Dancing Among the Remains

Waking up…

I started writing again today. I woke up this morning with an excellent short story in my head, so I have begun working on it today. It feels good to be inspired again, to know my voice has returned. The hiatus was long and difficult. Today, I feel content. I feel a sense of peace and calm. I haven’t been able to say that in quite some time.

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I also have a new approach for my writing, as far as stories go. In the past, I would hold myself to some absurd time frame. If I began writing a story, I could not walk away until it was finished. In hindsight, this was not at all healthy. Not only did it cause me to sit for hours at my computer without a break, but it also brought my stories to a sort of forced completion at times. If I began to feel burned out or in need of focus, I would instead keep writing. I just had to get to the ending. It felt like a compulsion. An obsession. In my haste, I would sometimes miss opportunities to fill out the body of a story with more depth and detail, all because I was so consumed with reaching the ending.

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Don’t ask me why I did this to myself and my work, because I honestly don’t have a suitable answer. Sometimes I get stuck in a mental pattern, and it is difficult for me to break away from habit. I broke away today, though. I began the story, wrote until I felt my focus begin to fade, then I added some key notes to the bottom of the document so I don’t forget them. With that, I simply walked away. I watched the presidential inauguration. I played with my dog. I had a snack. I feel no desire to force myself to finish the story. It is there, in my head, and my notes have been made. I can get back to it when I am ready and can give it the attention and love it deserves. This will not only make me a better writer, but it will give all my wicked little lovelies the best stories possible to enjoy.

With that said, I want to thank you all. Despite my recent shortcomings, you continue to haunt my little cemetery right along beside me. That means so much. I am back, I am stronger, and I am carrying on. This would not be possible without your support. I adore you all for believing in me. Your Twisted Libra is back, and she feels ready to conquer the world.

Want more of me? Visit my cemetery! http://www.twistedlibracemetery.com

Oh, how time slips away…

Today marks one year since I lost someone very close to me. I won’t go into details here, but this morning I find myself thinking about loss. Thinking about how we, as human beings, deal with loss; particularly that of a loved one. The dead live on through our memories, brought forth by bouts of nostalgic longing. However, each individual we meet in life will remember us differently from the next. In that regard, which version of us actually exists after death? Is it even accurate? Or is the true essence of who we were lost forever once we slip beneath the veil?

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I’m not trying to negate the feeling of closeness we get from remembering our beloved dead. It’s just that my mind won’t stop contemplating this now. Perhaps this is how I deal? I am truly sad today, but often times my sadness leads to deep, melancholic thought. I have always said that every person has at least three faces: the one you show strangers, the one you show loved ones, and the one you keep to yourself. If that’s true, then in theory, our true self dies with us. The memory left behind is not actually of ourselves, but of how we affected others. It’s a caricature of sorts, based on how others saw us when we were alive.

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Maybe the only way to be truly remembered as you are is to reveal yourself fully to the world? Imagine that. Taking off the masks, showing who you are, warts and all. I don’t think any of us could actually do that. To be so exposed, so vulnerable, so open to judgement. Although it would feel delightfully freeing to not have to keep up any sort of façade in life.

My Kindertrauma: Faces of Death (Beetlejuice/Poltergeist/Indiana Jones)

I think I am content with my three faces. They serve me well. And I don’t find myself all that concerned with how I am remembered. I have no desire for any type of legacy. Besides, I won’t be here to see it anyway. Now, if I discover a way to come back and haunt you all, or if by some miracle vampirism becomes a real thing and I get to partake, then I will be interested to see how you all carry my name forward once I am gone. Until then, just enjoy me while I am here and think about me sometime when I leave for good.

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(As always, if you enjoyed this post feel free to like and comment. You can find more of my wicked creations buried here: http://www.twistedlibracemetery.com )

The tell-tale heart is slowly beating once again…

If you read my previous blog post, you know I have been in a depressive slump for quite some time. I am glad to say that the muse has finally touched my soul once again, and I am writing. Here lies my latest endeavor:

I open my mouth to shout,
But nothing comes out,
And I remain unseen.
I cry, but my tears fade away,
Nobody is swayed,
By my misery.
I collapse on the ground all alone,
Nowhere to call home,
I am now just a ghost.
Forever in search of a place,
No smile on my face,
This pain hurts the most.
My lungs feel void of air,
Overcome with despair,
I tremble and shake.
Nothing is what it seems,
I’m stuck in a dream,
And I can’t seem to wake.
Help me, before I slip under,
My life torn asunder,
The end is beginning.
There is no more fight in my soul,
I’m losing control,
The demons are winning.

