Idk

OCEAN May one explain what powdered milk doth be? Is it not gas? I live in constant fear.

NOT DEAD The water flees to air, the rest is left. The dry debris then forms the powdered milk.

OCEAN Thou sayest water doth reside in milk?

NOT DEAD Pray tell what thou believ’st the liquid is?

OCEAN Is milk not one pure substance in itself?

NOT DEAD No; ‘tis only milk-stuff mixed with water.

OCEAN Yet milk appears from living cows’ own tits!

NOT DEAD ‘Tis juice from tits, yet water still it holds. If water be in juice, then ‘tis in milk.

Enter DERIN, the scarlet pescatarian.

DERIN ‘Tis drops of fat afloat in water, As if ‘twas dressing for thy greens. With water gone, the powdered milk remains.

A NOTE attached to an arrow, written by BURNING BRAND, flies through the window.

BURNING BRAND’S NOTE Obsessed with he who foolishly believ’d That milk is element of chemistry.

The NOTE crumbles to ash. BURNING BRAND is not seen again.

OCEAN As he who instigated such a fight, I felt that this creation was my duty.

OCEAN unrolls a scroll of parchment with a flourish.

OCEAN Behold, ‘tis milk, one hundred and nineteen.

Enter JASON FUNDER BERKER, a frog.

JASON FUNDER BERKER And yet the burning question still remains: ‘Tis metal, not, or somewhere in between?

JASON FUNDER BERKER does not wait to hear the answer, and exits.

DERIN A lanthinide! A special case, I see. How fascinating, geometrically.  But let us leave atomic musings be. For milk is a rare metal of our Earth.

OCEAN Of course it is, for I am always right. My choices are, of course, deliberate.

DERIN I do not doubt thou speakest truth, my lord Thy brilliant mind is utterly unmatch’d. It seems that an agreement has been reach’d.

OCEAN Of course; however, in sincerity I wish to know thy scholar-driven thoughts.

DERIN I fear ‘twould be beyond thy comprehension. To teach to thee would take this much too far.

Exit OCEAN, in a huff. Enter JESIN, BOOP BOOP, FLIPOCRITE, VELVET, and LOVELY DREAMS, curious onlookers attracted to the scene.

JESIN Do teach us, it would not take this too far!

DERIN Ye all complain of learning strangely, Then ask me baiting questions such as this!

BOOP BOOP Thy gross ineptitude shall be my death! Milk is formed of small component parts. The fat, the sugars, proteins all combine They seep through pores of membranes in this drink Unpleasant compounds all are filter’d out. All this obtained for small amounts of coin.

DERIN No, milk is lanthanide, pray keep the pace.

FLIPOCRITE The word thou mean’st is lactanide, I think.

DERIN May sharpened pain-shaped stones fill up thy shoes So that thou never know’st a moment’s peace.

VELVET A cube of milk, three inches on each side Could blow up the entire galaxy.

DERIN Our galaxy was formed in such a fashion. ‘Tis why we gave it name of “Milky Way.”

LOVELY DREAMS Thus ends our entertainment for the night Here fools and pompous scholars come to fight.

Exuent, pursued by a cow.

The movie is captivating, but the book is twenty kinds of terrifying, even now, ten years after I first read it. As disturbing as the movie may have been to some, the things Selick added really serve to cushion just how horrific the story really is.

First of all, the character of Wybie does not exist in the book. Coraline is facing all of this nearly alone, with her only help coming from the sly comments of the cat, a warning from the circus mice, and the stone given to her by her neighbor, presented with no comment but that it “makes the unseen seen.”

Second, the Other Parents are never quite as warm (and, dare I say, normal) as they are in the gifs above. They’re described as having paper-white skin and the Other Mother’s hair is said to move on its own, and her long, red, claw-like nails don’t ease any uncertainty that she is absolutely, positively up to no good. The first time Coraline meets them, they (and the rest of the Others) seem to be playing roles (for whatever reason, Coraline does not seem to pick up on this), like they all know what to say and what to do and are simply waiting for Coraline to make her move in their terrifying play world. This is shown to be partly true when the Other Parents tell her they know she’ll be back soon after she refuses the buttons - this time, to stay.

Third, the Other Mother commits atrocities that really should not have been in a book for anyone not fully grown up. She physically deforms the world around Coraline to slow her progress in their game beyond any mild traps the movie portrays, and, instead of turning the Other Father into the wandering pumpkin-thing seen in the film, she simply ceases to use him and throws his body away in the cellar, leaving him to rot with whatever bit of sentience he has left. She begins to lose her touch, as Coraline gains the upper hand. Her world doesn’t just become a nightmare - it falls apart completely. No creepy but oddly cool bug furniture here, just the house that now appears to be a child’s drawing. Whatever the Other Mother is (a beldame, but something tells me she’s much more ancient and powerful than that), she does not give half a hump about what she has to do to ensnare Coraline. Destroy the supporting characters of her twisted creation? Done. Allow herself to be dismembered to ruin Coraline’s life in the normal world? Not even gonna bat an eyelash.

On a final, personal note, imagine eight year-old me, ignored by my parents, absorbed in the story and identifying with Coraline from the start. Imagine me finishing this bloodcurdling book and immediately thinking of my basement, where there is still a locked door that my grandmother swears up and down is nothing more than a storage room, but has not once in my (or my mother’s) lifetime unlocked.

A decade later, at the Opening Night of the Coraline musical, I was sitting next to Morgan, Merilee’s youngest daughter, and told her how her not being scared had made the book happen. And she said “I was terrified. But I needed to find out what happened next. So nobody knew.”

There is no victory in skipping dinner, or lunch, or breakfast, or morning coffee, or dessert.

There is no victory in refusing heaters and air conditioners and fans and heated blankets.

There is no victory in denying yourself sleep, or showers, or movement, or water, or a comfortable bed, or taking the elevator vs. the stairs.

There is no victory in refusing pain meds and heating pads and ice packs and medical help.

There is no victory in punishing yourself needlessly, in telling yourself that this pain you feel is because you are bad to the core and deserve it.

There is no victory in choking back your laughter and your tears, to keep an imagined equilibrium of safety that is really just a dry, cracked, empty, endless emotional desert.

You are here. You are in this body, and this body is yours. You deserve good things. You are alive, and that is messy and loud, and messy and loud are okay.