#because magic is wilder and stranger beyond comprehension

[thebookwormdaydreamer]

i love the magic in jonathan strange and mr norrell. no system, just mysticism, folklore, and nature. that kind of mystery and wonder is something i love in fantasy. don’t need intricate world building or detailed magic systems, give me the sense of wonder.

[felldragxn]

Songs of a Dead Dreamer Aesthetic Meme

REPOST, DO NOT REBLOG AND DO NOT DELETE THE FOLLOWING INFORMATION.

The following quotes and phrases are taken from the stories in Thomas Ligotti’s anthology Songs of a Dead Dreamer. Some of these quotes were slightly tweaked for the sake of this meme. If you enjoy the imagery or writing in this meme, please support the author by purchasing his work. Content warnings for horror in general and brief mentions of blood, nihilism, unreality, mannequins, dolls, puppets, and some body horror.

Bold what applies to your muse.

Muse: Grima (Impossible Odds Verse) Tagged by: nobody i just found it on a meme blog Tagging: NOBODY BECAUSE I WOULD NOT WISH THIS FATE UPON ANYBODY

The Frolic

Absolute madness paired with a sharp cunning / an expression of sky-blue peacefulness / the indistinct happiness of the future / a piece of moon above the opulent leafage of spring trees / a broken-down kingdom of miracles and horrors / a Neverland where dizzy chaos is the norm / a cosmos of crooked houses and littered alleys / a slum among the stars / a jolly river of refuse / jagged heaps in shadows / a phantasmagoric mingling of heaven and hell / a moonlit corridor where mirrors scream and laugh / dreamy back-drops / ice cubes in an empty glass / shifting expressions on a lean face / vague suggestions and subtle jokes / an Aphrodite sculpture / the wind, cold and dead / a crumbled piece of paper / black-foaming gutters / the dank windowless gloom of some intergalactic cellar / starless cities of insanity / a bright freezing scream of laughter / a passing anecdote of some obscure hell

Les Fleurs

sorrowful flowers / lilting blossoms for a loved one’s memorial / a florist shop / flowers which open only at night / a hothouse warm smile / night-blooming cereuses / a sleek ocelot / well-preserved old places / plants resembling birds / white picket fences / flower-printed curtains / liqueur tasting of flowers from open fields / cool, clean offices / invisible wings whipping the warm air in darkness / the sounds of black orchids growing / the flower-bedded earth / a ripple of empathetic insight / a gorgeous kingdom of glittering colors / velvety jungle-shapes / contorted rainbows and twisted auroras / hyper-radiant hues / a marvelous arcana / tongue-like floral appendages / tongues flowering

Alice’s Last Adventure

Volatile years when anything might go wrong / the embodiment of topsy-turvydom / pools of rainwater / tarnished mirrors / moonlit windows / a thousand misshapen marvels / a universe handed over to new gods / stoic tolerance of a second-rate reality / two complete strangers gawking at each other / a shiny, pearl-grey casket / black orchids / a strange combination of relief and confusion / a delayed echo with oblique origins / a chain of occurrences with links as weak as smoke rings / a sunny autumn morning / a sense of duty, vanity, and other less comprehensible motives / the seas of the moon / costumed kids / the cries of bedlamites / the clamor of rambunctious kids / a half-cocked oration / jack-o’-lanterns glowing orange and yellow / masked children / a plastic cup of cider / shadows wavering against two-story facades / a lamp with a shade of Tiffany glass / a disciple of the bizarre / an autumn moon hanging in the blackness / demonic giggling / the moon / a clock / shadows in the window

Dream of a Manikin

A mostly tacit but somehow complete biography / a marvelous trick of the mind / jeweled lamps along the walls / lights shining on an intricately patterned carpet and various pieces of old furniture / star-clustered blackness / a starry abyss / an iciness drifting in from a starscape / a horrible truth / a legend written somewhere at the bottom of a dream / echoing voices bouncing here and there around the room / a motto printed on fortune cookie-like strips of paper and hidden in bureau drawers / a broken record repeating itself on an ancient Victrola / an alighting flock of birds / a field of dynamic tension / a dry sibilant voice / people dressed as dolls / shaking with tremors of the uncanny / a manikin dresser / astral ambience / occult studies and depth analysis / delving into speculative models of reality / cosmic static / harassments of the self / the boundaries of the self / a Bigger Self terrorizing its little splinter selves / cosmic ennui / a serendipitous discovery / this dream of flesh / guilty until proven otherwise / valerian and camphor baths / cryptic impudence / softly glowing display windows / the divine bonds of unreality / a medium-intensity shower / display-window dummies / rain-spotted glasses / a car with rain-blinded windows / a moment of self-terror / the mythical conspiracy of a treacherous universe / a galaxy of constellations / a vaporous glowing / a whitened hallway / dolls made up to look like people / eyes shining in the white darkness / a powerful psychic metaphor

The Chymist

Daydreaming in the key of Rosicrucianism / bubblegum and beer / a chalice in a church / a serum vial in a laboratory / the tartness of one’s smile / a very keen appreciation of diversity / decrepitude / the withering heart of the deceased / bastardized nostalgia / the putrescence of things past / arching mirrors / chrome chandeliers / second-hand fantasies and out-of-date distractions / one strange thing next to another / a genius of vulgarity / a lawless paradise /  violence without violation / a smoke-gray sky / city-soiled clumps of snow / fluxing clouds that swirl above the chimneys and trees / alchemical transmutations / the glamour and sanity of former days / a new mask of rats and rot / a hopeless stroll along the path to hypothetically higher worlds / a body whose true outline remains unknown /  the whims of chemistry / the caprices of circumstance / the enigma of personal taste / a leather vessel with a void inside / the skeleton of a dream / lights outlining the different venues and avenues below / a bottle of powdered light / pulverized diamonds / the flesh and blood kaleidoscope of one’s imagination / a prodigious insurrection of entity / a tempest of transfiguration

