Lecter(n.)

Jan 02, 2026

 

Tonight, I have just finished a series that touched me in ways that I have struggled with. Beyond depression, beyond anxiety, beyond lewdness.

 

Speaking plainly, I used to lose myself in the nectar that results when carnality and violence collide; when senseless but intimate brutality and passionate love are joined at the hip, or even when humans get caught in an unfortunate circumstance and suddenly experience certain kinds of catastrophic trauma and break, like human bodies unfortunately do.

 

I understand that this revelation might be met with either dismissal or amusement, in part because of the triviality and ubiquity of people who like to imitate interesting figureheads, especially the eponymous individual whom this particular show is named after. That is fine.

 

This guilty pleasure has been with me for decades. I have read that it might be my Shadow self, in part or in whole. A strong emphasis on might, because like I said, this show has touched me in ways that has made me realize that I might not be as… balanced as I would like to believe. Not as balanced as I would like my head to be, which I am sure a lot of people have felt when spending time with me or around me (oh yes, I know that you know something’s off, and I apologize, That is just the way I am).

 

 

I will spare the reader the details of how much media I have consumed and collected, both in morbid fascination, and the ways which I prefer the specific methods of… cessation and termination of life… enough to experience the kind of heat that builds when Eros calls out with a wet, playful whisper, but I do hope you take my word for it that I really don’t look at things the same way most people who have a fascination for the macabre do.

 

I am honestly not sure how I was supposed to react to the show. What I remember is how I reacted in default: It was like an atrophied muscle within me had been stretched. A secret lung drawing a breath of fresh air. It was a beautiful reflection. A breathtaking view.

 

Whoever wrote and made the show, designed the wretched minds, designed the set pieces… They were someone like me. Or rather, someone who would understand me, should I carve a smile on my stomach and let my insides spill on the floor.

 

Am I perhaps falling madly in love with a commodity? I do not believe so. There are too many intricate details written on every line of dialogue, every subtext that the show does not hold your hand through, every flavor, every note, every breath and eye contact for me to believe that this show was made with mass appeal in mind.

 

On the contrary, I believe the show was made to repulse even those who are paying attention.

 

I believe the show also acts as a beacon for those who are a little different. How the… performance set pieces… were designed. The totem, the cello concerto, the dishes, the various artworks, the esoteric references…

 

It would not be an exaggeration to say that the show felt like it was made for me. Or at least people like me. I honestly felt excited: finally, someone sees things the way I do. Or did, in this case.

The rational part of my mind, however, does NOT like that I feel validated. I (the “I” part of me that speaks with normalcy, the version of myself that people interact with) do not like the fact that I feel seen, I do not like how much I can relate to the ways and the rationalizations of how the creatures in this show take lives and arrange them in ways that express themselves or fulfill a compulsive need.

 

I also realize mid-composition how the show almost feels like it’s the person it’s named after; like it wants to be my friend before devouring me. Thankfully, the show itself cannot kill me or compel me to do so. I may be imbalanced, but I keep the thoughts under control. That is, to say, I do not feel an inclination to dramatize or copy the acts depicted in the show.

 

I am far too imaginative to be unoriginal :)

 

Kidding aside, viewing the show could not have been more poetically and comedically timed for me, because I had fallen and still am in love with cooking. This is the casual side of me speaking now: at certain points during the show I thought about how much I’d like to try cooking with long pork.

 

Of course, this side of me is known only to a few of those I know, for obvious reasons.

 

When I impulsively started the series, I thought I was going to be treated to a gripping mystery filled with twists and turns and—don’t get me wrong—there was definitely plenty of that within the show. I did not expect to get spoken to in a… design language… that only a few would understand, and fewer still would enjoy.

 

Would I watch it again? Probably not. It’s been my experience that re-watching a movie or show cheapens the experience, and I sadly have far too much reverence for this series to watch it again so soon. It even feels like it should be a once in a lifetime experience.

 

Maybe when enough time has passed, I will have forgotten enough about it that it will feel like watching it again for the first time. Absence does make the heart grow fonder when it comes to certain things.