Dancing Among the Remains

Raindrops on roses and fangs on vampires,

Dead souls and demons and bursts of hellfire,

Corpses in death shrouds all tied up with strings,

These are a few of my favorite things…

A friend reminded me today that I am funny. When I want to, I can speak and write in a most comical fashion. Not everything I create is dark and morose; I also enjoy the absurdity and satire in life. Truth be told, though, I honestly seem to find the most humor in what others would deem “inappropriate” situations.

I don’t do it on purpose. I just see things that others don’t sometimes. Also, my sense of sarcasm is often overwhelming and impossible to contain. I am pretty certain I was born sarcastic. According to my mom, I made my first true smartass statement when I was about three years old. Three. Long story short, my oldest brother was running through my grandmother’s yard and, looking back at his friends, smacked face first into a tree. This obviously knocked the wind out of him and he collapsed lifeless on the ground. Everyone else froze, including my mom and grandmother. I walked up, pushed him with my foot, heard him moan, and said, “Don’t worry, he’s not dead.”

I wasn’t trying to be mean, I just felt compelled to make fun of everyone else’s reaction. In times of deep despair, I still seem to find absurdity. My whole family kind of does that, finding humor in tough times. It’s a coping mechanism, I guess. At my grandmother’s funeral, the little man from the funeral home was walking around her grave placing flowers just before the service. He had apparently come from the restroom, because he had a little trail of toilet paper stuck to his shoe. I leaned over to my mom, who was rightfully sobbing, and whispered, “Well, that’s shitty.” She looked up and immediately began to laugh. We both did. We desperately tried to stifle said laughter so we didn’t look like sickos, cackling at the graveside. It was August in the south, so the funeral home had provided those little paper fans, which we used to cover our smiles. Thankfully, people just thought we were both wracked with sobs, not giggles.

Don’t get me wrong, I was mourning my grandmother. I just felt like my mom needed something in that moment, and my twisted mind could not let the sight of that toilet paper go unshared. This is what I do, and naturally so. I seem to have a very twisted view on simple things. Does this make me a bad person? Nah, I don’t think so. I have seen so much darkness in my own life. I know exactly how it feels to lose hope. I am grateful for my sense of humor, and if I can bring a brief smile to someone’s face during dark times, then I am doing something right. I will close by sharing the best piece of advice I ever got. It came from my hero: my Papaw.

Papaw was my absolute hero in this world. My father figure. My first book was dedicated to him. We lost him back in 1992. Some time before that day, my family had visited him in the hospital. He was in intensive care, so we could only go into the room one at a time while everyone else watched from the huge viewing window. Upon my turn, I sat on his bedside and tried to be strong, but the sadness and tears overcame me. He asked me why I was crying, I told him it was because he was in ICU. He took my hand and said, “Well, on this side of the glass it’s ICU, but on the other side it’s UCMe (you see me).” I laughed, but then I felt bad for laughing. “Should we be laughing right now?” I asked. He squeezed my hand and said, “Never lose your sense of humor. Sometimes it will be the only thing you have to get you through in this world. Besides, you got it from me.” He smiled, we hugged, and it was one of the most precious moments of my entire life. I miss that man so much.

Humor is a good thing. I create spooky, macabre stories and poems, but there is also room for laughter in this world. We must never forget that. Papaw was a smart man.

I don’t like orange. I know, I know…as a lover of Halloween and as someone fortunate enough to be born in the glorious month of October, you’d think I would be okay with it. I just can’t be. It’s not the worst color ever (looking at you, pastels). Here’s the thing: I went out to browse the local Halloween stock at a few stores this morning. Each year, themes and color schemes change. This year, most product lines are leaning heavy on the orange. It’s made me abundantly aware how much I dislike the shade. It’s become synonymous with my beloved holiday, so I expect to see it this time of year. Just not on everything. I found several awesome pieces that I would have loved to have in my home, but they had orange where I felt it didn’t belong. I get it…pumpkins and such….yada yada yada…I just prefer darker, more sinister colors. My trip today was a revelation. I don’t care for orange things.