Drink to Me Only with Labyrinthine Eyes

The full powers of a master hypnotist / a mesmeric wilderness / marked by fate’s stigmata / crystal twinkling under a chandelier’s kaleidoscopic blaze / power and prestige socializing / a pair of metronomes / a glossy black cabinet / two bluish gems in an alabaster setting / a tiny sequined outfit / mesmeric stunts / intact and unbloodied / routines in defiance of death and pain / a jaw-dropping finale / a blare of heavenly horns / a labyrinth of light / a gossamer veil / snow-white wings / the angelic luminary beneath the human beast / the eyes of the audience / mock-death and bogus-pain / sinking deep into a downy darkness / pillows stuffed with soft shadows / a sun at the center of a drab galaxy / vacant and full of grace / a business card with a cloud-gray pearl finish / riotous rococo / a chair of blinding brocade / flowery fabric / a shelf of delicate figurines / tall smoky mirrors / a bottomless pool / a sky wiped clean of clouds / dispassionate elegance / postures and poses like frozen roses / pajama-clad legs dangling /a shiny chrome-plated pen / a very soft but not condescending tone / a mazy wallflower / cartwheels of agony / somersaults through fires of doom / nosedives of vulnerable flesh into the meat grinder of life / serene constellations / sweet nullities / a spell-binding, snake-eyed charmer / high society vulgarians / eyes recessed in their sockets, sunken into a rotting profundity / labyrinthine depths / dancing clothes all clotted with putrescent goo

Eye of the Lynx

Missing girls in Gothic garb / amber going on red / a reddish haze / a crazy purpurean tapestry / a fair-haired girl / denim slacks and a leather jacket / bloody moonlight / a long sip from a can of iced tea / persecutions and imperilments as glamorous as those of any Gothic heroine / violet eyes / the machinations of an evil-hearted malefactor / haunting second-hand shops / a strip of dark velvet seized by a pearl brooch / a frail chain from which dangles a heart-shaped locket / a whirlpooling lock of golden hair / gloves, long and powdery pale / the shoulders of heavy capes lined in satin that shines like a black sun / enveloping hoods / capes with deep pockets and generous inner pouches for secreting precious souvenirs / capes with silk strings that tie about the neck / capes with weighted hems that nonetheless flutter weightlessly in midnight gusts / doll-size in a dark doll’s costume / quivering bones and feverish blood / fear’s funereal plume / carriage wheels rioting in a lavender mist or a pearly fog / nacreous fires twitching beyond the margins of country roads / cliffs and stars / a blur of crimson shadows / vast regions of sublime desolation / mountains hulking in hazy twilight / a rather large animal collar at the end of a chain leash / a light the color of fresh meat / a page in a depraved story book / a single candle glowing through red glass / little zippers and big zippers / a moth-eaten cloak / enthralling cruelties / spangled eyebrows / a brow of glittering silver / glistening with tiny flecks of starlight /  the velvet embrace of one’s favorite cape / the tall candles one lights on stormy nights / chains of raindrops whipping against one’s windows / places where raging storms and brutal subjugations never end / the hardships of traveling to strange faraway places / frail little dolls / wild-wind nights and sadistic villains / corridors of scarlet darkness / a captive of one’s heart and its infinite chambers

Notes on the Writing of Horror: A Story

Something magical / something timeless / something profound / a sooty basement / the putrid members of a man who is decomposing / a plain brown package marked Hope, Love, or Fortune Cookies and postmarked: the Edge of the Unknown / a helter-skelter universe where things are ever threatening to go abnormal and unreal / a normal, real love / impermanence and decay / evils sent out under various covers / sublime and terrifying conflict / fearsome, fantastical, and inhuman / moon-trimmed shadows / lunar landscapes of craggy peaks / skeletal wastelands of jagged ice / a brooding Gothic hero / an ethereal Gothic heroine / a castle-like skyscraper / an extra dose of obsessiveness / the Gothic tale / a militant romantic / waves of bombast / winds of ecstatic hysteria / a partially shattered window, its surface streaked with a blue film of dust / a sublime sense of desolation / the diluted glow of twilight / night’s enveloping cloak / grimy azure dimness / bluish semi-luminescence / tears of confusion / turquoise haze / blue shadows of silence / liquefying legs / an old storyteller / the voice of a tiny insect crying for help from inside a sealed coffin / a piercing, crystal shriek that lacerates the midnight blackness / a haunter of spectral marketplaces / Gothic glory / a horror writer / an ardent consumer of the abnormal and the unreal / a visitant of discount houses of unreality / subject only to the rule of demonic forces / puppet-shadows / a hell so excruciating it is bliss itself / bony wings rising out of one’s back / jaws that are a cavern of dripping silver / rivers of putrescent gold running through one’s veins

The Christmas Eves of Aunt Elsie

Diamond-paned windows / a thick December fog / a serene congregation of colors / holly, both fresh and artificial / a pale purple ribbon / a ritual forever reenacted without hope of escape / a large chair beside a fogged window / crackling logs / a foggy winter’s night / bright Christmas lights shining through the fog / always dead with darkness / always alive with lights

The Lost Art of Twilight

A streak of iodine red / a spattering of flat black / the early autumn sun / silver hair / a gray suit / a long envelope, neatly cesareaned / the charnel house creeps / a silver shield / crepuscular radiance / an offspring of the dead / the progeny of phantoms / the big green eye of an EEG monitor / De Plancy’s Dictionnaire infernal / a rainbow of insects / the science of superstition / the Provencal countryside / a pantheon of gargoyles amid the splendor of a medieval church / a holy soldier of the living / a monster of the dead / the astral banquet of Art / the rotting flesh of rainbows / the sonar screech of a bat / vampiric origins / the oncoming onyx of a storm / shadows and sunshine / glare and gloom / bright clouds and black / iron-red leaves / tentative drops of rain / blue bears and yellow rabbits / neither a blood-warm human nor a blood-drawing devil / oceans of blood / the ravenous life of the undead / an authoritative impatience / eternal life in an eternal death

