Satans Black Balloon Photo
I know I have already posted this shot, but here is the blown up version as well.
posted by Susan at 9:23 PM
0 comments
Sunday, October 30, 2005
I know I have already posted this shot, but here is the blown up version as well.
Satans Black Balloon
The place was hoppin! Another night without much sleep. I had a visitor in a form I haven’t seen in years. A red orb the size of a large apple hovered around the ceiling fan, as if it could hide discretely among the frosted daffodils and polished brass.
Let me start from the beginning…
Destiny came over for a visit, and it was a good one. A lot of laughing…except for when I showed her and John the picture, of the e-vil one.
They were having trouble seeing the figure in the odd black balloon that didn’t belong in the photo, until I blew it up and lightened it. They were both highly disturbed at the realization that there we were, sitting there in the same room with that awful thing 27 years ago.
That picture confirms my memories of fright and frustration during that episode of our lives.
I posted the frozen moment of blissful ignorance on my sites for anyone to see, dissect, toy with and comment on.
In case anyone else isn’t seeing the thing, here are some pointers:
The black balloon oozing through the upper crack of the master bedroom door does not belong. There was no hat hanging there, or black balloons. Also, the bright spot at the upper of the picture is a bulb dangling from the ceiling. Even in 1978 it wasn’t considered chic, just sad. If you blow up the picture several times on your photo program you will notice the teeth. That’s the first obvious item, a row of lower teeth, very long ones. Then when you back off the whole thing takes shape.
After having others see the same thing I saw, I was disturbed, thinking about those days so long ago.
I went to bed like every night. Every time the heater kicks on, I get hot. So I wake up and kick off the covers. I flopped across the bed side ways. Then someone gently took hold of my little toe and pulled it out to the side. I looked down and saw nothing but my toe sticking out. I also acknowledged that there was no cramping or muscle spasms, no pain. I then noticed the cherry red orb bobbing about. It was bright, like the exit sign in your local theatre. I watched it until it dissipated, then rolled over and thought about it a while before reaching for sleep.
A wind blew in my door and went round clock wise. Not a breeze, but a full out gust. The house is shut tight and we have a central unit. No way for a wind to be produced. I told myself it wasn’t real and I was wasting precious slumber time. I felt little people run across my bed and touching me, as if asking me to come play. I felt an invisible person scoop up my hand and caress it. Someone else sat on my bed, causing it to sink under the pressure. They carefully lifted my hand and petted it softly in their lap. I heard a cat purring once while I wondered what was moving on my pillow.
With each experience, my frustration told me to go back to sleep. I was unsettled by the photographic revelation and unsure how many were responsible for all the activity on my chenille alter. Being unsure of why I have been chosen to receive all this attention, I hoped that if I ignored it, it would stop. How frustrating for my visitors that must’ve been. If I weren’t so tired, maybe I would have thought more clearly and responded properly. I hope I didn’t offend anyone. I guess a small part of me wasn’t completely convinced that it had nothing to do with that demon I discovered in the photo.
In the mean time protection is up and will be maintained. I never want to see or hear from that thing again. I think that my little friends here are trying to warn me. The toe thing felt like small hands. I've had a lot of fairy action lately. Even phantom hugs and cuddles and handheld caresses. I feel like every dead friend and relative I have has come to see me. I feel like it's my birthday! Usually, I feel like I'm making gestures and they know, but ... Not this time, everybody has been reaching across AND touching me, and I’m not getting slapped with a high phone bill or resorting to grave robbery. I feel empowered. I feel spe-cial. And I don’t mean, in the short school bus sort of way.
I’ve always tried to remain unnoticed by evil. I figure, if I don’t draw attention to myself, perhaps I will get through life without having to request any more household exorcisms. I used to think all I had to do was stay out of Texas. Maybe I’ve watched too many movies.
Is there anyone that can answer some questions for me? I would like to know, is looking at a picture of a demon, looking straight at the camera, considered making eye contact? Will he sense the people that see it? Are we drawing attention to ourselves by looking at the photo or thinking about it? When a malevolent spirit tries to move in , and a house is already heavily populated with good spirits and the like, and the inhabitants have no negative emotions and fears to feed off of. Nothing that could sustain... anything bigger than an evil chigger, the good outweighing the bad 100 to 1, is it more likely that the creature will find something easier?
Hope so.
I worry about such things.
10/30/2005 11:10 PM
word count 933
Let me start from the beginning…
Destiny came over for a visit, and it was a good one. A lot of laughing…except for when I showed her and John the picture, of the e-vil one.
They were having trouble seeing the figure in the odd black balloon that didn’t belong in the photo, until I blew it up and lightened it. They were both highly disturbed at the realization that there we were, sitting there in the same room with that awful thing 27 years ago.
That picture confirms my memories of fright and frustration during that episode of our lives.
I posted the frozen moment of blissful ignorance on my sites for anyone to see, dissect, toy with and comment on.
In case anyone else isn’t seeing the thing, here are some pointers:
The black balloon oozing through the upper crack of the master bedroom door does not belong. There was no hat hanging there, or black balloons. Also, the bright spot at the upper of the picture is a bulb dangling from the ceiling. Even in 1978 it wasn’t considered chic, just sad. If you blow up the picture several times on your photo program you will notice the teeth. That’s the first obvious item, a row of lower teeth, very long ones. Then when you back off the whole thing takes shape.
After having others see the same thing I saw, I was disturbed, thinking about those days so long ago.
I went to bed like every night. Every time the heater kicks on, I get hot. So I wake up and kick off the covers. I flopped across the bed side ways. Then someone gently took hold of my little toe and pulled it out to the side. I looked down and saw nothing but my toe sticking out. I also acknowledged that there was no cramping or muscle spasms, no pain. I then noticed the cherry red orb bobbing about. It was bright, like the exit sign in your local theatre. I watched it until it dissipated, then rolled over and thought about it a while before reaching for sleep.
A wind blew in my door and went round clock wise. Not a breeze, but a full out gust. The house is shut tight and we have a central unit. No way for a wind to be produced. I told myself it wasn’t real and I was wasting precious slumber time. I felt little people run across my bed and touching me, as if asking me to come play. I felt an invisible person scoop up my hand and caress it. Someone else sat on my bed, causing it to sink under the pressure. They carefully lifted my hand and petted it softly in their lap. I heard a cat purring once while I wondered what was moving on my pillow.
With each experience, my frustration told me to go back to sleep. I was unsettled by the photographic revelation and unsure how many were responsible for all the activity on my chenille alter. Being unsure of why I have been chosen to receive all this attention, I hoped that if I ignored it, it would stop. How frustrating for my visitors that must’ve been. If I weren’t so tired, maybe I would have thought more clearly and responded properly. I hope I didn’t offend anyone. I guess a small part of me wasn’t completely convinced that it had nothing to do with that demon I discovered in the photo.
In the mean time protection is up and will be maintained. I never want to see or hear from that thing again. I think that my little friends here are trying to warn me. The toe thing felt like small hands. I've had a lot of fairy action lately. Even phantom hugs and cuddles and handheld caresses. I feel like every dead friend and relative I have has come to see me. I feel like it's my birthday! Usually, I feel like I'm making gestures and they know, but ... Not this time, everybody has been reaching across AND touching me, and I’m not getting slapped with a high phone bill or resorting to grave robbery. I feel empowered. I feel spe-cial. And I don’t mean, in the short school bus sort of way.
I’ve always tried to remain unnoticed by evil. I figure, if I don’t draw attention to myself, perhaps I will get through life without having to request any more household exorcisms. I used to think all I had to do was stay out of Texas. Maybe I’ve watched too many movies.
Is there anyone that can answer some questions for me? I would like to know, is looking at a picture of a demon, looking straight at the camera, considered making eye contact? Will he sense the people that see it? Are we drawing attention to ourselves by looking at the photo or thinking about it? When a malevolent spirit tries to move in , and a house is already heavily populated with good spirits and the like, and the inhabitants have no negative emotions and fears to feed off of. Nothing that could sustain... anything bigger than an evil chigger, the good outweighing the bad 100 to 1, is it more likely that the creature will find something easier?
Hope so.
I worry about such things.
10/30/2005 11:10 PM
word count 933
posted by Susan at 9:17 PM
0 comments
Wednesday, October 26, 2005
Tuesday, October 25, 2005
Aqua Lungs second Cousin and the Orange Pot
My mission, as I chose to accept it, was to retrieve a Noritake Pot from a flea market on 54 highway, there was the stall number, 12 involved, the color orange,and the particular day I was to go, and something ending with ...more is in a pot.
Nothing like cryptic messages from beyond to get to the roots of my hair color. Had I not been doing a lot of coughing, wheezing, fidgeting and sneezing while receiving the information, I may have had a little more to go on. Thus are the tribulations of divining by pendulum during the cold and flu season.
No, I'm not Aqua Lungs second cousin. I just have a very bad cold/flu/sinus infection/bronchial congestion....revelation...OH MY GOSH, I MUST BE!!!
