Zombie Rock

Because The Living Dead Have Feelings Too

And three years later...
mayahuel
Boy, I'll tell you. Time. It just keeps going forward.

Here's a revision of the revision of the first post I made back in 2013.


I thought it would be neat to take the very first entry from this journal and do a little updating. And so...

I was convinced to start keeping a live journal by an online chat friend who believes it is cathartic.

True enough. At least when it actually occurs to me to post. I have no idea whatever about what has happened to said chat friend, but I wish her well.


I don't even remember this person. Then again, I slip up my own name at times, so no harm, no foul.

About myself, well, I prefer not to go into too much detail.

Nah. Things are too interesting and too much fun not to entertain folks with details.


Pouah. Go check out my Facebook profile if you want details.

I'm a thirty year old woman living with my husband in Saint Cloud, Florida.

This is probably the least accurate of this whole entry. At the moment I'm 42 and loving life with the benefit of hindsight. Said husband is distant in the rear view mirror. And Saint Cloud seems like it was a strange dream after being in Philadelphia for all these years.


Now I'll be turning 45 on Election Day and I'm hoping not to get a gag gift. I have to admit to loving Philadelphia, where I live with varied and sundry people for whom I have great affection. I know I had a legal husband at some point. All I have to say about that is that I bear him good will and hope his life is a happy one.

My profession is my production company, Electric Apocalypse, which is primarily involved in media and publishing.

This is still the case, and it has expanded. In fact this year we're forming a new e-publishing company. Good stuff.


Now I've actually published a few things through said e-publishing company, and I'm not at all finished. I've also turned into a social media maven and a relatively decent counselor.

I suppose my major hobby would be my eight pet chinchillas.

I traded up to dogs. My buddy Max is my best companion, and I'm involved in all kinds of anti-dog abuse initiatives, including rehabilitating pit bulls (sweeties).


Alas my Max passed away peacefully right before Christmas, 2014. I haven't taken on a new fur baby as yet, although I'm active in all things doggie (and kittie). As far as hobbies go I'm teaching myself coding, I'm geeking out with comic books, and I'm wild over all things Turkish, including learning the language.

In general, I am a content person and very happy with my life--which is a remarkable thing as I have an ongoing battle with bipolar disorder (manic depression).

Well, we've dropped calling it "manic depression", and now that I have proper care, I'm flourishing (when I'm not hiding from the world).


And I thought bipolar was my big problem. In 2015 I was diagnosed with moderate kidney disease as a result of 20 years of lithium for the bipolar--it's okay, we caught it in time, I'm doing well, and there's even a good chance of reversal to a degree. Not long after that good news, I wound up in the hospital where I discovered I have pernicious anemia (basically the body can't produce hemoglobin), which nearly did me in without me even knowing it. That, too, is under control with monthly B12 injections and iron pills. And then my uterus broke, which I'll just mention in passing and which has also been treated. The great irony is that with these exceptions--and maybe because of them, as I've needed to take great care of myself--I'm enjoying the best health of my life. I don't mean to give a litany of my problems so much as I want to encourage everybody to take care of themselves and to never give up hope, no matter how dark the day may seem.

Love above all things...

!Return of the Vampire Princess!
mayahuel
Forewarned is forearmed.

12 Years to a New Universe
mayahuel
I thought it would be neat to take the very first entry from this journal and do a little updating.  And so...

I was convinced to start keeping a live journal by an online chat friend who believes it is cathartic.

True enough.  At least when it actually occurs to me to post.  I have no idea whatever about what has happened to said chat friend, but I wish her well.


About myself, well, I prefer not to go into too much detail.

Nah.  Things are too interesting and too much fun not to entertain folks with details.

I'm a thirty year old woman living with my husband in Saint Cloud, Florida.

This is probably the least accurate of this whole entry.  At the moment I'm 42 and loving life with the benefit of hindsight.  Said husband is distant in the rear view mirror.  And Saint Cloud seems like it was a strange dream after being in Philadelphia for all these years.

My profession is my production company, Electric Apocalypse, which is primarily involved in media and publishing.

This is still the case, and it has expanded.  In fact this year we're forming a new e-publishing company.  Good stuff.

I suppose my major hobby would be my eight pet chinchillas.

I traded up to dogs.  My buddy Max is my best companion, and I'm involved in all kinds of anti-dog abuse initiatives, including rehabilitating pit bulls (sweeties).

In general, I am a content person and very happy with my life--which is a remarkable thing as I have an ongoing battle with bipolar disorder (manic depression).

Well, we've dropped calling it "manic depression", and now that I have proper care, I'm flourishing (when I'm not hiding from the world).

