Tuesday's Omen

Squinty midget with a busted cell-phone

'Zounds

I've been spontaneously bleeding from my middle-fingertips latelty. It's a bit awkward.

Having been raised Catholic, I'm prepared for spontaneous palm or wrist bleeding. Since it's the middle fingers, I'm not sure what message the Divine wants me to spread.

ha ha

I've been having trouble lately when people tell me how funny I am. I want to point out how subjective that statement is.

I prefer to think of myself as a baseline for funny. In that context, I'm not funny at all, just surrounded be really dull people.

Another Outbreak...

Zombie flash mob on Market Street yesterday.

The Goth shambler kept mumbling something about my dark, sweet brain. The Z-head nurse gave me the cold shoulder.

ALL HAIL THE HYPNOTOAD

The All-Seeing Eye Socket

I was browsing through adolescent themed websites earlier this week when I saw an image so horrifying it stopped me cold.

I skipped the video's of amateur back-yard wrestlers and skate-board fiascoes, scrolled directly to the still photos. The thumb-nail was pretty unappealing, a human head with two hands holding an eye open. I cannot imagine what possessed me to click on the link.

The eye must have been removed from the socket for some time. There was no blood or fluids in the socket. The background flesh had a dark orange color. There was a pinched yellowish circular ring where the optic nerve once had been. The sides of the socket were covered with what I can only describe as buds. They too were dark yellow, like slightly burned corn. They rose from circular bases to a pointed tip, like tulip bulbs almost ready to bloom.

The hands obscure most of the face, but you can clearly see the mouth frozen in a desperate scream.

The image faded from memory that night and I slept. After waking the next morning, the image jumped into my head. I was dizzy and a little queasy.

Until Monday I was fairly sure that I had seen so much in my three dozen years that I was jaded beyond feeling fear or disgust. I could not have been more wrong. I still feel intermittent panic attacks thinking about what I've seen. Now I know the power of real horror.

I can only guess that H.P. Lovecraft felt the same way when he tried to describe the soul-shrinking elder gods he saw in his dreams. I can only hope that writing about this helps exorcise the image of the all-seeing eye socket.

Home sweet home

The house I grew up in was a monument to learned incompetence. My parents both had advanced degrees, yet we weren't allowed to hang pictures on the walls for fear of damaging the plaster (it was an old house). Apparently the technology to repair plaster was lost sometime after the fall of Rome and still had not been rediscovered.
You put white clothing in the hamper at your peril. It was understood that anything in that pile was doomed to mysteriously turn pink.
No one wanted to reveal that they possessed basic domestic skills. The masequerade went on for close to two decades.