New spooky story/picture alert! This one’s kinda It Follows meets a metaphor for personal development with a dash of body horror…
(Can’t seem to get it to show up full-size on the blog, but if you download then it’ll be in full readable resolution!)
“Gravewells” – A story/poem/thing
New spooky story alert! As is practical of late, I broke it down into a couple of social media-ready images, but it’s ultimately just a short story… I think? I experimented with alternating between poetry and prose, in a manner not unlike the verse-and-chorus structure of a song. It’s a little bit Junji Ito, a little bit Death Stranding (iykyk), and a little bit me working through my perspective on some family stuff of late. 💀🪦
Eyes
A horror artists Discord server I’m a part of — which is what’s been the impetus for most of my creative output this year so far — does semi-biweekly prompts. One recently was “SLEEPLESS,” so I made… whatever this is, capitalizing on my oddly specific (but, I think, reasonable) fear of things that shouldn’t have human eyes but do.
I like poetry, horror, and mysterious images… I think I’m getting the hang of combining them like this!
Something about a living baseball bat
So I’ve had this really creepy plastic baseball bat for years, from my grandparents’ old Halloween decorations collection… it looks neat, no doubt, but what’s its story, I wondered? I could probably just Google the punny name on its hilt (“Ghouliville Slugger”), but where’s the fun in that? I’d rather do what I do best: pop on some Photoshop and then essentially just write a lore entry for a nonexistent horror game!
“Christmas Inverse” – A Spooky Holiday Poem
Merry Christmas, all! Or whatever you may celebrate this time of year — it’s the presents and tree for me, though, so when I saw an upside-down tannenbaum at a local bar, I was inspired to tap into the Dickensian tradition and write an eerie poem about a backwards Christmas. What could possibly go wrong?
“WHICH WAY” – An old-school creepypasta
If you were online in certain, spooky corners of the internet (for better or worse) in the early 2010s, you probably saw at least one picture like this: an eerie photo with a short story to the side, white text on a black background. These were effectively creepypasta as memes, and when I was getting into the subgenre at the time, I stumbled across a lot of my favorites in this format: easy to share, hard to forget.
So when, as I often do, I took advantage of a creepy photo op and then let my mind wander, I figured I was long overdue to contribute to the form. Share it around, if you like–to see it randomly pop up on another site would honestly be an honor! In any event, these things never did seem to have titles, but if this one did, it’d be two words, one question, and yet infinite possibilities:
WHICH WAY
Placeholder Poetry: “The Odds” (2013)
Well, not in so many words, but…
So I could have sworn I shared this one before, but I can’t find it anywhere on the site. What may’ve happened is that I nixed the original post in advance of submitting it to a journal a few years ago (to no avail). Or maybe aliens deleted it!
In any event, this is another piece I wrote while studying creative writing at the UW — Advanced Poetry, to be precise. This time, exploring two opposing perspectives was the focus. So, consummate geek that I am, I thought: what if when extraterrestrials do visit the Earth, they’re just as impressed by finding other life? At least… at first.
–
The Odds
What are they,
these green-gilled, ten-limbed creatures?
In what world could such features flourish?
How do they go about their days
and yet find time to sculpt such ships,
raptors’ curves ‘round ventricles of light?
What’ve we found, touching down
in this land of two-armed, soft-skinned hue-men?
Their shades do vary, but their clout astounds.
How can such simple, slender beasts survive
training ranks for spears, not gears,
as the flag on their pallid moon droops, collecting stardust?
Now, how’re we to speak
to them? To which words would they respond
or language listen? Their eyes compacted,
ears concealed, our promises of peace may crash
like satellite static—or worse, they’ll misinterpret it
as calls to war we couldn’t win.
Their gestures hint they think us dim,
but, at once, we sense their intents
like a shallow grave under brilliant blooms.
Round faces surround us, imploring “meet our leader,”
but the grins within have torn
meat from marrow and pride from the poor.
What’re the odds?
Centuries, we search—
scanning sky, loosing computers
in paternal spurts of fuel and tax dollars
to capture languid nebulae and sullen suns,
‘cross spans new units were coined to comprehend—
and another life finds us first.
We might need to steal some machines,
dissect a couple of “natural” deaths,
but who knows what we’ll learn!
What’re the chances? We’re even
in this infinity. One thousand solar-cycles journeyed,
working ‘til our tails numbed cataloging charts and channels,
all fifty fingers pinching a dwindling budget.
Hoping the last galaxies held knowledge to spare:
cleaner engines, illness’s end, peace after death.
Yet our complement is a wet and mottled mirror
in the grip of these fraught and frightened creatures.
Our work paid off,
but the currency? Worthless.
–
Notes&Sketches 