Today is Friday the 13th, a Full Moon and Roger Young’s birthday party later, at EVOL.
It’s also the first time I’m writing for The Fuss.
But, no, I won’t talk about ‘the scene’. Nobody cares unless they’re in it or really jealous of it or something anyway. Roger Young is akin to Paris Hilton, an icon in my world. Particularly since I discovered her role as a masochistic, goth whore in Repo! The Genetic Opera. I think Roger is interesting in a similar way <3.
Anyway, whatever. What I really am going to talk about, what I want to talk about is this fucking crazy thing that happened to me a couple months back, that I still keep thinking about.
Are any of you into the macabre? Well, whether you are or not, it makes little difference. We live in a world alongside the Deep Web, where bath salts zombies exist, rich guys go to Mars for lolz and Kurt Cobain is coming back as a fucking hologram. That’s what’s up.
So, I had sleep paralysis – like, the gnarliest experience but first of all, you should meet Brooklyn, if you have not already.
Brooklyn, who also writes for this project is somebody I appreciate on Facebook because he posts these really sad-core statuses and I love them. I put them in my blog sometimes and they’re a treat.
Look, man: http://automaticwriting88.tumblr.com/
Have any or you had sleep paralysis or a night terror? It’s a trip.
Dreams, usually only appear during REM, a sleep cycle where your eyes jump around beneath your eyelids that indicates a level of sub-conscious engagement. It happens generally at night, and your dreams come out just the same as when the sun shines and plants bloom.
Dreams come to life during the weird, dark times. They’re delicate vespertine flowers of your mind.
So, back to the night in question when I was raising hell in my bedroom. I was sleeping next a person who seriously creeped me out. Beyond comprehension. Something was broken inside of their soul and sleeping next to person like that is so kak. You know how your skin crawls when something at the bar at the Kimberly is staring at you? Same with this cat. Picture one of Damian Hirst’s stupid sharks staring at you across the club. Actually, no, I’d totally be into that. Whatever, I was desperately unhappy. I manifested a dream demon.
I was off from work for a bit, in a paradisiacal setting, doused in champagne and the love of my nearest and dearest. I’m obsessed with Bret Easton Ellis and his new screenplay had just come out so everything in my universe was filtered through his wonderfully synthetic and psychopathic glamor. It’s easy to lose touch of reality when you get super high on happiness and bubbly and this is how vortexes to the underworld or your inner world open and allow your own weird brand of apparitions to emerge. Creepy things do so love to contrast themselves against light. It’s beautiful in a way. Scary in others.
I woke up in the middle of the night to a voice talking straight into my ear. It was low, it growled and it wasn’t English. Everything was dark and whatever was mumbling to me in its low, harsh voice wasn’t keen on me opening my eyelids. I tried to move my body because, well, this was terrifying. I couldn’t turn over, I couldn’t see anything, I couldn’t move; I was trapped and being forced to listen.
Has anyone ever experienced this?
The other night I was playing around with Garageband and recording effects on my voice. I think I recorded something else too.
– Eliza Cro Day
