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Deep Frog

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January 31st, 2018

I could not bring myself to write about what occurred last night after the moments in which it happened. I feel my wits are about me now much more than they were in the heat of the moment. I was returning home by the light of the full moon from a lengthy evening of my work at the University Library. With some luck, the position will allow me better investigation into the supernatural forces to which I appear to be subjected to. I understand that our University has collected quite the compendium of rare books pertaining to the occult, an mythological creatures. I only hope that the creature I witnessed last night can be found in one of the many pages.

The railroad near my house is only rarely a problem. Trains come and go, and I can often hear them howling through the night from my bedroom window. Their whistles pierce the black velvet of the calm countryside, and when closer, the heavy rattling of the machinery on the tracks shakes my bones to their core. Last night though, I have reason to imagine the train schedule wants me alive. As I approached the railway, across from me, standing tall and mighty in the road was the creature.

When my headlights alighted on it, I got my very first true glimpse of the foul being. His frame is easily describable, in fact I have gotten much of it correct in my previous entries, but the face... Thinking of it again forces shivers down my back, and I can barely describe the inhuman configuration that existed as it’s visage. A poor description, but fitting would be if someone had opened a human face bilaterally, allowing the skin and muscles to open in the wind. From where it might have had eyes, long tendrils stuck out, which moved quite unorthodoxly, as if they were the feelers of some insect. What I have hypothesized as its mouth was an amalgamation of a beak of sorts, and the incredible jaw of an anaconda, the lower protrusion of beak sinking gravely into the ground. 

In the moment I had frozen. Had I been more foolish, I might have whipped up my car’s acceleration, and attempted to plow into the thing. Its advance on me was slow and steady. It carried something large behind it- what appeared to be a large cow, but I am uncertain. I could not find the strength from my muscles to react to this funeral march upon me. My mind was all a clamor, screaming impulses to the rest of my body, which had locked itself into an already death like rigidity.

Were it not for the train; which in my amazement of the creature, I had ignored all signals of its arrival, I imagine I would have met a similar fate as the cattle he carried behind him. The train’s whistle and clamor thundered down upon the two of us. I could no longer see the beast across from me, but it’s terrifying face still haunted my thoughts, and later that night, my dreams. As the train roared past, I imagined pulling myself from that place, that track by the side of the road, and finding a hotel room for the night. I could not bring to do it, and so, as I realized the end of the train drew closer, I revved my engine and fortified my bravery. Were I to have seen the creature again staring down at me, I must imagine that I would have torn past him down the road to my home in the middle of the woods. I was not given the choice, however. The creature had vanished from sight. Nothing remained of the nightmare, and so I quickly raced home. I locked myself in my house, and proceeded to throw up my dinner, the terrible stress of the whole situation severely fatiguing my mind and body.

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Your Eldritch Horoscope

Aries: The demoniac piping of the whip-poor-wills is said to increase in rhythm to match a dying human's breaths. They chase down the soul escaping the body. They chase it for prey. If it escapes, they fall silent. If they catch it, you can hear them laughing and shrieking in ecstasy for the remainder of the night, stirring the vast, nameless things that shift below the earth. You can see more of them gathering every day. What sound will they make when you die, I wonder?

Taurus: When your friends try to persuade you against a course of action, they are probably thinking of your best interest. Keep this in mind when you go past the beginning of mankind, past the beginning of the world, past the beginning of reality, to where time stops its curve in an abrupt acute angle. The Hounds are coming. And they WILL find you.

Gemini: One day, you will hear your mother's son screaming his father's name from the top of Sentinel Hill. He is gelatinous. He is a spider, a centipede, an octopus made of wriggling ropes, but he has your face. He looks more like your father than you do.