The Troubles of Dr. Thoss

Pale gray pajamas / thick sheets of paper / a bottle of black ink / a shapely black pen with a silvery nib / strands of blond hair, almost white / a sudden salty breeze / silhouettes and shadows / unreflecting windows / metal hinges squeaking somewhere in the wind / a sleepless night / constellations beyond the window panes / star-filled hours / the pure whiteness of the page / a flung shoe leaning toe-up against a bedpost / nothingness unstained by inner conception / white snow in a white sky / dark lines and vacant spaces / vast expanses of frozen whiteness / a church in a foreign town / assorted devils and demons / ice-mad mountains / a spirit of malicious abandon / nightmarish anatomies / a sickle-shaped scar of moon / sea-licked shores / dark letters / feeding one’s troubles to the sea / brown-leafed trees / a forest of memorials / clumps of crosses / groves of gravestones / dark, cowl-shaped windows / unblemished by shadows / the sound of crashing waves / bending dawns into twilights / static from a broken radio / breaking waves / seaside air / a gleaming crescent moon / a bone-white cicatrix / chronic insomnia / a blade of moon / white night, white noise

Masquerade of a Dead Sword: A Tragedie

The confusions of carnival night / gyrations of squealing abandon / lines between pain and pleasure / a rainbow of rags / a startling length of blade / pale pages elegantly dappled by somber verses / a pair of strangely darkened spectacles / the toneless voice of one who is dead to all appeasement or mercy / mounds of snow that had been sown with ashes / eyes as dark and swirled with shadows as the raving night itself / a constellation of designs / mad games of flesh and steel / a forbidden madness / dense forests of tall pikes planted in the earth / shadows rolling in empty sockets / lacerated mouths / the darkness of dreams / to see the world drown in oceans of agony / visions of butchering the angels / a god of deceit or illusion / chaos at feast / black with scars of madness / darkly clouded glass / the brightest and highest of stars / shimmering halls / unnaturally colored wine / red-smeared forms / many-taloned claws / the velvet fingers of a tightly gloved hand / a pair of leviathan leeches / a lord of the sword made mad / the dark powers which we cannot understand but only hate / rhapsodic voices in the streets / a privileged doom / the face of the soul of the world / the cool marble of the floor / an onyx-black knight / a face flushed with crimson glory

Dr. Voke and Mr. Veech

A scribble of lightning engraved upon a black sky / a long, brightly colored coat / noisy jets of blue-green light flickering spasmodically / life-size dolls hanging suspended by wires / wetted strands of a spider web / shiny satin legs / a beautifully pale hand / pulverized stars / dismembered limbs of dolls and puppets / the repose of ruin / an oily red glare / a well-dressed dummy / a white high-collar shirt with silver cufflinks / a billowing cravat which displays a pattern of moons and stars / wood waking up / a sleep that should have never been broken / something too painful for tears / the false fire of the moon / two faces sharing a single head / faint, hollow screams from high above / a dummy’s silence / leftover tears of berserk laughter / bluish-green irradiance

Professor Nobody’s Little Lectures on Supernatural Horror

Mist on a lake / fog in thick woods / a golden light shining on wet stones / a little trickle of suspicion in the bloodstream / the solar brilliance of a summer day / supernatural horror / a corner alive with cool drafts and fragrant with centuries of must / a rancid world rife with things smelling of the crypt / a sower of vice / mad winds / wan moonlight / pasty specters / the vividness of pain / the lasting effects of fear / natural-born puppets whose lips are stained with their own blood / dead bodies that walk in the night / living bodies suddenly possessed by new owners and deadly aspirations / the sepulchral pomp of wasting tissue / compassion for human hurt / a humble sense of one’s impermanence / an absolute valuation of justice / a demented innocence in the face of gruesome facts / the horrific reprisals of affirmation / the Cosmic Macabre / the shudders of a thousand graveyards

Dr. Locrian’s Asylum

Gray walls pocked like sponges / nights of futile tears and screaming / an expression of almost paternal forgiveness / the supreme delirium of the planets / bright puppets dancing in the blackness / a golden speck of magic / the silent, staring universe / something as pathetic as a puppet and as exalted as the stars / something at once dead and never dying / autumn constellations in the black sky above / harshly brilliant eyes / the remote places where truth had been shut up and abandoned

The Sect of the Idiot

Extraordinary joy / extraordinary pain / the great hollow of dreams / an infinitely secluded place / a world that both menaces and surpasses this one / a holy madness / infinite stillness on foggy mornings / miracles of silence on indolent afternoons / the strangely flickering tableau of neverending nights / deceptive depths of shadow / heaps of clouds like dust balls / a fluorescent map of the cosmos / medieval autumns and mute winters / kaleidoscopic windows / a kind of cataclysm of empty space / an earthquake of the invisible / strikingly clear eyes / a dusty trunk of dreams / a maze of streets / an abyss of stars / a great reaching blackness / a stale gray dimness / an alien order of being / an icy blackness / starry blackness / a great round moon / deep aquatic blue / the voids of astronomy / a state of both paralyzed terror and spellbound curiosity / whispering figures / stagnant moonlight / withered, wilted claws / drooping tentacles / the spinning legs of spiders / the greedy rubbing of a fly’s spindly feelers / the darting tongues of snakes / the triumph of the grotesque / whispering effigies of chaos / putrid arcana / an ecstatic horror / horrific ecstasy / the demonic elements of which all creation is composed / corruption in disguise / a cache of unwonted offerings stored out of sight / currents of fear / dark tremors / splendid scenes broken with malign shadows / the lurid and the lovely forever lost in each other’s embrace / the arch of an old street / tunnel-like hallways / sickly light shining through unwashed, curtainless windows / atmospherics of infinite melancholy and unease / a decayed paradise / the everlasting residue of some cosmic misfortune / a solemn, mechanical intentness / a smooth and solid cube of black glass / a malignant puppet of madness / dazed in darkness / embarrassed throat-clearings / reproving looks / words which could only have meaning in a nightmare / a thing of strange degeneracy / a quintessence of hellish delirium / freakish, echoing laughter / the whispering of strangers / twitching tentacles / a horror which cannot be helped  

