The Inconstant Moon

Photo by Roman Klimenko on Unsplash

I finally got up the nerve to make an appointment to get my second tattoo, 20 years after my first one. I’d known what I wanted for quite some time. It wasn’t until the day I was going to get it, though, that I completely understood what it meant to me.

The Moon

I’ve always been fascinated by the moon, from the time I was a toddler and named it “noom.” Its obvious influence on our planet and artful appearance has kept me looking skyward at night ever since. You can stare up at the moon on consecutive nights, and it will appear differently each time, but in a predictable cycle. Waxing crescent, half, full, waning crescent, new. Comfortingly, it even has a name when we can’t see it. Regardless, the whole moon is always there, apparently consistent. But…

It gets about one inch further away from Earth each year, and its tilt on its axis has changed over time. In the past, it has sustained impacts that have altered its landscape, adding new craters and debris. There’s no reason to think there won’t be more. There has been some evidence that our stolid moon is rusting. The moon, a constant in the night sky with its soothing, reliable cycles, is changing.

In the wee morning hours of yesterday, I observed the moon, Venus close at hand, in its Cheshire Cat form, grinning at me from above. I then fell back asleep on the couch and had a vivid dream that was a very literal interpretation of killing the past. At the end of the dream, I looked skyward to see that same smile of a moon. A letting go of what no longer exists, a look toward the present and future.

Middle Age

Middle age can seem like it sucks. My body is doing all sorts of socially undesirable things — getting bulgier, wrinklier, less predictable. Involuntary physical change can be distressing regardless, but when it’s in defiance of our cultural worship of youthfulness, it can feel downright alarming. Suddenly, I’m different. But I’ve always been different.

To paraphrase Heraclitus, you can’t step in the same river twice; you are different and so is the river. My body is plumper now than it was five years ago, my hair is purple, and (as of yesterday) I have a tattoo of moons along my forearm. But look back a little further, and you’ll see a creature with a pregnant belly, a blond bob and a naked forearm. A bit further, a fiery young person with long pink hair and a chip on her shoulder. A strong, tan little girl who happily spends all day in her own head. Remove the societal stigma of aging, and this body I have now, this person I am now, is just the latest iteration. Remove the stigma, and I actually feel pretty damned good about it.

My body is changing. My mind is changing. Yours is, too. In a world where even the moon isn’t truly constant, we should expect no less. Instead of fighting the inevitable, wouldn’t it be more fun to embrace it?

Thanks to Maggie Hughes at Little Pricks Tattoos for honing my idea and making it a beautiful reality

The History of Mortis Manor

The History Behind Mortis Manor

Horror has always fascinated me — the freaky, the spooky, the macabre, the swimming pool dug in the old burial ground causing the long-dead to haunt the unwitting inhabitants of the new neighborhood. In sixth grade, I memorized The Raven by Edgar Allan Poe. The Telltale Heart kept me rapt in English class, and when required school reading took a more mundane turn, I ignored it for Stephen King’s Pet Sematary and Christine. They gave me nightmares, but I couldn’t stop; I’d read deep into the night, gripping the book with white knuckles. I’d watch every frightful moment of the film through the grill of my fingers.

My teachers looked down their literary noses at the so-called trash I read, but at 45 years old, I’ll stand by what I thought when I was twelve: It takes a true master to craft a story so suspenseful, so chilling, you can’t look away, even though you’re terrified. I don’t mean Texas Chainsaw Massacre slasher stuff that grapples for your attention with new heights in blood, guts and torture. I’m talking artful weavings of spooky, uneasy suspense and stories of baser human urges or warped dimensions of time, space and humanity no one likes to talk about. The kind of thing you might glimpse in the gutter at dusk or lurking in the corner of your dark bedroom at night and think what if…

I’ve never written horror. Maybe my early reverence of its masters intimidated me. But when my friends down the street, Liana and Brian, asked over beers in the pool one day, “Could you help us flesh out the backstory for our haunt?” I rubbed my hands together with murderous glee.

Starting around the first part of November every year, you’ll find Brian and Liana in their garage, already building for next year’s haunt. Brian crafts enchanted wells, and Liana creates gruesomely detailed monsters out of plaster and latex. They recruit live actors for certain parts. It’s not just a collection of peeled grapes for eyeballs and spaghetti for brains. Every haunt has a story, a theme that ties it together and carries you from one trepidacious room to the next. They employ much more than the element of surprise; last year, we traveled through the house over and over and were creeped out and delighted every time. It’s not just horror; it’s art. It’s spooky and subtle and freaky and in-your-face all at once. Come the season, the Robinsons’ average suburban house becomes unrecognizable. It transforms into the haunt, into Mortis Manor.