Overwhelming
mayahuel
Just quickly...I have been reading this journal, and I am absolutely amazed at what a chronicle of a very bad period of my life this really is.  I mean, my long term memory isn't what it used to be, and I'd forgotten a lot of the details.  If I hadn't been keeping this then, I'd have no recollection of these events now--or ever again.  So blog on, true believers.  You never know when something you've forgotten was actually a major player in who you are today!

My Personal Archives
mayahuel
 Starting today I will be including this blog among the blogs I have connected to various networks.  It's not updated, but it's chock full of history and information that might actually be enlightening.  Who knows?
 

Here We Are Again...What A Load Of Crap
mayahuel
2008

Year of the Vampire Princess!

I resolve to make no resolutions of a resolving nature because I refuse to believe I am resolved to anything. 
To make a resolution is almost like taking a stab at being perfect. Perfection and humanity do not go well together, and I far prefer the imperfections of being human.  In that sense, I suppose I resolve to be human, because in doing so I am already acknowledging an awareness that perfection is not for this existence but good and jolly humanity is.

I don't resolve to be nicer.  I'm nice enough as it is.  Maybe I should be meaner.  Nah.  This is working for me.

I don't resolve to lose weight or get in shape.  I'm already in shape, and I know that weight loss can be caused by illness or parasitic infections.  So if you're thinking about losing weight, you might want to be specific about how it happens.

I don't resolve to be more organized, because the system I'm already using works for me.

I'm not resolving to keep my mouth shut or to keep my opinions to myself.  What good is any of that?

I'm thinking of dying my hair dark purple, but I'm not resolved to it.

I do resolve not to act on the matter of the two people of my heart, because either choice alienates the other.

I do resolve to continue to be politically active, although at this point I am not absolutely certain what form that will take.

I do resolve to continue working my physical/vocal presence to my best advantage.  I spent too many years shy and hiding for no real reason.

I resolve myself to a bilingual life and to bilingual work.

And...know what?  Hell, I'm a damn lucky person.  Okay, maybe I work hard too, but I do count my blessings every day.  I know real happiness, and that's what I wish for everyone in the coming year and those to come!  Ananke!

Amazingly Traditional...
mayahuel
...for a family made up primarily of adopted strangers.

There's nothing like a holiday to make you remember the mistakes you've made and the stupid crap that happened once upon a nightmare.

Phobos was talking about how he'd never really talked to his grandparents and didn't realize how much they could have shared with him until after their passing.  Then he asked me if I had any...not regrets, exactly, but more like lessons learned to share with the group.

So I was honest.  I said that I wished my ex-husband could know that the ax is thoroughly buried and has been for years, and that I wish him well.  And it's true.  I'm not the least bit bitter--believe me, I've seen how bitterness can poison a person.  There's also nothing to be bitter about.  Done is done, and life has been good to me.

But, well, that ain't gonna happen.  That's fine, too.  I'm just glad I don't have the weight of the past to drag me into melancholy.

Kudos to Purina for getting the National Dog Show on the air yet again!  While none of the competitors looked remotely like Max (as they're all purebreeds and Max is a one-of-a), I still get a huge kick out of seeing all the different breeds.  More importantly, for two hours on Thanksgiving NBC is raising awareness of doggiehood and what an important part of our own beings dogs have been and continue to be.

Dogs rule.

Not Flying, Not Whining, Just Grinning
mayahuel
Whoa, what's this?  I seem to be making an entry.

Well, see, I finally get that a journal can be a random blast of thoughts and gripes instead of just carefully thought-out essays.  And hell, I've got thoughts to go around.  This is as good a platform as any.

NaNoWriMo:  Okay, it's November 20.  I'm up to 46,000 words out of the goal of 50,000 on Blood and UnicornsThe problem is that my novel is on Word and not up online at the site.  While the contest was my motivation to write the novel, I have not had much luck actually interfacing with...well, the site.  I either cannot connect to it at all, or when I do connect it takes so long that it saps the creativity right out of me.  So I started just writing with Word and things have gone much better.  If this one does actually see the light of day, I'll be sure to credit NaNoWriMo for the kick in the butt to get started!  And that's quite good.

The Dead Zone: I've submitted a proposal and have began doing research for a book on pre-need funeral arrangements.  Honestly, I can't stress the importance of people approaching last rites as a consumer.  The Funeral Consumers Alliance (http://www.funerals.org/) is ahead of the game on this one.

Professionally Scary: I'm not a joiner, but I did just enroll in the International Order of Horror Professionals.