The Greater Festival of Masks

The old and new / the real and imaginary / truth and deception / shops of costumes and masks / an incautious curiosity / shredded rags that are easily disturbed by the wind / a poster stuck to a crumbling wall / strange pathways of caprice / the outsized moon / silvery windows / doors which are elaborately decorated yet will not budge in their frames / massive shutters covering blank walls behind them / faces of dreams / sardonically grinning / innocence and excuses / a reddish glow of fire / a wad of bubbling blackness / smooth and faceless faces / the speaker in the shadows / the soft creaking of new faces breaking through old flesh

The Music of the Moon

Breaking the quiet of a moonlit room / enchantments that nearly make amends for one’s stolen slumber / some unusual shape leaping across steep roofs / a bewildering agility / many nights of sleepless hell / a knife / rope / a poison vial / an exploit of uncommon decisiveness / blank nights of insomnia / a handbill / ashes mixed with grease / a door with a faint yellow aura leaking out at its edges / small, shadowlike things moving in corners and along the floor molding / a quartet of musicians / a voice which sounds both exhausted and malicious / pale, ragged clouds of hair / sonic abnormality / an empty shaft of blackness / spherical lamps caked with dust / the silence of a dark, lifeless world / black silhouettes of human heads visible only in the moonlight / slow music in the soft darkness / a single note wavering in a universe of darkness / a incalculable proliferation of slightly dissonant harmony / the light of a quiet gray dawn / completely helpless, and yet content to be so / thick layers of webs / gazing at nothing with bleeding sockets / the moon all fat and pale, glaring down from its gauzy webs of clouds

The Journal of J.P. Drapeau

Unstained by any habits of the human / the ideal of everything alien to living / some molding backwater of the earth / the city of Bruges itself / a corpse of the Middle Ages / bony bridges / the black veins of old canals / a lonely evolution in shadowed streets and beside sluggish canals / the music of graveyards / a resonant chorus that fills the air and sometimes drowns out the voices of those who still live / layers of cobwebs floating about the near ceiling / a burst of resistance / the pealing of church bells / the language of whimsy / the force of stars tugging away at various points / the dark waters of a canal / shiny black hair parted straight down the middle / a low table covered by a red velvet cloth / a world that applauds trumped-up illusions while denying or demeaning those that create the very lives they are living / a spectral thing full of strange suggestion / an untenanted room filled with the echoes of nothingness / the eyes of certain crudely fashioned dolls / a greenish glow from a mirror / placid meandering canals / enwrapped in mist / close crumbling houses / odd arching bridges / innumerable church towers / narrow twisting streets / queer little courtyards / everything gone forever / an empty mist / an eternal twilight

Vastarien

Candles in a cloistered cell / shapes beneath the shadows / tall buildings whose rooftops nod groundward / wide buildings whose facades follow the curve of a street / buildings whose windows and doorways tilt like badly hung paintings / stairways that wander off-course into useless places / caged elevators that urge unwanted stops on their passengers / a sequestered civilization of echoes flourishing among groaning walls / thin ladders ascending into a maze of shafts and conduits / the dark valves and arteries of a petrified and monstrous organism / a desolate serenity / silvery cinders / the mouths of great chimneys / shadow-puppets / cluttered gardens and crooked gates / the purling waters of black canals / faded masks concealing profound schemes / a place of supernatural clarity and stillness / the crystalline glare of a lantern / moonlight through a curtained window / darkened windows / souls who believe that the only value of this world lies in its power—at certain times— to suggest another / a scattering of stars and lights / a coveted paradise / the most gauzy phantom of another place / a shadowy mimic / the anatomy of a great dream / everlasting echoes / a rectangle of smudged glass within another rectangle of scuffed wood / crowded shelves / remnants of a luxuriant autumn / an obscene reality / to dwell among the ruins of reality / shadowed volumes / scripture that would begin with the portents of apocalypse and end with the wreck of all creation / to become the wind in the dead of winter / to howl the undoing of all that would abide in warmth and light / an enticing verse in a volume of esoterica / the dream of attaining some untainted good / a disastrous enlightenment / some hypothetical state of pure glory / the revelation that nothing ever known has ended in glory / some strictly demonic enterprise / something about one’s presence that makes one think of a crow / a scavenging creature in wait / a large, two-headed shadow / the sad frustration of the uninvited, the abandoned / the brilliant rectangle of a doorway / hopes and curiosities of an indeterminable kind / free-standing bookcases / pages and bindings of uncommon texture / abstract diagrams suggesting no orthodox ritual or occult system / a chronicle of strange dreams / an invocation of a world in waiting of genesis / days distilled into dreams and nights into nightmares / a deliverance by damnation / nightmare made normal / a horror uncompromised by any feeling of lost joy or a thwarted searching for the good / a nightmare transformed in spirit by the utter absence of refuge / a utopia of exhaustion, confusion, and debris / a dialogue of mystification, and possibly one of lies / the edge of a dreamless void / a dark and devouring bird / shadows and moonlight / an unbending web of heavy wire / unjust confinement / a slender syringe crowned with a silvery needle

[kootenaygoon]

"Nanor and the River Eels" by Will Johnson The Adams River contains a queer magic only detectable to those who trouble to learn her song. There’s an electric undercurrent in even the most placid of eddies, and the roaring power of the rapids can be felt far beyond her seductive shorelines. She is the throbbing lifeblood of the Shuswap, a phantasmagoria of violence, chaos and intoxicating beauty, and she thunders along relentless while human beings live short and brutal lives under her beguiling influence. She barely notices each time her currents claim a life, as cold corpses bounce against the riverbed, and her machinations are beyond human comprehension. She has a grand plan, but nobody knows what it is. Shuswap Joe spent his formative years living among the Indigenous fisherfolk who had saved him as a baby, but the river was the closest thing he ever had to a mother. She woke him in the morning, whispered to him in a soothing susurrus all day long, then sang him to sleep in his solitary home high among the trees. Every night he would lay listening to the forest’s tumult of groaning, creaking conversation and wonder where he fit into this world. He had no way to know it, but he was quickly becoming the spitting image of his strapping gold miner father while adopting the lifestyle of his gypsy hermit mother. All he could do was imagine who they were, but he also understood that time only flows in one direction. It’s useless to fight the current for very long.

