#mystic city corsets
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this is of no relevance to anything at all but i thought you should know i got my new corset in the mail today and i am very happy about it. there is good in the world & i love engaging in my special interests
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MY COMPLETE BELLA GOTH HEADCANON STORY
Elegant and athletic are two qualities that describe Bella―her name in Italian means "beauty" and it fits her better than her red leather corset. Descended from a long line of occultists, mystics and decadents, she has thrown convention to the wind. Her disdain for the pedestrian and normal is only matched by her sense of ennui and isolation. She distracts herself from this world with a little organ practice, exotic gardening of the lethal variety and a variety of activities from golf to miniature golf.
What you're gonna read is my headcanon after reading Alex Play Sims awesome theory about what happened to Bella Goth. You can read how he solved the mystery here.
All sims mentioned here are CANON sims from the games. I haven't made any up; I only linked them.
ROOTS
Descended from a long line of occultists, mystics, and decadents...
The decadents from which Bella descends are none other than Princess Cordelia Thebe―daughter of Queen Thebe and Eetion Thebe―and her pirate lover, Rodrigo de Pablo. Yes, this makes Bella and Consort Capp first cousins once removed, and I love it. After much sailing, Cordelia landed on the haunted shores of Belladonna Coven, where Rodrigo and his coven-crew of pirate warlocks had their free ports. Rodrigo left everything for Cordelia and accompanied her on the Eppsilon. Together, they toured the Simuyan Sea, exploring Barnacle Bay, Bridgeport, and even the Llama People Islands. Years later, the couple had a daughter, Jocasta, born with the magical powers of Rodrigo's bloodline.
Jocasta was left in Belladonna Coven in the care of her great-aunts Medusha and Marasenna, who lived with her great-grandmother Belladonna. Liliana Sidi, Rodrigo's mother and Jocasta's grandmother, had been a gypsy princess settled in Belladona Cove, known as the "Maid of the Shade," but her mysterious life had been very short; that's why Rodrigo had grown up with his buccaneer father. However, the Belladonna coven now claimed the guardianship of their last descendant. Jocasta was then raised by her great-aunt Marasenna, the queen of non-sleepers; her great-aunt Medusha; and her great-grandmother Belladonna, the witch for which Belladonna Cove was later named. This is the lineage of occultists from which Bella is descended.
Belladonna Coven grew non-stop in those years, and magic seemed doomed, but the witches maintained their traditions and pilgrimages, roaming all over Sim City with their camps and their Magic Town. However, Belladonna Coven was where Jocasta met Simis Bachelor, a young man none of her witch relatives approved of. Still, Jocasta, like her father, left everything to marry Simis and, just as Morgana Goth―another witch―had done long ago, she went on to keep her powers a secret. Outwardly, hers would be a perfectly ordinary suburban family, but behind the secret doors hidden in the bookshelves, Jocasta would still be a good witch protecting her family.
Simis was very suspicious of the supernatural and had always wanted to have a normal, ordinary life. He had never gotten along with her parents, Milton and Enriqueta, because they liked to organize séances and other eccentricities. But her mother, Enriqueta, was the true mystic who maintained the voodoo customs of her mother, Mama Royales, the illegitimate daughter of the rich landowner don Pedro. Her father had been Fen Bittern, a non-spellcaster researcher studying the magical arts in the late 1800s. His research had been later dismissed and mocked by people like his grandson Simis. However, in the magical community, he had gained a cult-like following, and his mother, the Lady Ophelia Shrewill of Battyshire, another eccentric supernatural fan, died happy and famous because of that. Moreover, Simis also had a sister who called herself a voodoo priestess, Miss Lucille, whom he couldn't even see. And this is the lineage of mystics from which Bella descends.
BEGINNINGS
Simis wanted to be rich and was trying to build a career as a novelist―and Jocasta loved his horror novels. Although he had strict rules that he expected his wife to abide by, Simis was kind. He also had a romantic spirit.
Michael, their firstborn son, was born in Belladona Cove―as it was named by that time―and soon after Bella was born too. Jocasta named her after her great-grandmother Belladona, who got to know her great-great-granddaughter. Some years later, Jocasta and other witches, keeping the tradition of pilgrimages, arrived at the small―recently founded―town of Sunsent Valley.
Bella was already a child―the best-dressed girl in town―and always looked adorable flitting around and talking to other kids, adults, and anyone who would listen. Bella didn't know she was a witch and didn't practice, but she had some strange innate power that others were drawn to. Every year, when the Magic Town came to Sunset Valley, her mother Jocasta would take her to Clowntastic Land, where Bella learned to play miniature golf. Together, mother and daughter would also look after their garden. They shared an unbreakable magic bond, but Jocasta never told Bella about her roots.
When Bella was in her late teens, many families from Sunset Valley decided to follow Gunther Goth after the town was ruined by the Altos and the Landgraabs. Seeking a better life for his wife and son, Gunther formed the Old Town in the marshes near Belladona Cove. There, Bella and Mortimer Goth started dating.
OLD TOWN
Soon after Bella's engagement to Morty Goth, Simis and Jocasta passed away. Some years later, when Cassandra was already a girl, the Magic Town came to the city, and Bella received the visit of her great-grandaunts Medusha and Marasenna. After learning a bit about her heritage, Bella kept visiting the Magic Town, playing miniature golf, tending her garden, and teaching her daughter Cassandra about her way of living. However, she started to grow apart from Mortimer… Cassandra herself seemed to be more akin to him―and his science stuff―than to Bella's world. Thus, Bella ended up alone and distanced from her husband and daughter.
The woman was solely devoted to her plants and herbs, some of them healing, others deadly. The family cemetery garden brought her to life, especially the red flowers that grew around Cassandra's twin sister's grave, the bratty girl who had died a few years ago.
PLEASANTVIEW
Years passed... Bella felt lonely and trapped in her role as the ideal and perfect woman. The celebrity. She ended up forming a friendship with Skip Broke, the test subject her brother Michael used. Both were married, but the attraction was stronger, and they ended up having an affair. The gap between Mortimer and Bella became insurmountable then, although they would never divorce.
For a while, the couple, even though they lived together, led separate lives. Cassandra, innocent and naive as hell, never realized the enmity between her parents. She was only focused on her studies, her scientific aspirations, and reading the occasional romantic novel. It was for her that Mortimer and Bella decided to call a truce and try to reconcile, which is why Alexander was such a late child. And to show her good faith, Bella ended her relationship with Skip, who had his own problems with Brandy.
Alexander was Bella's apple of the eye, and she devoted herself to the care of her son. In him, she felt the legacy of the mystics and occultists, the spirit of the witch Belladonna, and it was undeniable that a supernatural bond strongly connected mother and son.
It was then that Michael died, and Dina, his widow, moved to Pleasantview with her sister, Nina. Bella didn't have much interaction with her brother, and she couldn't stand her sister-in-law, but Mortimer seemed very comfortable in the company of young Dina Caliente. These days, Don Lothario also moved to the neighborhood, whom Bella, as the first lady of the place, went to greet and meet. Don already knew Bella from the magazines and was more than fascinated with her, so when the opportunity presented itself, he tried to win her over, but Bella rejected him. She was taking the second chance Mortimer had given her very seriously, and although she wasn't sure, she suspected she was pregnant again.
Don Lothario was the last person to see her, but he was not the one responsible for her disappearance.
Bella Goth. The perfect woman. The ideal woman. The woman in red. The woman who had contributed to her husband finding the formula for the Elixir of Life. The woman destined to be the supreme Birth Queen of the aliens.
That was the Bella Goth who disappeared. How? It is not known. Why? Because Mortimer sold her―in exchange for a large sum of money―to fulfill a destiny that had haunted him since adolescence.
When Morty was still very young, but Michael was already an incredible inventor, they both traveled to the future―almost 75 years into the future from the time of The Sims 3―with their first invention, the PlasmaPunch Gyroscopic Conductor. This invention could create a wormhole that led to another planet in the future―that is, the future of that planet. There, they discovered that Bella Goth would become the Birth Mother of all aliens. After weeks trapped in ruined cities, in a crystal and gem paradise where they saw a fleeting reflection of Bella Goth as the dimensional gate faded away. That last glimpse that they saw would always remind them that Bella is still out there... somewhere.
Michael and Mortimer decided that they would never speak of what they had seen, but young Morty was already determined, perhaps out of curiosity, to fulfill that horrific future of which he had been a witness. Did he love Bella? Yes. Did he take advantage of the situation for his own benefit? Indeed. He had gotten rid of his wife, obtained a fortune―and valuable knowledge―and had a clear path with Dina Caliente.
THE BUG
But the aliens didn't account for the fact that Bella was pregnant. Aliens were on the brink of a world-ending catastrophe that left all their females sterile―Birth Mothers were carefully molded and selected. To ensure the survival of their species, they sought refuge on Earth and discovered a remarkable compatibility between human males and the internal organs of alien females. This unique compatibility led them to only impregnate human males as a means to avoid the extinction of their kind.
Bella's pregnancy disrupted the experiments, causing the UFO to crash in Strangetown, in a corner of the desert which later became Division 47. The aliens had to devise a way to clone Bella in record time―that's why she is an incomplete and inaccurate clone―and leave her in the desert. When reinforcements, XY-XY and XHT-F―who would later return to Strangetown to settle and monitor Bella's clone, arrived with their own UFO, Bella finally reached outer space.
On the mysterious crystal planet of the aliens, Mathilda Goth would be born, the third―or fourth―daughter of Bella and Mortimer Goth. However, mother and daughter were separated after the girl was sent to Lunar Lakes, so Bella had to use her role as the supreme Birth Mother to escape from the aliens and find Mathilda.
