I Love October.

Best time of the season, in my opinion. The weather is starting to cool down, and there’s this ominous feeling in the air. Is the ominous feeling from man? Most likely, but that doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it.

The paranormal has always held my interest, since it’s the only thing that seems to keep man’s destructive curiosity in the same place. It keeps mystery in the world. Keeps questions flowing through us. Do I believe every paranormal story I hear? No. I’m not that gullible… But there are a few that make me question.

When I was 4 years old, we moved to Arizona in this lovely little white house. There was nothing special about the neighborhood we were in, or we assumed the people we got the house from… But there was something wrong with that place.

I heard a lot of voices at night. At first, I assumed it was my parents talking… But the more I listened, the more I realized they were speaking complete jibberish. There were no words. Just tones that made them sound like words. I’d also hear a pounding on my window every once in awhile… Which was right above my bed. As you can imagine, I didn’t sleep there very often. A lot of times, I retreated to my grandmother’s room. Sometimes I purposefully did it, others I just ended up there without remembering the trip the previous night.

I’ve got a few more stories about that house, but I’ll continue those next time I post.

I don’t waNt to be here

In this state of mind where everything is to the point and nothing is ignorance. There is no opportunity to rest from the truth, it’s always directly in front of you. Even if you try to turn, there it is, staring you in the face like some kind of sick stalker. You’re a cold friend, truth, and dining with you is always bittersweet.

All the Ears of the World are Open Tonight.

Cryptic messages are my favorite. You read them and automatically start trying to decipher what they mean… But in all reality, they could mean anything, or absolutely nothing. It’s like art. You put an object on a piece of paper or form it with your hands and sit it out on display. For one person, it could be a representation of their childhood. For another, it could be an epiphany… Or nothing but a shape.

The title was actually written on a train as I saw on my way to work. It’s an interesting line that made me think… Made me imagine. The world has a sad lack of mystery in this day and age, and it seems like the only kind next to the paranormal is the man-made mystery (which, in all honesty, the ‘paranormal’ could all be human-engineered as well).

Last night, I woke up periodically. Once at 12am, then another time at 4am, to see if my alarm had gone off and I had somehow slept in. I’m sure whatever I was dreaming had something to do with it, though I can’t recall what that was. About half a year back, I’d tried to start a dream diary so I could immediately wake up and write my dream down. It’s supposed to open the gateway to lucid dreaming. However, like all my other diaries, it was discarded. If I could do that on a computer, I think I’d have a better chance of keeping up with it. Maybe I’ll think about doing that.

Story Ideas…

I’ve been meaning to make a list of these so when the day comes where I get this blast of inspiration, I’ll have an idea to mold it. This list will be edited as I think of more:

1. Story of a lonely girl who collects dolls and pays for them by basically making herself a pincushion (testing new drugs).  When she finally saves up enough money, she finds that either her mind is playing tricks on her, or the dolls talk. Epic adventure of some sort ensues.  It sounds like shit when I write it down, but it’s something I’ve been planning for awhile. Hopefully the details will make it less stupid-sounding.

2. Girl has vivid imagination. Girl creates characters in her mind. Characters step up from the job of muse to conscience. I’ve actually kinda been working on this one.

(more to come)

Manditory Introduction.

It’s always hard to think of a good opening for something you want to be, at the least, exceptional. That’s the problem I have with writing. I love it (I won’t say I’m good at it, because that would make me sound like I have confidence in my abilities), but getting started always screws me up, so I don’t. Pitiful reason, really.

When I was a young girl, I tried my damndest to write in a diary every day. It was never anything spectacular or profound. Just things like “I like dogs and cats and today my cousin made me mad”. It never really stuck, though… Because I was so afraid if I wrote something important, my family or friends would find it and criticize me and/or try to get me counseling.

I feel a little better about ‘blogging’, but the paranoia still lingers, which is why I tend to separate my personal life and… Shall we call it… Internet life. Anonymity is a beautiful thing.

To elaborate a little on my profile (you don’t have to read it if you haven’t already), a significant amount of memories I thought I had and was certain of has been continually put into question by a number of individuals in my life, and it bothers the hell out of me. Not only that, but some of the dreams I have try to make their way into the filing cabinet where I keep those memories. In other words, whoever works upstairs hasn’t been doing a very good job. So maybe this will help me sort things out, should any more items come into question.

It’s a terrible feeling when somebody points out that a past event you remember so vividly was nothing more than your apparently dysfunctional imagination interfering with memories. With any luck, you’ll never have to deal with it.

Anyways. Feel free to comment on any of the posts I make. I really like hearing feedback of any sort just to know that people have read this thing. Hopefully, I’ll be able to make it interesting for you.