My John was even the supportive, although very curious, helper. He took me on my mission so I wouldn't have to worry about keeping my eyes pealed on the road while going into convulsions and I could focus more on solving the puzzle.
I went, I searched, I looked, I saw, I left, empty-handed. I couldn't help but think out loud, I must've missed something or gotten something wrong. And the missing information, why couldn't I remember it? I had to of heard it subconsciously while spewing germs across the room! That's it, I'm dying my hair a darker shade!
I should have brushed up on potters marks before the adventure. I really had no clue what to look for. I was so excited about being asked to do such a thing that I ran off completely unprepared expecting Noritake to be printed in large orange print on a big sign pointing to it. I dumb-assed myself.
Well, I came home disappointed and perplexed. I kept milling over all the words and wondered if I'd gotten them jumbled...or something. Then I started browsing information this evening and the light went on. I had picked up the pot, looked at it and it's counter-parts and set them back down and walked away. They were even orange. I guess things like this are why it says "Do not operate heavy machinery while taking this medication" right on the label of my prescribed cure.
All I can think about is how someone dear to me reached across dimensions with all his energy and asked me to do one little thing and I screwed it up. I'm not an only child, so he didn't have to trust me with such a special errand, but he did. Is it because my Mother has been doing the very same thing for him, for me? Yeah, could be. She keeps unearthing things that he wanted me to have, like an Effie C. Zuni necklace he'd bought me and never had the opportunity to give me, for a very good reason...he died. Yet, two years later, what came by snail mail? Talk about s...n...a...i...l.....m...a....i....l.So, it appears that tomorrow I will be going on the very same errand, only this time I will actually buy the orange pot and will probably have to drive myself so I won't triple up on the old cough syrup.This page will self destruct in five seconds...
word count 518
2/27/2005 10:28 PM
Nothing like cryptic messages from beyond to get to the roots of my hair color. Had I not been doing a lot of coughing, wheezing, fidgeting and sneezing while receiving the information, I may have had a little more to go on. Thus are the tribulations of divining by pendulum during the cold and flu season.
No, I'm not Aqua Lungs second cousin. I just have a very bad cold/flu/sinus infection/bronchial congestion....revelation...OH MY GOSH, I MUST BE!!!
My John was even the supportive, although very curious, helper. He took me on my mission so I wouldn't have to worry about keeping my eyes pealed on the road while going into convulsions and I could focus more on solving the puzzle.
I went, I searched, I looked, I saw, I left, empty-handed. I couldn't help but think out loud, I must've missed something or gotten something wrong. And the missing information, why couldn't I remember it? I had to of heard it subconsciously while spewing germs across the room! That's it, I'm dying my hair a darker shade!
I should have brushed up on potters marks before the adventure. I really had no clue what to look for. I was so excited about being asked to do such a thing that I ran off completely unprepared expecting Noritake to be printed in large orange print on a big sign pointing to it. I dumb-assed myself.
Well, I came home disappointed and perplexed. I kept milling over all the words and wondered if I'd gotten them jumbled...or something. Then I started browsing information this evening and the light went on. I had picked up the pot, looked at it and it's counter-parts and set them back down and walked away. They were even orange. I guess things like this are why it says "Do not operate heavy machinery while taking this medication" right on the label of my prescribed cure.
All I can think about is how someone dear to me reached across dimensions with all his energy and asked me to do one little thing and I screwed it up. I'm not an only child, so he didn't have to trust me with such a special errand, but he did. Is it because my Mother has been doing the very same thing for him, for me? Yeah, could be. She keeps unearthing things that he wanted me to have, like an Effie C. Zuni necklace he'd bought me and never had the opportunity to give me, for a very good reason...he died. Yet, two years later, what came by snail mail? Talk about s...n...a...i...l.....m...a....i....l.So, it appears that tomorrow I will be going on the very same errand, only this time I will actually buy the orange pot and will probably have to drive myself so I won't triple up on the old cough syrup.This page will self destruct in five seconds...
word count 518
2/27/2005 10:28 PM
posted by Susan at 5:54 PM
0 comments
Hired By The Deceased
I had a fascinating day today. I decided to use my pendulum to help a friend find her keys. After we did that, my contact, Fiona Jane, decided to bring in my father by saying Tom present.
I ask Is there more?
Answer, Yes, Dad loves Mom.
I chuckled with delight and asked if I was to tell my Mom.
The answer,Big yes. I chuckle more.
We had quite a chatty conversation, mostly about a mystery involving a Noratake pot which I am being sent to find. So tomorrow I must go to the designated flea market in the designated stall and purchase this pot. The best part of it all is that I am told it is not expensive (expensive, being a relative term). I remember looking at a Noratake pot in there last time I was browsing and it may have been in that very stall. Cool! Apparently I made a mistake setting it back down as I was told today that it was a Rare pass.
Oops.
I was supposed to be going somewhere else tomorrow, but this is too good to pass up (there's that word again). Apparently, it is very important that I go tomorrow specifically.
Have you ever had to pass on a message to someone from...not a tangible individual and you weren't real sure how they'd take it? Would they think you were a fruit loop? Delusional?
It's never easy. It's almost like having to make those calls that shock when someone close passes on. Sometimes you just have to blurt it out. I did. It made my Mom happy and who knows, I may find her that pot from Dad tomorrow and get it sent to her right away. That would totally make my day, my year! I would have preferred to wait to call her and tell her after I found the mystery pot, but again, I was told it was important I call today.
All I've got to say is, Dad...it better be there! The flea market is not exactly just down the street and I'd really hate to be dumb-assed now that I told her, but hey, anything for you Dad.
word count 383
2/26/2005 10:26 PM
I ask Is there more?
Answer, Yes, Dad loves Mom.
I chuckled with delight and asked if I was to tell my Mom.
The answer,Big yes. I chuckle more.
We had quite a chatty conversation, mostly about a mystery involving a Noratake pot which I am being sent to find. So tomorrow I must go to the designated flea market in the designated stall and purchase this pot. The best part of it all is that I am told it is not expensive (expensive, being a relative term). I remember looking at a Noratake pot in there last time I was browsing and it may have been in that very stall. Cool! Apparently I made a mistake setting it back down as I was told today that it was a Rare pass.
Oops.
I was supposed to be going somewhere else tomorrow, but this is too good to pass up (there's that word again). Apparently, it is very important that I go tomorrow specifically.
Have you ever had to pass on a message to someone from...not a tangible individual and you weren't real sure how they'd take it? Would they think you were a fruit loop? Delusional?
It's never easy. It's almost like having to make those calls that shock when someone close passes on. Sometimes you just have to blurt it out. I did. It made my Mom happy and who knows, I may find her that pot from Dad tomorrow and get it sent to her right away. That would totally make my day, my year! I would have preferred to wait to call her and tell her after I found the mystery pot, but again, I was told it was important I call today.
All I've got to say is, Dad...it better be there! The flea market is not exactly just down the street and I'd really hate to be dumb-assed now that I told her, but hey, anything for you Dad.
word count 383
2/26/2005 10:26 PM
posted by Susan at 5:43 PM
0 comments
There's Pygmy Lions in the Catnip!
Today was another gorgeous day. I couldn't make myself stay focused on the have-to-do's, not until I had my fill of the warm sunshine and got my fix, the key to my sanity, being on my knees in the garden, yanking those early weeds and feeling the moist soil begin to cake between my fingers. Somehow, everything else melts away. Almost everything.
The cats got goofy over the catnip that had already put on leaves and a heady aroma and that is hard to ignore. All the farm felines were stoned, which I find hilarious given their otherwise somber transient natures. I chuckled right up until one of those red-eyed wonders rolled underneath me and reached up and swiped at a button on my blouse and got my belly instead. The party was over; I shoved the nuisance aside and it willingly toppled over into the catnip patch for another go round.
The resident god of frolic (my dog Merlin) cocked his head and moved in a little closer to try and figure out what was so fascinating about a bunch of leafy green stuff that to him wasn't even significant enough to coax a courtesy urination;Not even worth lifting the leg over. His head lay to rest on his paws as his eyes followed the movements of the languishing pigmy lion pride as I went back to work in the thyme patch. Everything was perfect as it always is inside the chicken wire walls of my sequestered garth of sensory delight.
I read that oftentimes we don't appreciate life until it is time for it to end. Much the same can be said of a beautiful day, or practically anything for that matter.
I'm not sure exactly when it happened, but I have an inkling that it might have been around the time my mortality caught up with me in the form of a disagreeable reflection one morning in the bathroom mirror that caused a double take. I didn't like that it wasn't my imagination. I was getting old. At least in my eyes. After the usual panicked attempts at recapturing what I'd lost, I decided it would be healthier and a mess more fun to just get comfortable with it. I decided to experience everything. Not just go about my daily life but to actually take notice, to memorize all my favorite things, and to see what kind of pleasures I may be able to create. Nothing grandiose, just good.