Did this forced goddess manage to escape? Who knows...?
But her aged body was eventually buried in Lunar Lakes 25 years later.
MEANWHILE…
Mortimer married Dina and had a daughter with her, Gloria Goth. Alexander became estranged from his father because the boy did not give up on his quest to uncover the truth about his mother's disappearance. However, in a twist of fate, he ended up finding genuine support in his stepmother, Dina.
Yes, Alexander would go on to build a time machine with his sister using designs from his father and uncle Michael. And yes, that same machine would send Don Lothario and Alexander more than 50 years back in time.
But that's another story...
#the sims#the sims 1#the sims 2#the sims 3#the sims 4#bella goth#bella goth disappearance#bella goth mystery#what happened to bella goth#mortimer goth#cassandra goth#alexander goth#don lothario#dina caliente#michael bachelor#princess cordelia#jocasta bachelor#simis bachelor#magic town#belladona cove#pleasantview#strangetown#old town#sunset valley#lunar lakes#ts1#ts2#ts3#ts4
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FFXIVwrite 2023 - 09 Fair
All Saint's Wake was in full swing. The City-states had decorated their streets, pumpkins whole stacked in delicate towers and pumpkins hollowed with mischievous faces carved into their rinds. The rustle of leaves as the autumn winds danced through the trees was a song all it's own, the perfect ambiance to the festivities.
Those that were of lesser valor had retired to their domiciles, the looming threat of voidsent in the shadows and trickery untold enough for them to not dare taking to the streets. Many others could not resist the draw of the fair however, not when the city was cast in an otherworldly mystical glow under the wake of the night sky.
Through the day, Thyn'a Sindyrl had been making preparations for this evening, if other years had been any indication, she would have a busy night keeping imps and ghouls in line. She didn't mind, she enjoyed this time of year. Getting to see Gridania all festive always left her cheery. Her leave had been specifically so she could enjoy this night, and she was so glad that the threats looming over Hydaelyn had allowed her the time to return to her beautiful home.
She'd spoken to the Adventurers' Guild Investigator a few times throughout the week. Thyn'a was always happy to help the Elezen man, he had his hands full trying to keep the Continental Circus in line. Together they set out to plan for how they would handle them this year, though it would involve some work on her part, she never minded.
Thyn'a spent a good part of the afternoon reminding folks of the guild-run fest that would run while the circus performed. Right outside Mih Khetto's they'd set up stalls for food, drink and knick-knacks. They could keep a close eye on the troupe while this close to the show.
Thyn'a called out a few of her Free Company colleagues to help as well. Mjna Lhunar was always ready to party and to perform, Ahna Vonfiaull said she was happy to help so long as she was given a hot meal, Luina Swarsweig gathered up girls from her own branch to help get fliers out to settlements further from the city, and Steel Doe, while eager to partake in the festivities herself, promised she would keep her eyes peeled and her guard up.
Before heading out to the amphitheater to do her patrols, Thyn'a took the time to dress up in her favorite All Saint's Wake affair. It was a little corseted dress in her favorite color, ice blue, adorned with delicate lace and a precious pumpkin bow. It was a vintage gown from a prior year's celebration. The matching boots and gloves were a little snug she noted, she must have gain a tad more muscle since the last time she'd donned them.
As the eve went on, the festivities were going as all had hoped. Thyn'a felt as if she could let her guard down more and more. The merry cheers of the audience as they watched the circus were contagious, and even she could not help but clap in tandem. There were multiple shows through the evening, people coming and going in waves, watching the shows, grabbing concessions and repeating. She'd grabbed herself a delicious lot of pumpkin cookies to snack on, and even stopped to watch Mjna strum her harp for a short while.
It was looking to be a nice peaceful night.
#ffxiv#final fantasy xiv#final fantasy#roegadyn#femroe#roegadame#ff14#final fantasy 14#all saints wake#halloween#Thyn'a#Thyna#Thyn'a Sindyrl#Thyna Sindyrl#Mjna Lhunar#Mjna#Ahna#Ahna Vonfiaull#Luina#Luina Swarsweig#Steel#Steel Doe#ffxivwrite#ffxiv fic#ffxivwrite2023
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I’ve been tagged by @katastronoot @sheirukitriesfandom and @dirty-bosmer (thank you all! 💖)
This was sitting in my drafts for a while, just forgot to post...
Not tagging anyone ‘cause idk who hasn’t done it yes... Feel free to take if you feel like!
1. are you named after anyone?
Grandma originally named me after her little sister who died in early childhood. She was babysitting and blamed herself for that accident.
But that was too dull, widespread, and didn’t felt mine, so my nomatophobia started progressing. Finally I renamed myself after Fairytopia Barbie. Best friend started calling me Elina in 2008, when I was pretty much into Barbie movies fandom. It stuck, I started telling everyone it was my actual name, even at work. Then finally changed it legally and never regretted.
Barbie movies is everything, yeah.
2. when was the last time you cried?
One weekend ago.
3. do you have kids?
Nope, and it’s most probable I won’t. Already in my 30s, didn’t start wanting/regretting yet. I like kids, kids are like flowers, but let them bloom in someone else’s garden.
4. do you use sarcasm a lot?
Not really. Being neurodivergent, I have troubles with a sense of humour in general. Many things feel more offensive than funny to me, and if I try it myself, it might be rather insulting than funny... So only with closer friends, I guess.
5. what sports do you play/have you played?
Drinking games, lol.
Not a fan of sports and competitions. I prefer fitness\wellness, where you don’t have to compete or show off. Never liked team games as well. As a kid, I enjoyed tennis or badminton a bit, but again, just for fun.
I do yoga a bit, would like to excercise more though.
6. what's the first thing you notice about other people?
Style, clothing, hair, accessories. Whether they have some fandom\music\etc merch on. This way I might identify them as the ones like me, the ones worth talking to - at first sight.
I can be generally cautious, even hostile, about people, esp males and elders. And in general, I prefer meeting people online or in some safe spaces / meetups where everyone shares some interests/hobbies/fandoms. It’s easier for me.
7. eye color?
blue gray. and I do wear color lenses - need them to see things anyway, so why not have fun with colors? Last year I had red ones and wore them casually.
8. scary movies or happy endings?
Happy and clever endings that give you food for thought and make you feel feelings - I’ve been a long time Pixar fan, you know.
There was time I’ve been into mystic horrors, some years ago, but now I’m old and tired even for them. LIfe is a dystopia by itself, I need more kind stuff.
(don’t watch movies much these days, I prefer games).
9. any special talents?
Some say I am outstanding and bold,and that I have great creative potential, and that I inspire some people just by being myself... IDK.
10. where were you born?
a city in the mountains
11. what are your hobbies?
I’m a a self-taught seamstress, I’ve been sewing most of my life (because I always loved creating things myself & from my very childhood wanted some unusual clothes that couldn’t be purchased in regular stores). At times, I took comissions, then were 5 years of cosplaying.
I’m into corsetry (waist-training and making corsets myself).
And drawing, of course.
12. do you have any pets?
Nope. Used to have an aquarium in the past.
13. how tall are you?
5’7″ (170 cm)
14. fave subject in school?
Biology (just in elem and mid, then it became too complex), english.
I was also one of the best in literature, but I didn’t like it at all. Just figured out how to get exc grades and did it for the sake of being praised.
15. dream job?
Illustrator, artist.
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Crit Role Miniature Rollout: C3E44 Bawdy Basement Belligerence
With Andrew Harshman
An archive and analysis of the minis used on CR.
The sheer narrative value of this combat... incredible. Sometimes, even the most serious of campaigns needs a bit of goofiness. Dungeons & Dragons & Goofiness. Another thing I appreciated about this episode was the interrogation. It wasn’t nearly as slow and awkward as the average D&D inquisition. The next time I run such an encounter, I’ll probably just do it as a speedy skill challenge.
Basement dwellers, assemble! -it’s time for Crit Role Miniature Rollout Campaign 3 Episode 44!
The List
Mats by Mars: Bustling City Tabletop Wargaming Play Mat
Chest and Trove 5E Condition Rings
Dwarven Forge City Builder System
Dwarven Forge Tavern Accessories Round Table with LED-lit Candle
Dwarven Forge Dungeon
Dungeon Lair Chair
Pathfinder Battles: Ruins of Lastwall - Cemetery of The Fallen
Mantic Games Terrain Crate Wizard’s Study Comfy Chair
Critical Role Campaign 3 Party Minis Wizkids Sculpts
D&D Spell Effects: Arcane Fury & Divine Might Phantom Steed
Dungeons & Dragons Nolzur's Marvelous Miniatures W10 Air Elemental
Pathfinder Battles Diabolical Mystic
Pathfinder Battles Crown of Fangs #36 Cinnabar
Assorted scatter terrain
Assorted buildings
Best Mini of the Ep
Ruby Vanguard Elementalist Pathfinder Battles Diabolical Mystic
Mini images sourced from MiniatureMarket.com
My favorite miniature of the episode would have to be the Diabolical Mystic. Highly versatile mini, works as a diplomate, a spellcaster, a tiefling or human spellcaster, or in this case, an elementalist. As with any prepainted mini, there are certain limitations to the quality of paint, but overall, this mini’s paint job is decent, certainly table-ready.
Also, the pose looks like the butterfly meme, so that’s a plus.
And is that a steel corset I perceive? Of course it is. I shoulda known. Talk about stylin’. Diabolical Mystic eh? Diabolically fashionable.
Worst Mini of the Ep
Ruby Vanguard Pathfinder Battles Crown of Fangs #36 Cinnabar
This isn’t an absolutely atrocious miniature per se. But it is very disappointing. Good posing and character design are brought down by disappointing sculpt fidelity and crummy paint. Interesting note, this Pathfinder NPC Cinnabar is associated with and dressed in Red Mantis armor. Some Red Mantis models were used for Kryn armored warriors in Campaign 2.
