schizophrenic mind

My opinion on the signs, ranked from who I get along with the best to not at all

1. Taurus - Simply the best, hands down. Head and shoulders above everyone else. Determination, extreme focus and goal attainment are all part of this sign’s personality. Once a Taurus sets his/her mind to doing something, there is nothing in the universe that can stop them. They will pursue their identified goal until it is reached – even if this comes at great personal sacrifice (health, relationships, etc). They’re determined, stable, they prefer simplicity, and they’re goal driven They have a thing for beauty. Creative and talented. They don’t complain and they’re not precious or delicate. The women generally are good with finances, independent, intelligent, and have an undeniable but reserved earthy femininity and sensuality. Definitely much more a fan of the males than the females, though. The men are my kryptonite. My thirst is real for Taurus men. The men are very protective of me and strong. Generally don’t like to start or have arguments. Equanimous. Sexy as hell. Tough, hard-hearted, extremely helpful, forgiving. Don’t take them for granted. Don’t fuck with them. EVER. Protect at all costs. Logical. Stable. Steady as a rock…there’s just something about them that makes me feel safe and secure. No bullshit with them. Taurus guys are earthy, lusty, manly, sensual, affectionate, and ooze sexuality. They’re also charming, magnetic, independent, genuine, great listeners, sexy, charismatic. Taurus men tend to be gentle and tolerant of others, with a strong sense of honour and integrity. They’re honest, communicative (but not annoyingly so), expressive both verbally and physically. The men are emotionally and mentally stable and smart. They’re possessive but not jealous. They are also rather dominant but mostly in the bedroom. Taurus men are the epitome of what I find truly sexy in a man. They’re practical and have an above average level of common sense. They’re about action, not words, and I love that about them. You could throw anything at them and they’ll handle it with strength, intellect, and class. They’re kind-hearted, generous to those they care about, and extremely focused. They love deeply and completely and are highly successful in business and financial ventures. My best friend, a couple of my very very close friends as well as my father happen to be Taureans. They really make me feel special, so seriously thanks to all the Taurus men for being who they are. Lovely, lovely guys. My favourite earth sign.

2. Aquarius - Cool, detached, aloof, and cerebral, just like me. The geniuses of the zodiac, by far. Visionaries. Impartial and original. Objective. Independent and individualistic. At peace with themselves. Weird. Frequently labeled “cold”, although I love it. Their adaptability and humanitarianism is admirable. They take all sorts of people as they are and I love this about them. Curious. Charismatic. God-complex. Unconventional. Loyal people. Open-minded. Rational. Not precious or delicate. Leaders. Some of the kindest people I know. Its not a smothering kind that freaks one out,its a pure, no silly intention type of kindness that is so soft, but still leaves a mark. And to me, they’re easy to understand - they care, but they also want their own separate lives. It’s lovely. There’s an Aqua girl I used to work with; she’s a really smart girl and everything that comes out of her mouth is interesting and hilarious. Although I liked her, it was usually from a distance because I could never tell if she really liked me as a potential friend. Yet there were times when I was the indirect target (by a Leo) in our meetings, and the Aqua always came by and subtly let me know in various ways that she cared. It was weird, but it was like she never wanted me to feel alone or bad, and I always appreciated that. It’s like we can’t say more than a few words to one another without quickly going back into our “own” space, and I’m thinking that’s maybe because we possibly felt our individuality would be threatened in some way if we got too close, and also maybe we retreated because we both were/are sensitive to the other, but we supported each other on a deeper and more emotional level. It’s hard to explain, but yeah, that’s been my experience. My older brother, whom I love more than anything, is one. More than a few of my favourite associates are Aquarians. What’s not to like? Hands down my favourite air sign.

3. Capricorn - They’re the hardest workers, they have high standards, and they’re pretty engaging; extremely intelligent and have an interesting way of drawing you in. Regal. Never loses their cool unless there’s a valid reason. Witty. I’m totally in love with their ambition. Have been labelled as “mean” or “loners”, but I have a general respect for them, even if I don’t like some of them. Quiet leaders. Untrusting like me. Also equanimous. Patient and calm. They’re bosses. Thinks in advance. Not to be fucked with. Doesn’t let get things get under their skin, very classy and tough like that. Sensible. Pragmatic and practical, but also can be a bit fanciful. The females are very feminine and have great taste in clothing. The men are in control and more often than not, CEOs. The men also make me feel so protected. Two very good friends are Caps. The Cap girls I know are really selective over their friends; they won’t talk to everyone for the sake of it…if they don’t like you or find you interesting then they probably won’t say a word to you or look at you. But they’re all funny, classy, and grounded and I love that. They possess winner’s minds; look at the late David Bowie: classic example of why Capricorns are the shit.

