kitschy decor

Anything worth decorating is worth overdoing

“Is it a little much?” I ask a ghost as I busy myself adjusting the purple plastic bats. I adjust the kitschy grin of a jack-o-lantern.

“Is it ever enough?” the ghost replies as it tinkers with the cotton cobwebs, it fusses over the striped leggings of the witch.

A monster walks in, eyes as wide and as joyous as the full moon.

If I may just…ramble a moment:  I never wanted nor expected to “be” anything in particular on this site.  I just followed people whom I felt were cool, funny, and interesting.  I reblogged things like “What your left hand is touching is now diamonds!”, or would add insight when someone had a gif from a horror movie that they couldn’t identify.  That’s just the kind of place this site used to be.

But…along the way, I’ve had to question what I believed in.  I’ve had to change the way I thought about the world around me.  I learned things I didn’t know, and I had to abandon labels that I once wore with pride.  I watched many of the things I have always stood for being trivialized, and I couldn’t help but say something about it.  I saw good, decent people I considered friends being treated like lepers.  This isn’t a blog dedicated to anything in particular–anyone who’s followed me long enough knows that.  Horror movies, lolita fashion, heavy metal, decoden, 80′s cartoons, kitschy interior decor, trivia–it’s not supposed to be some “kind” of blog.  It’s just MY blog. 

At the end of the day, though, I’m always being made to feel like the “bad guy” for speaking up when I see people being bullied, or unnecessarily hateful.  I’ve always tried so hard to stand for what’s right, even when it meant turning away from members of my own family.  Am I the “bad guy”?  I honestly don’t know.  I can’t even tell anymore what’s right and wrong.  Who you are changes depending on who you talk to.  To one person I’m just a huge dork that knows way too much about film history; to another person, I’m somehow a “rape apologist”, a “stalker”, or a “harasser of minors”. 

I don’t know what I am anymore.  I really don’t.