Duping America 1: Okay, I understand portion control.  Good idea.  What I can't stand is this idea of rip-off 100 calorie snack packs.  First of all, the Ubercompanies are able to sell less for more money, thus jerking around the consumer.   But more than that, I am assuming that the people who buy these things are perfectly aware of where they stash them.  One 100 calorie pack is great...but what's to stop someone on a rampant chocolate binge from eating three or four? Believe me...these things happen...heh heh heh.

Max: He's doing fine, and I know I made the right choice not to get him that knee surgery (at least not yet).

Anesthetic Awareness:  Eeek!  Have you seen the trailers for the movie "Awake"?  This has always been a latent fear of mine but now I'm actually researching it in order to quell that fear.  Crazy?  Why not?  I've gone under a few times at this point.  So far I have learned that while there are thousands of cases every year in the US, I apparently am not at a high risk.

Nechromosphere: It's all ready to be launched.  I just have to get it together and online.

Okay, ca suffit.  I need to go do some exploring.

The Loa Gate
mayahuel

The Loa Gate

     “Where the hell are we?” Theda pressed her palm flat against a cold, smooth surface at her side.  Cold, yes, but dark too.  This whole place was dank and dark, humidity hanging in the air like a thunderstorm waiting to happen. 

     New Orleans.”

     “You’ve told me nothing.”

     She looked across and in the shadows she could make out the shining white of clean bone.  There was a skull, and there was more.  Theda could see a plum velvet suit that created something like the skull’s body.  A top hat did not hide the complete lack of hair.  Sunglasses hid the empty eye sockets and a half-smoked cigar hung from the corner of the mouth, clenched between teeth that were doing something remarkable.  They were turned up in a grin.

     “You know me, petite, so let’s not indulge in nonsense.”

     Reality sunk in like a rush of cold water flooding into Theda’s stomach.  “Monsieur le Baron!”

     A hand of thin bone reached up and took the cigar from his mouth.  “Call me Samedi.  We’re intimate enough.”

     Theda sat quietly for a few moments, the ramifications too great for her mind.  Finally, she looked at the Baron with something like remorse in her eyes.  “I’m dead.”

     The Baron spread his hands.  “It pains me, but it’s not my doing, you understand.”

     “How?” A spike of anger entered her voice.  “How can I be dead?”

     At that, an unearthly light dimly illuminated the area.  With a fake cough, the Baron paused.  “How?  How is really not part of my domain.  You were alone and you fell dead.  Who knows why—perhaps your heart could not go on beating, perhaps a spring in your brain came unsprung.  Your husband won’t be coming back, of course.  No one will find you until your neighbor notices a funny smell.  By the time you are discovered you will be so badly decomposed your very skin will stick to the carpet.  Such is the circus of the mortal realm.  You need not worry about it anymore.”

     Theda considered this.  Dead was dead, and that was that.  “You still haven’t told me where we are.”

     “We’re in a mausoleum,” the Baron answered, then drew on his cigar.  “The Prejeans, I believe.  I don’t really care.  I get them all confused sooner or later.”  With the forefinger of his free hand, he pointed at her.  “You, however, are not quite finished.  Close, yes, but not finished.”

     “Finished with what?”  Theda began to laugh.  “You tell me I’m dead.  How much more finished can I possibly be?”

     “You’ve died out of balance.  You cannot pass through the Loa Gate until you’ve fixed that balance.”

     “Pardon?”

     “Your husband,” the Baron thundered.  “The philanderer.  The coward who took to bed with the very woman you believed he loved but he denied.  The whore who would fall into the arms of a married man.  And Marni, the woman you called your closest friend, the woman who knew all of this and would not tell you.  These three are your imbalance.”

     Theda experienced something like a swoon.  Greg had been talking with Raye for so long, Theda had often wondered why he ever needed her counsel.  When Theda had first grown suspicious, she had only asked Greg for the truth.  Of course he didn’t have a spark for Raye.  Theda’s conspiracy complex must be working overtime.  And Theda believed him, because what else could she do?  She took her marriage seriously.

     Marni’s betrayal seemed to hurt more.  Best friends weren’t supposed to be in on a secret affair and not tell the spurned wife.  Then again, Marni had been Raye’s friend too.  Maybe Marni hadn’t wanted to explode this bomb.  Yeah, right.  More likely, Marni had been protecting herself.

     Sliding to stand on the stone floor, Theda saw that she had been sitting on a coffin—a fairly new one of polished mahogany from the looks of it.  “So tell me, Samedi, what do I do?  I’m sure you’re here to help me somehow.”

     “I’m here to reward your faith and devotion to me, to the Loa, and most of all to Bon Dieu.”

     “I don’t understand.”