4. Sagittarius - You’re assholes, but you’re my kind of assholes; you’re blunt, you don’t sugar-coat the truth and you people are just brilliant. Absolutely hilarious. Funniest sign in the zodiac. Love having fun with them because their confidence is infectious and inspiring. Not gonna kiss your ass. Brutal. Insensitive. Sometimes downright inhumane. Sociable. Go-getters. They’re about their freedom and their power. It’s onward and upward with these folks and I respect that. Tends not to hold grudges (something I need to work on). They use their asshole-ism for good and for things that make sense (instead of evil and general bullshit like Scorpios do). Will speak their mind even (and especially) if it hurts your feelings. I love it. A couple of very good acquaintances are Sags. The only fire sign that I can stand.

5. Libra - Also protect at all costs. Love, love, love. Complete cinnamon rolls and are diplomatic, charming and fair. Tendency to be lookers. Great friends. Terrible flirts. Intellectual savages. Great personalities. Fun. Love getting guys with these ladies. When we choose to go out, we shut it down in a club and all eyes are on us. Also love how peaceful and easygoing they can be. Warrior’s mentality with a poet’s soul. They tend to be a doormat at times, tend to enjoy being volatile shit-starters on occasion (especially the females), and tend to be liars as well. Usually have good intentions. Indecisive, just like Pisces, but unlike Pisces, their indecisiveness is in a charming, yet slightly maddening way. More often than not, a pleasure to deal with. Another close friend and a few dear acquaintances are Libras. My kind of folks.

6. Gemini - Paraphrasing from Joni Mitchell’s song “Help Me”: “[They] love their lovin’/ But not like they love their freedom”…engaging and usually intelligent conversationalists. An ex-roommate is one. Charming, if not a bit fake, flighty, and two-faced. On the other hand, Stevie Nicks. Marilyn. Fetty Wap. I like that they keep things light and hate dealing with too much emotion, although their “lightness” tends to border on the superficial and shallow. Adventurous. Craves variety. Batshit crazy. Liars. Fucked up when drunk. The children of the zodiac, by far. I mean, bipolar creatures; their mood swings make them excellent case studies. Totally schizophrenic, they specialize in mind games and are the best players, hands down. Flaky. Thirsty as hell. Desperate for attention. These people have issues. Sociable and tend to be very popular for whatever reason. No slouches for sure, they’re definitely entertaining if nothing else.

7. Leo - They remind me of the famous line that Jareth said to Sarah in Labyrinth: “I ask for so little. Just fear me, love me, do as I say and I will be your slave.” LOL. Overrated. Unconscionably selfish. Some of them are cool, but for the most part, I’m not impressed. A cousin that I used to be close with is one, we don’t really talk as much anymore, since I’ve outgrown her due, in part, to her tendency to be a bit jejune and silly as well as a drama queen. On the other hand, J. Lo. Jackie O. Kate Bush. They’re sexy, stylish and entertaining, but they’re just short-term/one-night stand material to me; they’re quite pretentious, have delusions of grandeur, and a bit sensitive for me (can’t take criticism, too dramatic, etc.) and as such, there’s nothing of real substance there with them. Tend to be liars. Animated and melodramatic (there’s a reason why most of the best actors are Leos)…they’re overgrown babies in the sense that they have a pathological need to have their asses kissed, they’re bossy, temperamental, and have a tendency to be arrogant and disrespectful (but don’t be this way to them, though, lmaooo). Very childish. Have a tendency to be something they’re not and truly believe that they’re more than what they actually are or ever will be, which is slightly amusing.