Could there be... a Xhorhas connection? I doubt it, but that’d be neat.
See ya next sesh!
#critroleminiaturerollout
#criticalroleminiaturerollout#critroleminiaturerollout#crspoilers#critrole#criticalrole#dungeonsanddragons
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Do u know where I can find cheap or affordable quality corsets?
i don't personally wear corsets but i did a little digging and it seems like any quality corset will run you $50 at least but here's a few brands that are decent & slightly more affordable (like $100 or less). i'd recommend looking for them secondhand on websites like ebay or poshmark to see if you can get them for cheaper there
• rebel madness
• mystic city
• timeless trends
• restyle
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Phoenix Awakening Worldbuilding pt5
Phoenix Awakening is a romantic fantasy novel releasing February 2nd 2024 and the first book of the Hiraeth Song series.
The world is separated into five kingdoms and two territories separated by walls and the Alcross Ocean. Magic is represented through gifts and centered around elements.
The kingdom of Vexus (Vex-us) revolves around innovation, or more specifically Inventing. There is always a race to the next best improvement.
The Griffin (with its lion’s mane, curved beak, wings and serpent’s tail) that graces the kingdom's banners showcases their strive for excellence. Debates and rumors have circulated for centuries, stating Vexus was once a part of Ignis but later separated. Whether or not that was the case, Vexan’s have done everything in their power to keep themselves separate and unique.
Krevishire (Krev-ish-ire) the capital city, is run by the Illustrious Inventors. Odd tinkerings, large mechanical geared clocks, horseless carriages and flying contraptions are only a few of the mystical creations hidden away within the kingdom’s borders. On occasion, they share their inventions to the other kingdoms such as indoor plumbing and electric based lampposts but only as a means to brag. Specialized conventions travel to the other kingdoms for much the same manner. They see no other reason to leave their kingdom's borders.
Top hats, pocket watches, monocles and corsets adorned with wires and gears are always in fashion. The drab browns and muted colors do shift on occasion to navy blues, mustard yellow and pumpkin oranges when one needs to be noticed, or is of some importance.
Everything in Vexus has been modified to fit their needs, including the plants and wildlife. The frequent violent storms are used to harvest electricity, which they use to power their inventions as well as the rivers and streams. As the only kingdom cut off from the Alcross Ocean, clean water from the skies, various lakes, rivers and ponds are essential. Pollutants such as coal and oils were restricted a half century ago, most of their machines not running on electricity now run off steam.
Vexans tend to be along the paler side with blond hair and gold eyes being the prominent striking features.
In death, the deceased is carefully dressed and posed before their flesh solidifies into stone. The color and type of stone varies per individual. Statues are placed within the household estate until the spirit within is freed with a lightning strike from the next oncoming storm.
The main exports of Vexus are new inventions, black powder, clocks, music boxes and on the rare occasion harvested electricity.
#creative writing#indie author#writerscommunity#writers on tumblr#writing#hiraethsong#phoenixawakening#fantasy#writeblr#fantasy worldbuilding#lightning elementals#elemental magic
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I got a new corset for my birthday...actually 2 new corsets. The other is just not as pretty, more practical.
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The good news is that I think I look fucking fantastic in my Mystic City corset, gendered appearance norms be damned, and wearing it makes me want to take all the pictures. The bad news is that I am fairly terrible at photographing and being photographed. Hands: what are they used for? Lighting: how does it work? There are no good facial expressions, and angles are madness. Also, I’m fairly sure this look required a slightly skinnier tie.
In any case, after taking far too many pictures, some of them turned out to not be terrible, so here are those, plus some pics of me dressed not as nicely below the cut, which I include because I like how they turned out.
Bonus pictures!
#Me#Me looking good#Me attempting photography#Real Corsets Real People#Men in corsets#Corset#Corsets#Waist Training#Tightlacing#Mystic City Corsets
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I'm selling my satin galaxy corset from mystic city, it's 20" closed and just too small for me. I've only worn it once and its quite the deal for something I paid a hundred dollars for, anyway there it is.
#I'm saving up for a new one#mystic city corsets#corsets#realcorsetsrealpeople#authentic corset#satin corset
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Lobotomy Photography
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tips for waist training
disclaimer: most of this information is coming from either personal experience, or advice from experienced corsetiers.
general training guidelines:
1. purchase your corset from an actual corsetier such as mystic city or morgana femme corsets (my fav). avoid places like orchard corsetry and amazon. the corset reddit has a list of blacklisted vendors to avoid.
2. start SLOWLY. first just lace it up so that it hugs you, and wear that for 2 hrs. then try a stronger reduction. gradually build your hours and tightness over weeks. let’s say you start with the standard 2” reduction, then wear that for 2 hrs 6 days a week for 1-2 weeks. after that’s comfortable, move to 4hrs for 1-2 weeks. keep increasing until you’re maintaining the 2” reduction for 8hrs. then tighten the corset more (maybe down to 3” reduction) and drop the time back down to 2hrs. repeat.
3. the LENGTH of reduction is more important than the amount. (wearing your corset at a 2” reduction for 8hrs is better than wearing it at a 5” reduction for 2hrs.)
4. custom made corsets are best, but if you’re first starting out it’s not necessary
5. train everyday for at least 6hrs to see results, with at least a 1.5-2” reduction if possible. usually people that have the most results are training 8+ hrs for six days a week.
diet guidelines:
1. avoid fizzy/carbonated drinks and gum
2. eat slowly and chew your food completely (count to 20)
3. eat several small meals throughout the day
4. loosen your corset by at least an inch before you eat any bigger meals
5. eat highly fibrous foods (oatmeal, broccoli, etc.) as corsets can make you very irregular
6. drink lots of water, but don’t chug it. (this also helps with bowel regularity) you have to kind of time it properly so that you still get at least 3L a day, but aren’t uncomfortable. i like to drink most of my water later in the day after training.
lifestyle guidelines:
1. allow at least one rest day a week without wearing your corset, you don’t want your body to be dependent on it for postural support
2. 1-2 days of core stability-focused exercise to maintain core health. this is crucial to prevent your muscles from completely atrophying and creating problems in the future.
3. actually listen to your body. if your corset is bruising you, take a break. it shouldn’t be painful at all. if it often hurts or pinches too much, it’s likely a bad fit and you should get a new one tailored to your measurements.
4. you can sleep in your corset if you want
5. this should be something enjoyable, so if you’re starting to hate it… you will have a very hard time staying consistent and the results won’t happen
6. you must pair waist training with a healthy diet and exercise if you want to see any sort of progress. this does not mean eating less, but it does mean eating whole foods.
7. it takes time. expect at least 3 months of consistent wear before you see any results.
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Hey wait corsets can fix diastisis recti? My midwife said this would just be my life now and not do any crunches. Can you start using it 6+ months postpartum? Is there a special one or just any one?
Yeah, I started wearing one when my first was almost 2. It closed it almost completely In a few months, though it's opened back up with each subsequent pregnancy and I have to fix it again. You want to get one of decent quality that fits well, try mystic city corsets, what Katie did, or orchard corset. They all have fitting tools and people to message to help you find the right shape and length for your body. If you're looking to invest in a bespoke corset (which would start at 300 bucks or so) you could try dark garden corsetry.
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kaddish, allen ginsberg
I
Strange now to think of you, gone without corsets & eyes, while I walk on the sunny pavement of Greenwich Village.
downtown Manhattan, clear winter noon, and I’ve been up all night, talking, talking, reading the Kaddish aloud, listening to Ray Charles blues shout blind on the phonograph
the rhythm the rhythm—and your memory in my head three years after—And read Adonais’ last triumphant stanzas aloud—wept, realizing how we suffer—
And how Death is that remedy all singers dream of, sing, remember, prophesy as in the Hebrew Anthem, or the Buddhist Book of Answers—and my own imagination of a withered leaf—at dawn—
Dreaming back thru life, Your time—and mine accelerating toward Apocalypse,
the final moment—the flower burning in the Day—and what comes after,
looking back on the mind itself that saw an American city
a flash away, and the great dream of Me or China, or you and a phantom Russia, or a crumpled bed that never existed—
like a poem in the dark—escaped back to Oblivion—
No more to say, and nothing to weep for but the Beings in the Dream, trapped in its disappearance,
sighing, screaming with it, buying and selling pieces of phantom, worshipping each other,
worshipping the God included in it all—longing or inevitability?—while it lasts, a Vision—anything more?
It leaps about me, as I go out and walk the street, look back over my shoulder, Seventh Avenue, the battlements of window office buildings shouldering each other high, under a cloud, tall as the sky an instant—and the sky above—an old blue place.
or down the Avenue to the south, to—as I walk toward the Lower East Side—where you walked 50 years ago, little girl—from Russia, eating the first poisonous tomatoes of America—frightened on the dock—
then struggling in the crowds of Orchard Street toward what?—toward Newark—
toward candy store, first home-made sodas of the century, hand-churned ice cream in backroom on musty brownfloor boards—
Toward education marriage nervous breakdown, operation, teaching school, and learning to be mad, in a dream—what is this life?
