For all of you fiction writers out there, here are a few of my favorite Southern girl names.
Virgie (Virginia) Mae.
Maggie Jean (Margaret).
You can add May, Mae, Ray, Rae, June, Jean, or Kate after almost all of these.
There is a boat in the coat of arms. There is no sea nor large river anywhere near. Ex navicula navis. You wonder where would that boat go if it weren’t land-locked.
In winters air turns to pure poison. You breathe in, air feels fresh. Woman next to you wears a gasmask.
Derby is coming, so you don’t leave your home. From the window you observe police cars pass by, you stop counting at eight. The monsters are out, bloodthirsty. They hunger. You double check the locks.
There is now a tunnel under the city. You peek inside. You wonder if those that enter, come out the same. When you drive through, you try to not look. Lights slide against your eyelids.
Old ruins is where hipsters run, or at least they look like it. What crawls under their skin, you don’t know. Soon their colourful nest will be gone, it is on attractive grounds and some see a skyscraper here. You wonder where will creatures resembling hipster go.
Trams and buses pass you by. The older the vehicle is, the further away it will take you. Away from the city, into the unknown. Sometimes you see the tram that could just as well be functional during nazi occupation. Where is it going to take you, if you were to enter?
Magenta, Cyan and Yellow flood your senses. Everything bleeds in primary colours.
An old railway station got rebuilt. It’s now always empty. There is an empty bus that circles between this station and the airport. The airport is empty as well. Ghosts need to leave this city, but this privilege is not for you.
There is art on walls. You don’t understand, but such were always things with art. Somehow it doesn’t surprise you. The colourful splashes help hide the rot.
Everything was a factory once. You walk the city. You wonder if you were part of a factory at some point in the past. Sound of tram passing by resemble sound of old machinery and you feel calm.
There is man standing at the Freedom Square . His stare is judgmental. You can’t escape it. You were never free anyway.
Old woman at the bus stop shows you photos. Black and white, of bad quality, you barely recognize your own city, and yet you know. This is it. The Past, such strange concept, as how can the past exist if you live in it?
Cranes are rising above the rot. They must feel so proud, trying to raise above all the crumbling buildings, reducing them to dust.
There is no Old Town. What people call Old Town is barely seen, doesn’t compare at all to glorious Old Towns of Kraków or Wrocław or Gdańsk. This city is not old at all. Towns surrounding it are much older. There used to be more, but anything younger got devoured by metropolis. Only old ones still stand, borders pressing against each other painfully.
Once upon a time you could go into the market and buy anything. Now the witches that traded their fares here are caged in glass and steel. You miss old times, when you passed by an old woman selling things you never saw before. You dreamed of those things for weeks, but now all of this is gone.
You sometimes ask yourself what would happen if Nazis stayed a little longer. You fear the answer. When new tram tracks were set, workers found bodies of Jews from occupation times.
On cold autumn evening, lights flash across buildings. The Museum of Archeology and Ethnography crumbles in front of your very eyes. It rises again. People grin in the darkness and leave. There are lifeless lights hiding in the park on this very day. You are not sure if it’s safe to look.
Unicorn Stable, they call it. You never saw any unicorn, and yet rainbow falls on your irises. Here, many just pass by, it’s a mere tram station. Maybe if one were to wait a little longer, one could see something otherwordly. More people get in and out of trams, cars around you move slowly. Nobody stops to look for unicorns. Maybe that’s why they are gone.
You walk in the park, between your feet goes the line that once separated world of living and dying. Litzmannstadt Ghetto Border. You are straddling a thin line between world of living and the dead, as you know no one survived life on the side your right foot stands on, dying in gas chambers or out of overwork. You glance to the right and shopping mall greets your eyes, another old factory remade.
The city is dying and you can feel it. Years earlier it has been second largest city in Poland. Now you don’t even want to check. The rot is everywhere, but you’re not sure if it will ever truly die. “Promised Land” will live, even when all the citizens will be dead.
‘10 to 15 years ago, it was a relatively new phenomenon, [in the late 90s], more ladies fronting metal bands. Of course, it’s not an entirely new thing, but there was a different type of music attached to it, a different vibe to it, compared to early 80s with Doro and Lita Ford and more the heavy metal genre. More and more bands came and maybe had a bit of the same sound in the beginning. First it was called gothic metal, a name I didn’t understand…’
Metal Frontwomen vs 'Female-Fronted Metal’(Soaring Highs and Brutal Lows)
Five obscure Victorian or Gothic novels that no one ever talks about and you think need to be better known?
I need to delve a lot more into the early Anne Radcliffe era of gothic novels. If any of my followers can rec stuff from that period (@atundratoadstool , @chthonic-cassandra , anyone?) then I will take them as recommendations as well! Heck, recommend gothics from any historical period that I’ve overlooked and I’ll try to read them!