8. Scorpio - Ah, the sociopaths of the zodiac. I guess this would be my favourite water sign, if that’s possible. Not a fan of water signs in general, tbh…but out of all of them, you people are the only ones I can somewhat stand, for some strange reason. Probably because my mum is one, with whom I have a love-hate relationship (the only complicated relationship that I’m willing to have ever), as well as an ex-boyfriend. I’m a lot like them in the sense that there’s no room for ambiguity, either people hate you or they love you; regardless, you are who you are and that’s the way it is. As well as the fact that everything’s a state secret with them. However, if one wants brutal honesty, then like the good old Sags, these people are good for that, if nothing else. Opportunistic. Impossibly sexy. Bad to the bone. I’m a sucker for these men; most of the men I’ve “known”, whether we were in a relationship or not (including my current one) are Scorpios. Where we part ways: they (mainly the females, who are just unnecessary cunts, for the most part) are jealous, obsessive, love to be as negative as possible, have a crab-in-the-barrel mentality, and tend to be miserable and like making everyone else miserable as well. Tends to like having their asses kissed. Like all water signs, to me, life’s too short to really deal with them.

9. Cancer - Again, not a fan of water signs and Cancers are some of the reason why. A bit too moody, sensitive, temperamental, and clingy for my taste. Passive-aggressive. Possessive and needy. The females seem to be quite jealous of other females for some odd reason. The men tend to be kinda wishy-washy childish mama’s boys. Protective of those they love and care about, which is nice. Homebodies. Home. Like all water signs, they tend to think they’re billy badasses more than they are and their insecurity drives them to bully folks just to feel good about themselves, which is quite pathetic. These guys are crazy, but they have great music taste, good with money, and are kind of manipulative…the ones born in July tend to be temperamental as fuck. I’ve not gotten along with one ever (which is curious, since I am one), my associate’s boyfriend is one, and he’s a bitch; I have an older half-sister who’s one. To put it succinctly, we no longer speak. But, on the other hand, you guys tend to fly under the radar a bit, so I guess a scant few of them all are actually alright.

10. Virgo - Don’t really get the big deal about these people. I respect their propensity to be analytical, attention to detail and hard working natures, but other than that, you guys are completely irritating; a couple of colleagues are Virgos. They tend to be more sensitive than they like to let on (hence their moodiness), when jealous or self-conscious, they tend to act childish by getting angry and saying things they don’t mean. High maintenance. Self-serving. Also quite opportunistic. Martyr complex. Loves intellectual hair-splitting. Too much insecurity and bullshitting around with you all. Prides themselves on being harshly critical of everything and everyone, but if you tell them about their bullshit then they want to play victim and can’t handle it. People who can’t take their own medicine I don’t respect. Fussy and persnickety as hell; nitpicks everything and are often impossible to please and cowardly. They think the world should stop for them. Liars. Sneaky and shady as fuck. Doesn’t breathe unless it’s planned out thoroughly in advance. Tries too hard to be perfect and omnipotent. I’m sure OCD runs rampant in this sign as well. Control freaks, just like Scorpio. They will self-obsess over their imperfections (and are very quick to point out others’) and think they’re right all the time. Especially applies to those born in September.

11. Pisces -  Again, I truly don’t get the big deal about these people either. At all. Emotionally exhausting. Victim complex. Very artistic and musical, however. Creative. An ex-roommate and former friend are this sign. The main reason why water signs repel me. Evil as hell because they’re disasters who always project their own insecurities onto everyone. Like all water signs, they start drama and then expect you to feel sorry for them. Manipulative. They never take responsibility for their actions, and hide behind gullible people. Spineless. Feels the need to test people (like Scorpios and Aries) and be quarrelsome, then loves to turn around and play the victim (which they do exceptionally well), which is completely pathetic. Indecisive. Indirect. Adores getting offended, just like Virgos. Very passive-aggressive. Easily led. Disingenuous. Emotions/moodiness > logic. They live in a dream world, thinking everything revolves around them. They just annoy the crap out of me. Too co-dependent and (possibly due to low self-esteem) likes to suck the strength from others to validate themselves because they have none of their own. Tend to be harsh in order to overcompensate for how hypersensitive they actually are, which is exasperating. Tends to overreact and are way too emotional, reactive, and sensitive for me to deal with. February Pisceans = barely tolerable (I love you Rihanna); March Pisceans= pieces of shit.