Long after sunset one night Shuswap Joe was pondering his parentage, at 12 years old, when the night came alive with a strange electricity. Above him the moon had a skeletal scowl, and the surrounding trees all stood silent, as if holding their breath. Instinctively he rolled on to his stomach and gazed down from his nest to the river, scanning the moon-glinting surface for any sign of intruders. Earlier that season he’d gotten into a friendly tussle with a black bear over a fresh salmon, so he had a healthy appreciation for the dangers of wildlife, but he knew that the true villains were always human. With their guns, their alcohol, their greed. He was entranced and frightened by these settlers, and wondered if one day he would join their sordid ranks. He looked down in the direction of the weir, a large wooden dam that had been recently constructed near the river’s mouth. Multiple sluice channels were open, allowing the lake to tumble through in tandem torrents, creating a soothing soundscape perfect for his sleeping hours. At first Joe could see nothing out of place, and he nearly disregarded the strange clench in his stomach. But then, from out of the darkness, came a slow-moving tree trunk that was half-submerged in the current. Its waving branches clawed maliciously at the sky. Mounted at the front was a flickering torch that illuminated the purple waters surrounding it, as well as the limp body of a dead logger lashed at its base. Perched atop the black wood like some giant arachnid was a hooded figure with long bone-white limbs. He manipulated the branches in slow, sweeping motions, and expertly guided the trunk around the bend without a sound. It was only a handful of moments before he was gone, leaving Joe to wonder if he’d been asleep or awake for this disturbing vision. Was he some sort of demon? A watery death spirit that lived on human flesh? The next night, as the moon took its rightful place among the stars, Joe waited crouched and shin-deep on the riverbank. He had become skilled at navigating the river using the detritus of the forest, careening through rapids atop a rolling log or swimming through the Canyon using a broken branch for flotation. That night he’d chosen an elbow-shaped branch, the bark peeled clean, to help him tail the spectre from the night before. And when he eventually appeared, his torch casting ominous shadows across the surface, Joe shoved into the current and allowed the river to talk hold of him. With the branch wrapped around his chest he bobbed in the darkness as the water lapped around his cheekbones. He gazed up at the silhouetted trees, which were all whispering with suspicious voices. They understood the danger he was in, whether or not he did. Eventually the current began to rumble and rage as they approached the rapid known as the Lion’s Head. Joe could see a billowing pillow of water pummelling a proud boulder directly ahead of the hellish raft, the waves hopelessly yearning for the exposed roots of a grove of trees at its zenith. His legs bounced against the jagged rocks beneath him and twice his branch was completely submerged. He fought to stay afloat. Far ahead he heard a high-pitched keening, like the song of some demented bird, echoing amidst the chaos. Was the man singing? Joe expected the man to pivot his trunk downstream, towards safety, but instead he seemed intent on driving it straight into the rock wall. Blinking through the waves, rivulets pouring from his face, he watched as multiple whirlpools gaped open on cue and swirled hungrily. The river’s grumble escalated to a thunderous roar and he kicked furiously, pointing towards the flickering flame. He was vaguely aware of the man’s skeletal arms waving towards the moon and then his body was forcibly yanked underwater. It was as if someone had grasped him by both ankles. He didn’t have time to scream or panic or fight before being consumed by the blackness. The next thing Joe knew he was retching the contents of his stomach on to wet stone. It was cool to the touch. Above him was a curved ceiling alive with dancing light, illuminated by a glowing pool beneath it. He wiped away bile with the back of his hand and examined his surroundings, dimly aware that the roar of the Lion’s Head waves were now on the other side of the wall. He rose to his feet and scanned his surroundings, his gaze eventually falling upon the snake-like limbs of the man he’d been chasing. Nestled into the twisted white roots of a tree and bathed in shadow, he looked exactly like some giant spider ready to devour him. As Joe stood agape, the man unfurled himself from his cross-legged perch and crawled towards him on all fours. His face was a horror to behold, with fiery red veins shooting through his ice white skin like river channels. His grin was a red ravage of broken teeth. “Why have you intruded upon my lair, boy? Do I not frighten you?” Joe considered for a moment, dripping. “Nothing frightens me.” He laughed. “That’s because you’re drunk on youth, and a stranger to the darkness. There’s plenty in this world that should frighten you, as it does me.” “And who are you, exactly?” “Most don’t even believe I’m real, and the rest wish I wasn’t. My name is Nanor, and it’s my job to ferry those the river claims to their final resting place. A gruesome job, perhaps, but one that needs to be done.” Nanor was perched above Joe on a rock ledge, dressed in nothing but a soiled loincloth, and his shoulder blades violently jutted out like sinister wings. He clambered down the rock on all fours until he was inches from Joe’s face, the stench of his breath thick with brimstone. His eyebrows and hair were bleached snow white but a few curled black whiskers hung from his chin. There was no way to judge how old he was, but it was clear he’d survived long past his natural lifespan. There was a strange twitch to his muscles, a jolting quality to his movements, that suggested he was being controlled by some power apart from himself. Joe forced himself to stand his ground, never backing away as the man swooped and spat his way through a meandering monologue. It was clear he hadn’t spoken to anyone for a very long time. The story began decades earlier, when Nanor was a young man flush with mining ambitions. He’d grown up alongside a woman named Lenore, and upon reaching manhood had promised to save enough money for their marriage. He set out with his rucksack into the wilderness, and signed on with an outfit that was exploring deeper and deeper into a mountain rich with silver. At the end of each day he would take off his boots and marvel at how the mud sparkled, how this precious substance had been buried and hidden among all the worthless rock. He became addicted to its sheen, scrabbling ever harder and digging ever deeper in search of its lustre. By the time he’d saved enough for a ring he knew that it wouldn’t be enough, he had to keep accumulating. They could buy an acreage, with a nice little farmhouse, lousy with farm animals and screaming with life. It was this beautiful dream that kept him spelunking further and further into the black crevices far beneath the ground. Sometimes he would forget how it was above the surface, up in the sunshine, as he became increasingly acclimatized to his subterranean solitude. “Some people think this world is here for us to ransack, to rape, and I should’ve known all that time I was yearning for silver that it would have a cost one day. That’s what you’re going to learn, kid, is there’s a cost to everything. Especially dreams.” “What happened to that woman, then?” “She had her own dreams, I guess.” The day came eventually when Nanor returned to the surface with his bounty, only to find his skin had turned translucent from its time away from the daylight. When he turned his face to the sky, basking in the sun’s warm kiss, he instantly felt a sharp sting. His cheeks split open like bacon crackling on a spit, and furious red sores erupted across his forehead and down his neck. He retreated into the darkness with licks of grey smoke curling up from his burning flesh, and when he covered his face with his hands they came away covered in an oozing pus. For days he writhed in agony, applying wet bandages that made him look mummified and horrific, as he lamented Lenore’s imagined response to this condition. How could she love someone like him, a nocturnal ghoul incapable of living among the rest of society? He couldn’t and wouldn’t ask that of her, so he convinced the mining company to issue a letter in which they informed her of his death by tragic accident. It was kinder that way. For months Nanor lived in the wilds, traveling only by night and burrowing underground during the day. Eventually he happened upon a traveling circus, and shortly after sundown he approached a mad scientist by the name of Dr. Klondike. Nanor had been impressed by his performance the day earlier, in which he introduced a number of exotic animals procured from faraway lands. He whipped blankets off water tanks that housed not only giant fish, but also squids and stingrays and all manner of bizarre aquatic creatures. The stars of his little show, though, were the electric river eels he’d retrieved from the Amazon River. While the crowd hooted in delirious delight, Dr. Klondike danced across the stage with