Oddly Alluring and Wonderfully Weird

Reflecting the world but the glass is cracking
Feeling incomplete, something is lacking
The world looks in seeing its own reflection
Everything’s normal until closer inspection

Pick up a hammer and shatter the glass
Crawl inside, wade through the past
Pick off the cobwebs and adjust your eyes
Look around, the exterior lies

The world is distorted, dark, and drear
With a touch of whimsey and morbid cheer
Things that are strange lie all around
Left is right, and up is down

Oddly alluring and wonderfully weird
Where normal is loathed and grotesque is revered
Beauty lies in all the wrong places
You’re a stranger here, recognizing no faces

A path appears, but should you follow?
A lump in your throat and its hard to swallow
Take a deep breath and gather your strength
The path stretches out for an unknown length

Deeper and deeper into the depths you dive
There’s no guarantee of coming out alive
The path grows darker with each step you take
Now you wonder if this was all a mistake

The path stretches onward yet, its to dark too see
The urge rises up and you begin to flee
Turning around you race toward the light
But its too late now, no matter how hard you fight

The path crumbles away and you fall into air
Screaming for help but there’s nobody there
Forever trapped inside my mind
You are now mine until the end of time

 

Clack Tracks

Photo by Para Morbid : Taken in KY

 

Old Forgotten And Abandoned

Photo by Para Morbid, Taken in Kentucky

 

Family Comparison

 

Born in a Kentucky town and raised in the middle of nowhere by two loving, yet relatively normal, parents I turned out quite different than most around me. Both my brother and I are vastly different and just don’t fit the mold of either our family or traditional Kentuckian. I thought it would be interesting, and a bit fun, to look at some of my family members compared to me.

My father was born in a small country town in a simpler time. His mother and father had eleven children including my father. He grew up helping his family on a farm. He was a farmer himself among other things. He kept a heard of cattle and raised tobacco while also working for a tree trimming service. He enjoyed gardening, hunting, fishing, coffee, walking in the woods, good food, and sitting on the front porch. He enjoyed watching Western movies, MASH, NOVA, nature shows, and such. He listened to bluegrass, country, and gospel music along with writing lyrics and singing the latter two. During his latter years of life he went to church with my mother and I and he put his musical talents to good use. His casual dress was blue jeans and a plain T-shirt with a front pocket and a cap on his head. He was what I consider one of those good ‘ol country boys. He was honest and hard working. He never met a stranger and was kind and generous. Though his hands were hard and calloused from hard labor his heart was soft and kind.

My mother was also born in a small town but grew up with a smaller family. She had a fraternal twin sister, a younger sister, older brother, and older half brother. She worked for a time in a sewing factory until she married my father and became a wife, mother, and homemaker. In her younger years she was a fire cracker and didn’t hesitate to give you a piece of her mind, getting into arguments with strangers when they tried to push her around. After she fell ill with cancer and other health issues she became a bit more shy. She enjoyed flowers and when she was able planted and kept gardens herself. Later they were kept up and cared for by my father. She enjoyed walking in the woods before she fell ill. Even after her health began to decline she enjoyed fishing, watching humming birds while sitting on the porch drinking coffee. She watched soap operas, Little House On The Prairie, The Waltons, Touched By An Angle and the like. She went to Church when her health permitted. She always loved Elvis and had tickets to see him but he died before the concert. Before she fell ill her attire was usually black dress pants with a plain shirt underneath a nicer button up or dress jacket. After he health failed she wore blue jeans and printed T-shirts when not going to church. She was always loving and cared deeply for her family.

Other relatives from both sides of the family follow much of the same suit. Most go to church and are Christians in some form or another. On my dad’s side you have the typical country folk. A lot of them live in rural areas and enjoy much of the same things my father did and dress much in the same fashion. The younger generations deviate from the path a bit but are more or less the same. On mom’s side of the family you have less farmer orientation but still have the good ‘ol country folk. They dress modestly and casually. They were born and raised here in Kentucky and many of them have stayed here.

Then you get to me and my brother and things start to change. My brother is fourteen years older than me so there is quite a gap. Even though we are siblings we pretty much grew up as only children. My brother inherited my father’s work ethic. He works hard and has always been there for me in my time of need. His taste in music is hugely different than that of most of our family. While many of them still listen to country and contemporary Christian he listens to brutal death metal. For several years he was lead guitarist in a band and play around Kentucky and other states. When not in work clothes he dresses in cargo and military pants sporting band t-shirts and hoodies. He use to have long hair with an undercut though it is now buzzed. He has three or so tattoos and a few piercings. One of his favorite shows is the Walking Dead and horror movies rank high on his list, the gorier and more perverse the better. Anything horror or gore related is right up his ally, throwing in some nerdy things such as fantasy, scifi and transformers into the mix. His humor lies in the darker side and others would consider it inappropriate. We often crack jokes that would make those around us shudder or twist their faces in disgust. He isn’t spiritual and takes a more agnostic position. His leisure time is spent watching movies, going to metal shows, and comic conventions.