Toward the Key in the window—and the great Key lays its head of light on top of Manhattan, and over the floor, and lays down on the sidewalk—in a single vast beam, moving, as I walk down First toward the Yiddish Theater—and the place of poverty
you knew, and I know, but without caring now—Strange to have moved
thru Paterson, and the West, and Europe and here again,
with the cries of Spaniards now in the doorstoops doors and dark boys on the street, fire escapes old as you
-Tho you’re not old now, that’s left here with me—
Myself, anyhow, maybe as old as the universe—and I guess that dies with us—enough to cancel all that comes—What came is gone forever every time—
That’s good! That leaves it open for no regret—no fear radiators, lacklove, torture even toothache in the end—
Though while it comes it is a lion that eats the soul—and the lamb, the soul, in us, alas, offering itself in sacrifice to change’s fierce hunger—hair and teeth—and the roar of bonepain, skull bare, break rib, rot-skin, braintricked Implacability.
Ai! ai! we do worse! We are in a fix! And you’re out, Death let you out, Death had the Mercy, you’re done with your century, done with God, done with the path thru it—Done with yourself at last—Pure—Back to the Babe dark before your Father, before us all—before the world—
There, rest. No more suffering for you. I know where you’ve gone, it’s good.
No more flowers in the summer fields of New York, no joy now, no more fear of Louis,
and no more of his sweetness and glasses, his high school decades, debts, loves, frightened telephone calls, conception beds, relatives, hands—
No more of sister Elanor,.—she gone before you—we kept it secret—you killed her—or she killed herself to bear with you—an arthritic heart—But Death’s killed you both—No matter—
Nor your memory of your mother, 1915 tears in silent movies weeks and weeks—forgetting, aggrieve watching Marie Dressler address humanity, Chaplin dance in youth,
or Boris Godunov, Chaliapin’s at the Met, hailing his voice of a weeping Czar—by standing
room with Elanor & Max—watching also the Capitalists take seats in Orchestra, white furs, diamonds,
with the YPSL’s hitch-hiking thru Pennsylvania, in black baggy gym skirts pants, photograph of 4 girls holding each other round the waste, and laughing eye, too coy, virginal solitude of 1920
all girls grown old, or dead, now, and that long hair in the grave—lucky to have husbands later—
You made it—I came too—Eugene my brother before (still grieving now and will gream on to his last stiff hand, as he goes thru his cancer—or kill—later perhaps—soon he will think—)
And it’s the last moment I remember, which I see them all, thru myself, now—tho not you
I didn’t foresee what you felt—what more hideous gape of bad mouth came first—to you—and were you prepared?
To go where? In that Dark—that—in that God? a radiance? A Lord in the Void? Like an eye in the black cloud in a dream? Adonoi at last, with you?
Beyond my remembrance! Incapable to guess! Not merely the yellow skull in the grave, or a box of worm dust, and a stained ribbon—Deathshead with Halo? can you believe it?
Is it only the sun that shines once for the mind, only the flash of existence, than none ever was?
Nothing beyond what we have—what you had—that so pitiful—yet Triumph,
to have been here, and changed, like a tree, broken, or flower—fed to the ground—but mad, with its petals, colored, thinking Great Universe, shaken, cut in the head, leaf stript, hid in an egg crate hospital, cloth wrapped, sore—freaked in the moon brain, Naughtless.
No flower like that flower, which knew itself in the garden, and fought the knife—lost
Cut down by an idiot Snowman’s icy—even in the Spring—strange ghost thought—some Death—Sharp icicle in his hand—crowned with old roses—a dog for his eyes—cock of a sweatshop—heart of electric irons.
All the accumulations of life, that wear us out—clocks, bodies, consciousness, shoes, breasts—begotten sons—your Communism—‘Paranoia’ into hospitals.
You once kicked Elanor in the leg, she died of heart failure later. You of stroke. Asleep? within a year, the two of you, sisters in death. Is Elanor happy?
Max grieves alive in an office on Lower Broadway, lone large mustache over midnight Accountings, not sure. l His life passes—as he sees—and what does he doubt now? Still dream of making money, or that might have made money, hired nurse, had children, found even your Immortality, Naomi?
I’ll see him soon. Now I’ve got to cut through—to talk to you—as I didn’t when you had a mouth.
Forever. And we’re bound for that, Forever—like Emily Dickinson’s horses—headed to the End.
They know the way—These Steeds—run faster than we think—it’s our own life they cross—and take with them.
Magnificent, mourned no more, marred of heart, mind behind, married dreamed, mortal changed—Ass and face done with murder.
In the world, given, flower maddened, made no Utopia, shut under pine, almed in Earth, balmed in Lone, Jehovah, accept.
Nameless, One Faced, Forever beyond me, beginningless, endless, Father in death. Tho I am not there for this Prophecy, I am unmarried, I’m hymnless, I’m Heavenless, headless in blisshood I would still adore
Thee, Heaven, after Death, only One blessed in Nothingness, not light or darkness, Dayless Eternity—
Take this, this Psalm, from me, burst from my hand in a day, some of my Time, now given to Nothing—to praise Thee—But Death
This is the end, the redemption from Wilderness, way for the Wonderer, House sought for All, black handkerchief washed clean by weeping—page beyond Psalm—Last change of mine and Naomi—to God’s perfect Darkness—Death, stay thy phantoms!
II
Over and over—refrain—of the Hospitals—still haven’t written your history—leave it abstract—a few images
run thru the mind—like the saxophone chorus of houses and years—remembrance of electrical shocks.
By long nites as a child in Paterson apartment, watching over your nervousness—you were fat—your next move—
By that afternoon I stayed home from school to take care of you—once and for all—when I vowed forever that once man disagreed with my opinion of the cosmos, I was lost—
By my
later burden—vow to illuminate mankind—this is release of particulars—(mad as you)—(sanity a trick of agreement)—
But you stared out the window on the Broadway Church corner, and spied a mystical assassin from Newark,
So phoned the Doctor—‘OK go way for a rest’—so I put on my coat and walked you downstreet—On the way a grammarschool boy screamed, unaccountably—‘Where you goin Lady to Death’? I shuddered—
and you covered your nose with motheaten fur collar, gas mask against poison sneaked into downtown atmosphere, sprayed by Grandma—
And was the driver of the cheesebox Public Service bus a member of the gang? You shuddered at his face, I could hardly get you on—to New York, very Times Square, to grab another Greyhound—
where we hung around 2 hours fighting invisible bugs and jewish sickness—breeze poisoned by Roosevelt—
out to get you—and me tagging along, hoping it would end in a quiet room in a Victorian house by a lake.
Ride 3 hours thru tunnels past all American industry, Bayonne preparing for World War II, tanks, gas fields, soda factories, diners, loco-motive roundhouse fortress—into piney woods New Jersey Indians—calm towns—long roads thru sandy tree fields—
Bridges by deerless creeks, old wampum loading the streambeddown there a tomahawk or Pocahontas bone—and a million old ladies voting for Roosevelt in brown small houses, roads off the Madness highway—
perhaps a hawk in a tree, or a hermit looking for an owl-filled branch—
All the time arguing—afraid of strangers in the forward double seat, snoring regardless—what busride they snore on now?
‘Allen, you don’t understand—it’s—ever since those 3 big sticks up my back—they did something to me in Hospital, they poisoned me, they want to see me dead—3 big sticks, 3 big sticks—
‘The Bitch! Old Grandma! Last week I saw her, dressed in pants like an old man, with a sack on her back, climbing up the brick side of the apartment
‘On the fire escape, with poison germs, to throw on me—at night—maybe Louis is helping her—he’s under her power—
‘I’m your mother, take me to Lakewood’ (near where Graf Zeppelin had crashed before, all Hitler in Explosion) ‘where I can hide.’
We got there—Dr. Whatzis rest home—she hid behind a closet—demanded a blood transfusion.
We were kicked out—tramping with Valise to unknown shady lawn houses—dusk, pine trees after dark—long dead street filled with crickets and poison ivy—
I shut her up by now—big house REST HOME ROOMS—gave the landlady her money for the week—carried up the iron valise—sat on bed waiting to escape—
Neat room in attic with friendly bedcover—lace curtains—spinning wheel rug—Stained wallpaper old as Naomi. We were home.
I left on the next bus to New York—laid my head back in the last seat, depressed—the worst yet to come?—abandoning her, rode in torpor—I was only 12.
Would she hide in her room and come out cheerful for breakfast? Or lock her door and stare thru the window for sidestreet spies? Listen at keyholes for Hitlerian invisible gas? Dream in a chair—or mock me, by—in front of a mirror, alone?
12 riding the bus at nite thru New Jersey, have left Naomi to Parcae in Lakewood’s haunted house—left to my own fate bus—sunk in a seat—all violins broken—my heart sore in my ribs—mind was empty—Would she were safe in her coffin—
Or back at Normal School in Newark, studying up on America in a black skirt—winter on the street without lunch—a penny a pickle—home at night to take care of Elanor in the bedroom—
First nervous breakdown was 1919—she stayed home from school and lay in a dark room for three weeks—something bad—never said what—every noise hurt—dreams of the creaks of Wall Street—
Before the gray Depression—went upstate New York—recovered—Lou took photo of her sitting crossleg on the grass—her long hair wound with flowers—smiling—playing lullabies on mandolin—poison ivy smoke in left-wing summer camps and me in infancy saw trees—
or back teaching school, laughing with idiots, the backward classes—her Russian specialty—morons with dreamy lips, great eyes, thin feet & sicky fingers, swaybacked, rachitic—
great heads pendulous
over Alice in Wonderland, a blackboard full of C A T.
Naomi reading patiently, story out of a Communist fairy book—Tale of the Sudden Sweetness of the Dictator—Forgiveness of Warlocks—Armies Kissing—
Deathsheads Around the Green Table—The King & the Workers—Paterson Press printed them up in the ’30s till she went mad, or they folded, both.
O Paterson! I got home late that nite. Louis was worried. How could I be so—didn’t I think? I shouldn’t have left her. Mad in Lakewood. Call the Doctor. Phone the home in the pines. Too late.
