Nocturnal Emissions - Deathday [1981]

Today marks the 61st anniversary of Sylvia Plath’s death! RIP!

Sylvia Plath 27 October 1932 Jamaica Plain, Boston, Massachusetts, USA - 11 February 1963, Primrose Hill, London, England, United Kingdom

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"I want to live each day for itself like a string of colored beads, and not kill the present by cutting it up in cruel little snippets to fit some desperate architectural draft for a taj mahal in the future."

–The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath, Excerpt: December II for December 1955

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Photo: Sylvia Plath at Smith College Quadigras dance in May 1954

Deathday - April 14

As the frost melts away, and green sprigs of new life begin to break through the icy ground, we welcome in a time of renewal, hope, and change. There’s a bony rap of knuckles at your door, and an invitation written with care slid into the mailslot, as Fence Macabre invites all to celebrate their fourth Deathday anniversary.

Deathday is a storytelling night for new beginnings and change. Everyone's got a story. Share a life-changing experience. Tell a tale of a transformation which redefined who you were, perhaps even your very death. Reveal a revelation which altered your path in history forever. Or just have a seat and listen to the tales told.

Date: Friday, April 14th Location: Fence Macabre Phase - TBA same day; Gilneas Liberation Front Base Camp, Silverpine Forest

Death - Story to Tell

Drifting into the lives Seep Into The Soul Where emotions hide

Dark skies were beating me down with shadows Of deceit, slashing at trust till it forever bleeds With doubts With pain With trust Is Pain

When you think of me, In your multidimensional mind Try and wash the evil from your mind And open it

When You taste the truth You will see like others Before me to you, I am past a story to tell To you I am past a story to tell Tell it

If you think you own the end Take another look At The script Of sadness Etched In the book

Dark skies were beating me down with shadows Of deceit, slashing at trust 'til it forever bleeds With doubts With pain With trust Is pain

When you think of me In your multidimensional mind Try and wash the evil from your mind And open it

When You taste the truth You will see like others Before me to you, I am past a story to tell to you I am past a story to tell Tell it

king arthur has been dead for 1481 slutty, slutty years

man I'm so sad, haven't been sleeping at all lately, didn't write the usual text for my deathday this years (it was two weeks ago) so I'll guess I'll do it now

This year's deathday was weird, i spent it with my beloved n some friends instead of my crying n suffering alone like i usually do, it was a fun day but i couldn't grief properly

It also feels weird because of my brothers' passing, my deathday even seems silly now. I feel like i died again and again when then died, i don't know if i can handle all the pain of both my death and theirs, it's a little to much to bear, i can barely breathe anymore and i feel like my lungs are full of holes and my heart doesn't pump blood like it used to.

Of course i won't kill myself, i promised my brothers I'd be fine, i promised it to my mom n my cousin n my boyfriend too, so even if i really really wanna die i know i can't cause i hate breaking promises, still hurts to have to move my dead body around like some sort of meat puppet.

I miss my lil bros so much, i keep going back n seeing all ours pictures n videos together, i wish we could've spent more time with each other, it hurts knowing i can't feel their foreheads when i kiss them anymore.

We adopted Neru so he's my lil brother now too, he's the sweetest little puppy ever, but both Jacko's and Tello's death haunt me, they shouldn't have died, it wasn't their time, they were both healthy n happy n i felt i was finally getting better n staring to be happy and then they were gone, all cause my stepfather is an empty-headed irresponsible idiot, it's hard for me to not hit him with a bat whenever I see him sitting in the living room.

N i also feel guilty cause i feel they died cause they make me really happy n since god hates me he killed them, or that my bad luck killed them, or that I'm cursed and so is everything i love, and i am so so scared the people i love die all the time

In summary everything hurts too much n I'll keep on living because my lil bros r connected to me n killing this body would hurt them too n also I'm the only thing that keeps em connected to the living realm i think??? That's how it feels at least

My own death still hurts but everything hurts more now cause i miss my lil bros more than i miss myself

I'm scared of death but my god would it be great to finally rest

I love my beloved and my mom and my dad and my cousin and Neru n they keep me alive

I hate everyone else tho

I love how the clouds look and i guess i can't see them if I'm buried, i can still lay on the grass and pretend I'm dead

My head hurts

I hate sleeping alone

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Fiona’s story during Deathday 2022! Enjoy!

Your Grandfather is Goofy!

Like literally, his favorite laugh was an impersonation of the animated character, Goofy's laugh.