Then there’s me. A lot of my likes lie closely with those of my brother. Bloody and visceral movies are among my favorites along with things that are just strange or different. I enjoy psychological thrillers and anything paranormal or supernatural. Fantasy, scifi, mech, and more rank high in my interests. I love anime and other adult cartoons like Aqua Teen Hunger Force, Super Jail, and South Park. My style of dress is evolving as most of my life I have settled for whatever I can find as I have a hard time finding things I like in my size (that’s a topic for another day). Currently its mostly jeans with horror or nerdy shirts and hoodies. I have one tattoo but want three more and have six piercings and again want a few more. I went from being Christian like most of my family to atheist. My free time is spent writing, listening to podcasts or watching documentaries, playing video games, watching movies and anime, and going to comic conventions with my boyfriend and brother. My taste in music ranges from metal to brutal death metal with a few other things mixed in here and there. My sense of humor is dark and inappropriate.

This brief look into myself and my family is just a few highlights. I’m not the most bizarre person to live in Kentucky, in fact I know several others who have similar interests. Yet, compared to my family I’m not like the majority. I often look at my relatives and reflect on my parents and wonder why me and my brother drifted toward the morbid side. I detest or just don’t agree with a lot of my family’s tastes or beliefs. They watch TV shows that I find boring, listen to music that makes my flesh crawl, and hold opinions that are in direct conflict to mind. I’ve come to find they don’t really know me as well as perhaps I thought or they believed. Casual conversations sometimes lead them looking at me perplexed. Other topics, such as religion and politics, I just dodge all together. Sometimes I feel a little left out, but then again I am who I am, I like what I like, and wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

I Once Was Found But Now Am Lost : Was Blind But Now I See

My descent into godlessness started eight years ago. I first started to question my faith and the beliefs I held after the death of my father. Before this time I had been a born again Christian. I had been a member of a local church for years and taught Sunday school, or as we called it childrens church. Even before then I had gone to church on and off with my aunt and went to a local bible school each summer. I believed whole heartily in Yahweh, the Christian god of the bible, and that he sent his son Jesus to suffer and die on the cross as a sacrifice to pay for our sins. I had given my life to the lord, was baptized in his name and tried to live the life of a good Christian. I prayed every day for my family and for those I loved. I had even gotten down on my face before god, praying for some relief. My prayers seemed in vain as mom continued to suffer. I told myself then than it was part of god’s divine plan and that mom’s suffering was for some reason my mortal mind could not comprehend. My father had been going to church with us for years as well. He had an amazing singing voice and a talent for writing song lyrics. He wrote and sang many gospel songs at our church despite not being ‘saved’. Shortly before I was to graduate high school he gave his life over to god and was baptized. We all rejoiced that he had finally accepted Jesus as his personal savior. You would think things were looking up but shortly there after he took his own life. This left me feeling lost and alone taking care of my ill, bed ridden mother and grieving the loss of my father at the age of eighteen.

I had always been drawn to the occult and things a good christian shouldn’t dabble in. Astrology and the tarot fascinated me, yet I kept my distance as they were ‘evil’. I always had questions about religion. Such as the notion that Christianity was the ‘right’ path and all others were wrong. No one could ever justify to me why it was the right path. The only answers I got left me wanting more. I was told it was because we could feel it in our heart of hearts, that we could feel god’s love working in our life, that we had a duty to spread the word, and that our god was the one and only true god. This didn’t satisfy me at all, didn’t all followers of all religions feel this way? If not they surly wouldn’t be followers of their god. These thoughts were brushed asunder, a good Christian shouldn’t question god.

After dad’s death I started to slip further from the teachings of the church. They no longer satisfied me and my thirst for knowledge grew. I became immersed in all things paranormal, hoping to figure out if dad was still lingering with me. Along with this I began dabbling in Wicca and witchcraft. Learning more about pagan religions and keeping a rather open mind. I never claimed to be Wiccan or adhered to any particular pagan path but was eclectic, taking bits of what resonated with me and adding them to my beliefs. At this time I believed in ghosts and spirits, in energies and metaphysical phenomenon. My friends and I would go ghost hunting in local cemeteries taking paranormal photographs. I devoured any information I could find on hauntings and I drifted further from Christianity and embraced my eclectic path. Even through the death of my mother, who had suffered for thirteen years, I kept seeking answers to my spiritual questions.