I make discoveries everyday that challenge everything I thought I knew. That is so cool! Getting older, and wiser is so much more fun than being young, insecure and incurably blonde!Life is pure poetry.
word count 445
2/15/2005 7:46 PM
The cats got goofy over the catnip that had already put on leaves and a heady aroma and that is hard to ignore. All the farm felines were stoned, which I find hilarious given their otherwise somber transient natures. I chuckled right up until one of those red-eyed wonders rolled underneath me and reached up and swiped at a button on my blouse and got my belly instead. The party was over; I shoved the nuisance aside and it willingly toppled over into the catnip patch for another go round.
The resident god of frolic (my dog Merlin) cocked his head and moved in a little closer to try and figure out what was so fascinating about a bunch of leafy green stuff that to him wasn't even significant enough to coax a courtesy urination;Not even worth lifting the leg over. His head lay to rest on his paws as his eyes followed the movements of the languishing pigmy lion pride as I went back to work in the thyme patch. Everything was perfect as it always is inside the chicken wire walls of my sequestered garth of sensory delight.
I read that oftentimes we don't appreciate life until it is time for it to end. Much the same can be said of a beautiful day, or practically anything for that matter.
I'm not sure exactly when it happened, but I have an inkling that it might have been around the time my mortality caught up with me in the form of a disagreeable reflection one morning in the bathroom mirror that caused a double take. I didn't like that it wasn't my imagination. I was getting old. At least in my eyes. After the usual panicked attempts at recapturing what I'd lost, I decided it would be healthier and a mess more fun to just get comfortable with it. I decided to experience everything. Not just go about my daily life but to actually take notice, to memorize all my favorite things, and to see what kind of pleasures I may be able to create. Nothing grandiose, just good.
I make discoveries everyday that challenge everything I thought I knew. That is so cool! Getting older, and wiser is so much more fun than being young, insecure and incurably blonde!Life is pure poetry.
word count 445
2/15/2005 7:46 PM
posted by Susan at 5:39 PM
0 comments
Poopy Cake Offering of the Gods
I spent the day before yesterday at my favorite daughters house . She's my favorite on account o' her life is boring compared to her sister of diminished capacity. We did all those girly things like, eat weird food, watch movies and kara-croake until even the kids began to weep. I think they wept because there was no place safe from the resounding echo. Even the lathe and plaster was no match for our pitchiness. Good thing I brought spackle.
We had a good time. The weather was fair and the dog was decent, for the most part, up until he dug up Destiny's flowers, and the kids were...kids, in fact, they dug up the flowers first. Apparently Merlin thought it looked like great fun. There's something about bare dirt that is irresistible to rug rats and ankle biters.
Cats are also drawn to the recently turned earth, yet for an entirely different reason. It's obvious why the feline megalomaniacle are the preferred pets to the Me-me generation. They're furry little reflections of the American Urbanite. The typical pygmy lion is born absolutely convinced that the sole reason for any creature to till the earth is for them to have a convenient place to store their cherished excrement. The way the ailurophile rushes in upon impact, swooping down, pooper-scooper in one hand and ziploc baggy in the other, they must think we like it...a lot. My cats are of the common barn variety, yet they don't hesitate a moment when they see me on my knees turning the earth for their lordships. The automated autocratic stealth imperiously attempts to slither up beneath me and into the pre-fluffed sod for the excreta offa donum ille de dei (poopy cake offering of the gods).
You'd think they'd eventually take a hint. Eight generations of feline deities have domiciled on this humble farm, and every one of them has gotten the same treatment, a dirt clod up side o' the head for attempting to activate any bodily functions within the walls of my sequestered garth of sensory delight, let alone within whiffing distance.
Dogs, on the other hand, no matter how chummy they are with the children of Bastet, still have to hover and patiently await the anally retentive felines to grant them an audience with their poo-poo. Cats are okay with us lowly creatures bowing down on our knees and praising their gifts while whisking them away discretely, but dog, the lowly, is more of an eat-n-run diner. No ritualistic servitude, just a big slobbering mouth rummaging for viscera cakes.
All-of-a-sudden, I know why cats stick their butts in our faces!
word count 453
4/30/2005 1:48 AM
We had a good time. The weather was fair and the dog was decent, for the most part, up until he dug up Destiny's flowers, and the kids were...kids, in fact, they dug up the flowers first. Apparently Merlin thought it looked like great fun. There's something about bare dirt that is irresistible to rug rats and ankle biters.
Cats are also drawn to the recently turned earth, yet for an entirely different reason. It's obvious why the feline megalomaniacle are the preferred pets to the Me-me generation. They're furry little reflections of the American Urbanite. The typical pygmy lion is born absolutely convinced that the sole reason for any creature to till the earth is for them to have a convenient place to store their cherished excrement. The way the ailurophile rushes in upon impact, swooping down, pooper-scooper in one hand and ziploc baggy in the other, they must think we like it...a lot. My cats are of the common barn variety, yet they don't hesitate a moment when they see me on my knees turning the earth for their lordships. The automated autocratic stealth imperiously attempts to slither up beneath me and into the pre-fluffed sod for the excreta offa donum ille de dei (poopy cake offering of the gods).
You'd think they'd eventually take a hint. Eight generations of feline deities have domiciled on this humble farm, and every one of them has gotten the same treatment, a dirt clod up side o' the head for attempting to activate any bodily functions within the walls of my sequestered garth of sensory delight, let alone within whiffing distance.
Dogs, on the other hand, no matter how chummy they are with the children of Bastet, still have to hover and patiently await the anally retentive felines to grant them an audience with their poo-poo. Cats are okay with us lowly creatures bowing down on our knees and praising their gifts while whisking them away discretely, but dog, the lowly, is more of an eat-n-run diner. No ritualistic servitude, just a big slobbering mouth rummaging for viscera cakes.
All-of-a-sudden, I know why cats stick their butts in our faces!
word count 453
4/30/2005 1:48 AM
posted by Susan at 3:46 PM
0 comments
Popcorn For The Dead
I love John Edwards. Doesn't everybody? His show brought a much needed closeness to those who have crossed over and those that they left behind. He took the mystical out of the equation and breathed life into the deceased that some of us had given up for...well...dead.
I have always felt that after someone passes on they are no less real than when they resided in the tangible. They are still with us, always. Hopefully not during EVERYthing, but around when we need them. They talk to us in signs and sometimes in words. That's why I like the pendulum as my preferred divination tool. You can ask yes/no questions or just wait for everything to be spelled out for you, literally.
I'd been using the pendulum for quite some time and had questions answered and guidance requests fulfilled and it had never occurred to me to ask every time who explicitly I was talking to. Not until I made contact with an interesting soul that chose to speak in German. Made me wish I'd payed more attention when my Dad suggested sprekin'de'douch'en'. It just seemed like too much work to speak a language that would never see it's homeland. At least not traveling between my confused lips.
Lately, I've been blessed by visits from my Dad. In case you're wondering what that has to do with the topic of the day, I'll tell you. He no longer wears glasses, or walks with a gimp, he doesn't balance check books any more or have to wash the stink off at the end of the day. I'm not really sure if there are days as we know them in the after-life. Apparently there is however, humor, as noted in the odd affirmation he made. It seems he always has to be funny, even if just a little. Like today when I asked him if he'd like to say something and he answered, "Yes, love popcorn". That is something I knew, but hadn't expected. Not in a zillion years did I ever think he would take a rare opportunity to reach across dimensions to tell me he loved popcorn. Maybe it was just his way of letting me know that yes, it was him. No entity masquerading as a friendly would think to say something so obscure and so trivial and so on target. If I wanted to hear something special, a tidbit very personal that only he would say to me, that would be it. That, or maybe, Your Uncle Harry cheats at poker.
So if any of your loved ones have left this plain, it doesn't mean they've left you, so listen to the whispers in the wind, that song they loved when it plays on the radio, and for Pete's sake make them some popcorn!
6/14/2005 1:57 AM
word count 488
I have always felt that after someone passes on they are no less real than when they resided in the tangible. They are still with us, always. Hopefully not during EVERYthing, but around when we need them. They talk to us in signs and sometimes in words. That's why I like the pendulum as my preferred divination tool. You can ask yes/no questions or just wait for everything to be spelled out for you, literally.
I'd been using the pendulum for quite some time and had questions answered and guidance requests fulfilled and it had never occurred to me to ask every time who explicitly I was talking to. Not until I made contact with an interesting soul that chose to speak in German. Made me wish I'd payed more attention when my Dad suggested sprekin'de'douch'en'. It just seemed like too much work to speak a language that would never see it's homeland. At least not traveling between my confused lips.
Lately, I've been blessed by visits from my Dad. In case you're wondering what that has to do with the topic of the day, I'll tell you. He no longer wears glasses, or walks with a gimp, he doesn't balance check books any more or have to wash the stink off at the end of the day. I'm not really sure if there are days as we know them in the after-life. Apparently there is however, humor, as noted in the odd affirmation he made. It seems he always has to be funny, even if just a little. Like today when I asked him if he'd like to say something and he answered, "Yes, love popcorn". That is something I knew, but hadn't expected. Not in a zillion years did I ever think he would take a rare opportunity to reach across dimensions to tell me he loved popcorn. Maybe it was just his way of letting me know that yes, it was him. No entity masquerading as a friendly would think to say something so obscure and so trivial and so on target. If I wanted to hear something special, a tidbit very personal that only he would say to me, that would be it. That, or maybe, Your Uncle Harry cheats at poker.
