Strange Happenings

'The more you think of a place as haunted the more things will appear?'

Do you really think that? Its a mental, rather then atmospheric thing? Do we construct it entirely in our minds; whispers, creaking floorboards, mournful winds. Could it not be something else?I'm intensely interested in this, a friend of mine is taking me ghost hunting, to haunted places she knows of, in a few days. I'll be sure to blog about it haha; will my mix of skepticism and enthusiasm make for flat, uninteresting places while her history of 'hauntings' and bad experiences terrify her.

Will we both see one place as two? **

She was telling me once, of an experience she had:

It was dark, and everyone was sleeping; slumbering bodies criss crossed the floor of the lounge room. Only her and Nixy were awake, whispering and giggling away. The glow of the kitchen light faintly illuminated the lounge, and it seemed, called to them, beckoning. They had been debating whether to go to the effort of getting up and making something to eat. A vague disquiet settled around them as they thought about it though, a creeping cold that sneaked upon them.

Suddenly, as the tension heightened and they stared at that doorway of light, leading into the kitchen they heard an almighty crash and bang; doors opening and slamming and crashing to the ground.

'Fuck!' Nixy swore.

'What the fuck was that! Oh my god!'

They were both staring at the other with complete shock, mirrored fear in their eyes. Hearts pounding, they inevitably had the discussion we all fear in such circumstances - endlessly debated among friends. Do we go check it out? Evevntually, the decided they had to; what if it was a burglar? Or an animal, a big dog or demon cat?! All their food was in that kitchen, and if there's anything you want to avoid, its getting in the way of two mature ladies on the hunt. So they creeped toward the kitchen, poking their heads around the door.

It was complete chaos. All their food was on the ground, every draw and cupboard stood open. A heavy miasma of fear settled about their shoulders, of mouth drying heart stopping terror and confusion. What the fuck...

'Shit!'

They scuttled back inside, waking everyone up. It wasn't a matter of 'come check this out' I think, it was more a 'thats an almighty mess and we sure as hell aren't cleaning it up alone.' But when the group returned to the kitchen, it was perfectly normal. Eerily so, in fact. Of course, no one believed them, they were bullshit artists, liars, just pulling everyone's leg...

Weren't they?

**

In that instance, the newly woken people saw only the kitchen, normal as ever, whereas the other two, having experienced something saw a haunted place, each cupboard and tile, each gleaming surface superimposed atop open carnage. They saw, then, two places.

Introversion

I was just scrolling through someone else's blog, a woman named Karen who was wondering when she would find herself. She linked to this to not having a soul mate, in my response I discovered something:

It's a terrible thing to explore one's self. I rememeber recently, in a lecture at UTS, a professor asked us what our world view was. That being, what do we identify with, where do you see yourself going, what do you uphold and what is opposing that.

And we couldn't answer him.

We tend not look within because we can't face what lies beneath the fleeting moment, the passing day or issue. I dont believe that we need someone else to figure out who we are in our entirety, rather I think we use the other person as a pillar to lean on; a reason to not look within ourselves.We don't find ourselves in other people, rather, we lose ourselves.

This, I think is partly the reason I've created this blog. To explore/invent/finally understand myself beyond the mirror reflection; to, in a sense, find the next me. And from there onward and downward to the innermost core just like a Matryoshka Doll.

Writer

Writer

My heart pulses

in tune with the world(s)

and their silent stories.

My soul throbs, wrung with the emotion

of a million men.

Characters.

I hear the whispers

of untold tales: tendrils

filling the vessel,

waiting to be created.

My black blood spills:

the womb through which

worlds are born

Questions.

Yo.

I don't know what the hell I'm doing here, haha. My mum wants to make a blog, so I thought I might as well make sure I get the hang of it by making one, before she bombards me with questions and complaints. It'll be difficult learning the mechanics of this thingy if she's pointing a shotgun (both proverbial and literal, you dont know this woman! I maintain that she's the head of a terrorist organisation of some sort, like Mums Gone Wild, or something Equally sinister.)

So here I am, tired and vaguely discomforted by the notion of what I'm doing. I wonder if I can keep this seperate from my friends and family, if perhaps this space can be used to create - reveal, a hitherto unknown me? Hmph. Will it even matter?

Still, it can't hurt to churn out words, regardless of their meaning, being a writer - this excercise can only increase my aptitude for the written word. Who knows, perhaps I'll meet people new and different - fresh, in an all too uninspiring world. Given that I know little of this site, and how to navigate it, I doubt that though.

Hey World,
come say hello.