Before you ask, I am fine. True, I go to some very dark places when the depression takes hold. Writing about how I feel keeps me sane and alive. I may feel like dying, but I promise I am not going anywhere any time soon. So no worries. The poetry heals me, it never hurts me. Walking the dark path is actually therapeutic to me.

Spooky goth vampire GIF on GIFER - by Rainfont

On lighter note, I drove out to my favorite local cemetery and took some cool photos today. I have been needing to do that for so long. Granted, due to a current knee injury, I wasn’t able to get down and catch all the cool angles and such. Still, I think I did okay. Check them out over at the Twisted Libra instagram page. You can find links to all the burial sites for my wicked creations at www.twistedlibracemetery.com.

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Storm clouds…

“Into each life some rain must fall,
Some days must be dark and dreary.”

~Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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I apologize for the prolonged absence. Your dear Twisted Libra, although perpetually dreaming of life as a vampire, is actually just human. I go through my ups and downs just like anyone else. The last several weeks have been no exception. After writing so much in October, my mind honestly felt broken. I had nothing left to give, creatively speaking, but I figured I would relax for a few days and then continue populating my little cemetery with ghoulish delights. Then, that lovely chronic depression decided to rear its ugly head again. I should have been excited throughout November and December because my work was finally out there for y’all to enjoy. I wanted to be happy and productive, but I just…wasn’t. Depression is like that; it doesn’t follow a script, and it basically just comes and goes as it pleases. This time, in its wake, I was left with no motivation to write so much as a blog post. My soul had a lot to say, but my brain wouldn’t cooperate. It pretty much hijacked me and my voice with no warning.

This is not to say that I feel totally out of the woods yet. I just finally got the mental strength to pull myself back onto my social sites and try to reconnect. I still adore all my wicked little lovelies, and you are all welcome anytime inside these graveyard walls. I have no new stories, no new poems; I just wanted to let y’all know I am still here.

My full Twisted Libra Cemetery can be found here: https://www.twistedlibracemetery.com/?fbclid=IwAR0AGI0vyISEbqXCg9broFoVG-x79pt6DpnNwc6rWbvmGCqqg29wZtjTE4U

“I became insane, with long intervals of horrible sanity.”

I think Poe was definitely on to something there. You see, people in this modern era seem to want to label everything. To name everything in some whimsical, shorthand way. J-Lo. Brangelina. It just never stops. Well, I was today years old when I discovered that there is a new name for the string of months that we used to refer to as simply “Fall.” Yes, apparently that wasn’t good enough. Now, this time is referred to as “DEVOLSON.”

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Yeah, this is actually a thing now. It stands for “The Dark, Evil Vortex Of Late September, October, and November.” My most beloved time of year is now some tragic, soul sucking vortex? Come on! Normally, I would be elated at the evil connotation. However, this is obviously meant in some derogatory manner. People are basically shitting on spooky season. This just kills me.

How dare they? How dare people declare this magical time of year to be some sort of wasteful void? Well, I can tell you that DEVOLSON shall not exist in my cemetery! No sir and madam, we will celebrate that stretch from late September through November! We will embrace all things decrepit and sinister! Anyone who subscribes to DEVOLSON can DEVOLSuck a—

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Nope. Not going to get vulgar. Suffice it to say, I am no fan of this acronym. Call it Fall, Autumn, Spooky Season…just don’t call it DEVOLSON. This is not a blight on the yearly calendar. It is the most wickedly wonderful time of the year!

The muse came to visit…

Sometimes, little spooky poems just happen. And sometimes, they take two days, a glass of wine, and several rewrites. Such is the nature of the beast. Enjoy!

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A darkened, mouldy chamber,

Where sorrow drips down the walls,

And disembodied voices,

Echo softly through the halls.

Corpses lie just out of sight,

Each marked with a marble plaque,

The remains of those who journeyed on,

Never to come back.

Petals wither from rotting bouquets,

Leaving only the biting thorns,

Everything here has been touched by decay,

Long forgotten by those who have mourned.

A damp and decomposing scent,

Hangs thickly in the air,

I feel a touch upon my skin,

But turn and find no one there.

The whispers are growing louder now,

As I lay my flowers down,

I make a hasty exit,

From this tomb beneath the ground.

Loose stones on the stairway,

Nearly cause my death,

I stumble onto the sunlit grass,

And try to catch my breath.

It must be my imagination,

There was no one down there but me,

But then a faint whisper upon the wind,

Says, “Come back down and see.”

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Waxing poetic…

Just a little something I cooked up this morning…enjoy!

When You're Just Really Bad at Cooking | 25 Times Morticia Addams Spoke to Your Creepy and Kooky Soul | POPSUGAR Entertainment Photo 14

Darkness has a scent.