In no particular order…
The Beetle. There’s a whole host of messy sexual and racial issues to unpack here, but it’s Dracula with bugs and one of the heroes is basically Doctor Doom and it’s just about peak gothic weirdness.
A Long Fatal Love Chase. This one starts as a pulpy melodrama, then abruptly pulls the rug from under you and is a serious, terrifying portrayal of an abusive relationship where the villain and the heroine do love each other but it just doesn’t matter because he’s still tormenting her. And nobody will get out of it alive.
Speaking of which, Louisa May Alcott’s short gothic stories in general are worth seeking out, especially Perilous Play, which was the inspiration for own story Affable Stoner Jonathan Harker. There are a couple of collections out there, only one of which I’ve gotten ahold of, but I’m still trying!
Israel Rank: The Autobiography of a Criminal was the basis for two popular adaptations (Kind Hearts and Coronets and A Gentleman’s Guide to Love and Murder) but is itself fairly obscure. It’s a lot darker and nastier than the derivative works, but if I had my way the titular antihero would stand beside Dorian Grey and Lord Ruthven as one of the sickest, most compelling awful men in gothic fiction. (Yes, I named my Fallen London character after him. She’s going to be his great aunt.)
I’m not sure it really counts as obscure, but I’m going to include La Morte Amoureuse anyway. It’s a sad, sexy vampire story from before sad, sexy vampires were the common denominator, and it’s a shame there haven’t been any adaptations (to my knowledge.)
So my caregiver is letting me get a puppy soon, we already picked her out, but she’s still too small to bring her home. We have to wait 3 more weeks till she’s old enough, as of right now we are trying to find a name for her.. I’m open to suggestions, send me a message and i’ll pick the name once she’s home! (Keep in mind i love spooky stuff)🐶🎀💖☠
Gothic fiction, sometimes referred to as Gothic horror, is a genre or mode of literature that combines fiction, horror and Romanticism. Its origin is attributed to English author Horace Walpole, with his 1763 novel The Castle of Otranto, subtitled (in its second edition) “A Gothic Story.” The effect of Gothic fiction feeds on a pleasing sort of terror, an extension of Romantic literary pleasures that were relatively new at the time of Walpole’s novel. Melodrama and parody (including self-parody) were other long-standing features of the Gothic initiated by Walpole. It originated in England in the second half of the 18th century and had much success in the 19th as witnessed by Mary Shelley’s Frankenstein and the works of Edgar Allan Poe. Another well known novel in this genre, dating from the late Victorian era, is Bram Stoker’s Dracula. The name Gothic refers to the (pseudo)-medieval buildings in which many of these stories take place. This extreme form of romanticism was very popular in England and Germany. The English gothic novel also led to new novel types such as the German Schauerroman and the French roman noir. [more]
the mountains in the distance will never change their size on the horizon until you are in them and they are around you
always bring an umbrella and sunscreen, do not trust the news, they do not trust you
some people own farms in the city. bring them bread when you can. never tell them your name. never go inside their house
you will sometimes see foxes in the early morning when walking. they will greet you. do not return the greeting, but nod slightly, and do not keep walking until you can no longer see them
a distant friend or relative will tell you of an encounter they’ve had with a mountain lion. never speak to them again, mountain lions do not exist.
learn to do bird calls if you live outside of denver. do them every time you are walking outside before 6am. this will keep you safe.
marijuana dispensaries are common but you will never see someone enter them from the front, and if you do, it is not a real dispensary. avoid them at all costs.
there will always be someone wearing shorts while it is snowing. they know things that you do not.
however, if they are wearing shorts in the rain, avoid them. they are not to be trusted.
sometimes it will rain when you cannot see many clouds. take deep breaths and stay calm. do not forget your name.
if you are west of denver and east of the mountains, use the city to know which direction east is. do not use the mountains to tell which direction west is. only use the city.
colfax does not and has never existed, never believe anyone who tries to tell you otherwise. never drive on a street calling itself colfax.
there’s a guy on 16th street who has an afro and dresses like a robot. you can trust him. you can not know his name.
never take anything from the ground when you are on lookout mountain. even if the stones are pretty, they can not belong to you.
the garden of the gods is a cursed area and all who enter are doomed to discover who The True Gods are
there is a cave near one of the parking lots at Red Rocks. if you enter it, when you leave, you will not be in the world you started in. even if it appears the same.
colorado is not the shape the map tells you it is. it ends in the mountains for miles before returning. if someone tells you they live in the mountains never ask them to specify. only go to their house if they invite you specifically. bring your own drinks. come alone.