Cancer: Your tears may soak the soil unheeded, but there will always be a place for you here, beneath the tattered banner of The Yellow King, amongst the gravestones in the abandoned necropolis under the twin suns and black stars of lost Carcosa

Leo: It would be good for you to remind yourself, from time to time, we are all but the unseen, unheard, dead dreams of the blind idiot God Azathoth, the after-tremors of Its cosmic seizures, entire galaxies nothing but nerves misfiring for a split second in time, swirling forever in the endless abyss of eternity. You are less than nothing.

Virgo: Don't look in the well. Don't drink the water. Your family is gone. They're not coming back. Get out now, before it takes you too. That amorphous visual phenomenon dancing on the edges of your peripheral vision that you can't describe isn't you going crazy. It's alive. It's hungry.

Libra: It's not anyone's fault. Fault implies control. Everything happens completely at random, for no reason at all. Or is it simply a pattern of order so advanced it just seems random? A pattern beyond human comprehension. A pattern that repeats ad nauseam back to the beginning. Back to Them.

Scorpio: You are a puppet on a string. Dancing madly for the Faceless God Nyarlathotep. He waits for you in the darkness, laughing. The rats know what you did.

Sagittarius: You alone will be their witness. You alone will carry the burden. You will see the half-beast abominations marching in endless procession in the tombs under the sand, to make vile sacrifice to the five-headed extremity of the Old Gods. Take this secret to your grave.

Capricorn: What you fear will come to pass has already happened. In fact, it's happening right now. Everywhere, all at once, behind and underneath and in between all the spaces you can see, It's biding Its time. Yog-Sothoth knows the gate. Yog-Sothoth is the gate.

Aquarius: The atmosphere of this lonely place you live. You thought maybe it was the Old Gods, or Nature Spirits. I'm warning you, it is neither. Those at least have some relationship to mankind. It is Them. You have intruded where the veil is thinnest. You are a trespasser. They know you're there. They're searching. Getting closer. A sacrifice must be made.

Pisces: How can you be sure you're who you think you are? Every day when you look in the mirror, isn't it a little different? Have you not had dreams of great, cyclopean underwater cities with impossible architecture? Of the fish-god Father Dagon? Of swimming free beneath the surface, of engaging in blasphemous midnight rites with your true kin? Maybe you're not quite as human as you thought you were.

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January 30th, 2018

I had expected to record the findings I made sooner, but both my studies and my dread kept me from it throughout the day. I must admit, I did not leap out of bed this morning to investigate the claw marks I expected to find. I lingered in my house, wearily searching the internet for other possible mentions of the tall white figure. The legends of Slenderman came up, but in every telling of that idea, that creature, he is always described or depicted as a tall humanoid in a suit. The creature, however uncertain I may be of his features, was clearly white, with no suit to be seen anywhere. My brief research revealed nothing, and after forcing down a quick breakfast of flavorless oatmeal, which I had dotted with raisins in the hopes of livening it up, I dressed myself to go outside.

The weather in Alabama is never certain, and on this particular morning a frost had formed on my windows. The air was chilled, and seemed to penetrate my red coat as wind whipped around the corner of my house. I trudged warily around the house to the back, looking out onto a still lake, the sound of geese echoing across the landscape. I made hasty glances behind me every few seconds, I feared the creature which had chosen my land as it’s new playground, and knowing far too little of its behavior, I could not trust any suspicions of a sleep cycle.

The claw marks I had anticipated were more horrendous than I had previously imagined. Where I had thought perhaps a claw mark of four or five in keeping with the humanoid figure, I found upon the wall what seemed to be dozens of scratches, piercing the cheap woodwork quite deeply. If you could imagine the longitudinal lines of a globe, as they arc outward from a point, then you would have a rough conceptual idea of the shape of this creature’s scratch marks. The woodwork had been lacerated, plain and true, paint and wood chips dotted the ground around, marking the brown dirt with the white exterior of the house.

