Wednesday, July 18, 2012

Weird Wednesday #7 - Poor Edward



Insidious whispers rake at the back of the mind, troubling our psyche. We've all had them; fleeting, often violent, thoughts of harm to others. Revenge and spite seem to be part of human nature. Thankfully, most people can dismiss these grave thoughts and move on.

If only poor Edward Mordake could have done that. This darkness, or devil as he called it, was more than just a thought. It was a part of him; a parasitic deformity that lived on the back of his head. A face, complete with eyes and mouth. It was said to have glared and scowled. Even though it could not speak outwardly, Edward would cry out for an end to the demonic banter and hellish pestering the entity inflicted on him. In his mind, he could hear the voice, and all of the malice it brought. According to the story, he took his own life at 23 years old.

This all makes for one helluva story, but certain sources call it into question. I'm certainly too much of a skeptic to believe that a demonic hell face exists, but if someone did have a parasitic twin, I wouldn't doubt that psychological trauma could result. Who knows what sort of judgment and self loathing Edward must have been going through. It is unfortunate that there isn't more known about this poor man.

Stories of this nature always susceptible to aggrandizing. An affliction as terrible as parasitic twins can quickly fall into legend, and the facts distorted. This week's Freaky Friday post will detail human fascination and horror at body deformation, as well as some of the tropes that exist from it. If you have any suggestions for this post, hit up the comments section and we'll chat about it.

Monday, July 16, 2012

Summer Under my Bootheel


History is filled with the sound of silken slippers going downstairs and wooden shoes coming up.”
    - Voltaire

For 25 years I have lived in a perpetual state of half assing. This despicable malaise has cost me dearly. I've missed out on countless opportunities, and chosen the safe road at nearly every turn. I've donned the slippers of an easy life. This might be enough for most people, but I've got shit to do, damnit.

This isn't just about being a writer anymore, or even working to get by. It's about fulfilling the potential I know I have. I've chosen a path that takes more sacrifice than I thought I was capable of, and through it, the inertia is building. This summer has been a flurry of classes and homework, of short stories and writing. I have learned that no matter how much I fear that my toils are without merit, I can still push forward. I can still make a fucking impact.

I'm not going to lie here. I know I'm a shit writer. I'm a middling computer tech. I used to be a C- level student. I might still be, after all, there are a few weeks left in the semester. What's more important than all of this is that I've strapped on the work boots, and I'm putting in the time. I have results coming in, and for the first time in my life, they feel stronger than dismal. I'm moving from basement dweller to apprentice, and someday onward to journeyman.

I've started to snuff out the weaknesses in my character, and am determined to move forward. I don't have the luxury of time. None of us really do when it comes down to it. It's time to move the fuck on, and ascend to what I know I can be.
 
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