12. Aries - Stay in your lane perhaps? Get some therapy maybe? These people see everything as a fight or an issue, and they need to chill. A boss and a couple of co-workers are this sign. Lack of foresight. Also reactive, loves confrontations just for the sake of having confrontations. Lives for being combative. Very ram-like. Fighters. Malcontents just like Scorpios and Virgos. One of the most ignorant signs.They tend to be outgoing and extroverted generally. I associate them with the colour orange or fluorescent yellow or some other grating colour. Very fast. Very bold. Courageous. Ultra-competitive. Energetic. Dynamic. Loud. Not one to mess with. Always has the need to be right. Downright rude and childish. When volatility, rage and anger is your default emotion (Leo, ARIES, SCORPIO), I dismiss it and completely have no respect for it, since that’s the way you are, so what’s to take personally, really; I have extreme distaste for grown-ass people that insist on acting their shoe size. Quit being so fucking aggressive and pushy all the time. It’s obnoxious.

I Want To Paint Your Lips - Seven

“You can’t be serious.” Tyler slammed both his hands down on the table, glaring into Evan’s eyes. The Asian man continued to sip his drink as his friend angrily sat across from him. “I will not let you be in charge of Jonathon anymore, he’s completely unpredictable! He shouldn’t even be below 9.5 at this point. Evan, you cannot be in there alone with him every day!”

Bryce shifted in his seat beside Evan, having met Tyler a few days earlier. “He knows what he’s doing, Tyler,” the blonde said timidly, wanting to stand up for his friend but a slight bit intimidated by the other man’s fury.

“No,” Tyler growled, “he doesn’t, because he’s still sitting around spoon-feeding a psychotic lunatic who is bound to be painting the walls with this dick’s blood tomorrow. You’re insane, you know that?”

Keep reading

stop treating mentally ill artists’ artwork as nothing but a product of their illness, like rants and ravings, beautifully nonsensical, whatever weird BS you’ve come up with to take away all of the work and thought and time put into it

we’re not here for you to gawk over with your creepy voyeuristic idea of getting a small glimpse into the shocking schizophrenic mind and acting like all the shit we do is nonsensical and impossible to understand or just sooOooooOo totally crazy and random - im a person and none of us want to be remembered like that, we put a lot of effort and pour our heart and soul out into our art just like any other artist but we happen to have a mental illness

Gorilla foreala right heara swearin imma grill these feelins and deal by killin voices by the millions by drillin my mind into ceilin and peelin back vermilion, stealin thrills by chillin by the killin fields of headless billions.. the confetti thoughts are steady brought by deadly hot, not heady but caught by many bots, talk don’t knock what you can’t stop, thoughts taught, lots of knots, knock and rot these slots like hot cough drops, can’t stop what’s inside.. dying alive, my inner drive, died with knives sliced into my mind, clock tells time in rewind, long be the night, wrongly I shine, songs be alive like life in bright lights, tripe be conive, sighing alive right things try me constantly conniving me mind like I be dying but trying my own mind by dining on life, I’m crying inside cause this fine dining is a lie, I’m lying and I don’t know why.. why am I losing my mind?
—  Schizo dizzy fuzzy upstairs - Do you understand it like me? This is kinda an expression of a 5 minute period of fractured mind bended reality. Perpetual altered states.. changing randomly. At least the 5 billion voices inhabiting the world that resides in the traffic that talk to me can’t touch me in this room. The voices in the TV can’t touch me here. I should be safe as long as I don’t leave this house or shits gonna get real weird guys. You think its weird now. I don’t want to fuck up my life spontaneously. Ugh.
A Schizophrenic Tale - Part Three - Meg's Mind
Here's part three of my Meg's Mind book. Click SHOW MORE for page details and let me know what you think in the comments :D Sound got left in, hopefully its ...

Part Three is up and running. The audio is a bit messed up but it’s ok. What do you think so far? Would love some feedback :D Have a nice day everyone.
SPEED ART: Painting from a Schizophrenic mind.
Hello youtube world. I'm back making videos again. Here's A little something from the depths of Meg's mind. I've used Rembrant Watercolours and Cartridge pap...

Hey everyone. Haven’t posted in a while because I’ve been in hospital. But ive started making videos again. Here’s the first of many. Hope you like :D  

Mental Mind "Schizoid"

My eyes are open, but I can’t see.
I can’t see what’s real.
My ears are working, but I can’t hear.
I only can hear the voices in my head.

I can think for myself, but ‘they’ always tell me other wise.
I think things that normal people think of.
But this, sick, mental,schizophrenic, mind twists what I think, into something far more, then 'normal’

Psychosis, is something that also lies within me, but the way everything that is within me. It turned into something worse.
It turned -what I thought was my normal mind - into some mental, schizophrenic in fact.