     The cigar burned out, the Baron’s hand was free.  He reached behind him and brought forth a caramel-colored glass bottle.  “I’m returning the favor, petite.  You offered me better rum than anyone else scattered to the winds.  Good, hearty dark rum, not that tonic water I get from so many others.”  With that, he took a healthy drink from the bottle.  “Real rum from a real dedicant.  If there is any greater tribute, I haven’t discovered it.”

     Rum?  Rum was going to help her settle her scores?  “Tell me, Samedi, what can I do if I am dead?”

     “What can’t you do if you’re dead?”  The Baron cocked his head.  “Come on, you know the powers of the dead.  You can do anything.  You can even send the spirits of the other dead into the living bodies of your enemies.”

     Theda paused, speechless.  The sending of the spirits—she hadn’t even thought of that.  “But why would I send other spirits to do my work?”

     “You’re too kind,” the Baron replied.  “You would never be able to be as ruthless as this task requires.  No, this is not for you, but for the truly wicked, the spirits unable to make peace of any kind with any entity.”

     The Baron opened his plum velvet jacket and withdrew three phials from a pocket. Each phial contained the same grainy black-gray substance, but one was plugged with a red stopper, one with a white stopper, and one with a black stopper.  Theda had already guessed what it was when the Baron smiled.  “Graveyard dirt, carefully collected from an obsolete resting place upriver from here.  Three bottles of demon-ridden dust from the graves of the most vile monsters to ever terrorize Louisiana.”

     Theda pulled back a bit.  She didn’t exactly cherish the idea of having evil-charged graveyard dirt on her person.  In the next moment, it came to her again that she was dead and that the terrors of the living were no longer her problem.  “I think I know how to use these.”

     “This bottle is for the bastard,” the Baron said, handing her the phial with the black stopper.  “This bottle with the red stopper is for his whore, and the last is for the traitor.  “Don’t get them mixed up.”

     Shaking her head, Theda examined the phials.  Sending the spirits was the worst kind of magic that could be done.  Was she angry enough at Greg, Raye, and Marni to utterly destroy them?  In the end, all Theda had wanted was the truth.  Instead she was stuck on the far side of the Loa Gate because these three people could only think of themselves.  Yes, oh yes, she could do this.

     She turned to the Baron.  “What now?”

     The Baron extended her hand to her, and she clasped the bones as if it were the hand of her beloved.  “This won’t be easy for you,” he said.  “But it will strengthen your resolve and it will prove to you the reason you are sending the spirits.”

     In the next moment the Baron and Theda were in a lush hotel suite.  She saw the bed out of the corner of her eye but she asked the Baron, “Won’t we wake them?”

     “They can’t see us, of course.  We’re of the spirit realm, but they’re of the flesh.  The graveyard dirt is also of the earth.”

     Gathering her nerve, Theda walked towards the bed.  There she found Raye and Greg in an erotic embrace, asleep and entangled.  Both of them were covered with sheets, but Theda couldn’t mistake what had been going on.  On the other side of Raye Marni snuggled up against her.

     “You know, I could have accepted this if they’d been honest with me,” she said to the Baron.”

     “I know.  You responsibility is what is, not what might have been.  Send the spirits, petite.  Do it and be done with this.”

     Theda wouldn’t question the Baron’s wisdom.  She took the black-stopped phial and opened it.  Greg’s ear was in plain sight.  Theda knew what would happen.  The spirit would enter Greg’s body and find out his worst fear, the fear that could freeze him in his sleep.  He would be a ruined man, but such was the penalty for betraying a dedicant of the Loa.  Without another hesitation, Theda sprinkled some of the gravedirt into Greg’s ear.  She thought she saw the dirt fade to white as it touched his skin.  This whiteness gathered into a spiral of tiny clouds before rushing into the opening of the ear. 

     “The spirit is sent,” the Baron told Theda in a soft voice.  “Finish what you must.”

     “What will happen to them?”

     The Baron shook his head.  “That is not your concern, petite.”

     “Tell me!  By the love of Bon Dieu, I want to know.  If I don’t know I will not find peace.”

     “Do the others,” he said.  “Do it all and I will tell you.”

     Theda regarded the Baron, looking for some evidence of duplicity she would never find in the bone face.  Why did she care anyway?  However much she had loved Greg and Marni, they had betrayed her.  She only felt a kind of mute hatred for Raye in any case.  At the same time, she knew the grave dirt. 

     Before she could lose her composure, Theda poured dirt from the other phials into Marni’s ear and Raye’s ear, damn her.  The she turned to the Baron.  “I’ve done my part.  Now do yours.”