So if any of your loved ones have left this plain, it doesn't mean they've left you, so listen to the whispers in the wind, that song they loved when it plays on the radio, and for Pete's sake make them some popcorn!
6/14/2005 1:57 AM
word count 488
posted by Susan at 3:40 PM
0 comments
Badgers Hygienic Equinox
Badger is as badger does. I attack my projects with the ferocity and tenacity of a wild animal. Once I latch onto something, I shake everything I can out of it, while maintaining a firm grip. I won’t release it until there is nothing left to consume. That, or when it starts to stink of death.Badger is a part of me, like it or not. Another of my totems, minus the intense b.o. It’s my world, so if I want my badger to smell of gardenia’s, as I will, so mote it be.An adversary to be reckoned with, especially if you’re a grub, my furry friend has made many appearances at critical times. He teaches me that a full belly and self-preservation are utmost, that anything is possible if you have the determination to see it through, and that once you get a firm grip…. oh, wait a minute, I already covered that, didn’t I? Let’s skip straight to the hygiene equinox; A very bad idea. Continue to wash like a human. Don’t get carried away or anything. I mean, don’t start wearing full body prophylactics, just, don’t neglect the daily routine like a surly quadruped.
In keeping with the don't-release-your-grip-until-it's-dead-and-stinking rule, I'm going to cut this short as this whole subject is beginning to take on a distinct sun dried carrion on cow patty bouquet.
10/24/2005 11:47 PM
word count 227
In keeping with the don't-release-your-grip-until-it's-dead-and-stinking rule, I'm going to cut this short as this whole subject is beginning to take on a distinct sun dried carrion on cow patty bouquet.
10/24/2005 11:47 PM
word count 227
posted by Susan at 2:02 PM
0 comments
Find The Demon & The Fairy In This Picture
This photo was taken in 1979 on 2nd in Killeen, Texas in an old WW2 bungalow from Fort Hood. The house was possibly the worst experience of my life and believe me, I've had a few. There are some things in this picture that don't belong. Nobody noticed them for 27 years!
I have to tell you a little about our experiences there. Things moved....a LOT. Sometimes, big things like tables, not just keys that would be wisked away to ANOTHER ROOM BEFORE YOU MOVED YOUR FEET. I was pinned down on the bed, had my arm grabbed and twisted behind me, a disembodied voice that would even stoop to sounding like my husband. We had a dark man shadow thing and it even appeared as my husbnd in the living area in full fatigues, and stinking badly, while the real one was in his skivvies shaving in the bathroom. There were some confused people all standing around staring at each other when he came out of the bathroom.
I don't know if the black mist can be explained as maybe those old cameras did that sometimes....actually....once. That's not what I'm talking about anyway. There are two unexplained blobs in this, that when enlarged and lightened a little look a lot like a fairy ( I know, crazy), and a demons face. It looks like the fairy is hiding from the demon to me. You can even count his teeth!
I need to tell you that half my life, I thought fairy folk were something wonderful , but fairy tales none the less. I've seen them too many times to think that way now. They're either fairies or really cute little aliens. Especially the baby blue one I mentioned recently, she's gorgeous!
Here's the job, should you choose to accept it, find the fairy and the evil one and if your program can clean them up a bit, you must share, as I have. I still get the creeps just thinking about that place!
posted by Cerebral Gas @ 6:47 PM
posted by Susan at 2:00 PM
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Fairy Kisses
The veil between worlds thins by the day. The Pagan New Year is at hand. The house bustles with unseen activity. Little people step through the portholes of my peripheral and scurry out of sight leaving things swinging in their wake. Testimony to the truth. I hadn’t counted on their penchant for play when I crawled into my bed on this Sabbat. Little things went bump in the dark. The bed moved under their feet as one climbed my chest and kissed my lips. I smiled and said thank you, before drifting off. A few moments later I felt the blankets rise a bit at my side and tiny hands and lips caress my hand before sinking teeth into it. I barked out my protest and assured the culprit that the gesture was not at all funny. Mischievous little loves.I wonder who else will be nosing about my room while I try to get some sleep.I was visited by ghostly cats that leapt to my mattress and purred their hello the night before.I’m learning to find comfort in my ability to straddle both domains. A thought that provoked uneasiness not long ago. Not everything unexplainable should be feared. When embraced, it brings a person great comfort. I know there is a life altering initiation being performed and I am honored. I humbly offer up my services to the powers for good and pray that I do not let them down.I’ve been lonely for so long and welcome the respite from the stillness that has swallowed my soul.
I now know the answer to the riddle:
One must know the depths, to truly appreciate the heights.
There is meaning in all things and I am content knowing that even the most painful experiences were to prepare me for complete elation, so, for them I am thankful.Now, if they’d just let me get some shut eye!
10/21/2005 9:36 PM
word count 315
I now know the answer to the riddle:
One must know the depths, to truly appreciate the heights.
There is meaning in all things and I am content knowing that even the most painful experiences were to prepare me for complete elation, so, for them I am thankful.Now, if they’d just let me get some shut eye!
10/21/2005 9:36 PM
word count 315
posted by Susan at 1:51 PM
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My Spider is Cooler Than Yours
I was too tired to do anything to celebrate the most important full moon of the year. I'd been waiting all these months and then this job fell into my lap. Need out weighed desire, once again.This morning I looked for the faerie that watched me leave yesterday.How do I know it was a fae? Well, the ethereal baby blue wings and pint sized humanoid features were a give-away. She peeked over the propane tank, and when I saw her, my voyeur slipped off the cold steel cylinder and flew away quickly. It took me a few moments to let the sight sink in. I stared, mouth agape, car idling. I hesitated to leave.I've had many such encounters with the other worldly. Is there some sort of cosmic reason for it or am I just starting to notice what was there all along?I have seen and heard more activity in the last few years than I had witnessed my entire life, and I've had a few intense experiences. So my question is, why now? Could it be that I have pushed myself so long and so hard that I am in a perpetual state of barely here? Everyone experiences it. It's that place between awake and asleep, where borders are fuzzy and the transition itself is a world where faeries play and totem animals impart their wisdom.I am visited by the spider. She is usually to the East of me, watching, as her legs fidget. Once she acknowledges that I see her, she will turn and leave. Sometimes just dropping down behind the clock she was perched on, or simply shimmering into the dimension she came from. She stands guard over me while I slip states. She has more legs than your average spider. It's as if her entire body sprouted legs. They come out of her from all angles. It makes it hard to tell where her attention lies, until she decides to test the boundaries with a dance for my eyes to follow. Once the visual is confirmed, she leaves. She is my guardian, my inspiration and my friend. She has taught me to seek what lies below the surface, to not judge outward appearance until the heart has been tested; to refuse limitation and to create, even if I have to sprout more legs to do it.Not long ago, spiders would have been eradicated in my realm, for fear of a poisonous invader and sheer ignorance. I now find myself fascinated by their industry and more in harmony with their presence, respectfully giving them space to do their duties.
posted by Cerebral Gas @ 7:43 PM
posted by Cerebral Gas @ 7:43 PM
posted by Susan at 1:44 PM
0 comments
You're Too Big To Be Afraid Of A Little Rain, Bubba!
It sounded like an explosion. If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I would’ve thought it was just that. The night went off like a flash bulb. I could see for a quarter mile through the deluge. The smell of sulfur was thick and unyielding.
Poor Merlin; He leapt from his bed and frantically crashed into the front door. I held him close and told him it was just noise and that he shouldn’t be frightened. I tried to appear convincing, which isn’t easy when your dealing with a dog that owns exceptional skills in cross-species communications.
It was one of those storms straight out of a murder mystery. The kind I always scoffed at and swore spoiled the story because it wasn’t realistic. Way too dramatic. This was real alright. Wet, shuddering, electricity streamed downward with conviction and made contact with something in the distance. The sound about knocked me off my feet. My façade was faltering, so I sat on the stoop and put my arm around the quivering canine in hopes of reassuring both of us. I'm not big on loud noises either.
You’re too big to be scared of a little rain, Bubba. Besides, we need it bad.
His eyes were wide and questioning. With a thoughtful hunch, his head cocked slightly, he stared at me from the corner of his eye. He was giving me that look. The one he gets when he’s absorbing information and either trying to make sense of it, or letting me know he thinks I‘m full of shit.
What?…okay, it’s loud and bright and a little scary.
I hate it when he coaxes the truth out of me. Not the part where the dog appears smarter than me, it’s that he starts licking and stuff like he’s all proud of me for getting it. Then I have to go in and wash the dog off me, and heaven forbid I don’t come back out with the cookie he just won in the stare down.
