Sunday is gloomy,– “Gloomy Sunday” by Rezso Seress
My hours are slumberless.
Dearest the shadows I live with are numberless.
Little white flowers will never awaken you
Not where the black coaches
Sorrow has taken you.
Angels have no thoughts of ever returning you,
Would they be angry if I thought of joining you?
Gloomy sunday with shadows I spend it all
My heart and I have decided to end it all.
Soon there’ll be candles and prayers that are sad I know,
But let them not weep, let them know that I’m glad to go.
Death is no dream for in death I’m caressin’ you.
With the last breath of my soul I’ll be blessing you!
I am me.
It’s been a really long time since I’ve posted on here. so here I am. I’m still alive. lol
You know that ringing sound that you will perceive when you are in a very quiet area? Some people say this is an auditory-illusion brought about the ear’s inability to detect frequencies below the threshold of the human senses. This is completely wrong. That ringing covers up something else altogether. If you are quick, patient, and maybe a little lucky, you will be able to hear past the ringing. What you will hear are voices whispering to each other. They will silence themselves quickly but with practice, you will become more adept at catching and interpreting what they are saying. You will hear things of the past, the present, and the future. However, you must be careful. Because there is no such thing as a voice without a body.
And when you start noticing them, they will start noticing you.
I miss you and you don’t even know it.
I love you and you cant even see it.
I think of you and you cant imagine why.
Bites you in the face. You hope it’ll work out. Anything is possible.
“July Fourth,” by Frank Lloyd Wright (1927)
Today I went on a much anticipated fishing trip with Nick, Daniel, Daniel’s father (Daniel), and Daniel’s father’s father (Daniel AKA Grandpa). We went to Black River. Located 15 miles off the nearest highway. That highway turnoff incalculably far from the nearest town of White River.
Woke up at 5 to dress, gather our poles, bait, and head out. It took an hour to reach White River from Pinetop-Lakeside. From there it took 45 minutes to spot that dirt turnoff to the left. From then on it was the rockiest, shakiest, most sketchy dirt road ever. Combine that with the steepest hills. Did I mention the loose rocks along the trail on those hills? Yep, we got stuck a few times.
We eventually made it to the river, after two hours, at the bottom of the canyon where the catfish awaited our shiny, little hooks.
Trying to avoid interaction and meetups with the canyon’s natural inhabitants (most famously the bears, mountain lion, and various poisonous snakes), we made as much noise as possible. Equipped with blow horns, a 9mm, and even Nick’s Storm Whistle (which, mind you, is the loudest whistle in the world).
The day passed quickly and came to an end with seven large fish, hungry stomachs, and the need to retraverse that terrible, momentum launching trail.
H.P. Lovecraft devoted most of his stories to this common theme. After all of the factors in the Cthulhu Mythos he created, I’m inspired to try it myself. His weird fiction is astoundingly well blended into actual events, historical figures, and time frames. I intend to use the same elements in my own short story. Wish me luck!
The high security prison is the opening scene in my story. This is going to be a good one. And it all ends with a bang similar to that which could be compared to the shrieking, metallic, thunderous peal of a bullet launched from the barrel of a gun.