Closing my eyes

I breathe it in deeply

And long to be set free.

I want to slip away

Away into the night sky

Drifting among the tombstones

And cemetery trees.

Oh! To dance

Upon my own grave.

Oh! To see those

Who stop by to mourn!

Do not adorn me

With colorful blossoms.

Leave only bouquets

Of dead roses and thorns.

My soul has become one

With the glorious night!

Freed from the false

That only now speak so kind.

Embraced by the moonlight

By demons, by devils.

Shrouded in the mist

Of sweet Death divine.

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Something different…

Most of my posts lately have been about my upcoming book or about Halloween. Now, there is nothing wrong with that, but this morning the muse struck while I was out walking my beloved animal companion and I wrote something new. It has nothing to do with a cemetery, or death, or anything truly spooky.

Relax. It isn’t the end of days. I just wanted to write something about what was in my heart this morning. I hope you all enjoy it. This won’t make it into the story books, but maybe someday I will release a collection of my non-creepy poems or something. We shall see.

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So, without further ado…

The clouds hang heavy in the sky,

Grey and thick with rain.

Puddles become tiny mirrors along the path.

The tranquility of their stillness is such that,

I side-step them all, refusing chaos.

A soft breeze swirls around my face,

Carrying a gossamer mist.

Everything smells musty and damp,

But in a way which makes me smile.

For these dreary days are my favorite.

As I venture further down the path,

I begin to feel whole once again.

Nature is surrounding me,

With signs that I belong here.

Clouds and rain and gentle breezes;

These are things that heal my heart.

I am wrapped in the quiet poetry of the natural world,

As it sings a song only I can hear.

Rest in Peace…

Spirits of the Dead

Thy soul shall find itself alone
’Mid dark thoughts of the gray tombstone—
Not one, of all the crowd, to pry
Into thine hour of secrecy.

Be silent in that solitude,
Which is not loneliness—for then
The spirits of the dead who stood
In life before thee are again
In death around thee—and their will
Shall overshadow thee: be still.

The night, tho’ clear, shall frown—
And the stars shall look not down
From their high thrones in the heaven,
With light like Hope to mortals given—
But their red orbs, without beam,
To thy weariness shall seem
As a burning and a fever
Which would cling to thee for ever.

Now are thoughts thou shalt not banish,
Now are visions ne’er to vanish;
From thy spirit shall they pass
No more—like dew-drop from the grass.

The breeze—the breath of God—is still—
And the mist upon the hill,
Shadowy—shadowy—yet unbroken,
Is a symbol and a token—
How it hangs upon the trees,
A mystery of mysteries!

– Edgar Allan Poe

January 19, 1809 – October 7, 1849

Kicking and screaming…

I can’t recall, but I am pretty sure I entered this world kicking and screaming. It was not long after midnight, under a Blood Moon, in the month of October. On this very day, in fact. I won’t say exactly how many years ago, but we will just say I have had my share of experience in life. So, however many years ago on this day, your Twisted Libra came to be. (I’ll give you a moment to either applaud or curse the gods.)

A fun fact about my birthday is, I share it with Dracula! Well, sort of. You see, long before he brought the legendary vampire to life in the 1931 Universal hit, Bela Lugosi played Dracula in the stage production. While he was not the first to grace the stage as Dracula, he was certainly the most iconic. He gave his first performance as Dracula on October 5, 1927. This was the birth of the most well known version of Dracula in modern pop culture. So, in a way, Dracula and I were born on the same day!

Pin by Melissa Hope on Dracula | Vampire movies, Horror lovers, Classic horror

At this point you may ask, what does the one and only Twisted Libra desire for her special day? Not much, really. It is enough that you stopped by the cemetery to say hello and read this post. It warms my twisted little libra heart, I swear.

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So, who wants to throw a party in the old boneyard? Let’s celebrate! Oh, and don’t worry if you didn’t bring a gift. I have plenty of possessions. (Both objects and souls.) But, if you want to do a little something for me…I have some ideas. You can follow this blog, like this post, follow/comment on the Twisted Libra social media…these things mean more than you know, and would certainly brighten up this girl’s bday! You can accomplish any or all of these birthday tasks at the Twisted Libra Cemetery website www.twistedlibracemetery.com because everything is buried there in one convenient plot!

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If you have made it this far, thank you. I look forward to bringing many more creatures and stories to life for you all. Your support is invaluable, and you have an open invite to hang out in my cemetery any time! Now, call up the souls from the catacombs, pour me a chalice of A Positive, and let’s throw a party that will wake the living! (The dead have already risen within these walls!)

When you find out your job application to a cemetery/funeral home was reviewed and now you have a skype interview next week. - GIF - Imgur

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