Went to bed exhausted, wanting to leave the world (probably that year newly in love with R my high school mind hero, jewish boy who came a doctor later—then silent neat kid—
I later laying down life for him, moved to Manhattan—followed him to college—Prayed on ferry to help mankind if admitted—vowed, the day I journeyed to Entrance Exam—
by being honest revolutionary labor lawyer—would train for that—inspired by Sacco Vanzetti, Norman Thomas, Debs, Altgeld, Sand-burg, Poe—Little Blue Books. I wanted to be President, or Senator.
ignorant woe—later dreams of kneeling by R’s shocked knees declaring my love of 1941—What sweetness he’d have shown me, tho, that I’d wished him & despaired—first love—a crush—
Later a mortal avalanche, whole mountains of homosexuality, Matterhorns of cock, Grand Canyons of asshole—weight on my melancholy head—
meanwhile I walked on Broadway imagining Infinity like a rubber ball without space beyond—what’s outside?—coming home to Graham Avenue still melancholy passing the lone green hedges across the street, dreaming after the movies—)
The telephone rang at 2 A.M.—Emergency—she’d gone mad—Naomi hiding under the bed screaming bugs of Mussolini—Help! Louis! Buba! Fascists! Death!—the landlady frightened—old fag attendant screaming back at her—
Terror, that woke the neighbors—old ladies on the second floor recovering from menopause—all those rags between thighs, clean sheets, sorry over lost babies—husbands ashen—children sneering at Yale, or putting oil in hair at CCNY—or trembling in Montclair State Teachers College like Eugene—
Her big leg crouched to her breast, hand outstretched Keep Away, wool dress on her thighs, fur coat dragged under the bed—she barricaded herself under bedspring with suitcases.
Louis in pajamas listening to phone, frightened—do now?—Who could know?—my fault, delivering her to solitude?—sitting in the dark room on the sofa, trembling, to figure out—
He took the morning train to Lakewood, Naomi still under bed—thought he brought poison Cops—Naomi screaming—Louis what happened to your heart then? Have you been killed by Naomi’s ecstasy?
Dragged her out, around the corner, a cab, forced her in with valise, but the driver left them off at drugstore. Bus stop, two hours’ wait.
I lay in bed nervous in the 4-room apartment, the big bed in living room, next to Louis’ desk—shaking—he came home that nite, late, told me what happened.
Naomi at the prescription counter defending herself from the enemy—racks of children’s books, douche bags, aspirins, pots, blood—‘Don’t come near me—murderers! Keep away! Promise not to kill me!’
Louis in horror at the soda fountain—with Lakewood girlscouts—Coke addicts—nurses—busmen hung on schedule—Police from country precinct, dumbed—and a priest dreaming of pigs on an ancient cliff?
Smelling the air—Louis pointing to emptiness?—Customers vomiting their Cokes—or staring—Louis humiliated—Naomi triumphant—The Announcement of the Plot. Bus arrives, the drivers won’t have them on trip to New York.
Phonecalls to Dr. Whatzis, ‘She needs a rest,’ The mental hospital—State Greystone Doctors—‘Bring her here, Mr. Ginsberg.’
Naomi, Naomi—sweating, bulge-eyed, fat, the dress unbuttoned at one side—hair over brow, her stocking hanging evilly on her legs—screaming for a blood transfusion—one righteous hand upraised—a shoe in it—barefoot in the Pharmacy—
The enemies approach—what poisons? Tape recorders? FBI? Zhdanov hiding behind the counter? Trotsky mixing rat bacteria in the back of the store? Uncle Sam in Newark, plotting deathly
perfumes in the Negro district? Uncle Ephraim, drunk with murder in the politician’s bar, scheming of Hague? Aunt Rose passing water thru the needles of the Spanish Civil War?
till the hired $35 ambulance came from Red Bank——Grabbed her arms—strapped her on the stretcher—moaning, poisoned by imaginaries, vomiting chemicals thru Jersey, begging mercy from Essex County to Morristown—
And back to Greystone where she lay three years—that was the last breakthrough, delivered her to Madhouse again—
On what wards—I walked there later, oft—old catatonic ladies, gray as cloud or ash or walls—sit crooning over floorspace—Chairs—and the wrinkled hags acreep, accusing—begging my 13-year-old mercy—
‘Take me home’—I went alone sometimes looking for the lost Naomi, taking Shock—and I’d say, ‘No, you’re crazy Mama,—Trust the Drs.’—
And Eugene, my brother, her elder son, away studying Law in a furnished room in Newark—
came Paterson-ward next day—and he sat on the broken-down couch in the living room—‘We had to send her back to Greystone’—
—his face perplexed, so young, then eyes with tears—then crept weeping all over his face—‘What for?’ wail vibrating in his cheekbones, eyes closed up, high voice—Eugene’s face of pain.
Him faraway, escaped to an Elevator in the Newark Library, his bottle daily milk on windowsill of $5 week furn room downtown at trolley tracks—
He worked 8 hrs. a day for $20/wk—thru Law School years—stayed by himself innocent near negro whorehouses.
Unlaid, poor virgin—writing poems about Ideals and politics letters to the editor Pat Eve News—(we both wrote, denouncing Senator Borah and Isolationists—and felt mysterious toward Paterson City Hall—
I sneaked inside it once—local Moloch tower with phallus spire & cap o’ ornament, strange gothic Poetry that stood on Market Street—replica Lyons’ Hotel de Ville—
wings, balcony & scrollwork portals, gateway to the giant city clock, secret map room full of Hawthorne—dark Debs in the Board of Tax—Rembrandt smoking in the gloom—
Silent polished desks in the great committee room—Aldermen? Bd of Finance? Mosca the hairdresser aplot—Crapp the gangster issuing orders from the john—The madmen struggling over Zone, Fire, Cops & Backroom Metaphysics—we’re all dead—outside by the bus stop Eugene stared thru childhood—
where the Evangelist preached madly for 3 decades, hard-haired, cracked & true to his mean Bible—chalked Prepare to Meet Thy God on civic pave—
or God is Love on the railroad overpass concrete—he raved like I would rave, the lone Evangelist—Death on City Hall—)
But Gene, young,—been Montclair Teachers College 4 years—taught half year & quit to go ahead in life—afraid of Discipline Problems—dark sex Italian students, raw girls getting laid, no English, sonnets disregarded—and he did not know much—just that he lost—
so broke his life in two and paid for Law—read huge blue books and rode the ancient elevator 13 miles away in Newark & studied up hard for the future
just found the Scream of Naomi on his failure doorstep, for the final time, Naomi gone, us lonely—home—him sitting there—
Then have some chicken soup, Eugene. The Man of Evangel wails in front of City Hall. And this year Lou has poetic loves of suburb middle age—in secret—music from his 1937 book—Sincere—he longs for beauty—
No love since Naomi screamed—since 1923?—now lost in Greystone ward—new shock for her—Electricity, following the 40 Insulin.
And Metrazol had made her fat.
So that a few years later she came home again—we’d much advanced and planned—I waited for that day—my Mother again to cook & —play the piano—sing at mandolin—Lung Stew, & Stenka Razin, & the communist line on the war with Finland—and Louis in debt—,uspected to he poisoned money—mysterious capitalisms
—& walked down the long front hall & looked at the furniture. She
never remembered it all. Some amnesia. Examined the doilies—and the dining room set was sold—
the Mahogany table—20 years love—gone to the junk man—we still had the piano—and the book of Poe—and the Mandolin, tho needed some string, dusty—
She went to the backroom to lie down in
bed and ruminate, or nap, hide—I went in with her, not leave her by herself—lay in bed next to her—shades pulled, dusky, late afternoon—Louis in front room at desk, waiting—perhaps boiling chicken for supper—
‘Don’t be afraid of me because I’m just coming back home from the mental hospital—I’m your mother—’
Poor love, lost—a fear—I lay there—Said, ‘I love you Naomi,’—stiff, next to her arm. I would have cried, was this the comfortless lone union?—Nervous, and she got up soon.
Was she ever satisfied? And—by herself sat on the new couch by the front windows, uneasy—cheek leaning on her hand—narrowing eye—at what fate that day—
Picking her tooth with her nail, lips formed an O, suspicion—thought’s old worn vagina—absent sideglance of eye—some evil debt written in the wall, unpaid—& the aged breasts of Newark come near—
May have heard radio gossip thru the wires in her head, controlled by 3 big sticks left in her back by gangsters in amnesia, thru the hospital—caused pain between her shoulders—
Into her head—Roosevelt should know her case, she told me—Afraid to kill her, now, that the government knew their names—traced back to Hitler—wanted to leave Louis’ house forever.
One night, sudden attack—her noise in the bathroom—like croaking up her soul—convulsions and red vomit coming out of her mouth—diarrhea water exploding from her behind—on all fours in front of the toilet—urine running between her legs—left retching on the tile floor smeared with her black feces—unfainted—
At forty, varicosed, nude, fat, doomed, hiding outside the apartment door near the elevator calling Police, yelling for her girlfriend Rose to help—
Once locked herself in with razor or iodine—could hear her cough in tears at sink—Lou broke through glass green-painted door, we pulled her out to the bedroom.
Then quiet for months that winter—walks, alone, nearby on Broadway, read Daily Worker—Broke her arm, fell on icy street—
Began to scheme escape from cosmic financial murder-plots—later she ran away to the Bronx to her sister Elanor. And there’s another saga of late Naomi in New York.