     The Baron nodded.  “They’ll wish you’d killed them.  The traitor will know with every nerve in her body that she is truly alone in this world.  You were the only honest friend she will ever have.  She will shake and sob for the rest of her days.  When the whore awakes, she will hear nothing but the screeching of the one singer she likes least.  The noise will possess her to the point of madness.  She will never be free of it.”

     Theda glanced at the bed.  Yes, even in the face of it, she felt compassion for these people.  But it was not her place to question the Loa.  “And Greg?”

     “He will suffer worst of all.”  With a long thin finger bone he pointed to a piece of wire sculpture sitting on the nightstand.  Theda recognized it.  Greg’s art, if it were true that art was objective.  He had been tinkering in their garage for months making objects from copper wire, white tubing, and anything else he could scavenge.  This piece he had made for Raye.  He had expressed his love for her in metal.

     “He will lose all control over his hands forever.  He will never do the work he loves again.  This is his fate.”

     In life Theda might have shed a tear, but there was no time.  The hotel suite and New Orleans vanished.  She found herself standing before a wrought iron gate with the Baron at her side.  As the gates began to open, the Baron leaned over to place a hard kiss on Theda’s forehead. 

     “Bon Dieu will see you now, petite.”

 


Don't Know What To Think...
mayahuel
This is local news for me, so I wanted to share it.  I'm not sure why I'm made ever so slightly uncomfortable.  Maybe you'll feel differently.

Mega Millions lottery winner made pact with Wiccan gods

Sunday, September 2nd 2007, 11:20 PM

NOTTINGHAM, Md. - One of the ticket holders to the estimated $330 million Mega Millions jackpot said he made a bargain with the multiple gods associated with his wiccan beliefs to become an overnight multimillionaire.

"You let me win the lottery and I'll teach," said Elwood (Bunky) Bartlett, an accountant from Dundalk, Md.

Bartlett said he and his wife, Denise, were on their way to a New Age bookstore where he occasionally teaches wicca and Reiki healing when they stopped at a liquor store and bought two $5 Mega Millions tickets for Friday night's drawing.

Winning tickets to the Mega Millions jackpot were sold in Maryland, New Jersey, Texas and Virginia.

The Associated Press

And yet still more...

Wicca teacher claims 1 Mega ticket

By TODD HALLIDY, Associated Press Writer Sun Sep 2, 4:47 PM ET

NOTTINGHAM, Md. - Elwood "Bunky" Bartlett says a New Age book store made it possible for him to become an overnight multimillionaire.
ADVERTISEMENT

He and his wife, Denise, were on their way to the shop where he occasionally teaches Wicca and Reiki (RAY'kee) healing when they stopped at a liquor store and bought two $5 Mega Millions tickets for Friday night's estimated $330 million jackpot. On Sunday, he said one ticket was a winner.

"If it wasn't for this place I wouldn't have won the lottery," Bartlett said Sunday at Mystickal Voyage, the New Age shop.

Four winning tickets to the Mega Millions jackpot were sold in Maryland, New Jersey, Texas and Virginia. Lottery officials said Sunday they cannot confirm the validity of Bartlett's ticket before they meet with him on Tuesday.

"There's no reason to believe it's not legitimate, but it has to go through security," said Maryland State Lottery Director Buddy Roogow, who said he has spoken with Bartlett.

Bartlett, an accountant from Dundalk, said he made a bargain with the multiple gods associated with his Wiccan beliefs: "You let me win the lottery and I'll teach." Both tickets he purchased had numbers chosen randomly from the computer.

Bartlett had not decided if he will accept his winnings as an annuity or choose the lump sum cash option. The jackpot could get larger once ticket sales are tallied, Roogow said, but the lump sum payment would be at least $48.7 million, or about $32 million after taxes.

According to preliminary calculations, each ticket would be worth about $82 million if the prize were taken in 26 annual payments.

Bartlett said the money won't change him, although he plans to invest in Mystickal Voyage. "I'm going to live my life like I have been," he said.

The odds that any ticket would match all five numbers — 8, 18, 22, 40 and 44 — and the Mega Ball number — 11 — were one in 176 million.

If estimates of the jackpot hold true, it would be the fourth largest in the lottery's history. It was known as The Big Game when it awarded jackpots of $363 million in 2000 and $331 million in 2002.

Mega Millions tickets are also sold in California, Georgia, Illinois, Massachusetts, Michigan, New York, Ohio and Washington.

Personally, I am not Wiccan, but I'm certainly in the ballpark and I have to wonder how the Wiccan community feels about this odd kind of press.  It'd be nice if some of that money saw its way into the community, especially educational efforts.

?

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