I’m not normal, but aren’t we all?
We are all born a little, off the rocker, its up to our minds, and mental state, to choose where in that state we go next.

Schizoid, is what they would say, make fun of it, but you never know what it feels like, unless it happens to you…

The schizophrenic mind is not so much split as shattered. I like to say schizophrenia is like a waking nightmare.

Some more Unegen sketch -

I could talk wall of text about what driven me for this piece but then I just change my mind as words could not really describe a mood, a feel - an association and the sound in my mind I had while drawing this. 

I am attached to this one - it has strong meaning for me and everyone is welcome to hear the tale it has for them to tell - but I have a song for you which goes well for the story I weave in my mind. 

anonymous asked:

Would you help me? I can't find any guides on how to play a character with schizophrenia, and It would be really helpful.

I didn’t find one guide directly on it but I found several things that may help you. I think these links will help you a lot. Some of them are very more scientific but the second and the third are answers people gave to help actors who have to play a character with the disease. I think they will be great help to you!

Schwarz und weiß, arm und reich
Alles ist einfach, wenn man den großen Plan vergleicht
Vielleicht leb ich gesund und werd mit 40 Jahren
Von einem um die Ecke kommenden Laster überfahren
Oder werde über 90, seh die Welt in Kriegen
Das Einzige, woran ich nich glaube, ist ewiger Frieden […] Bestimmt gibt es Regeln, sich wiederholende Zeichen
Die sich auch in den vergangenen Jahrhunderten gleichen
Kameras in Bäumen und hinter Badezimmerspiegeln
Sie werden meine Zelle wohl für immer verriegeln
Es ist nichts wie es ist, es scheint nur wie es scheint
Ich fühl mich schizophren wie “A Beautiful Mind” […] Neun Monate um einem Menschen sein Leben zu geben
Es brauch nur eine Sekunde um es wieder zu nehmen
Die Zeit ist ein Feuer, in dem wir brennen
Und für einen ganz kurzen Moment das selber erkennen
Ich bereiste die Welt, entdeckte im Eis schon Zeichen von Schmelz […] In diesem Jahrtausend wo alle Götter vergessen
Oder benutzt werden, als Grund um für Kriege zu hetzen
Wo sich Menschen auf der Suche nach Liebe verletzen
Und es nur noch welche gibt, an abgeschiedensten Plätzen
Geht alles zu Ende
Die Kirche kann dir nicht mehr bieten, als nur ihre gefalteten Hände
Ich bin versucht zu sagen: “Ich geb mir die Kugel”
Doch hoff noch ein bisschen auf ewige Jugend […] Alles wiederholt sich, geht in Spiralen
Das Leben ist ein Bild ohne Rahmen
Die Zukunft ist ein Kind ohne Namen
Der Wind will uns sagen:
Jemand anders mischt das Spiel
Wir sind nur die Karten
—  Prinz-Pi - Kind ohne Namen

So. It was a busy day for a lot of us. An emotional day for some, an exciting day for others, devastating even for more.

If we remember anything we must remember this: you don’t hire fucking Jared Leto to play it safe.

Leto is the wild card, always. Even when he was playing a mute boy who sometimes seemed to be on too many of his grandma’s pain pills, yanno, drifting in and out of precious self-awareness on “My So Called Life”, Leto was and is a director’s actor.

The actor directors know will arrive on set and have a whole series of different contexts and elements to bring to his part - even the little shit bit parts. The actor who was almost too pretty to take seriously so he fucked himself up in a million different ways to show them and us that although his skin is basically poreless-porcelain that he will fucking tear out your heart if you let him and once he knows he has you in the palm of his hand he’ll go ahead and rob you of all your innards too.

Hiring him to take on The Joker will mean he’s not gonna come on set to mimic someone else’s work. Or design. He’ll maybe steal some elements here-an’-there in respectful homage - but that’s not why you hire him. You hire him because he is the actor that will gain nearly 70lbs for a month or two to just capture the uncomfortable-in-his-own-skin-and-mind schizophrenic. You hire him because he is the actor that will sleep on the streets of New York, pal around with heroin addicts and junkies who would sell their own mother or their bodies for their next few hours of peace - just so he could be back in the mindframe of desperation and drug addiction. You hire him because he will literally subsist on a few tomatoes and a half of a cucumber - or literally nothing - in order to look & know what it is to feel as if he were dying at 40 (and probably actually, physically dying in the process) to bring life to a character struggling with self-hate, self-acceptance and Acquired Immune Deficiency Syndrome in their last months of life.