Liana already had some insight into what had happened at the manor. I teased out the details, pulling the story from my own muses, who were familiar with the Mortis family and their…circumstances. A few back-and-forth exchanges later, and we had unearthed the mysterious and chilling history of Mortis Manor. What we found, the truth behind the notorious estate, made our skin crawl. Mortis Manor seems abandoned, but it’s not dead.

Freedom of (Hate) Speech?

Photo by Kyle Glenn on Unsplash

What does a Trump sign mean to you?

Point:

The First Amendment states “Congress shall make no law…abridging the freedom of speech, or of the press.” We citizens of the United States refer to this as the “right to free speech” or “freedom of expression” and generally extend it to campaign signs. Thus, whatever the prevailing politics of a community are, Trump signs and Biden signs have equal right to be in people’s yards and other sign-sanctioned areas. Seems simple. But nothing political ever is, really.

Anecdotal Interlude:

On the internet today, I witnessed one of my neighbors pleading with people to be respectful of other people’s property and viewpoints. The incident that spurred her post was the theft of a Trump sign at the front of our neighborhood and the defacing of a Trump supporter’s property. The damage included their cable being cut, which interfered with their kids’ ability to get online for school. Most people agreed with her and thanked her for her call for decency, no matter their political affiliation. Hell, I agreed with her. Then, a different neighbor passionately presented another view.

Counterpoint:

To some, (myself kinda included) Trump signs are symbols of hate and intolerance. To a not-small number of people, they say “racism, elitism, classism,” calling to mind a general lack of empathy for fellow human beings. So, (and this is far from a new issue) do we tolerate ALL speech? According to the Constitution and the US Supreme Court, yes we do, with the exception of shouting “fire” in a crowded theater. But — and this is a question for intelligent Trump supporters in my neighborhood — how would you feel about a swastika sign in your neighbor’s yard? What about a confederate flag? Perhaps you’d be okay with a group of people in white hoods passing out literature or at least uneasily tolerate it as legal, but if a “Hitler” banner makes you squeamish, perhaps you can imagine how a Trump sign makes some people feel.

Let’s Be Reasonable:

I am not equating Trump with the long-dead, most-infamous, murderous racist of all time. I recognize a Trump sign is not the same as a Hitler sign. After all, Hitler is not the incumbent president up for re-election this year. I’d be skating on nonexistent ice if I said you couldn’t put up signs supporting a legitimate candidate in an upcoming presidential race. But I make the comparison in hopes of creating some empathy. No matter your politics, can you imagine seeing a sign planted in the ground, near your home, that you equate with complete disrespect and disregard for not just what you believe but who you are?

Trump Supporters:

I’m not asking you to change your mind. I’m not asking you to condone destruction of property, political signs or otherwise. I’m asking you to have a little empathy for how your neighbors feel, how they might perceive those signs as a threat to their well-being based on the way the Trump administration has treated immigrants and other marginalized groups and ingratiated themselves to white supremacist groups. I’m not saying take your sign down; I’m asking you to consider your neighbor’s perspective. Just a little.

Anti-Trump People:

I know you are frustrated and appalled at what is going on in our country; I am too. And you should say so, loud, clear, articulately and often. But don’t resort to name-calling. Don’t sink to personal attacks and petty destruction of property. Stand firm, argue the issues. Vote, for godsakes. But we too need to show some empathy. Your neighbor is still your neighbor. And just because you can’t fathom their politics, doesn’t mean they aren’t decent people. Hell, debate with them; it would be good for you — get it out in the open and maybe both of you will stop feeling so hateful. But debate and listen; don’t fight, don’t mudsling. Come on, y’all. What would Obama do?

In Closing:

“Polarized” is hardly a strong enough word to describe the extent of us-versus-them mentality these days. Both sides only make it worse when they abandon intelligently arguing the issues for trying to out-bully each other. I’d like to think, or at least hope, that my neighbors can rise above the crappy example set by some of our most visible politicians. You can scowl at your neighbor’s yard sign. Your can disagree with them, and you can tell them that. But have some empathy and be a fucking adult about it, would you?