Arthur, Morgan and Freya casually emerged from under the lawn chairs and joined us on the stoop. Merlin’s not what you’d call a cat lover, he’s more of a cat co-existent. He likes them fine if they stay out of his food and don’t try to cuddle on a hot day. Right then he gave them all a lick, then attempted to scrape the fur-balls off the top of his mouth nonchalantly, so as not to offend. They blinked acknowledgement of his gesture and continued watching the sky. He smiled and quivered and nosed Arthur, who leaned into it with the passion of a cross-eyed Siamese, almost missing the mark.
After the storm leveled out, I messed up everybody’s fur a little, stretched Merlin’s face out and told them not to wake me up for anything, but an act of God over 90 miles an hour.
When I got up in the morning, I went to cleaning out the garden lean-to. I got it all nice and clean and organized for fearful animals, in case I’m not home next time to hold their paws. I’d given up on it a while back because of the nightly visits by a destructive possum. That stinky critter didn’t come back after that last storm. Either Merlin finally got sick of it licking his bowl, or it was that thing stinking on B highway.The weather has been all off kilter this year. It poured where it should have been dry, it baked where it should’ve rained, shorelines were altered, and we’re on our second enormous hurricane off the Gulf Coast in the same month. All the news coverage has given it a Hollywood feel to those of us not in the midst of the damage. I guess that’s how everyone else felt a couple years ago when we were pummeled by a record breaking rash of tornados. I have a dreadful feeling in my belly and am a bit concerned to what kind of winter we will have here in the Midwest. Most of all, I hope I never have to experience the terror of that force ever again. We were lucky, most of our neighbors were not. My prayers are with those presently dealing with Mother Natures wrath and you count me in on the collective will to calm her down.
Hopefully, the intensity of Hollywood’s, The Day After Tomorrow will never come.
9/21/2005 11:11 PM
word count 714
Poor Merlin; He leapt from his bed and frantically crashed into the front door. I held him close and told him it was just noise and that he shouldn’t be frightened. I tried to appear convincing, which isn’t easy when your dealing with a dog that owns exceptional skills in cross-species communications.
It was one of those storms straight out of a murder mystery. The kind I always scoffed at and swore spoiled the story because it wasn’t realistic. Way too dramatic. This was real alright. Wet, shuddering, electricity streamed downward with conviction and made contact with something in the distance. The sound about knocked me off my feet. My façade was faltering, so I sat on the stoop and put my arm around the quivering canine in hopes of reassuring both of us. I'm not big on loud noises either.
You’re too big to be scared of a little rain, Bubba. Besides, we need it bad.
His eyes were wide and questioning. With a thoughtful hunch, his head cocked slightly, he stared at me from the corner of his eye. He was giving me that look. The one he gets when he’s absorbing information and either trying to make sense of it, or letting me know he thinks I‘m full of shit.
What?…okay, it’s loud and bright and a little scary.
I hate it when he coaxes the truth out of me. Not the part where the dog appears smarter than me, it’s that he starts licking and stuff like he’s all proud of me for getting it. Then I have to go in and wash the dog off me, and heaven forbid I don’t come back out with the cookie he just won in the stare down.
Arthur, Morgan and Freya casually emerged from under the lawn chairs and joined us on the stoop. Merlin’s not what you’d call a cat lover, he’s more of a cat co-existent. He likes them fine if they stay out of his food and don’t try to cuddle on a hot day. Right then he gave them all a lick, then attempted to scrape the fur-balls off the top of his mouth nonchalantly, so as not to offend. They blinked acknowledgement of his gesture and continued watching the sky. He smiled and quivered and nosed Arthur, who leaned into it with the passion of a cross-eyed Siamese, almost missing the mark.
After the storm leveled out, I messed up everybody’s fur a little, stretched Merlin’s face out and told them not to wake me up for anything, but an act of God over 90 miles an hour.
When I got up in the morning, I went to cleaning out the garden lean-to. I got it all nice and clean and organized for fearful animals, in case I’m not home next time to hold their paws. I’d given up on it a while back because of the nightly visits by a destructive possum. That stinky critter didn’t come back after that last storm. Either Merlin finally got sick of it licking his bowl, or it was that thing stinking on B highway.The weather has been all off kilter this year. It poured where it should have been dry, it baked where it should’ve rained, shorelines were altered, and we’re on our second enormous hurricane off the Gulf Coast in the same month. All the news coverage has given it a Hollywood feel to those of us not in the midst of the damage. I guess that’s how everyone else felt a couple years ago when we were pummeled by a record breaking rash of tornados. I have a dreadful feeling in my belly and am a bit concerned to what kind of winter we will have here in the Midwest. Most of all, I hope I never have to experience the terror of that force ever again. We were lucky, most of our neighbors were not. My prayers are with those presently dealing with Mother Natures wrath and you count me in on the collective will to calm her down.
Hopefully, the intensity of Hollywood’s, The Day After Tomorrow will never come.
9/21/2005 11:11 PM
word count 714
posted by Susan at 1:41 PM
0 comments
I Could Kick Some Serious Booty With This Talent
As the storm closes in, I feel the elemental power building. With each flash in the night sky, the humming in my head intensifies. The powers that be, flow through me. I raise my outstretched fingers to the heavens and the wind gathers round me. From the stillness rises a breeze that rustles my garments alone. The trees stand quietly motionless while lightening bolts crack in the distance. I know we need rain, I whisper my will of a steady calm, nourishing flow and take in a large breath. As I release the air, my wishes escape with it and the violence recedes and I can't help but think, I could kick some serious booty with this talent.
I’m too tired to hold it off completely and give thanks for the reprieve that will allow me to stay out a little longer.I regret that I must return to the house, my duties and sleep. A thin layer of fog winds it’s way through my small valley, I’m caught in a hypnotic euphoria as my body tugs at it‘s need for the downy pillows awaiting it. The creeping white tide envelopes my Divine Curiosity Shop at the cross roads. I watch as the mist parts for the wandering entity I’ve grown accustomed to sharing my days with. I reach for the flashlight that I left lay on the garden path and step up onto the sitting stone by the catnip patch. I cast a beam on the skulking shadow and as suspected, the light revealed nothing. I began to turn away, combing the south field and saw the movement once again in my peripheral vision where portholes to wondrous places stay just out of reach.
A tall malevolent form relinquished it’s scrutiny of the structure and turned it’s attentions on me, I'm fascinated by the animate pitch stalking through the clover and fescue just above the ground, it‘s direction unquestionable. I flicked the light back on and targeted the intruder. The way he would vanish in the light made me uneasy tonight for some unknown reason. He was there, yet he wasn’t. I contemplated waiting to see if he would interact or simply dissipate in the usual style at my utterance, but the quivering in my gut said this was one full moon I would have to abandon. The gate of the ghostly blackness warned against interaction tonight. I wasn't the only creature seeking meditative solitude. So, this eve, I won’t be the thing in the dark that people fear. I will gracefully bow out and leave it to the otherworldly things that go bump in the nigh’. I will grudgingly give in to caution and return to the warmly lit interior of the farm house and the earthly duties I had hoped to postpone. How I wish I could stay out all night soaking up the power of the lunar goddess in her most voluptuous form.I pluck the moon from the sky with forefinger and thumb, cradle it gently in my cupped hands, then whisper the Gayatri Prayer while pressing it to my bosom.
You who are the sourceOf all power,
Whose rays illuminate the world,
Illuminate also my heart
So that it toCan do your work.
One last look at the familiar inhabitant still headed my way before calling a nocturnal muster of my four legged friends that so love to prowl with me, and I wonder, why I have these attacks of such somber self-restraint and total drama-queen-ness.
9/19/2005 2:12 AM
word count 552
I’m too tired to hold it off completely and give thanks for the reprieve that will allow me to stay out a little longer.I regret that I must return to the house, my duties and sleep. A thin layer of fog winds it’s way through my small valley, I’m caught in a hypnotic euphoria as my body tugs at it‘s need for the downy pillows awaiting it. The creeping white tide envelopes my Divine Curiosity Shop at the cross roads. I watch as the mist parts for the wandering entity I’ve grown accustomed to sharing my days with. I reach for the flashlight that I left lay on the garden path and step up onto the sitting stone by the catnip patch. I cast a beam on the skulking shadow and as suspected, the light revealed nothing. I began to turn away, combing the south field and saw the movement once again in my peripheral vision where portholes to wondrous places stay just out of reach.
A tall malevolent form relinquished it’s scrutiny of the structure and turned it’s attentions on me, I'm fascinated by the animate pitch stalking through the clover and fescue just above the ground, it‘s direction unquestionable. I flicked the light back on and targeted the intruder. The way he would vanish in the light made me uneasy tonight for some unknown reason. He was there, yet he wasn’t. I contemplated waiting to see if he would interact or simply dissipate in the usual style at my utterance, but the quivering in my gut said this was one full moon I would have to abandon. The gate of the ghostly blackness warned against interaction tonight. I wasn't the only creature seeking meditative solitude. So, this eve, I won’t be the thing in the dark that people fear. I will gracefully bow out and leave it to the otherworldly things that go bump in the nigh’. I will grudgingly give in to caution and return to the warmly lit interior of the farm house and the earthly duties I had hoped to postpone. How I wish I could stay out all night soaking up the power of the lunar goddess in her most voluptuous form.I pluck the moon from the sky with forefinger and thumb, cradle it gently in my cupped hands, then whisper the Gayatri Prayer while pressing it to my bosom.