For years I continued looking into pagan paths and slowly became interested in Eastern religions and concepts such as reincarnation. At this point I began to believe we reincarnated from life to life but wasn’t exactly sure why. I even thought perhaps I was an old soul. I was still exploring and had began to doubt the existence of a god, taking on more Buddhists beliefs. I began to redefine god as the universe or a collective consciousness and not an actual entity. I even got caught up in the ancient alien theories and entertained the notion that the gods we worshiped were extraterrestrial visitors from long ago. This way of thinking stuck with me for a while but I was still being pulled to explore more. My belief in a god of any sort was waning. The more I searched for answers the more questions I had.

I don’t remember exactly how I had heard of The Atheist Experience, a public access broadcast from Texas, but I found some videos on YouTube and began watching. I listened intently to what the hosts and callers had to say and it resonated with me. The atheist stance began to make more logical sense than anything I had ever heard before. I branched off from their show and began listing to The Thinking Atheist podcast and again found myself nodding along to the points Seth Andrews, the host, was making. While The Atheist Experience helped chip away at my religious shackles, Seth’s podcasts from The Thinking Atheist touched me on an emotional level with topics such as grief without god. The pieces seemed to fall in place and the lingering fear from the grips of Christianity fell aside. At last I had been set free and my eyes had been opened. It has been several months since I first discovered these programs and while I’m not a completely out atheist to my family and friends, I have shed off any remnants of religion.

There are a lot of misconceptions about what atheism is and what it means to be an atheist. As an atheist I reject the claims that a god exists as there has been no evidence to prove a god’s existence. This doesn’t mean that as an atheist I exert the notion that no god actually exists or can exist; just that there is no evidence to prove one does and until there is I remain skeptical. Some may ask why not just stick with the agnostic label? The answer is because that only addresses what I know, not what I believe. Do I know beyond a shadow of a doubt that there is no god? No, I would be agnostic as I don’t and can’t know this for certain. However, do I believe that there is no god? Yes, atheism addresses the question of my active belief.

I am growing more and more comfortable using the word atheist to describe myself. Since freeing myself from religion I have been happier. I have been better able to deal with the tragic things of the past and face the problems of today. Before I used to ask questions of why me?… Am I and my family cursed? …What have I done so wrong to deserve this?… Is god punishing me?… Why does mom have to face so much suffering?… Why did dad have to take his own life?… Is dad burning in hell?… Why does god’s plan involve so much suffering for my family?… and many more. However those questions no longer plague my mind. I don’t feel as if my family is cursed, that I’m being punished, that mom’s suffering was all part of some intangible plan. I feel more in control of my life and see it as more meaningful now than I ever did as a Christian. I use to believe that this life was suffering and that to endure the pain would grant my treasures in an everlasting heaven. Now I believe this is our only life and once its over there is no afterlife. Because of this we need to enjoy our life and do with it as we please. Its so statistically unlikely for us to be born at all, yet here we are. So lets take this brief moment of existence and run with it.

 

Into

Into the darkness to find the light

Into myself to unleash the demon

Into the night to avoid the day

Into the nightmare to discover the dream

 

Into the mirror to slay the beast

Into the mind to quite the fears

Into the heart to purge the pain

Into my skin to live out my days

 

Into the past to bury the memory

Into the future to sew the seeds

Into the present to live in regret

Into eternity for nonexistence

 

Unwritten

 

For many years now I have carried deep within a desire to be a writer. I want to etch my path and make my living as an author. I’ve been told that I’m good and that I should pursue my talent. The embers that smoldered were fanned into a flame by a very special teacher during my high school days, Mrs. Gibson. I had always written for classes as everyone does. I had stories and bits of poetry but it wasn’t until she entered the picture that I began to respect my works. Looking back on my writing now it was horrid but that’s only in comparison to my writing style now. Not that I’m a literary genius by any means, and in fact am far from it. However, she saw something there and began to feed the flames until I began exploring the concept of writing more.

 

I have a whirlpool of ideas swirling through my mind. I get sparks of inspiration and I mull them over until a viable story has formed. I’ll jot them down in a notebook so that the concepts are not lost. Then I’ll start stories here and there yet they go unfinished. As I type these words I have two ‘books’ I’m working on that have sat untouched for some time now and a childrens’ story that is just on the cusp of being finished. These stories cry out to be giving life and my mind reaches out to embrace but my fingers type not the life giving words. I often wonder if I have doomed my creations to a purgatory of being unwritten.

 

Para Morbid 2013

 

Gas Mask

Poem and photograph by Para Morbid 2013

 

Inward Bound

I wasn’t always quiet and reserved. When I was a child I was very outgoing and wold talk to anyone that would listen. There wasn’t any children my age living close by so I mostly talked to adults and would jabber non stop. All that changed my first day of Kindergarten. The withered witch of a teacher, for reasons unknown, didn’t like me from the start. Looking back I question her motives for becoming an elementary school teacher as I recall her being cruel to some of the other children as well as me. She butchered the pronunciation of my name and never made any real effort to correct herself. She talked to me as if I were a nuisance and would chastise me for asinine reasons. I remember being proud of myself because my mother had taught me to write my name before I ever went to my first class. Alas that pride soon faded as I was scolded for using all capital letters. She later went on to ridicule me for using a yellow crayon to color someone’s hair blonde and for using a brown crayon instead of a black one to color Martin Luther Kings Jr.’s skin.