That is the actor that’s willing to look at The Joker and develop an original performance that doesn’t reek of someone else’s work or feel like they’re treading lightly because they worry what people will think. I’m sure he does, to an extent, but I’m sure he also just doesn’t give a fuck. And he shouldn’t. The moment you start to give a fuck about outside impressions is the moment the Realness of the character dies for you and the very moment your performance becomes inauthentic. A spectacle.

So hire him because he’ll let you put as many tattoos as you want on him, load his mouth with an obscene amount of metal, scrub out all the lovely pink in his skin to leave him looking like a lab rat who hasn’t seen daylight in decades, shear off and bleach to shit only to turn radioactive all that gorgeous hair he’s been growing for two years that the world’s been coveting unabashedly for just as long - cause at the end of the day - yes that helps remind us, the audience, that this isn’t one of the most stunning individuals on earth before us but a madman. But while that physical shit is alarming and disarming and memorable - that isn’t what will define him in this for us. It’ll be that way he can emotionally and physically morph the feel of his entire being into some sort of new embodiment he’s devised of one of the most unreadable, unpredictable, unapologetic, unsalvageable - but iconic - sociopaths we have in modern pop culture.

Let’s remember too - the only constant in The Joker’s many iterations is his fucking name. The character has been reinvented countless times throughout the decades - and no one reimagining is “wrong” or “terrible” - because each one has had its fans and its own vocal detractors. Would you rather have the shoes of an over the top murderer with a fondness for flair and wit, played by some oatmeal actor who has been in million action films - a cookie cutter, Gap model idea of a rebel - or would you rather have a legit renegade at the wheel? One who left acting for 6 years despite being one of the world’s most desirable eyecandies, only to come back to the screen in heels and a mini - skin and bones….? Come back and slay.

Let’s let Leto do his thing - and know that yes while unconventional, a forehead tat does not an icon make – nor have the capacity to destroy.

I Asked A Ghost Hunter What His Scariest Experience Was, And DAMN

Back when I was in college, the student campus activity council hired a famous ghost hunter to come speak at our school. I’ve always loved the paranormal so I left my skeptical boyfriend behind in his dorm and hightailed it over to the auditorium.

The ghost hunter was someone I’d never heard of but he had an impressive background and seemed to have several things in the works at the time. (This was in 2005; I think he actually might have a TV show now.) He was a man of small stature with a little white professor’s beard and a receding hairline, but the way he spoke about the afterlife was fascinating. You could tell he truly believed what he claimed to see — either that, or he was a hell of a salesman. He had us hanging on every word.

We watched some interesting video clips of his investigations. He had a nice collection of photos and scary stories to go with them; I remember one about a haunted doll that he said moved freely around the room of the person who had picked it up at a flea market, just not when anyone was around to witness it.

Towards the end he opened up the floor for questions. There were your typical dumbass college kid questions – “Have you ever seen someone’s head spin around like ‘The Exorcist’?”, stuff like that – and a few that were actually pretty interesting. I decided I wasn’t going to let this opportunity to speak to someone so apparently revered in the field of the supernatural slip away, so I raised my hand.

The ghost hunter spotted me, pointed, and smiled.

“Yes, you, the girl in the white shirt?”

“Yeah, hi,” I said, and I know I sounded nervous, because I felt so dumb for sounding so nervous. “I was just wondering – what’s the scariest thing you can remember from your career as a ghost hunter?”

I was halfway back in the auditorium, quite a distance from the stage, but I saw his face fall. I know I did.

“Well,” he said, forcing a tight little laugh (it was forced, I know it was), “there are so many scary moments to recall; they tend to pop up quite often when you’re in my line of work…”

This got a little chuckle from the audience. I suddenly felt pretty stupid for asking the question at all.

He proceeded to tell some story about tracking a poltergeist in an abandoned elementary school and his flashlight failing. I remember because it really wasn’t very scary; at least, it didn’t seem that way for someone who hunts ghosts for a living.