You who are the sourceOf all power,
Whose rays illuminate the world,
Illuminate also my heart
So that it toCan do your work.
One last look at the familiar inhabitant still headed my way before calling a nocturnal muster of my four legged friends that so love to prowl with me, and I wonder, why I have these attacks of such somber self-restraint and total drama-queen-ness.
9/19/2005 2:12 AM
word count 552
posted by Susan at 1:25 PM
0 comments
EVP's and House Faeries?
I was crazy tired, flipping and fluffing, the bed squeaking and squawking. I finally felt myself slipping into the first stages of relaxation, my goal of sleep was looking hopeful. I caught a movement out of the corner of my eye. A dark figure about a foot long, of heavy body mass came from the opposite corner of the room high up, hugging the wall then it dipped down and headed right at me, the whir of beating wings breezed close by my ear, sending loose strands of hair tickling my face and a loud shrieking laugh that belonged to a very tiny personage rode up and into the corner it originated from and disappeared. Naturally, I ducked and threw up my arms in anticipation of contact, so it took me a minute to get my hands underneath me so I could rise and flick on the light.
As expected, there was nothing there, but the sound of that laughing and the beating wings lingered in my ears. I couldn't decide if it was evil or just a teeny-tiny, incredibly jolly, slightly wicked, mischievous carrying on. I wanted to think I was asleep and only thinking I was awake, but the chill and the slight breeze I rose into said different. My mind reenacted the event. I remembered the dark thing that looked like something was riding it, the tiny stars of light hitting it from the night-light in the bathroom. Was it eyes? Too many, maybe some of them were, but what about the ones on the chest of the flying escapee from a Brian Froud book? And that laugh, it was having a grand time scaring this big, lumbering beast. And where the heck did it go if it was really there?
Earlier in the day I had been studying my sound files. You see, it finally occurred to me that on the night I had that unique visitation I wrote about a few entries ago, I was naturally unable to close my eyes, so I fetched my digital camera and recorder and went back to my bed. After all, I was awake, a little edgy...and after staring at the ceiling from the hall for a few minutes in contemplation of my situation I decided I wasn't going to be chased from my room. After snapping a sequence of shots of my room and the whole upstairs of the house, I settled in and employed the line of questioning I've seen on the ghost hunter shows. Then asked (in case I was still in company) if I could go to sleep as I was really-really tired and out of ideas.
We've been very busy around here with all the building and work and all and I never got around to enough quiet time to myself to review my data. I did it yesterday and boy was I surprised and totally creeped out. I kept rerunning the eerie parts simply because I needed to come up with rational explanations for what I found. I came up dry. There's no explaining away what lurked.
I scrutinized my photos and the only thing I found was an orb on my ceiling where my mystery guest materialized. I've heard oodles of answers for those, but when coupled with my recording...no way. Throughout my voice clips, there is a distinct male voice. He said only one thing, repeatedly. The magic word was, dark. He whispered it several times. There was also this loud hollow sound halfway through the file. Like a moaning ship hull. It only occurred once.
After that I began with the very first sample recording I made when I received my cool little voice trap in the mail. It was mid-afternoon, no contraptions were running and I sat cross-legged in my easy-chair while watching the cattle graze out the front window. I said dumb things like, testing-testing, I want to see how good this works...yak-yak-yak. I wasn't ready for what I heard. There were other voices. Right then and there I decided it was much too late at night for me to be frightening myself with otherworldly revelations. I shut down the program and blogged about other stuff. I don't like to dwell on unsettling things before bed.
When I was cleaning that dungeon of a room of mine today, I glanced up, in the corner in question and it hit me...there, perched on the highest shelf near the corner was a graphic of a faerie riding a dragon. Interesting.
So, I didn't get much sleep...again. I'm attributing it to house-faeries and their steeds. They made it perfectly clear that they do in fact reside in this domicile. That's what I get for telling someone earlier that my faerie episodes could actually be attributed to the apparent leakage of the wayward dimensional doorway I seem to have in my bedroom. That it could in fact just be the spectral guests knocking things about and losing things, that the fae may be entirely innocent.
So from now on I will give credit where it is due. You can count it. That is... if I can figure out who exactly the culprit is.
This tiny little farm house sure is getting crowded!
9/3/2005 1:16 AM
word count 864
As expected, there was nothing there, but the sound of that laughing and the beating wings lingered in my ears. I couldn't decide if it was evil or just a teeny-tiny, incredibly jolly, slightly wicked, mischievous carrying on. I wanted to think I was asleep and only thinking I was awake, but the chill and the slight breeze I rose into said different. My mind reenacted the event. I remembered the dark thing that looked like something was riding it, the tiny stars of light hitting it from the night-light in the bathroom. Was it eyes? Too many, maybe some of them were, but what about the ones on the chest of the flying escapee from a Brian Froud book? And that laugh, it was having a grand time scaring this big, lumbering beast. And where the heck did it go if it was really there?
Earlier in the day I had been studying my sound files. You see, it finally occurred to me that on the night I had that unique visitation I wrote about a few entries ago, I was naturally unable to close my eyes, so I fetched my digital camera and recorder and went back to my bed. After all, I was awake, a little edgy...and after staring at the ceiling from the hall for a few minutes in contemplation of my situation I decided I wasn't going to be chased from my room. After snapping a sequence of shots of my room and the whole upstairs of the house, I settled in and employed the line of questioning I've seen on the ghost hunter shows. Then asked (in case I was still in company) if I could go to sleep as I was really-really tired and out of ideas.
We've been very busy around here with all the building and work and all and I never got around to enough quiet time to myself to review my data. I did it yesterday and boy was I surprised and totally creeped out. I kept rerunning the eerie parts simply because I needed to come up with rational explanations for what I found. I came up dry. There's no explaining away what lurked.
I scrutinized my photos and the only thing I found was an orb on my ceiling where my mystery guest materialized. I've heard oodles of answers for those, but when coupled with my recording...no way. Throughout my voice clips, there is a distinct male voice. He said only one thing, repeatedly. The magic word was, dark. He whispered it several times. There was also this loud hollow sound halfway through the file. Like a moaning ship hull. It only occurred once.
After that I began with the very first sample recording I made when I received my cool little voice trap in the mail. It was mid-afternoon, no contraptions were running and I sat cross-legged in my easy-chair while watching the cattle graze out the front window. I said dumb things like, testing-testing, I want to see how good this works...yak-yak-yak. I wasn't ready for what I heard. There were other voices. Right then and there I decided it was much too late at night for me to be frightening myself with otherworldly revelations. I shut down the program and blogged about other stuff. I don't like to dwell on unsettling things before bed.
When I was cleaning that dungeon of a room of mine today, I glanced up, in the corner in question and it hit me...there, perched on the highest shelf near the corner was a graphic of a faerie riding a dragon. Interesting.
So, I didn't get much sleep...again. I'm attributing it to house-faeries and their steeds. They made it perfectly clear that they do in fact reside in this domicile. That's what I get for telling someone earlier that my faerie episodes could actually be attributed to the apparent leakage of the wayward dimensional doorway I seem to have in my bedroom. That it could in fact just be the spectral guests knocking things about and losing things, that the fae may be entirely innocent.
So from now on I will give credit where it is due. You can count it. That is... if I can figure out who exactly the culprit is.
This tiny little farm house sure is getting crowded!
9/3/2005 1:16 AM
word count 864
posted by Susan at 1:20 PM
0 comments
Keeper of the Field, Guardian of the Screw Gun
Merlin, the keeper of the field and guardian of the screw gun, let out a holler that could suck his wagger clear up his tail pipe and outta his noise whole. Keeping with my routine, I bolted out the back door, flashlight in hand and scoured the south field for activity. A large shadow moved across the north window of my divine little shop that is now nestled in the corner of our clover field. I moved a little closer and held the light beam high as I peeked through the sun flowered wall of my garden. An eye glinted in the light as it turned to stare back at me. Merlin nosed my thigh and smiled up at me in his Do-I-get-a-scooby-snack-now-? grin.
Two large ears twitched and swivelled, then the lanky intruder meandered out of sight. Deer are inquisitive creatures. They say curiosity killed the cat. It's killed more deer than anything else. A large doe was peeking in my store window and was non-plused by the dogs yellow-alert tirade. She was much more interested in checking out the shiny new obstruction in her path.
Either you need glasses or you need more lessons on what not to bark at.
No cookie this time stink-butt. I'm goin' back in.
We've been working real hard around here lately. not that it isn't the norm. It's just different labors. You see, that little shop I mentioned previously, is now nearly complete on the outside. It's only missing the rails and the tin on the roof of the front porch....and a little barn wood front wall. The doors are now locked tight. There's nothing in there to steal yet, but I like exercising my right to lock out miscreants. Too bad I couldn't have done that day before yesterday. Actually, I could have, I just didn't. Thing is, it only had two walls, so the whole locking thing would've been a ludicrous futility. In fact, I teased John the day before when we went up to the house to eat.