A memory still vivid in my mind was one day in kindergarten after recess. It had been hot outside and after playing my mouth was quite dry. I recall standing in line for the water fountain, which was in the hallway outside of the classroom, behind a boy named Devin and there was a girl in front of him. We only had a few minutes after recess to return to class and we were both anxious to get a drink before we were late. Time seemed to drag by in an eternity as the girl in front guzzled down the water and even look back at us with a smirk and continued to drink. She finally had her fill and Devin got his drink and scampered on to class. My turn had arrived and I bent down eager to quench my thirst, my lips almost reaching refreshment when I was suddenly jerked backwards. The horrid teacher had come to claim me from the hall and grabbed me by the back of the shirt and pulled hard telling me to get to class. I remember tears welling up in my eyes but I didn’t want to cry in front of the other kids so I held them back the best I could. I grew to loath and fear her and unfortunately had her as my first grade teacher the following year.

It wasn’t just this shrew that pushed me inside myself but the kids as well. I don’t have any particularity clear memories of them but do recall being teased and not fitting in. After that I began keeping to myself and only socializing with those who talked to me first. I had a handful of friends, mostly boys as I seemed to have more in common with them than other girls. I didn’t care for dolls and most typical girl toys and preferred to play with transformer action figures and create my own games. When at home I played alone or with my pets. Usually making my own world in my mind and setting myself up as the leader of a clan. Soon this innocence would be tainted and I would crawl farther inside myself.

My mother fell ill with cancer when I was in the fourth grade. This made it more difficult for me to relate with those my own age. I already felt different from them and now while other kids were concerned with playing on the jungle gym at recess I sat by myself wondering if my mom was going to die. I remember the teacher having our class keep journals and each morning after the announcements we had some quiet time to write. Other kids wrote about vacations with their families and drew pictures of their pets. My journal was filled with concern for my mom and descriptions of trips to the hospital. I remember one drawing I did in my journal of mom lining in bed with no hair and tubes protruding from her body. I was growing up while my peers were enjoying their childhood.

This lasted into high school as my mother’s illness continued to change and develop. Other teenage girls were excited about the school dances and talking about boys while I was dealing with depression and watching my mother’s health fluctuate; never knowing if her next struggle would be her last. I again had a handful of friends that I talked with but for the most part I always felt different and out of place among my classmates. A lot of them seemed to either ignore me or just never noticed since I sat in the back of the room and kept to myself. I had a crush on a few boys but was far to shy to talk to them and with mom’s health I didn’t have time or energy to focus on dating when I was busy helping tend to her needs. This became more prevalent as I reached my senior year and mom’s condition worsened. By the time I had graduated my father and I were taking care of my mother at home and preparing for her death. Events unfolded after graduation that left me more isolated than ever and again I slipped farther and farther into myself. Music and writing were my only escape from my harsh reality. Over the years after high school I’ve wavered through periods of being more or less social but always revert to being introverted, its just part of who I am and that’s okay.

 

Para Morbid 2013

 

Unveiling

Salutations to any who are reading this. I’ve had blogs, journals, and the like on and off for years. This is just a bit of an introduction, nothing fancy. I’m starting this blog to get some of my thoughts and opinions about various topics out there, despite if anyone ever reads or not. At any given time I may discuss an array of subjects that perhaps interest me, are provoked by a current event, are about my life, a creative writing piece or whatever comes to mind. This could be things about my beliefs or lack there of, humanity, society, music, my life experiences and just randomness.

I suppose I’ll share a little information about myself and give you a taste for who I am. I was born, raised, and still live in a small town in Kentucky. I’ve met a handful of really nice people here that I can connect with on some level, but often fill misplaced. I tend to be rather open minded towards others but do hold my own beliefs and strong opinions, even though I don’t often audibly speak them. I don’t consider myself rude but can be if my buttons are pushed. Not going In depth just yet but I have not had an easy life and have faced and overcome a lot of tragedies. In the 20 something years I’ve been alive I have changed quite a bit and continue to do so. I’ve always struggled with self image and still do. I know who I am and what kind of person I would like to show to the world but keep to myself and keep a lot of my true personality hidden. This is something I’ve been working on overcoming for years, that and being able to live my life for myself and not let the opinions of others control me. I’m hoping this blog helps me achieve that goal and open up myself to the world.

 

Para Morbid 2013