But the property damage had been the least of my concerns in that moment, and had I not been so intrigued by the sheer number of marks upon my wall, I am sure I would have noticed the red glistening liquid draped within the cracks far sooner. Within this expanding set of lines that seemed to reach out for me from the wall itself, the ruby red of what I feared to be human blood, created a menacing masterpiece on my houses white wall. I had shaken myself in that moment, that the likeliness that it was human blood was low, and it was more likely to be the blood of some small woodland animal that had met a grisly end at the points of the white creatures claws. But still I feared, and in that moment particularly, I had a sudden moment of alarm that I had not looked at the lake behind me for a very long time.

When I turned, I saw the same still lake. No tall white creature standing before me as I had most feared in that moment. But the lake had grown eerily quiet. No longer were there the sounds of geese, nor the whistling of the wind, though the cold in the air still pierced my skin. A deeper cold; however, settled into my very bones, and I could not shake the feeling that someone, or something was watching me carefully. I stood a while longer, staring out across the lake, in hope and in anxious fear that something would make itself known to me, but in the end, I returned to the warmth of my home, and went to my classes at the local university.  

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January 29th, 2018

I fear that if I do not write down these events as they currently occur, they may be lost as I will be, or ignored as some lesser event than I fear it to be. A creature lurks in the nearby lake. I can hardly describe it as of yet, but I have seen glimpses of a tall, corpse like figure diving into the waters on the fullest of moons.

I first sighted this figure at the beginning of the year, early on, as I entered my home in the forest through the falling snow. It does not often snow this far South. But when it does, it shuts down everything. And it surely would shut down any hope of swimming. And yet, this large white figure dove into the lake ahead of me. Taller than a man it seemed to be, yet unmistakably a humanoid figure, it moved far too quickly for me to observe it any better. It seemed to blend in with the fresh blanket of snow, and I must admit through my intoxication I woke the next morning believing to have imagined the whole occurrence.

My imaginations seemed grandiose, but in time I have realized they were not hallucinations but rather a cold truth. My security light this evening flashed on without warning, as it does often with the occasional deer poking around my yard, but it was accompanied with a loud scraping sound along the side of my house. I cautiously approached the window overlooking the side of the house facing the lake, the full moon dazzling off of the water nearly captivating me so, but I was broken from my reverie as the same tall white figure sprinted between the trees towards the shore of the lake. I hardly seemed to blink and the figure had vanished into the lake once again.

I am neither brave nor foolish enough to leave the warmth and safety of my house in this moment to view the outside wall under the window, but I am scared of what I may find.

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a necromancer is just a really late healer

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A comma splice walks into a bar, it has a drink and then leaves.

A question mark walks into a bar?

Two quotation marks “Walk into” a bar.

A gerund and an infinitive walk into a bar, drinking to drink.

The bar was walked into by a passive voice.

Three intransitive verbs walk into a bar. They sit. They drink. They leave.

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I only write when I am falling in love, or falling apart.

e.s.  (via heart)

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(1) Don’t freak out. (2) We both know this has been coming for a long time. (3) I have been staying awake at night, wondering if I should tell you. (4) I bought the kind of crackers you can eat, They are in the hall cupboard. (5) Now that we have watched all the episodes of True Blood, I do not know what else to do next. (6) I always imagined this would happen without warning, Like suddenly on an ocean cliff side. But this is the kind of thing Where waiting for the time to be right Would just mean waiting forever. (7) I’ve just been too afraid. For too long. (8) I came home on Tuesday, And found all of the chairs that I own stacked in a tower in the center of my kitchen. I don’t know how long they have been like that But it can only be me that did it. It’s the kind of thing a ghost might do, To prove to the living that he is still there. I am haunting my own apartment. (9) My grandmother was still alive when I was five years old, and she asked me to check and see if the iron was hot enough yet. So I press my hand against it, And it was red and screaming for hours. Twenty-five years later, she would still sometimes apologize. In the middle of conversations. ‘I feel so bad for making you touch the iron’, she’d say As though it had just happened. I cannot imagine how we forgive ourselves For all the things we didn’t say until it was too late. But how else do you tell if something is hot, but to touch it? (10) I keep imagining my furniture in your apartment. (11) I wonder how many ‘likes’ this will get on Facebook. (12) My dad always used to tell the same joke, But I can’t remember the punchline. (13) I was eight years old, and it took three weeks. Three eight year old weeks, imagine To gather everything that I would need to be… Batman! Rope, boomerangs, a Mardi Gras mask with the beads cut off. I couldn’t find a cave near my house, So I buried them all in a bundle under the ivy. For years after, I tried to find that spot again. The ivy grew too fast, I searched in so many spots it seemed impossible I had missed one, But I never found it. How can something be there And then not be there? How do we forgive ourselves for all the things we did not become? (14) I never had the courage to buy bright green sheets. I wanted them, but thought they were too brash Even with no-one but me to see them. I bought a set yesterday and put them on the bed. I knew that you would like them.