Or thru Elanor or the Workmen’s Circle, where she worked, ad-dressing envelopes, she made out—went shopping for Campbell’s tomato soup—saved money Louis mailed her—
Later she found a boyfriend, and he was a doctor—Dr. Isaac worked for National Maritime Union—now Italian bald and pudgy old doll—who was himself an orphan—but they kicked him out—Old cruelties—
Sloppier, sat around on bed or chair, in corset dreaming to herself—‘I’m hot—I’m getting fat—I used to have such a beautiful figure before I went to the hospital—You should have seen me in Woodbine—’ This in a furnished room around the NMU hall, 1943.
Looking at naked baby pictures in the magazine—baby powder advertisements, strained lamb carrots—‘I will think nothing but beautiful thoughts.’
Revolving her head round and round on her neck at window light in summertime, in hypnotize, in doven-dream recall—
‘I touch his cheek, I touch his cheek, he touches my lips with his hand, I think beautiful thoughts, the baby has a beautiful hand.’—
Or a No-shake of her body, disgust—some thought of Buchenwald—some insulin passes thru her head—a grimace nerve shudder at Involuntary (as shudder when I piss)—bad chemical in her cortex—‘No don’t think of that. He’s a rat.’
Naomi: ‘And when we die we become an onion, a cabbage, a carrot, or a squash, a vegetable.’ I come downtown from Columbia and agree. She reads the Bible, thinks beautiful thoughts all day.
‘Yesterday I saw God. What did he look like? Well, in the afternoon I climbed up a ladder—he has a cheap cabin in the country, like Monroe, N.Y. the chicken farms in the wood. He was a lonely old man with a white beard.
‘I cooked supper for him. I made him a nice supper—lentil soup, vegetables, bread & butter—miltz—he sat down at the table and ate, he was sad.
‘I told him, Look at all those fightings and killings down there, What’s the matter? Why don’t you put a stop to it?
‘I try, he said—That’s all he could do, he looked tired. He’s a bachelor so long, and he likes lentil
soup.’
Serving me meanwhile, a plate of cold fish—chopped raw cabbage dript with tapwater—smelly tomatoes—week-old health food—grated beets & carrots with leaky juice, warm—more and more disconsolate food—I can’t eat it for nausea sometimes—the Charity of her hands stinking with Manhattan, madness, desire to please me, cold undercooked fish—pale red near the bones. Her smells—and oft naked in the room, so that I stare ahead, or turn a book ignoring her.
One time I thought she was trying to make me come lay her—flirting to herself at sink—lay back on huge bed that filled most of the room, dress up round her hips, big slash of hair, scars of operations, pancreas, belly wounds, abortions, appendix, stitching of incisions pulling down in the fat like hideous thick zippers—ragged long lips between her legs—What, even, smell of asshole? I was cold—later revolted a little, not much—seemed perhaps a good idea to try—know the Monster of the Beginning Womb—Perhaps—that way. Would she care? She needs a lover.
Yisborach, v’yistabach, v’yispoar, v’yisroman, v’yisnaseh, v’yishador, v’yishalleh, v’yishallol, sh’meh d’kudsho, b’rich hu.
And Louis reestablishing himself in Paterson grimy apartment in negro district—living in dark rooms—but found himself a girl he later married, falling in love again—tho sere & shy—hurt with 20 years Naomi’s mad idealism.
Once I came home, after longtime in N.Y., he’s lonely—sitting in the bedroom, he at desk chair turned round to face me—weeps, tears in red eyes under his glasses—
That we’d left him—Gene gone strangely into army—she out on her own in N.Y., almost childish in her furnished room. So Louis walked downtown to postoffice to get mail, taught in highschool—stayed at poetry desk, forlorn—ate grief at Bickford’s all these years—are gone.
Eugene got out of the Army, came home changed and lone—cut off his nose in jewish operation—for years stopped girls on Broadway for cups of coffee to get laid—Went to NYU, serious there, to finish Law.—
And Gene lived with her, ate naked fishcakes, cheap, while she got crazier—He got thin, or felt helpless, Naomi striking 1920 poses at the moon, half-naked in the next bed.
bit his nails and studied—was the weird nurse-son—Next year he moved to a room near Columbia—though she wanted to live with her children—
‘Listen to your mother’s plea, I beg you’—Louis still sending her checks—I was in bughouse that year 8 months—my own visions unmentioned in this here Lament—
But then went half mad—Hitler in her room, she saw his mustache in the sink—afraid of Dr. Isaac now, suspecting that he was in on the Newark plot—went up to Bronx to live near Elanor’s Rheumatic Heart—
And Uncle Max never got up before noon, tho Naomi at 6 A.M. was listening to the radio for spies—or searching the windowsill,
for in the empty lot downstairs, an old man creeps with his bag stuffing packages of garbage in his hanging black overcoat.
Max’s sister Edie works—17 years bookkeeper at Gimbels—lived downstairs in apartment house, divorced—so Edie took in Naomi on Rochambeau Ave—
Woodlawn Cemetery across the street, vast dale of graves where Poe once—Last stop on Bronx subway—lots of communists in that area.
Who enrolled for painting classes at night in Bronx Adult High School—walked alone under Van Cortlandt Elevated line to class—paints Naomiisms—
Humans sitting on the grass in some Camp No-Worry summers yore—saints with droopy faces and long-ill-fitting pants, from hospital—
Brides in front of Lower East Side with short grooms—lost El trains running over the Babylonian apartment rooftops in the Bronx—
Sad paintings—but she expressed herself. Her mandolin gone, all strings broke in her head, she tried. Toward Beauty? or some old life Message?
But started kicking Elanor, and Elanor had heart trouble—came upstairs and asked her about Spydom for hours,—Elanor frazzled. Max away at office, accounting for cigar stores till at night.
‘I am a great woman—am truly a beautiful soul—and because of that they (Hitler, Grandma, Hearst, the Capitalists, Franco, Daily News, the ’20s, Mussolini, the living
dead) want to shut me up—Buba’s the head of a spider network—’
Kicking the girls, Edie & Elanor—Woke Edie at midnite to tell her she was a spy and Elanor a rat. Edie worked all day and couldn’t take it—She was organizing the union.—And Elanor began dying, upstairs in bed.
The relatives call me up, she’s getting worse—I was the only one left—Went on the subway with Eugene to see her, ate stale fish—
‘My sister whispers in the radio—Louis must be in the apartment—his mother tells him what to say—LIARS!—I cooked for my two children—I played the mandolin—’
Last night the nightingale woke me / Last night when all was still / it sang in the golden moonlight / from on the wintry hill. She did.
I pushed her against the door and shouted ‘DON’T KICK ELANOR!’—she stared at me—Contempt—die—disbelief her sons are so naive, so dumb—‘Elanor is the worst spy! She’s taking orders!’
‘—No wires in the room!’—I’m yelling at her—last ditch, Eugene listening on the bed—what can he do to escape that fatal Mama—‘You’ve been away from Louis years already—Grandma’s too old to walk—’
We’re all alive at once then—even me & Gene & Naomi in one mythological Cousinesque room—screaming at each other in the Forever—I in Columbia jacket, she half undressed.
I banging against her head which saw Radios, Sticks, Hitlers—the gamut of Hallucinations—for real—her own universe—no road that goes elsewhere—to my own—No America, not even a world—
That you go as all men, as Van Gogh, as mad Hannah, all the same—to the last doom—Thunder, Spirits, lightning!
I’ve seen your grave! O strange Naomi! My own—cracked grave! Shema Y’Israel—I am Svul Avrum—you—in death?
Your last night in the darkness of the Bronx—I phonecalled—thru hospital to secret police
that came, when you and I were alone, shrieking at Elanor in my ear—who breathed hard in her own bed, got thin—
Nor will forget, the doorknock, at your fright of spies,—Law advancing, on my honor—Eternity entering the room—you running to the bathroom undressed, hiding in protest from the last heroic fate—
staring at my eyes, betrayed—the final cops of madness rescuing me—from your foot against the broken heart of Elanor,
your voice at Edie weary of Gimbels coming home to broken radio—and Louis needing a poor divorce, he wants to get married soon—Eugene dreaming, hiding at 125 St., suing negroes for money on crud furniture, defending black girls—
Protests from the bathroom—Said you were sane—dressing in a cotton robe, your shoes, then new, your purse and newspaper clippingsno—your honesty—
as you vainly made your lips more real with lipstick, looking in the mirror to see if the Insanity was Me or a earful of police.
or Grandma spying at 78—Your vision—Her climbing over the walls of the cemetery with political kidnapper’s bag—or what you saw on the walls of the Bronx, in pink nightgown at midnight, staring out the window on the empty lot—
Ah Rochambeau Ave.—Playground of Phantoms—last apartment in the Bronx for spies—last home for Elanor or Naomi, here these communist sisters lost their revolution—
‘All right—put on your coat Mrs.—let’s go—We have the wagon downstairs—you want to come with her to the station?’
The ride then—held Naomi’s hand, and held her head to my breast, I’m taller—kissed her and said I did it for the best—Elanor sick—and Max with heart condition—Needs—
To me—‘Why did you do this?’—‘Yes Mrs., your son will have to leave you in an hour’—The Ambulance
came in a few hours—drove off at 4 A.M. to some Bellevue in the night downtown—gone to the hospital forever. I saw her led away—she waved, tears in her eyes.
Two years, after a trip to Mexico—bleak in the flat plain near Brentwood, scrub brush and grass around the unused RR train track to the crazyhouse—
new brick 20 story central building—lost on the vast lawns of madtown on Long Island—huge cities of the moon.