He moved on from the story and answered a few more questions. He didn’t look my way again.
When it was over and everyone started to leave, I decided not to get stuck in the crush of students leaving through the front door. Feeling somewhat dejected, like I had done something wrong, I slipped quietly out the theater exit and headed for my dorm.

The ghost hunter was sitting outside on a bench near the bike racks, smoking a cigarette. I ducked my head and tried to get by without him noticing.

“Hey, kid.” He took another drag and crushed the cigarette out on the cement bench beside him.

“Listen, I’m sorry,” I remember blurting, feeling like such a stupid little girl, “I know my question was dumb, I wasn’t trying to make fun of you or anything–”

He shook his head. He brushed the ashes off the bench. He patted the space beside him, inviting me to sit.

I hesitated — this could definitely be a case of stranger danger, just like they taught in the Intro To University classes — then sat down, keeping a healthy distance between us. He was old, I was young, I could probably outrun the guy. Or who knows, maybe I was just as stupid as I felt.

“I didn’t tell the truth,” the ghost hunter said. His face looked much older close-up, the wrinkles deeper. The confident salesman aura had faded from him, leaving behind a man in his 60s who had clearly seen a lot of things. “That story I told, it wasn’t the scariest moment of my career.”

“I know,” I remember saying. He nodded, as though he had known I knew.

“This is the scariest moment of my career,” he said, and this is what he told me.

It was the 1970s; I was a much younger man, I hadn’t reached success in the paranormal industry quite yet and was left to pick up the scraps that the pros didn’t want. Usually they were schizophrenics whose broken minds tricked them into believing there were phantoms after them, or children playing pranks on gullible and concerned members of the neighborhood. If anything it was a simple cleansing of the home with sage and off I went.

When I first got the call I was ecstatic. What the client was describing appeared to be a full-blown demonic haunting, complete with physical manifestations, possession, and multiple witnesses. It was the break I was searching for. It was the break I needed.

The only detail that truly worried me was that their teenage son, the person they claimed to be suffering from possession, had become violent with members of his family. Up until recently he’d only acted out of character, moody; however, a week prior he had tried to rape his older female cousin.

She was shaken, but mostly unharmed. The family sent her to live elsewhere until it could all be figured out.

Therefore, when I headed out to their home I made sure to arrive fully prepared. I brought holy water, crucifixes, sage, and — just for good measure — a small loaded handgun. I knew it wouldn’t come to that, but something about the mother’s frantic tone over the phone told me it was just a good idea.

I wish I could say the visit itself was exciting. Unfortunately, from the moment I pulled into the driveway of the beautiful remodeled Victorian, all activity seemed to stop — that is, if it was ever there to begin with.

I spent two weeks investigating the home. I used equipment considered very technologically advanced for the era. I studied energy waves. I interviewed the son whose family claimed to be possessed when in fact he just seemed to be depressed, perhaps psychologically disturbed.

I recommended a therapist, a renowned child psychologist who was famous for his work with violent young men. On my last day in the house they took him into the city for treatment; his parents returned shortly before midnight, retiring wearily to their bedroom, leaving me alone in the kitchen to go over my findings.

There was nothing to be said, and I knew it. Everything they’d described could be written off to the hysterics of a family who couldn’t admit their son was in desperate need of medical attention. Everything, that is, except for the drains in the floor.

Upon touring the home I was impressed with how up-to-date it had been brought; it was clearly from the early 1900s and kept in immaculate condition. The woodwork and character of the house was carefully preserved as it was given necessary updates, like modern plumbing and electricity. The basement was the only area that seemed stuck in time.

The walls were a clammy stone that was prone to gathering moisture, leaving it unfit to store anything vulnerable to spiders or mold. The family had left it empty for this reason and, while it certainly felt very spooky to spend any amount of time in the windowless room with the single hanging light and its vast cement floors, I never recorded anything of note in this area.

However, there was one thing I couldn’t understand. Given the approximate time the home had been built and its presence in a residential neighborhood, there was simply no accounting for the four large slotted drains set in the cold concrete floor.

As I sat alone in the kitchen, poring over my meager findings, trying to find meaning in all these words, I heard something.

It was only a little sound at first and so I ignored it. But then it came again, louder this time.

There was a steep spiral staircase that lead to the second floor, winding up from the corner of the small kitchen, and it was where the noise seemed to be coming from. Assuming it was simply one of the homeowners restless after dropping their son off in an institution, I glanced up.