Does that make me less of a Halloween child? No. I believe that true Halloween is a lifestyle, not a holiday. I’m really not into the cliché pumpkins and witches and black cats that seem to pop up this time of year. Give me bats and coffins and candles, please. Give me black and red and grey. Give me creepy organ music and cemeteries. These are things that truly make me happy. Don’t get me wrong; I love this holiday season. (It’s the only time of year I can shop for home décor in person rather than online.) I just won’t say I’m a fan of the “traditional” colors and characters.

So there. I’ve said it. I don’t like orange. I do, however, love Halloween. You can certainly have one without the other. At least, you can in my house.

Yesterday was a momentous day for the Twisted Libra. I was finally able to launch my website, which is a goal I have had for quite some time. I will post the link down below, so be sure to go visit my cemetery and take the tour! I also dug deep into the crypt and found some old notebooks full of my early writings. These ranged from the ages of about six to somewhere around twenty-seven. Some of it was absolute crap, but some of it wasn’t half bad. A few lines here and there actually caught me off guard with how well they were written. It’s interesting to sit and trace moments of your life, memories, and growth as a writer through your actual old scribblings. I found things I remembered in great detail, and others I had long since forgotten.

The discovery of old ideas, coupled with the birth of the new Twisted Libra home, has put me into a most contemplative mood. What do I truly want to say to the world? Does anyone even care to listen? Throughout my life, I have written with wonder, humor, morosity, and several other mindsets. I have written to merely entertain, and I have written for pure catharsis. I hope to find a way to combine everything I am as a writer and create something that can be both entertaining and profound. I have a new platform with which to reach people. Thank you for taking this journey with me. I am looking forward to filling my cemetery with new creatures, stories, and poems for you all.

Before I go, here is the link to the new Twisted Libra site. It isn’t much, but it is something I am proud to share. Come inside and take the tour…if you dare…

https://www.twistedlibracemetery.com/

I’m currently reading a book about Victorian era ideas about death and ghosts. Back then, people seemed more attuned to the supernatural. Death appeared in various forms, omens were more prevalent, and spiritual contact was a common occurrence.

These days, such happenings are thought to be absurd or fictional. Most people like to think we’ve evolved intellectually and technologically beyond the beliefs of a bygone age. However, I often wonder if we’re just too busy to notice such things? Perhaps, rather than prove those beliefs to be antiquated and wrong, we’ve simply separated ourselves from that connection to the supernatural realm? Maybe all the technology and overexposure to the modern world has broken the link between the living and the departed?

I think the link can be reestablished. I think there is more to this world than technology can show. I think the dead are still communicating with us. It’s just up to us to take notice.

I am intrigued by cemetery trees. The concept of life springing forth from a place of finality fosters a certain hope within my soul. To go to a place built upon death, and to see such beautiful testaments to the unstoppable force that is nature…that is nothing short of wondrous. Trees in the cemetery stand strong and solid, reminding us that life will, in fact, go on. It will always find a way. When I stand alone in a cemetery, I often close my eyes and listen to the breeze rustling the branches. I feel like, in some way, perhaps the deceased are speaking to me.

“It is the secret of the world that all things subsist and do not die, but retire a little from sight and afterwards return again.” – Ralph Waldo Emerson

“Though my soul may set in darkness, it will rise in perfect light;
I have loved the stars too fondly to be fearful of the night.” – Sarah Williams

The moon was absolutely intriguing tonight. I hate that pictures never do a full moon any justice. I’ve always loved her far more than the sun. She’s a light in the dark, a companion on a quiet, starry night. Tell her your secrets, and they shall be forever kept.

Step outside tonight and take a minute to silently admire the moon in all her glory.

“Night’s ghosts and dreams have now departed;
Thine own soul still is true to thee,
But changed to a foul fiend through misery.”
-Percy Bysshe Shelley

Modern translation: I didn’t get nearly enough sleep last night.