Asylum spreads out giant wings above the path to a minute black hole—the door—entrance thru crotch—
I went in—smelt funny—the halls again—up elevator—to a glass door on a Women’s Ward—to Naomi—Two nurses buxom white—They led her out, Naomi
stared—and I gaspt—She’d had a stroke—
Too thin, shrunk on her bones—age come to Naomi—now broken into white hair—loose dress on her skeleton—face sunk, old! withered—cheek of crone—
One hand stiff—heaviness of forties & menopause reduced by one heart stroke, lame now—wrinkles—a scar on her head, the lobotomy—ruin, the hand dipping downwards to death—
O Russian faced, woman on the grass, your long black hair is crowned with flowers, the mandolin is on your knees—
Communist beauty, sit here married in the summer among daisies, promised happiness at hand—
holy mother, now you smile on your love, your world is born anew, children run naked in the field spotted with dandelions,
they eat in the plum tree grove at the end of the meadow and find a cabin where a white-haired negro teaches the mystery of his rainbarrel—
blessed daughter come to America, I long to hear your voice again, remembering your mother’s music, in the Song of the Natural Front—
O glorious muse that bore me from the womb, gave suck first mystic life & taught me talk and music, from whose pained head I first took Vision—
Tortured and beaten in the skull—What mad hallucinations of the damned that drive me out of my own skull to seek Eternity till I find Peace for Thee, O Poetry—and for all humankind call on the Origin
Death which is the mother of the universe!—Now wear your nakedness forever, white flowers in your hair, your marriage sealed behind the sky—no revolution might destroy that maidenhood—
O beautiful Garbo of my Karma—all photographs from 1920 in Camp Nicht-Gedeiget here unchanged—with all the teachers from Vewark—Nor Elanor be gone, nor Max await his specter—nor Louis retire from this High School—
Back! You! Naomi! Skull on you! Gaunt immortality and revolution come—small broken woman—the ashen indoor eyes of hospitals, ward grayness on skin—
‘Are you a spy?’ I sat at the sour table, eyes filling with tears—‘Who are you? Did Louis send you?—The wires—’
in her hair, as she beat on her head—‘I’m not a bad girl—don’t murder me!—I hear the ceiling—I raised two children—’
Two years since I’d been there—I started to cry—She stared—nurse broke up the meeting a moment—I went into the bathroom to hide, against the toilet white walls
‘The Horror’ I weeping—to see her again—‘The Horror’—as if she were dead thru funeral rot in—‘The Horror!’
I came back she yelled more—they led her away—‘You’re not Allen—’ I watched her face—but she passed by me, not looking—
Opened the door to the ward,—she went thru without a glance back, quiet suddenly—I stared out—she looked old—the verge of the grave—‘All the Horror!’
Another year, I left N.Y.—on West Coast in Berkeley cottage dreamed of her soul—that, thru life, in what form it stood in that body, ashen or manic, gone beyond joy—
near its death—with eyes—was my own love in its form, the Naomi, my mother on earth still—sent her long letter—& wrote hymns to the mad—Work of the merciful Lord of Poetry.
that causes the broken grass to be green, or the rock to break in grass—or the Sun to be constant to earth—Sun of all sunflowers and days on bright iron bridges—what shines on old hospitals—as on my yard—
Returning from San Francisco one night, Orlovsky in my room—Whalen in his peaceful chair—a telegram from Gene, Naomi dead—
Outside I bent my head to the ground under the bushes near the garage—knew she was better—
at last—not left to look on Earth alone—2 years of solitude—no one, at age nearing 60—old woman of skulls—once long-tressed Naomi of Bible—
or Ruth who wept in America—Rebecca aged in Newark—David remembering his Harp, now lawyer at Yale
or Srul Avrum—Israel Abraham—myself—to sing in the wilderness toward God—O Elohim!—so to the end—2 days after her death I got her letter—
Strange Prophecies anew! She wrote—‘The key is in the window, the key is in the sunlight at the window—I have the key—Get married Allen don’t take drugs—the key is in the bars, in the sunlight in the window.
Love,
your mother’
which is Naomi—
Hymmnn
In the world which He has created according to his will Blessed Praised
Magnified Lauded
Exalted the Name of the Holy One Blessed is He!
In the house in Newark Blessed is He! In the madhouse Blessed is He! In the house of Death Blessed is He!
Blessed be He in homosexuality! Blessed be He in Paranoia! Blessed be He in the city! Blessed be He in the Book!
Blessed be He who dwells in the shadow! Blessed be He! Blessed be He!
Blessed be you Naomi in tears! Blessed be you Naomi in fears! Blessed Blessed Blessed in sickness!
Blessed be you Naomi in Hospitals! Blessed be you Naomi in solitude! Blest be your triumph! Blest be your bars! Blest be your last years’ loneliness!
Blest be your failure! Best be your stroke! Blest be the close of your eye! Blest be the gaunt of your cheek! Blest be your withered thighs!
Blessed be Thee Naomi in Death! Blessed be Death! Blessed be Death!
Blessed be He Who leads all sorrow to Heaven! Blessed be He in the end!
Blessed be He who builds Heaven in Darkness! Blessed Blessed Blessed be He! Blessed be He! Blessed be Death on us All!
III
Only to have not forgotten the beginning in which she drank cheap sodas in the morgues of Newark,
only to have seen her weeping on gray tables in long wards of her universe
only to have known the weird ideas of Hitler at the door, the wires in her head, the three big sticks
rammed down her back, the voices in the ceiling shrieking out her ugly early lays for 30 years,
only to have seen the time-jumps, memory lapse, the crash of wars, the roar and silence of a vast electric shock,
only to have seen her painting crude pictures of Elevateds running over the rooftops of the Bronx
her brothers dead in Riverside or Russia, her lone in Long Island writing a last letter—and her image in the sunlight at the window
‘The key is in the sunlight at the window in the bars the key is in the sunlight,’
only to have come to that dark night on iron bed by stroke when the sun gone down on Long Island
and the vast Atlantic roars outside the great call of Being to its own
to come back out of the Nightmare—divided creation—with her head lain on a pillow of the hospital to die
—in one last glimpse—all Earth one everlasting Light in the familiar black-out—no tears for this vision—
But that the key should be left behind—at the window—the key in the sunlight—to the living—that can take
that slice of light in hand—and turn the door—and look back see
Creation glistening backwards to the same grave, size of universe,
size of the tick of the hospital's clock on the archway over the white door—
IV
O mother
what have I left out
O mother
what have I forgotten
O mother
farewell
with a long black shoe
farewell
with Communist Party and a broken stocking
farewell
with six dark hairs on the wen of your breast
farewell
with your old dress and a long black beard around the vagina
farewell
with your sagging belly
with your fear of Hitler
with your mouth of bad short stories
with your fingers of rotten mandolins
with your arms of fat Paterson porches
with your belly of strikes and smokestacks
with your chin of Trotsky and the Spanish War
with your voice singing for the decaying overbroken workers
with your nose of bad lay with your nose of the smell of the pickles of Newark
with your eyes
with your eyes of Russia
with your eyes of no money
with your eyes of false China
with your eyes of Aunt Elanor
with your eyes of starving India
with your eyes pissing in the park
with your eyes of America taking a fall
with your eyes of your failure at the piano
with your eyes of your relatives in California
with your eyes of Ma Rainey dying in an aumbulance
with your eyes of Czechoslovakia attacked by robots
with your eyes going to painting class at night in the Bronx
with your eyes of the killer Grandma you see on the horizon from the Fire-Escape
with your eyes running naked out of the apartment screaming into the hall
with your eyes being led away by policemen to an aumbulance
with your eyes strapped down on the operating table
with your eyes with the pancreas removed
with your eyes of appendix operation
with your eyes of abortion
with your eyes of ovaries removed
with your eyes of shock
with your
eyes of lobotomy
with your eyes of divorce
with your eyes of stroke
with your eyes alone
with your eyes
with your eyes
with your Death full of Flowers
V
Caw caw caw crows shriek in the white sun over grave stones in Long Island
Lord Lord Lord Naomi underneath this grass my halflife and my own as hers
caw caw my eye be buried in the same Ground where I stand in Angel
Lord Lord great Eye that stares on All and moves in a black cloud
caw caw strange cry of Beings flung up into sky over the waving trees
Lord Lord O Grinder of giant Beyonds my voice in a boundless field in Sheol
Caw caw the call of Time rent out of foot and wing an instant in the universe
Lord Lord an echo in the sky the wind through ragged leaves the roar of memory
caw caw all years my birth a dream caw caw New York the bus the broken shoe the vast highschool caw caw all Visions of the Lord
Lord Lord Lord caw caw caw Lord Lord Lord caw caw caw Lord
Paris, December 1957—New York, 1959
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If the weather permitted it, and if I weren’t a damn coward without the patience to answer the inevitable barrage of questions, I’d buy a dozen crop tops and go out like this always.
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We did both!
Actually, it really worked out because when I told Cassie what Eli and I were planning to do, she was eager to join us along with the girls.
"Oh, that sounds like fun, Penny!", she said, bouncing up and down on her heels, "We can get candy, go through a haunted house, the works!"
We agreed to meet up at my flat before we went out, mainly to put any finishing touches on our costumes. Like before, Eli sniffed out the girls long before they came up to my floor.
"They're heeeeeerrree...", he said in a high, creepy voice.
"Fantastic! I'm just about ready, Eli, how do I look?"
This year, for our couples costume, Eli and I decided to dress up as Velma and Scooby Doo. I had asked my Mum to make me a tailor-made orange jumper a couple months in advance while the skirt and stockings came from my Nan's Circus Fat Lady clothes.
Eli let out a whistle and a growl before giving me a peck on the cheek.
He got his Scooby outfit from the costume shop which was a big onsie with paw shoes, a blue collar, and fake ears on a headband. However, we chopped off the fake tail on the costume and cut a small hole in the back so Eli could let out his real tail.