John: Think anybody'll run off with the generator?
Me: Na, lock the doors.
I received the appropriate hesitation and then squint thing he does when he's contemplating my sanity. I rather enjoy pushing that button. Keeping the straight face as he sizes up the situation is the hard part.
John has been working very hard with a rag-tag team of volunteers to bring my store into existence. So being robbed is so unjust. He's worked so hard he's become concave where a butt should be. Gross visual huh? Well, it's true! It's a bird....it's a plane...no...it's Butt-less Man! Able to leap tall corn stalks in a single bound, able to bend corrugated steel siding with his bare hands...
From now on I think I'd better consult my crystal ball before poking fun.
Did I say robbed? ...yeah, we were robbed. Our sweaty little work force broke for lunch and high-tailed it to Sheldon to eat dinner. We were gone a hour. When we returned, no tools. They cleaned us out. All but the screw gun, and they had every intention of taking it. They had stretched out the extension cord and half untied the electricians knot before dropping it in the dust. Apparently they were interrupted in mid-thieving. Near as I could guess, the dog woke from his nap on the house porch in time to stop them from getting the last, oldest and most inexpensive tool.
Good dog.
9/2/2005 2:21 AM
word count 556
Two large ears twitched and swivelled, then the lanky intruder meandered out of sight. Deer are inquisitive creatures. They say curiosity killed the cat. It's killed more deer than anything else. A large doe was peeking in my store window and was non-plused by the dogs yellow-alert tirade. She was much more interested in checking out the shiny new obstruction in her path.
Either you need glasses or you need more lessons on what not to bark at.
No cookie this time stink-butt. I'm goin' back in.
We've been working real hard around here lately. not that it isn't the norm. It's just different labors. You see, that little shop I mentioned previously, is now nearly complete on the outside. It's only missing the rails and the tin on the roof of the front porch....and a little barn wood front wall. The doors are now locked tight. There's nothing in there to steal yet, but I like exercising my right to lock out miscreants. Too bad I couldn't have done that day before yesterday. Actually, I could have, I just didn't. Thing is, it only had two walls, so the whole locking thing would've been a ludicrous futility. In fact, I teased John the day before when we went up to the house to eat.
John: Think anybody'll run off with the generator?
Me: Na, lock the doors.
I received the appropriate hesitation and then squint thing he does when he's contemplating my sanity. I rather enjoy pushing that button. Keeping the straight face as he sizes up the situation is the hard part.
John has been working very hard with a rag-tag team of volunteers to bring my store into existence. So being robbed is so unjust. He's worked so hard he's become concave where a butt should be. Gross visual huh? Well, it's true! It's a bird....it's a plane...no...it's Butt-less Man! Able to leap tall corn stalks in a single bound, able to bend corrugated steel siding with his bare hands...
From now on I think I'd better consult my crystal ball before poking fun.
Did I say robbed? ...yeah, we were robbed. Our sweaty little work force broke for lunch and high-tailed it to Sheldon to eat dinner. We were gone a hour. When we returned, no tools. They cleaned us out. All but the screw gun, and they had every intention of taking it. They had stretched out the extension cord and half untied the electricians knot before dropping it in the dust. Apparently they were interrupted in mid-thieving. Near as I could guess, the dog woke from his nap on the house porch in time to stop them from getting the last, oldest and most inexpensive tool.
Good dog.
9/2/2005 2:21 AM
word count 556
posted by Susan at 1:12 PM
0 comments
Pointing Upward Like a Happy Erecter Set
It was all terminators, verminators and preppie teens. Not a good night for the boob-tube. Got me thinking, I haven't written about anything creepy in a little while, so I am going to share a little otherworldly vision with you.
I sleep like....hardly ever, and a few weeks back I was shifting and twisting, plumping and bitching, just so I could feel like I at least tried to do the normal thing, and sleep. After two flips and a flop I went back to abusing my feather pillow before hammering my head into it's core. Once my cranium was firmly imbedded, I opened my eyes (I don't know about you, but whenever I head-butt anything, I close my eyes), and it being only natural, as I was in the prostate position, I looked up (Oh, and yes, I meant to say that I was pointing upward, like a happy erecter set).
Here's the creepy part.
About three feet above my bed there was a soft glow emanating from a seemingly liquid-ish-y form roughly six-foot wide. It sort of flowed like a thick fluid. It was totally nuclear! I was a little uncomfortable with an unidentified floating object hanging so close to me with my soft under-belly exposed.
I squinted, blinked, looked away, and then back again. It hovered. I double-checked the window for head-lights and the hall for jokester's. A thankful me took note that the thing was of a heavenly shade. Been my experience that the dreadful spirits tend to come in a darker tint and they most definitely lurk, skulk and threaten and some of them even smell bad. This thing just dazzled me. I had my very own miniature Aurora Borealis. I've never actually seen the phenomenon, but I'd guess it looked something like that thing I had there in my room. A churning cloud of moonstone.
I considered talking to it. Only thing that came to mind was a tired B movie line, I come in peace...dude.
I almost laughed at the thought of the moronic response to my celestial visitor. I thought about getting up and going to get John, but that would have meant dipping my head into the cloud in question. My luck, it would turn out to be it's southern orifice. So I considered the moment a tad longer as it rippled and rolled. It didn't seem to really be doing anything except existing, and I couldn't think of anything intelligent to say to the pretty blob, so I just did a Weber. He's famous for his single syllable lectures. I blurted out a single syllable, loud and clear. Given the whole head up it's deep south possibility, I just yelled, John! as clearly as I could.
My beauteous glowie thingy dissipated.
The snoring across the hall didn't miss a beat. I was totally wide awake and still not sure about standing up. After all, what if the thing was still there, only I couldn't see it on account of it slipping dimensions or something, and I go and put my head up it's anal cavity? I missed the opportunity of procuring a witness to the whole strangeness of the situation, so I had to think about it a lot before I did open mouth and insert foot. I knew he'd just put another notch in that cuckoo clock with my name on it if I confided in him, unfortunately, I was getting real tired of making myself hear the story over and over again and was desperate for a fresh audience.
His curiosity was peaked, as I slept with the light on for a couple weeks, carried a flashlight always, and started displaying a varied array of neurosis, so I spilled. I felt like I should tell him why. Somehow, explaining it didn't help.
I tend to act now and respond irrationally later. Guess that's why I wasn't really frightened until it was gone. Frightened isn't really a good choice of words, surprised in an undefinable way, is more like it.
Basically, everything is back to normal. John's in the dark, I'm awake at an unnatural hour and I don't have any UFO's in my bedroom...unless you count socks and goose down.
8/19/2005 1:59 AM
word count 685
I sleep like....hardly ever, and a few weeks back I was shifting and twisting, plumping and bitching, just so I could feel like I at least tried to do the normal thing, and sleep. After two flips and a flop I went back to abusing my feather pillow before hammering my head into it's core. Once my cranium was firmly imbedded, I opened my eyes (I don't know about you, but whenever I head-butt anything, I close my eyes), and it being only natural, as I was in the prostate position, I looked up (Oh, and yes, I meant to say that I was pointing upward, like a happy erecter set).
Here's the creepy part.
About three feet above my bed there was a soft glow emanating from a seemingly liquid-ish-y form roughly six-foot wide. It sort of flowed like a thick fluid. It was totally nuclear! I was a little uncomfortable with an unidentified floating object hanging so close to me with my soft under-belly exposed.
I squinted, blinked, looked away, and then back again. It hovered. I double-checked the window for head-lights and the hall for jokester's. A thankful me took note that the thing was of a heavenly shade. Been my experience that the dreadful spirits tend to come in a darker tint and they most definitely lurk, skulk and threaten and some of them even smell bad. This thing just dazzled me. I had my very own miniature Aurora Borealis. I've never actually seen the phenomenon, but I'd guess it looked something like that thing I had there in my room. A churning cloud of moonstone.
I considered talking to it. Only thing that came to mind was a tired B movie line, I come in peace...dude.
I almost laughed at the thought of the moronic response to my celestial visitor. I thought about getting up and going to get John, but that would have meant dipping my head into the cloud in question. My luck, it would turn out to be it's southern orifice. So I considered the moment a tad longer as it rippled and rolled. It didn't seem to really be doing anything except existing, and I couldn't think of anything intelligent to say to the pretty blob, so I just did a Weber. He's famous for his single syllable lectures. I blurted out a single syllable, loud and clear. Given the whole head up it's deep south possibility, I just yelled, John! as clearly as I could.
My beauteous glowie thingy dissipated.
The snoring across the hall didn't miss a beat. I was totally wide awake and still not sure about standing up. After all, what if the thing was still there, only I couldn't see it on account of it slipping dimensions or something, and I go and put my head up it's anal cavity? I missed the opportunity of procuring a witness to the whole strangeness of the situation, so I had to think about it a lot before I did open mouth and insert foot. I knew he'd just put another notch in that cuckoo clock with my name on it if I confided in him, unfortunately, I was getting real tired of making myself hear the story over and over again and was desperate for a fresh audience.
