BTK and ghosts

I always wanted to ignore them. If I pretended hard enough, then they just wouldn't exist.

My friend Pablo ( kungfuonline) recently linked to an article from the NY Times about the residences that the BTK killer hit, and their current inhabitants. All very creepy and generally deeply disturbing.

What I wonder is, is the idea of the ghosts frightening, or the reality of them? They are here, in the brand new (clearly no hauntings here) home I occupy, in the edges of vision and things you don't quite see. They exist in the places where the sun spots are, the bright echos of things you have seen and know to be true. They have been with me since my surgery earlier this year, though they frighten me. They exist in the in-betweens. Rub your eyes and there you see them, in the negative. I deny them, to no avail. As I turn. As I descend the stair. They overlook me, yet they look over me.

This, at least to me, is more frightening than any of the BTKs that exist in the solidity of this world we are sharing. If only I could hear them. Thank God I don't hear them.

What can I do? Only wait for them to dissipate.


Beginnings of my novel... Combined bits of prose and wild imagination.

I have seen them.

Snakes and dead mothers... What would Freud say?

I never remember my dreams. Supposedly you dream every night, assuming you are getting your REM sleep and not waking up 20 times a minute from sleep apnea or something crazy like that, right? I remember my dream from last night.

So, what does it mean when you dream that you are standing outside the garage of your childhood home talking to your dead mother (garage door open) when a snake that you originally think is harmless (black with a wide lengthwise brown stripe) flares its cobra head and mom then directs you to kill it, which you try to do with a ridiculously large kitchen knife (2' long blade??? Ginsu doesn't cover this bad boy) you grab from the adjacent childhood kitchen as the snake is slithering behind stacks of boxes and other stuff and you can't see it, you just keep hearing it circling the room as you stab through the clutter to try to kill it...?

Where does this shi come from?

I want this. T@B

Recliner people

My parents were recliner people. You know the type, they must be quasi anti social by nature, their living rooms populated primarily by the island-like self-serving recliners that define their limited frames of existence. Recliner people, by their nature, are not a social people, they may seek one or two of their own to belay the inevitable loneliness that is their existence.

These were my early surroundings.
Am I now the recliner person, distant judge and untouchable, unreachable, self-absorbed person?

Random thoughts this random night.

I miss them, the recliner people, though they never needed me. I wish for my own lonely (independent! self sufficient!... ultimately, self indulgent) recliner occasionally.

Stages II

When you died
I clung to all the material things
that had surrounded you
possessions and fabrics...
sweaters and pillows
Your too-small jacket clutched close
for comfort against the bitter cold
and hurt of your absence
all these things that carried the only thing
that remained on this earth of you
other than the frail human memories---
your brief escaping scent
I tried so hard to save
and breath in closer and deeper
holding it, clinging to it
trying to hold you so close
until I thought my heart would burst
You were ripped so quickly from me
and now years later the tear in my life
still burns under the salted tears
that seem to have no end
the faded scent now gone
my frail human memory will never
fill the gaping painful empty space
that is all that remains