As he opened the door, the girls were already in costume, holding out small bags or buckets. "Trick or Treat!", they called out in unison.
"Jinkies!", I cried out exaggeratedly, "What scary costumes!"
The girls had certainly outdone themselves this year as they were all dressed up as different spooky monsters. They then quickly lined up to do a little presentation one-by-one of their costumes.
"I vant to suck your blood!", Cassie said as she bared her fake fangs in her vampire costume, a tight slinky black dress that showed off her legs with a high collar cape and long red nails.
Joanie waved her hands through the air in a mystical manner as she strutted in wearing a long sparkly red hooded robe with magical symbols sewed along the bottom.
"Ooh! Are you a witch?", I asked, admiring her outfit.
She wiggled her fingers in my direction, "An enchantress! Beware or be cursed!"
Tamika's costume was very striking as she styled her hair in long dreadlocks and had her face painted like a skull, wearing tight dark trousers, thigh-high boots, a long coat, and a corset that enhanced her already abundant curves.
"Whoa! What are you supposed to be? A zombie?", Eli asked.
Tamika glared theatrically at Eli, "I'm the Voodoo Queen of Ocean City, boy! You best show some respect 'lest you end up as food for the gators!"
Leaping in through the doorway, Deb, wearing an all-black long-sleeved leotard and leggings let out a loud "Rowr!". As she crouched on all fours, I saw that, like Eli, she wore a headband with fake ears, only these were black cat ears along with fuzzy clawed gloves and a long tail tied to her waist.
Eli gasped, "You're a cat!"
Deb faked licking her paw before scratching the air. "And you're a dog! Hisss!"
An eerie moaning came from the doorway as Stacey slowly walked in with her eyes wide and her mouth agape. She was wearing a long tattered blue dress with a sash that said "PROM QUEEN" but her skin was painted a deathly grey and her dark hair was hanging messily over her face. "OoOoOh!", she moaned.
"Let me guess: a ghost?", I said, holding up a magnifying glass to my eye.
Stacey shambled over up to my face, the glass making her eye unnaturally big. "Boo!", she said, before breaking character with a giggle.
Next up, we heard a voice starting to raspily sing:
I could while away the hours
Conferrin' with the flowers,
Consulting with the rain;
A tall scarecrow wearing a tattered flannel shirt and denim overalls crept through the door. Their face was concealed in a burlap sack and a straw hat, a stitched-on smile leering widely.
And my head I'd be a scratchin'
While my thoughts are busy hatchin'
As they stumbled right in front of me, they tapped my forehead with a plastic hand sickle.
If I only had a brain...
Me, Eli, and the girls inside couldn't help but give a spirited applause to the Scarecrow's spooky performance. They lifted their mask and hat to reveal Amanda, who gave a theatrical bow. "Thank y'all! You're much too kind!"
"Tik-tik-tik-tik!" came a shrill voice from the hallway. We all jumped as Lailani, wearing a plastic vampire mask, fake bat wings on her back, and fake guts wrapped around her stomach, leaped through the doorway. Attached to the vampire's mouth was a long pink tongue which she shook wildly about as she screeched, clawing the air.
"WHAA!", I yelped, "What are you?!"
"A Manananggal! Tik-tik-tik-tik-tik!"
"A what-what-what-what?", Eli asked, tilting his head.
Lailani lifted her masked and smiled, "I'm a Manananggal! It's like a Filipino vampire."
She pointed to her fake guts, "They separate from their lower half and go flying around at night! And they use their long tongues like a mosquito to drink blood from sleeping victims!"
"Wow! That's ace, Lailani!" I said, "Very very creepy looking but ace!"
Karen walked in a robotic gait, wearing a silver jumpsuit, her face painted green and two springy antennae bouncing on her head. "I come in peace!" she said, holding a shiny blue crystal aloft and making vibrating humming sounds with her mouth.
Deb clicked her tongue and gave a cheeky smile. "Karen! We said to come in costume, not your pajamas!"
Karen pouted and put her hands on her hips. "Don't tease! I'm using this crystal so I can stay in the same frequency in this dimension! Plus, it took me a long time to paint my face just right!"
"Aw, your costume's fine, Karen!", Tamika reassured her, "Some kitty cats don't know how to play nice!"
Deb only replied with a hiss.
Finally, Talon walked casually in wearing a dark jumpsuit and familiar white mask. She lifted the mask up and said, "Hey, it's me. I'm Michael Myers this year. 'Sup."
After the costume show-off had finally ended, Cassie gasped, "Oh my God! You two look so cute!"
"You can thank Eli for the idea!", I said, patting him on the back.
We had been watching cartoons together and Eli, like before, wanted a costume where he could let his tail out. When Scooby Doo, Where Are You? came on, the idea took hold in his mind and snowballed from there.
With all of us finally together, we headed out into the night.
We stopped by a convenience store and got some big bags of sweeties to take with us on our journey. We taped them up around my wheelchair, that way the girls could just grab a handful while we moved.
Like before, we saw lots of families or small gangs of kids running to and fro, getting their Trick or Treating candy. Many of the residences were feeling the holiday spirit as they were all decorated from simple pumpkins on their front steps to whole buildings looking like haunted houses!
We actually came across a haunted house tour (one of those attractions where you wander through dark hallways while people in costume jump out and spook you!). The girls wanted to go in but alas, me and my wheelchair were too big to fit in the entrance. Buuuuut just between you and me, even if I did fit, I didn't really have the nerve to go inside anyway. I still have bad memories of my older cousins dragging me into one when I was six and they had to carry me out because I was screaming too much and attacking the scarers.
So, me, Karen, and Stacey were the scaredy-cats who waited outside while the other girls and Eli walked in. We didn't have to wait long before Talon stormed out at an angry pace.
"Tee, what happened? Don't tell me you got too scared!", I asked.
She sighed, "Ah, I probably shouldn't have gone in. My Fight-or-Flight instincts came in when a guy dressed up as a zombie jumped up and I punched him in the face. They kicked me out after that."
We munched on candy as we waited before Eli and the girls came out the exit, screaming and laughing.
"Hey, there's our little zombie slayer!", Cassie yelled, pointing at Talon.
Even through her Michael Myers mask, I could see Talon roll her eyes. "Ha ha. Very funny."
Stacey asked, "So how was it?"
Eli bounced up and down on his feet excitedly. "Oh, it was great! There were ghosts swooping down and monsters popping out behind doors and big spiders leaping off the ground!"
I winced at the idea of the spiders but gave a nervous laugh, "Well, I'm glad you liked it, Luv."
A lady with her face painted like a skull walked up to us on the sidewalk, a Polaroid photo in her hands. "Here ya go, girls! Your complimentary photo! Have a Happy Halloween!"
As the photo cleared, we all gave a great laugh. The photo showed Eli and the girls all clinging to each other's shoulders like in a conga line. Something must've had just popped out at them because they were either in mid-scream or their eyes were wide with fright.
We then headed towards Hamilton Park where I remembered from last time they had a Halloween parade and carnival games. This year, there was a big stage all set up for a costume contest.
Stacey gasped, "Oh, we should sign up! We all put in a lot of work for our costumes, we need to show them off!"
An apprehensive giggle came out of me. "You girls go right ahead. I'll just sit this one out."
In my defense, all I could see by me being up on stage was being jeered and mocked or people just gawking at me like my Nan during one of her Fat Lady performances.
"Hold up, Penny.", Cassie said, scratching her chin, "I already know what you're thinking but I think there's a way we can have a bit of Halloween fun with this..."
After an introduction by the MC, the contestants went one by one up on the stage, either doing a twirl to show off their costumes or acting in character, giving the audience a jolt. It was finally my turn as I wheeled up on stage alone. As I thought, everyone in the audience went slack-jawed or bug-eyed at the sight of me, an awkward silence filled the air.
"Eh heh heh heh...J-jinkies?", I said hesitantly, waving my magnifying glass.
"Ruh-Roh, Relma!", Eli yelled in his best Scooby voice off stage as he came running towards me and hopped into my arms, shaking like a leaf. He pointed stage left, "M-m-m-monsters!"
Suddenly, Amanda the Scarecrow and Karen the Alien came trotting towards us, their arms reaching out ominously.
youtube
Eli and I both screamed as I wheeled towards the right side of the stage but Cassie the Vampire and Tamika the Voodoo Queen jumped out, hissing and groaning. We screamed again and I wheeled around in circles as the "monsters" chased us about while the Scooby Doo theme song played over the speakers.
As Cassie had hoped, the audience started to laugh and clap at our silly performance. When the song ended, we all linked hands and took a bow, Cassie throwing me a sly wink.
After the girls got to show off their costumes individually (Except Talon, who opted to stand silently and creep people out in the crowd), we awaited the results. While none of them got "Scariest Costume", Lailani won "Most Unique Costume"! But the biggest surprise was Eli and I got an Honorable Mention for "Best Performance"!
We decided to head back to my flat but not before stopping at the video store to rent some scary movies. We debated and discussed the merits and flaws of what to pick before finally settling on three: The Horror of Dracula (My pick!), Pet Semetary, and The Serpent and the Rainbow!
For the rest of the night, we watched the movies while we ate pizza and drank cider, some of it a little "harder" than others, heh heh heh!
All in all, maybe it wasn't as eventful as past Halloweens but it was much more fun to spend it with friends than by myself.
Oh! Is there something you wanted to say, Eli?
Eli: Yup! Happy Halloween and Scooby Dooby Dooooooooooooo! Hee hee hee hee hee!
(Artwork by @ExponentialMass on Twitter!)
#Ask Miss Thunder#happy belated halloween#Miss Thunder#Eli#Black Dog#Red Rabbit#Talon#Halloween#Youtube
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