Don Luben, “14 Lines From Love Letters or Suicide Notes” [x] (via wordsaid)

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Another Goodbye...

An imparted piece of soul to you,

The graceful villainess,

Who stole my heart and tore to shreds

The dreams in which I dress.

But since you do not want my soul,

Or words, or even love,

I'll take my books away from you

And make my final shove

Away from shore, the rocky coast,

That once harbored my heart.

I'll break away from heartbreak's pain

That's tearing me apart.

Was it all just smoke and mirrors?

Or was there feeling there?

Was I another stepping stone,

Or loveless love affair?

I lost you to your own mind...

Twisted by your action,

And you slipped into your own hatred,

With no upward traction.

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The Burning Poetic Imagery

Must I, too, assemble philosophies from shattered memories?

No...I have always held that idea...

I've never been one for letting go of good things,

Which only allows them to turn to ashes in my mouth...

It all burns in the end...

But that isn't my philosophy...

Who's is it? Is it your's?

Oh why would you believe that?

Why would you ever want to believe that?

There is a brilliant poetic image

Behind everything burning

Wouldn't you agree?

No...I suppose not...

Not everything has to be poetic.

I find it poetic though...

Everything burning...

Becoming ugly and twisted...

Just like the mind of that man.

You know who I'm talking about...

You know exactly who I'm talking about...

The man that's twisted your mind terribly.

Who's caused you so much pain?

He isn't burning...

He isn't becoming ashes in the mouth...

But give it time,

And if he's good it'll happen,

And if he isn't...

Well, maybe he should be.

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You Don't Deserve

You do not deserve me... At my worst. Therefore, I should not have you, At my best. Because I lash out at you. And that hurts you. So, I will hurt myself. And stop trying to have you. Because I do not deserve you At your best. And I bring about Your worst.

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I Must Declare

Oh, what a night, I must declare! And throw my outstretched arms Towards the moon Reflecting on the ghosts- My breath-  As it escapes Into night air.

I must declare, My sin is pride, Which fills my soul with vigor. But tonight,  I leaned in, Snapped... Turned into wrath, And walked away from tears.

I must declare, That I went back And said apologies, Knowing through my actions, I caused a shaking pain- A gasping, aching, moaning, pain- Shattering a broken thing, Without hope of repair.

I must declare My sin is pride Which holds my head up high But my true sin... Not pride, no dear Instead, mistakes of rage, A lean, a snap, a switch, a turn... And everything begins to burn.

I look up to the moon, Beginning to cry The ghosts, hauntingly Beginning to rise And float, and toss Into the sky My breath, my ghosts, my love, my hope Beginning one last, final, sigh

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A Sinking Feeling

What storm blew through my harbor, What shattered all my ships, What waves of angry passion, That tear, and break, and rip? I fear for those old constructs, That have lasted for so long. Their timber weakened over time, Their wood no longer strong. And sitting in my harbor there And bashed by sudden gale. The ships I had no longer, No longer could set sail...