an intricately carved flute that produced a trance-like, elegiac melody. It roused the river eels to the surface slowly, until they began to leap into the air shooting bursts of electricity and singing in their otherworldly voices. Nanor watched those river eels dance, transfixed, and knew he had to claim them for himself. It was rumoured that their electricity could cure all kinds of afflictions, why not his? “How do you kidnap a river eel, though?” Joe asked, genuinely interested. “Can they survive out of water?” Nanor shook his head. “I couldn’t steal the eels themselves, but I could steal their eggs. That night I brought Dr. Klondike a jug of his favourite hooch, and together we drank long into the night. That was when he confessed that he had a new clutch of eggs, fresh, that he’d nestled away for safekeeping. Before the liquor swept him off to unconsciousness I convinced him to show me the hiding spot. He had them swaddled in a blanket, like the baby Christ, three dark green eggs with white spots. I stole off into the night with them hidden beneath my cloak.” As Nanor spoke the pool behind him began to swirl, and Joe saw the twisted spines of river eels beginning to break the surface. One of them leaped into the air and belched up a lightning storm, illuminating the cavern, but his master barely noticed. He was too caught up in his story-telling, describing to Joe the healing effect the eels’ electricity had on him. He’d hatched the eggs beneath the Lion’s Head and watched as they grew and multiplied, growing ever smarter. He would wring their bodies in his hands until they fired their electricity straight into his veins. Under the influence of the eel’s magic he felt like he understood the world in a way he couldn’t otherwise, like the drab darkness of his existence was suddenly shot through with rainbows of throbbing energy. Eventually he couldn’t stand ordinary reality, and he returned more and more often to the river eels for his next jolt of life-giving inspiration. “What’s it feel like?” Joe asked. “The electricity, I mean.” Nanor flashed his broken teeth. “If you want to understand, you have to experience it for yourself. It’s different for everyone. The river eels know what lesson you need to learn, and how to teach it to you.” “Is it dangerous?” “Of course it is. It wouldn’t be any fun if it wasn’t.” Joe stood above the pool and watched in wonder as the river eels slithered and slid over each other. Behind him Nanor produced a flute, just like the one he’d described Dr. Klondike having, and lifted it to his lips. Music filled the chamber as Joe plunged his hands into the water and grabbed two of the dark green creatures. They struggled and writhed as he lifted them from the water, their mouths gaping open in panic. He watched with fascination as white flashes crackled from his palms, making his hair stand on end. Then one of them turned towards him and spoke a single word: “slave”. The vision that appeared before Joe’s eyes in that moment has long been immortalized in song. Untethered from time, and released from the restrictions of his mortal body, he felt himself fighting through the current of the Adams River as a spawning salmon. He felt the pinch of talons and flew dripping above the trees in the clutches of an eagle. The earth hummed as men chopped rhythmically at trees hundreds of years older than them, as they ferried the bobbing logs down the current and out to Shuswap Lake. He saw whiskey-fuelled street brawls and danced manic to the ragtime tomfoolery of the nearby settlements. He saw himself bearded and proud, commanding other men, then saw an explosion in the forest that left his cohorts blackened and coughing. Finally he saw a woman, looking over her shoulder at him, her light brown hair flapping in the wind. She was braced on a makeshift raft that was approaching the Adams Canyon, and on her face was a look of fearful determination. She was ready for whatever was coming. “The future is coming whether you’re ready for it or not,” the woman said. “You already know what you’re supposed to do.” “No, I don’t.” “You do, boy. Listen to the river.” Joe closed his eyes, allowing the current to drown out these visions, and the scene transformed. He was in the midst of circus tents billowing in the evening wind, turning in circles to get his bearings. Suddenly a much younger, much more human-looking version of Nanor bulled into him. He rushed past with an unfriendly growl, his cloak flapping, and moments later Joe found himself in the tent of Dr. Klondike. The river eels banged against their tank walls as Nanor chased the crazed scientist around the room, ultimately pinning him to the dirt and strangling the life from him while they shrieked. He watched as Nanor tipped the body into the tank, watched the eels tear their master into tiny wriggling pieces, and watched as the murderer cackled. Human blood dribbled from the edges of his mouth, and in his eyes was a deranged intoxication — he was now hooked on death. The dreams began to come more rapidly, swirling storm-like before his eyes before dissipating just as quickly. Nanor swept from the darkness, clutching unsuspecting humans and quickly dispatching them with his wormy fingers around their throats. Joe watched as he grabbed first a fancily dressed courtesan, and then a wealthy businessman, and finally a drunken logger. He didn’t discriminate when it came to class or gender or profession — he chose his victims at random, and came without warning. Repeatedly Joe saw the ghostly death trunk floating down the river, a fresh body lashed to it, ready to be fed to the river eels. It was true, what Nanor had told him, that he was addicted to their aquatic electricity, but he hadn’t mentioned the cost. To keep himself alive, others needed to die. Joe’s eyes filled with tears as he felt the grief of countless families, as he witnessed rainy funerals with empty coffins. From among the crowd of mourners came the woman again, his love, and she took his face in her hands. “Don’t be afraid now. Trust the river, it will bring you to me.” “He’s killing people, though. He’s feeding people to his river eels.” “There’s no shortage of darkness in this world, Joe. You don’t have to fight every battle. You’re just a boy.” “Soon I’ll be a man.” She smiled sadly. “I was worried you might say that.” Their conversation was suddenly interrupted when Nanor’s teeth sunk into his shoulder, abruptly ending his reverie. The river eels were screeching with delight, splashing in their pool, as he reeled forward and shook off his foe. They grappled then, clutching at one another in a macabre dance, their bare feet slipping on the wet stone. Lightning flashed, the light bouncing prismatic off the cavern walls. A few times Nanor’s teeth came chomping within inches of Joe’s face, but finally he hoisted the man over his head and hurled him against the wall with a mighty crash. Pebbles and then rocks began to bounce around them, the walls of their cave trembling, and then the Adams River came crashing in. Nanor surged through the racing water and they tussled amidst the waves, punching and grunting. The water rose around their stomachs, and then their chests, until finally they were being sucked into the early morning light. All around them the river eels cheered as they soared past, free from their dank confines. Joe nearly lost consciousness, but then his head broke the surface. Nanor was nowhere to be seen. Shortly later Joe dragged himself on to a rocky beach, crawling on hands and knees until he collapsed in the sand bleeding and exhausted. Just behind him came the logger’s corpse, which bumped along limp in the shallows. The sky was baby blue overhead, and for a long time he lay listening to the stoic creak of the trees. He was alive, on purpose, and suddenly his surroundings seemed that much more beautiful. He’d felt the seductive allure of death, looked her in Nanor’s ravaged face, and come out the other side. The woman from his dream was right; the future was coming whether he liked it or not, and the time had come for him to leave the Adams River behind. He was done with all its tragedy, all its pageantry and bizarre magic. He wanted to find his place amidst the rest of humanity, a place that didn’t include vampires or river eels. The woman had told him to listen to the river, and the river was telling him to run away as fast as he could. And so it came to pass that Joe lugged the dead logger’s body on to the beach and stripped it of its clothing. He pulled on a pair of patched blue jeans, stuffed them into a soggy pair of black boots, then donned the man’s red flannel shirt. He didn’t know it at the time, but this would be his outfit for the remainder of his days on this planet. Running his fingers through his hair and admiring his reflection in the river’s surface, he said a quick prayer to the power that had sustained him until this moment. “One day I will return, but until then I ask that you carry me to whatever future awaits. I am not afraid, nor will I ever be. Nanor was wrong; I’ve seen the darkness but still believe in the light.” The river didn’t answer with human words, but Joe understood them all the same. He stood and began making his way into the trees as behind him the morning came alive with the song of river eels.

