understand. Yet are sports fans violent sociopaths that walking outside a football stadium will tackle a passerby? No. And so it is with the Horror aficionado.

I can truly say Horror has taught me many things. The depths of human suffering is one of them, and for that I am grateful, even though when I look on the TV screen and see the suffering or others I feel it keenly. The depths of human evil is another, and I can condemn it with vehemence, but I can also understand from where it comes. And because I understand that, it seems just a bit more manageable because of it. I'm less likely to ask why something horrible happens. It happens, for a myriad of reasons that I can define if I care to because I've been taught them all by a great guru: Horror.

To each their own path to enlightenment. Believe it or not, my understanding of humanity has been given to me by Horror. And that is a beautiful thing. I do not feel guilt when I see true Horrors just because I freely imagine false ones.

I feel understanding.

To delve deeper into how Horror teaches us our humanity, try a bit of Literary Criticism. If you think Literary Criticism is the stuff of the crotchety old professors smoking pipes, then blow your mind by checking out Danse Macabre by Stephen King. If that piques your interest, try the harder twisted perverted stuff with Skin Show by Judith Halberstam. Ever thought those stereotypical slasher teenage-scream machine movie were sexist? Judith Halberstam will show how its always that lone female that survives it all that holds the true power, along with delving into the queer-fear of so many Horror movies. For a more general staple of Horror Literary criticism there's The Philosophy of Horror by Noel Carroll. It's a little drier than the previous two--but hey, it's Horror, it can never be boring. Still, the latter is more for those English BA geeks that feel a lil naughty reading King with the same reverence their prof's think they should consider Milton...

...yes...that's me...

What of it?

The road to enlightenment is hard enough. Might as well enjoy a lil naughty nasty beautifully perverse gore ridden verse along the way.