It was coming down the stairs. I can’t say walking, because that wasn’t the case. It was just… floating isn’t even the right word. Just coming. Coming down the stairs, straight at me.

It had no eyes. It had no face. And yet somehow I knew it was looking at me, right at me, into the very depths of my soul.

Then it spoke.

I’m not sure how it spoke — I don’t think I actually heard anything, so perhaps it used some sort of telepathy? Either way I can recall the words to this very day:

“You know what he did to us.”

I didn’t think. I couldn’t. I just ran.

I upended my chair when I fled, scattering papers across the kitchen that claimed this house wasn’t really haunted, it was all the hallucinations of a very sick boy.

I left them there. Do you know how awful that is? I left those people in that house with that thing. I didn’t stop driving for 30 miles, for god’s sake. When I realized how far I’d gone I finally pulled over and called the family from a pay phone. They were the furthest thing from my mind when I saw it, all I could do was respond to the deep animal instinct to escape, to run out of that supposedly safe house with my tail between my legs.

They moved, I think. I was unable to continue my investigation. In writing I cited insufficient evidence, but I knew it was cowardice.

I believe the house was leveled a few years later.

I ended up doing my own research. Curiosity ate away at me with vicious little rat teeth as time went by, the accusation still ringing fresh in my ears:

“You know what he did to us.”

And eventually, yes, I did.

Old newspaper clippings didn’t tie the stories together, not necessarily, but I was able to piece some meaning out of the yellowed excerpts. At some point around the turn of the century, the house had been residence to a well-respected mortician. Unable to find a building in town to suit his needs, he said, he built his own home/office space. It was a grand feat of architecture and a shining example of a true entrepreneur, a man pursuing the American dream of running his own business.

Upstairs, the bedroom. Mid-level, the funeral home. In the basement, a mortuary.

I knew what the drains were for.

Separately, decades later, another well-respected member of the local community was arrested under the suspicion of ‘abuse of his professional position’ with ‘moral cause’. The newspaper didn’t elaborate, probably due to the sensitive nature of the crimes, but his punishment was minor; after a brief stay in the local jail, the perpetrator stripped his home of all its value and left town before trial, never to be seen again.

It didn’t take much to guess the connection. I suppose I don’t know for sure, but the words of that thing still echo through my head to this day:

“You know what he did to us.”

There was a reason that mortician felt such a strong desire to build a house that contained his business, to ‘suit his needs’.

The things that were done to those bodies in the basement were unspeakable. But yes, I know. I know what he did to them.

And it’s because of this, coming face to face with the true nature of man in its darkest places, that the encounter with that faceless thing is the scariest moment of my career.

Because now I know.

I still remember his expression, the way all the color dropped out of him as he went on, the white hair of his beard barely distinguishable from his pale skin. The slump of his shoulders. The way his voice shook.

I apologized. He waved me off. He left.

I felt terrible, I still feel terrible for making him relive that moment. But, as I grew up, as campus activities were replaced with bills and my own career, the ghost hunter fell from the forefront of my mind little by little.

Until last week, when I moved in with my fiancé. When I took the boxes into the basement despite his warnings of spiders and mold.

Because there’s a large slotted drain in the center of the room.

And I’m so worried, so scared, about what I might know.

Another one for sixpenceee creepypastaisrad fuckyeahspoopyshit and their followers

anonymous asked:

I think a really interesting question is (and I hope it will be answered in s5) how much of that lying and murdering and manipulating Belle was the DO taking over Rumple completely (after all we did see in the finale that his heart was almost totally black). If it turns out that Rumple couldn't do better because he was simply not able to then it can be argued that Belle should have been more understanding. She knows he is cursed. I'm just not sure she completely understands what that means.

To be fair, DarkOneMadeMeDoIt!Anon, *I* don’t understand what the Dark Curse means. It obviously does something– I mean, it’s called the “Dark One” curse, not the “Morally Problematic Fave” curse or the “Occasionally Violates Emily Post’s Standards for Good Behavior” curse or the “Goldman Sachs Banker But Still A Nice Guy” curse. But the extent to which the DO curse MAKES Rumple do evil versus the naturally corrupting nature of power is an open question.

The Rumpologist* theme song 

*Rumpologist = Rumple apologists, portmanteau patent-pending

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