All Hallows Eve

All Hallows Eve is just around the corner and my skin is tingling with anticipation. While for several years now I’ve not really gotten a chance to do anything to celebrate, Halloween remains my favorite holiday. Since I was a small child this time of year, Halloween in particular, always was a special. The lovely colors that adorn the trees just before they shed their foliage are a sight to behold. Pumpkins, gourds, corn stalks and other lovely things decorating houses all around. Morbid and macabre items fill the shelves and costumes of all kinds begin to rear their heads. All this makes me feel at home in the world.

Sigh if only this morbidly magnificent time of year stretched on a little longer. From October 1st to just after November 2^nd when Day of the Dead wraps up is the time I look forward to all other days of the year. Through winter, spring, and summer I eagerly await the store shells to yet again fill with skeletons, pumpkins, zombies, and other spooky items. Its when I would love to do most of my home décor shopping if I wasn’t always broke. Even just window shopping gives me a thrill as I stand amidst all the macabre goodies. However, over the past few years I’ve noticed a decline in my local stores of all the spooky treasurers I adore. Earlier in October I stood in horror looking at my beloved Halloween items sitting only inches from Christmas items. “What blaspheme is this?” I thought as I shook my head. Not for any religious reasons did this cross my mind as I’m not religious in the slightest. Yet, October hasn’t even passed yet, nor has Thanksgiving and they are already promoting Christmas. But what do I expect? Christmas is the biggest money stealing holiday. My heart sank further when my boyfriend, who works in retail, told me last week they had reduced the Halloween stock down to a little cart. Nothing was going on clearance and soon these items would be stored for next year. Halloween night hasn’t even come and gone yet, it is already being tossed aside.

I recall how excited I would get every year as a child as Halloween night grew closer. Months before October I would have several ideas for costumes and be witting them away until only one idea remained. I recall dressing up as a witch, ghost, dog, cat, and on one occasion a combination of a magical witch cat. Now I still get flashes of inspiration for costume ideas and would love to dress up. Sadly due to time, money, and other factors I’ve not gotten to for many years now. Each year I get my hopes up that I can dress up and go to a costume party. Yet, each year something keeps me from it. My childhood wonder and desire to transform myself into someone else, even if just temporary, is something that has stayed with me these twenty some odd years. Perhaps, next year I can indulge myself. We shall see.

I sit here typing this a day before Halloween. Part of me is excited but another part is doleful. My beloved holiday is set to pass me by uneventful as it has for many a year now. It is starting to become a bittersweet time as I find myself unable to partake in the joys I once delighted in. Yet, this is one part of my life where I remain hopeful. I look forward to the day when I can once again find the resources to join in on all the creepy fun. Be forewarned when I make my return to the Halloween scene it will be in full force.

 

Connecting With The Nobodies

Sitting here in my own world as usual with headphones on tuning out the world and into the music of my choice. While listing to my favorite artists, Marilyn Manson, his song “The Nobodies” began playing. Most, if not all, of his songs connect with and affect me in some way or another. However, this song always strikes a particular chord with me. Thus, I decided to write about it and discuss how I correlate to the lyrics.

“Today I am dirty
I want to be pretty
Tomorrow, I know I’m just dirt”

The first words of the song always ring in my ears. I often look at myself in disgust. Not as being dirty necessary but as being ugly, undesirable, not worthy. The next line also hits home as I want to be pretty, though my own sense of beauty is a bit warped. I want to be pretty in the sense that I want to be the person I feel inside rather than the me that reflects the world. I always envision myself different and make plans to make the changes needed to metamorphosis. Yet, I know from past attempts I’ll fail and thus will be dirt.

“Yesterday I was dirty
Wanted to be pretty
I know now that I’m forever dirt”

The days pass by yet, I never make the changes I claim I will. I remain forever dirty, lying in failure and self abhorrence. I wanted to make the changes, to transform into the creature I hold dearly in my mind. I always intent to turn things around but intentions get me know where as they never manifest. Therefore, forever shall I remain dirt…

“We are the nobodies
Wanna be somebodies
When we’re dead
They’ll know just who we are”

The chorus resonates with me the most. I feel like an insignificant nobody who is wasting away in the cesspool that it my life. I long to be somebody, to be something, to leave something behind and make a mark on the  world. When we die we are forgotten a few generations later unless we’ve done something to make history take note. I don’t want to go quietly into nonexistence, rather I want to immortalize myself by leaving something behind that will be remembered.

“Some children died the other day
We fed machines and then we prayed
Puked up and down in morbid faith
You should have seen the ratings that day”

This part doesn’t resonate wit me in the same way as the rest of the song but still gives me something to draw from. To me it represents how our society works. We feed off of the most tragic and horrific scenes. We watch the news and other media outlets almost waiting, dare I say craving the next gruesome headline. Ratings sore when something horrible happens. We perpetuate the cycle, with all the media coverage and the perpetrator goes down in history and will forever be remembered. 

 

My Life’s Lot

Prompt: My lot in life makes me feel…

 

My lot in life has not been a particularly easy one. I wont outline my whole life story but to sum it up as shortly as possible I’ve witnessed my mother fall prey to cancer and other illnesses. I watched her health deteriorate and her personality change until she ceased to be. In the midst of this my father took his own life shortly after my high school graduation. I had to “grow up” much faster than many others and had to become self reliant and stand on my own. I’ve battled depression for years and still have my bouts with it. Some have told me how strong I am and how proud they are of me. Yet, I look at my self and my life with bitter disdain. Sure I’m still alive, I’m still standing despite the misfortunes I’ve faced but I’m just another nobody wasting away…

I burn with the desire to be ‘somebody’ and fantasize about the life I want. I see myself as a well known and successful author. Not too much in the public eye but enough that my name is recognized. I’ve done something with my life, made something of myself, and left a mark upon the world. Then reality shatters the bubble and I look at my life for what it is… less than mediocre. I’m a community collage student who is racking up debit. My boyfriend and I live on our own and I own my house yet, we are always strapped for cash. We live in one room because we can’t heat or cool the entire house, live off of fast food and packaged noodles, and feel rather stuck. I make plans to ‘do something’ with my life. I set goals but never take steps to achieve them. I often look at myself with disgust. I say “I’ll make it one day.” and “I’ll do something with my life.” Then turn around and do nothing.

I suppose labeling myself as a hopeless dreamer sums everything up. I always have my head in the clouds to escape the drab reality that is my life. I want to take the world by storm and leave behind something that will impact others. I conjure ideas of grandeur only to let them remain in my head. I’ll start a project and never finish it. Or in the case of my hopes of writing children’s stories, I’ll let a finished work rot away on my computer. My laziness, lack of motivation, and ignorance of what steps to take keep me stuck in the rut that is my lot in life. Some circumstances are beyond my control, others lie with me. If I want to end this bitter existence I need to get my head out of the clouds and focus on how to realistically achieve my goals.

 

 

 

New Direction

Well I’ve been mulling some things over concerning my blog and writing in general. I’ve decided to rework this blog a bit and will no longer be featuring my photography or creative writing here. Instead I will be focusing more on blogging my thoughts, experiences, and perhaps, some blogging prompt responses. I’m still debating upon leaving my previous posts of photography and creative writing or deleting them. Feedback is welcome on this notion. However, if you are interested in my creative writing I will be displaying it here: http://www.wattpad.com/user/ParaMorbid and my photography will be displayed here: http://para-morbid.deviantart.com/ Thank you for reading and I hope to get the redesign underway soon.

 

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