And today is the 9th anniversary of his graduation from mortality. A few days before his birthday, this year, I birthed someone who will likely remind me of him every day. Her eyes are very much like his. Her head-shape is his. Her facial features hint of his. 

Growing up, I was my father's shadow. I was interested in everything he did. It seemed like he could fix or make anything. He could certainly make things work beyond what the manufacturer intended. Whether it was a string of old cars that were always working just enough to get us around town for what we needed - one of my more emotional memories is when we tried to go an hour away to Chucky Cheese with one friend for my birthday, but the radiator wasn't taking the heat and we had to turn around and go back home - or a pair of stilts he made of PVC pipes because I wanted to be taller, he was the ace in my hand of cards.

As much as I could have been a "Daddy's girl" to a man who only wanted to be called father, I was. He had a complicated relationship with his dad, hence not wanting to share a title, and I had a complicated relationship with him after the age of 10. 

While I was still wearing a back brace - as I think of it now, I have no recollection of traveling there, but I remember sitting being an uncomfortable affair with a broken back - my grandmother took me from New Mexico to live with her in Florida. All the sudden, the person who I loved the most wasn't around. I was disappointed for years when he didn't come to visit. And then, when I was seventeen, I recognized the power of communication. 

You would be hard pressed to catch me complaining about anything because I very much find it to be a useless practice. Even though he hadn't come to visit, my father would call every week to check up on me. One time, while we were talking on the phone, he complained, yet again, about not liking where he lived. Somewhat annoyed at this point, I asked, "Have you thought about where you want to live instead?" Keep in mind, he had lived in the same place with his young family, and still lived there with the dog and the cat he was left with after the divorce and his mother-in-law taking his children far away. One can imagine the ghosts of memories that haunted him there. He had complained for seven years. And yet, when I asked a simple question, he had moved within a month and was much happier for it. This was an "aha" moment for me.

As much as I had been disappointed that he never came to visit, I realized that I had never asked him why he didn't come to visit me. I asked. He came to visit a couple months later. There was a shift for the better in our relationship because I learned the power of using my words to express my thoughts.

Things only got better from there. I loved having my goofy father back in my life. I learned that adults are still growing up long after having kids of their own. Of course, this only made it all the more unfair to me when he was suddenly out of my life again. I can't exactly blame his mother-in-law for this one, but she did go the same way earlier that year. 

P.S. I love the only grandmother that I knew growing up, I just also feel for my father in the role she played in his life.

We don't know what his grandchildren are like just yet, but I'm sure they would have loved to have a goofy grandfather in their lives that could fix or make anything. He made it clear that he would have loved being a grandpa, though mostly by threats that I'd have a little girl just like me someday. In an ironic twist of fate, at least in looks, it turns out I have a little girl just like him.

As much as he was excited to be a grandpa, I was excited for him to be a grandpa too. I didn't quite realize how excited I was until I had to grieve again this morning that he wouldn't get the chance. 

Happy Deathday Grandpa Art 🎉🎂😄🎉 we love you and miss you.

death day, child's play

happy December 24th!

Today marks the 49th anniversary of Anne Sexton’s death! RIP!

(9 November 1928, Newton, MA – 4 October 1974, Weston, MA)

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Death’s a sad bone; bruised, you’d say,

and yet she waits for me, year and year, to so delicately undo an old would, to empty my breath from its bad prison.

Balanced there, suicides sometimes meet, raging at the fruit, a pumped-up moon, leaving the bread they mistook for a kiss,

leaving the page of a book carelessly open, something unsaid, the phone off the hook and the look, whatever it was, an infection.

–Anne Sexton, from “Wanting to Die”, written February 3, 1964 (in: Live or Die, 1966)

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Photo via: https://www.thomasfasano.com/2020/07/anne-sexton-smith-corona-typewriter.html

The Dead Romans Society - Shadows

Death - Without Judgement

Guilty until proven innocent We condemn your soul and fate Never mind the possibilities Too busy for logic or to calculate

Take part in a diminishing breed Where complex turns to simplicity When pain is acknowledged Frivolous calculations will be abolished

Without judgement, what would we do? We would be forced to look At ourselves emerged in lost time assuming what may be Without judgement perception would increase a million times

Distracted by the imagination That experiments with ease If you could taste it, it might be addictive Where life will crush those who defy

Take part in a diminishing breed Where complex turns to simplicity When pain is acknowledged Frivolous calculations will be abolished

Without judgement, what would we do? We would be forced to look At ourselves emerged in lost time assuming what may be Without judgement perception would increase a million times.

The Witching Hour #25 - DC, November 1972. Cover art by Nick Cardy.