His curiosity was peaked, as I slept with the light on for a couple weeks, carried a flashlight always, and started displaying a varied array of neurosis, so I spilled. I felt like I should tell him why. Somehow, explaining it didn't help.
I tend to act now and respond irrationally later. Guess that's why I wasn't really frightened until it was gone. Frightened isn't really a good choice of words, surprised in an undefinable way, is more like it.
Basically, everything is back to normal. John's in the dark, I'm awake at an unnatural hour and I don't have any UFO's in my bedroom...unless you count socks and goose down.
8/19/2005 1:59 AM
word count 685
posted by Susan at 1:05 PM
0 comments
A Castellation of Pine and Sky
From the kitchen window it looked like a couple cows out nosing around my new erector set in the south field.
Hey...that look like cows to you?
What?
I pinched up my face in frustration. Good thing I had my back to the man. I silently wished he'd learn how to structure a sentence, a few more words at least. My inner martinet threatened catharsis.
He looked out over my shoulder and chuckled, That's yer lumber.
I know that, I just was asking if you thought it looked like cows from here.
The lumber lay silently in two tidy heaps jutting above the clover in the field. That was my store...rather...it was gonna be my store when it got done. The weather had turned on me from the start. As soon as we had the lumber delivered, the dry spell ended.
That was a couple weeks back. Today I looked out the same window, and saw a castellation of pine and sky. Even in the face of piggy-backing storms, my dream was taking shape. Mass (materials) times velocity ( hell-bent volunteers on a pressing schedule), equaled the skeletal beginnings of A Divine Little Curiosity Shop, to call my own. Since I can't eat on what I make as a writer, I've sunk everything into this venture. My online sales have been faltering at a bad time. That's been funding my building. Now I'm just concerned that I won't have enough to close it all in before the onset of winter. At times like these, it makes my need for a vehicle with air-conditioning seem small and inconsequential.
It all comes down to faith. I have enough of it to know that if I work hard, my needs will be met. So I will keep hammering away. I'll also keep my whimsical observations to a minimum if I don't want the single-syllable wonder to start commenting on his perception of my mental state, a naturally occurring exultation he savors at the mention.
Men.
8/18/2005 1:21 AM
word count 327
Hey...that look like cows to you?
What?
I pinched up my face in frustration. Good thing I had my back to the man. I silently wished he'd learn how to structure a sentence, a few more words at least. My inner martinet threatened catharsis.
He looked out over my shoulder and chuckled, That's yer lumber.
I know that, I just was asking if you thought it looked like cows from here.
The lumber lay silently in two tidy heaps jutting above the clover in the field. That was my store...rather...it was gonna be my store when it got done. The weather had turned on me from the start. As soon as we had the lumber delivered, the dry spell ended.
That was a couple weeks back. Today I looked out the same window, and saw a castellation of pine and sky. Even in the face of piggy-backing storms, my dream was taking shape. Mass (materials) times velocity ( hell-bent volunteers on a pressing schedule), equaled the skeletal beginnings of A Divine Little Curiosity Shop, to call my own. Since I can't eat on what I make as a writer, I've sunk everything into this venture. My online sales have been faltering at a bad time. That's been funding my building. Now I'm just concerned that I won't have enough to close it all in before the onset of winter. At times like these, it makes my need for a vehicle with air-conditioning seem small and inconsequential.
It all comes down to faith. I have enough of it to know that if I work hard, my needs will be met. So I will keep hammering away. I'll also keep my whimsical observations to a minimum if I don't want the single-syllable wonder to start commenting on his perception of my mental state, a naturally occurring exultation he savors at the mention.
Men.
8/18/2005 1:21 AM
word count 327
posted by Susan at 12:56 PM
0 comments
Divine Curiosity Shop
I haven't had much time to write lately, with my planning my store and all. I have finally decided on a name. I shall call it Divine Curiosity Shop. Flea Market is much too generic, The Corner Store is too boring, and I decided that The Hedge Apple sounded much too much like a horse turd, and face it, The Hedge Witch could restrict my patronage considerably, because, after all, not everyone has a sense of humor, especially those bible thumping old fart's that drive 15 miles per hour down the center line of the highway.I'm going to enjoy the interior and exterior design work and even more fun will be the purchasing of interesting oddities and seeing how many I can cram into it without violating any building codes.
8/17/2005 1:24 AM
word count 547
8/17/2005 1:24 AM
word count 547
posted by Susan at 12:51 PM
0 comments
Ontogeny Recapitulating Philogeny, Susie Style
It crept up on me like a blind turtle. The year moved slower than usual, plodding in a confused weaving pattern, bashing into deadlines and bonking into resistances of all kinds. I retreated further into my shell after each collision. We cancerians are like that. No matter who you are or what your sign is, some years are just harder to get through. By that I don't mean unpleasant, just hard. There were so many large projects to tie up, huge decisions to make on short notice, and critical mistakes to repair. There were trips to far away exotic places like L.A., and visitors from the cheese state. Then there's the rash thing. Every once in a while I am plagued with allergic reactions consecutively, this was one of those years. I’m still fighting the itch.
Even though being the birthday girl has many perks, I suppose I wasn't in any hurry to leap into another age group. I will now fall into the 46-50 box. If I apply the cup is half full attitude, I could say I look young for a 46-50 year old; employing the half empty mindset, I'm worried that those numbers will turn into my measurements, or worse yet, my pant size. I knew July was coming. Duh. There were fireworks stands springing forth in every parking lot. Everywhere I went I was assaulted with the red, white and blue machinations of the merchandising monsters. I think what I was wishing for was to be able to get through the year without anyone asking how old I was, especially the month of July.
I've been getting cards and gifts all week which made me feel special. I even felt pretty when the long stem roses arrived, even if I was in my ugly clothes with my hair pulled up in the most unattractive bun that just screamed Nazi Germany . I'd been fricassee frantic all day Thursday, and cleaning like an indentured servant , so I wouldn't have to on my birthday. Cooking on my special day would be like…ironing on my honey moon! I don't think so! I'll never do that again.If you're wondering to which I am referring, the answer is...both.
If a person slaves for a week so that one day could be bondage-free, does that make them an optimist, masochist, or just stupid? How about a stupid masochistic optimist? My week long servitude was exhausting; It left me battered, beaten , and bruised, and most importantly, too worn to enjoy much. Good thing it was a safe bet I wouldn't be dancing on my day because my feet hurt! Don't get me wrong, I love to dance...er...I did...when I could. If I could have today, I couldn't have, on account of my self-inflicted enslavement leaving my legs in the state of Jello, so good thing I couldn't anyways.
The last two days were worth it all in th end . I don't remember ever having such an eventful, me centered week in my life. It was great. I will always remember it as being a strangely comforting euphemism. Hopefully, I'll live long enough to savor the memories throughout my golden years, thus completing the metaphorical circle of life-- ontogeny recapitulating phylogeny, Susie Style.
7/3/2005 11:47 AM
word count 572
Even though being the birthday girl has many perks, I suppose I wasn't in any hurry to leap into another age group. I will now fall into the 46-50 box. If I apply the cup is half full attitude, I could say I look young for a 46-50 year old; employing the half empty mindset, I'm worried that those numbers will turn into my measurements, or worse yet, my pant size. I knew July was coming. Duh. There were fireworks stands springing forth in every parking lot. Everywhere I went I was assaulted with the red, white and blue machinations of the merchandising monsters. I think what I was wishing for was to be able to get through the year without anyone asking how old I was, especially the month of July.
I've been getting cards and gifts all week which made me feel special. I even felt pretty when the long stem roses arrived, even if I was in my ugly clothes with my hair pulled up in the most unattractive bun that just screamed Nazi Germany . I'd been fricassee frantic all day Thursday, and cleaning like an indentured servant , so I wouldn't have to on my birthday. Cooking on my special day would be like…ironing on my honey moon! I don't think so! I'll never do that again.If you're wondering to which I am referring, the answer is...both.
If a person slaves for a week so that one day could be bondage-free, does that make them an optimist, masochist, or just stupid? How about a stupid masochistic optimist? My week long servitude was exhausting; It left me battered, beaten , and bruised, and most importantly, too worn to enjoy much. Good thing it was a safe bet I wouldn't be dancing on my day because my feet hurt! Don't get me wrong, I love to dance...er...I did...when I could. If I could have today, I couldn't have, on account of my self-inflicted enslavement leaving my legs in the state of Jello, so good thing I couldn't anyways.
The last two days were worth it all in th end . I don't remember ever having such an eventful, me centered week in my life. It was great. I will always remember it as being a strangely comforting euphemism. Hopefully, I'll live long enough to savor the memories throughout my golden years, thus completing the metaphorical circle of life-- ontogeny recapitulating phylogeny, Susie Style.
7/3/2005 11:47 AM
word count 572
posted by Susan at 12:37 PM
1 comments
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