As you read this, I’m off in the woods, hopefully not being murdered. Though if I get eviscerated tonight, it just might look like this:
Apparently these were available to purchase from Japan, but the web store sadly shows no such product. Too bad…I could have had some fun with this one, casually cozying up in my own guts…
(via geekologie)
Sidenote: I went to pack my backpack and found that I had a little stowaway…
I finally, finally have a week off from DayJob. The last time I was off was in January and I’m pretty much clawing my own eyes out.
I have few plans — I’m trying to keep it that way, so I can get a handle on this whole “relaxing” thing. I give myself a day, two at most, before I’m bored of vegging and back to scribbling. But in the meantime I’m going to do my best to do nothing.
Tomorrow I’m off for some overnight camping (camping used in the sense of a trailer with plumbing; you will not catch me sleeping on the ground, ever. Ew). We’ll be in the middle of nowhere, just us girls and the woods and the things that snap twigs and scare the shit out of you in the middle of the night. I can’t wait!
I’ve got posts scheduled for the week, so I’m still “here” in a sense. Please don’t get bummed out if I don’t get to comments right away; I’ll get there, I promise.
Catch ya later!
Last night I came across a blog about the atrocities of war. It’s graphic; there are pictures of the dead and brutalized victims of bombings, attacks, and the like. The photo that stuck with me all through today was of the aftereffects of a bombing: there is an eleven year old girl, screaming and blood spattered, and in the corner is a child who died smiling. I can’t get the image out of my mind.
It’s made me realize how lucky we are, us horror fans.
I live in Canada, and more often than not I take my country for granted. I don’t mean to, and I really do love being Canadian. It’s just that life here is…nice. People really are polite here (for the most part). We get all the seasons, so there’s something for everyone. The land is vast and largely green and just so damned nice. There really isn’t any other descriptor for it. And because it’s so lovely and safe, it’s easy to forget that life is not like this for most.
I can walk safely to my car in the dark (even though doing it drives my Mom crazy). I lock my doors out of reflex, but honestly? I probably don’t need to. I have never in my life worried about whether a bomb will hit my house. (I HAVE a house, in the first place, which is again more than many can say.) I grumble and bitch about my “bad days” like everyone else, but I rarely spare a moment of gratitude for the life I live.
It made me think: if you’re a horror fan (and if you’re here, there’s a good chance you are), you’re lucky too. No one in a war-torn country would welcome more horror. They have enough in their real lives. Those of us who can assume that we’ll return home unscathed at the end of the day have the luxury of “escaping” into horror. The monsters are different, but fear is fear. The difference is that we welcome the safe version, tucked cozily into our beds. The fact that we get to choose our horrors renders us lucky.
I don’t honestly know where I’m going with this. It’s just a thought that’s been with me today.
Today I am grateful.
(image via 9GAG)
It’s overcast, the streets are full of screaming schoolchildren, and I have a To Do list a mile long.
If I could find a pot of coffee this large, you can bet your ass I’d fall to my knees in thanks.
(image via The Witch’s Kitchen on Facebook)
I love Fall. I really, really do. But somehow each year I manage to forget that this is the time of my nemesis.
Look at them. Those little pollen…fucks. See how pointy they are?
That’s about how they feel as they embed themselves in my nasal cavities. Microscopic little shards of misery and suffering. I’m pretty sure that when I inhale they burrow deep into my brainmeats, where they send up a collective cheer that their Godless mission has been accomplished. They’re in there right now, high-fiving each other.
It’s probably a bad idea to jam sharp implements up there. I must resist. Instead I will gorge on antihistamines, pray for colder weather, and curse ragweed’s very existence from the depths of my blackened heart.
Mr Jones watches are a little…different. Morbid. Macabre. Strangely appealing.
Whenever you check the time, you’ll be reminded of your own mortality.
Life is short. Remind yourself daily.
Check ’em out here.
sniderwriter 