The Kootenay Goon

[thecoroutfitters]

Call me old-school, but when it comes to having massive fun indoors (especially with your friends and family), nothing beats watching a good movie while enjoying a cold beer and the traditional popcorn.

It’s also common knowledge that most people would enjoy a proper disaster flick, the likes of 2012, Deep Impact or Armageddon. Disaster movie stories are usually centered on people trying to survive extraordinary circumstances and events.

Now, from a prepper’s point of view, watching a survival movie is something like a sporting event for a normie, and I am talking about what tickles your fancy, so to speak.

While regular folk enjoy watching a good game of football or various TV series/shows (OK, we love doing that too), we preppers also like to watch and debate survival/disaster movies as a way to exercise their prepper mindset and to discuss what the hero’s next move should be, what he or she does good or wrong and what’s absolutely ludicrous.

Sometimes, they’re just a great comedy!

Basically, a good survival movie encourages preppers to think strategically and to imagine their own behavior in a SHTF situation. In my view, well-made survival movies (scarce though they are) are beyond entertainment, being more like a training session of sorts, if you know what I mean.

Also, watching survival movies with your family members (and prepper friends alike) and commenting “live” as things happen on the screen encourages you to think critically about SHTF situations. Also, you try to predict the outcome of a bad decision or a good one made by the hero, with an emphasis on boneheaded ones, which are  often the norm.

Even if Hollywood (read the motion-picture industry) usually produces tons of garbage, now and then a true gem of a survival movie appears almost magically. These rare flicks give us ideas and thoughts on how to prepare for when SHTF.

It really doesn’t matter what a movie is about, as long as we’re talking about a plausible scenario, such as in 2012 or San Andreas, or even a good old zombie/alien movie.

What’s important from a prepper’s perspective is to see and analyze how regular people may possibly react in extraordinary circumstances; that’s what will provide you with food for thought.

3 Second SEAL Test Will Tell You If You’ll Survive A SHTF Situation

So, after this relatively long preamble, let me share with you what I’ve learned after watching dozens of disaster movies, all of them loaded with awesome survival tactics.

First, teamwork is essential for your survival, despite the “lone wolf” mentality many preppers seem to (wrongfully, in my opinion) have. When a disaster strikes, chances are good that you’ll not going to be “solo.”

Working as a team will increase the chances of survival. There’s strength in numbers and there’s also a thing called the division of labor because you can’t do everything by yourself. That’s been obvious since the dawn of man on Earth.

Also, we’re social animals, centered on community (family, tribe, etc.). Lone wolves sound great in theory, but in real life, even wolves hunt in packs and are social animals.

Dawn of the Dead (2004)

To give you an example of fine teamwork from a survival flick, let’s take Dawn of the Dead, an awesome 2004 movie which tells the story of a group of survivors (and we’re using that word really loosely) taking refuge inside a shopping center during a zombie apocalypse.

As more of them arrive in the shopping mall, they realize that they’ll have to stick together and work as a team in order to withstand the hordes of (not so smart) zombies.

