happy halfway to Halloween!

Tonight's spooky music, just a small sampling:

• Motionless in White: Undead Ahead
• RCT3: Haunted House (I used to play this from the station of my childhood wooden coaster masterpiece, the Bone Breaker, while peeps avoided riding it because the design was terrible and it had an intensity and nausea rating of Uber-Extreme)
• Insane Clown Posse: Boogie Woogie Wu
• Insane Clown Posse: In My Room
• Blvck Ceiling: Cold 

Cornbelly's announced on socials that there will be some new things this year, and they were cryptic. We shall see. 

Fall activities I'm looking forward to: Frightmares, Cornbelly's, hayrides, Haunted Forest, pumpkins, St. George Marathon, the Haunted Half, Drawtober, indoor water sliding, walks in the forest, scary media. 

writing sample from today, but super rough draft and kinda gross:

Zanthi aimed his wand at a vase filled with red and pink flowers. The star atop it pulsated, its normal sapphire blue glow turned to swirling black. The flowers seemed to bend, as if cowering from the threat. 

Not all wands needed to have stems or stars. The star-topped rod was the most common model in the universe of Alexandria, but there were so many different ways of casting magic. As long as you could bend the qwii to your bidding, any conduit could be used. Wands, staffs, stones, your bare hands. 

Pentagrams, candles, sigils, deep cuts into arms, glowing qwii binding midair to the spraying blood like an undulating rope — 

“Raflo denetim, et five hundred!” 

Responding to the mix of old and new language, the flowers aged before his eyes. They wilted and turned brown, then faded into ash. 

Died like all things did in the end. 

Not all spells needed to be words in ancient Alexandrian. They just had to be what the qwii could understand. Any language. Conventions didn’t matter. Only intent did. The qwii would understand. 

In the end, it was all science. All physics. All mathematics. And it was everything Zanthi loved in life, other than her. 

And now she was gone. 

And it was his fault. If he had never dove headfirst into the dark arts, she never would have done that to herself. 

He was too late to stop her. 

But all life stopped in the end anyway. The beauties of human evolution were limited. Imperfect. 

Disgusting. 

What use was life when it always ended? Cold bodies, limp fingers, hearts that no longer beat, a throat that no longer laughed or sang or filled hearts with stories. A worthless corpse that could do nothing other than stare lifelessly into the laughing sky. A broken…object that cruelly represented her, that once was her, that no longer was anything of use or value. That had to be buried, placed into the earth, or burned along with everything he had ever pined for. 

Burned like a worthless fucking clump of pine needles. 

He screamed and whirled his wand through the air. Fire spat from both ends and it spun like a pinwheel. And he hurled it at the wall and the building erupted in greedy flames.