My Mother is a video nasty,a  lurid analog nightmaretranscribed with bloody fingersonto VHS, shoved in a thincardboard box with age lines like soggy skin,then sealed in urban legends:tight, taught cellophane.   They speak of it in whispers ondiscussion boards.  How the tracking is off on every copy,EVERY copy.  There is a gnarly buzzscratching through the opening credits.  The last…

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