Also, Dawn of the Dead teaches you about the importance of planning and preparing: having a good refuge, an escape plan, of being able to determine who’s to be trusted and who’s not and, most importantly, that a group’s cohesion is given by its weakest link (there’s an asshole in every group of random people).

Oh, and on that note, you also learn that sometimes you don’t have to be the smartest one in the group as long as you’re not the dumbest one. I’m kidding, sort of.

Video first seen on Movieclips.

Another lesson learned from watching disaster flicks is that it’s critical to know the risks of your geographical location (as in knowing one’s strengths and weaknesses) in a SHTF situation.

Food for thought: if your city is close to a nuclear plant or in front of a big dam, in the case of a catastrophic earthquake or a nasty meteor impact, or why not, a terrorist attack on critical infrastructure, well, you’ll be forced to deal with some serious issues. Here, the value of an escape plan and escape route comes into play big time.

Also, it would help to understand the science of your region, especially if you live in places like California or Yellowstone. You got the picture.

San Andreas (2015)

Think along the lines of San Andreas, the 2015 movie which is loaded with awesome survival strategies and lessons. San Andreas depicts the horrifying consequences of a massive earthquake in California as a rescue chopper pilot makes a perilous  journey across the state to save his daughter.

Watching the movie, you’ll understand a little bit about human psychology.

For example, in a disaster, especially one of epic proportions, ownership of property becomes a fiction, i.e. emergency stuff can be found in a home or, in the movie, a car that isn’t yours if the situation really calls for it, and looting occurs in a matter of hours, not days. Hence, remember to have your gun for self-defense ready, locked and loaded at all times.

Also, the first few moments after SHTF are critical for one’s survival; if you panic and give in to mental chaos, you’ll just end up as yet another casualty/statistic. Do not freak out, and try to get over that state of shock ASAP, as this will give you a critical advantage over those unprepared for such an event.

Video first seen on Km Music.

The thing is, even in B-rated movies you can see a fact of life: people panic rather quickly and behave badly and stupidly, as life-threating events bring out the worst in many of us.

As shown in many disaster flicks, including San Andreas, the police and firefighters will bail in order to take care of their own families, and that’s quite understandable. The lesson to be taken home is that you can’t rely on the government to protect or save you.

Also, having some basic physics and engineering knowledge couldn’t hurt.

In the aftermath of a major disaster, whether it’s a terrorist attack or an earthquake or whatever, panicked people do the dumbest things imaginable, and that’s another true fact of life, unfortunately.

And that’s due to one’s shattered cognitive dissonance, i.e. modern-day people (especially city dwellers) are used to living their boring and safe lives in the complete absence of any clear and present danger.

They’ve become complacent and take that perceived “safety” for granted. When the universe explodes around them, they’ll behave like the proverbial chicken without a head, while others will be stunned, in shock and awe, and completely incapable of doing the most basic things like running for cover.

The Road (2009)

Another great survival flick is The Road, a movie released in 2009 that tells the story of a man and his young son as they travel by foot in a post-apocalyptic world through the mountains, searching for an illusory safe haven before the coming winter.

The theme of the movie is survival by any means necessary. What’s very shocking about this flick is the accurate way it portrays the dark side of mankind, the way people will resort to anything, even cannibalism, in order to survive.

Video first seen on 0noyfb.

The movie will teach you how to be careful when approaching strangers (not all people think like you, nor are they Good Samaritans), how to carry your survival gear over long distances, and that starvation is not an event but a long and painful process.

Also, having a gun and enough ammo will save your life, while keeping the fire (as in never stop fighting for a good cause) is quintessential. Your faith, provided you’re a “good guy,” will guide you and help your actions, yet you’ll have to be prepared to kill bad people, or you’ll end up getting killed. Also, you’ll learn that groups of desperate people are extremely dangerous and may kill you, or get you killed, for nothing really.

The Day after Tomorrow (2004)

Another disaster movie worth watching is The Day after Tomorrow. This movie depicts survival techniques in extremely low temperatures following the world freezing via a man-provoked ice-age.

Video first seen on Luis Trejo.

What to learn from? Big cities are very difficult to escape in case of a SHTF scenario, i.e. you’ll have to consider relocating if possible and always plan for bad weather conditions.

Zombieland (2009)

A very funny survival flick to watch is Zombieland, which makes for yet another post-zombie-apocalypse survival movie. Watching this gem, which is hilarious to say the least, you’ll understand why you should create a comprehensive set of rules to increase your survival chances.

The first rule of survival: cardio is essential! As in, stay in good shape. Also, people in distress will try to trick you, steal your stuff, and then leave you stranded; this is a trait of the human nature.

Video first seen on Video Clips HD.

Also, don’t scare folks if you don’t want to get shot and Twinkies make for the ultimate survival food (the last one is debatable).

The Edge (1997)

The Edge is the story of a billionaire who survives a plane crash in the Alaskan wilderness, together with two of his friends. This movie depicts in a very accurate manner how people react under stress when confronted with unfamiliar situations.

Also you get how important it is to have basic survival skills, such as knowing basic first aid methods, how to navigate sans gear, how to improvise a compass, how to build basic weapons such as spears, and how to defend yourself against predators.

Video first sen on blackruskie.

Finally, this epic saga emphasizes the importance of knowledge, smarts, and skills over the oh-so-common macho-ninja stuff and special effects.

Into the Wild (2007)

Into the Wild is the true story of a guy named Christopher McCandles who died stupidly as he abandoned his privileged life and adventured into the wild, searching for adventure.

Video first seen on carinemccandless.

The thing is that this guy had absolutely no idea about wilderness survival, no skills, and basically no gear. And yes, he died of starvation in a cabin, which is pretty pathetic, to say the least.

The lesson to be taken home after watching this movie is to never go out in the wild unprepared. Life in the wilderness is not romantic, but a savage and brutal struggle for survival 24/7/365.

The importance of having the right mindset first of all is not a matter to be taken lightly in an outdoors survival situation.

Bottom line, have you seen a good survival movie recently? What did you think? Do you have any survival lessons to add? Share your thoughts in the dedicated section below!

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