ghohst storie

it's hincredible how emotion can change what you believe in.

and i'm not just talking about my favorite screamo bands.

on a fairweathered day i believe in most things. karma definitely. god, yes, of some sort. reincarnation in some form or another but probably not the way most people would understand it. fate and destiny and all that. also predators, aliens, aliens vs. predators, and ghosts.

when i am feeling shitty enough i will write all of this off as human constructs in a universe that randomly occurred and will randomly fall apart without so much as a single discernible reason or logic. nihilism is like the big bottle of scotch i break out when i don't want any shit from any assholes. it is a neat little package that wraps up any loose ends left floating around our doomed solar system. when the sun finally shoots its load all over us, it will have all been worth it because there wasn't any worth to begin with. this school of thought, much like scotch, is intoxicating for a while but too much will make you vomit it all up.

i guess when i am in my most typical mindset, that of slightly-confused-but-ultimately-content malaise, i tend to believe there is something else going on in those twenty-six other dimensions floating between your nose and mine. which is why tonight, in my mother's home on long island, i am forced to deal with a ghost(s?) that has haunted this house pretty much since i moved here. perhaps a more disgruntled me would think to myself, fuck your imagination go to sleep. but feeling about average leaves me faced with the very real noises and strange occurrences that seem to happen whenever i'm here. there's a fucking weird stain in the basement that predates our arrival here and has not been removable or identifiable as long as i've known about it. so clearly it is the spot where someone was violently murdered, their death stain lingering through the ages to warn of the evil forever surrounding that spot. now this restless soul is forced to creep softly among these walls and move my laundry hamper to the other side of my room while i try to sleep (this actually happened and there is still no explanation you guys). 

does that fact that i don't believe in these things when i'm depressed make that a special ghostfighting power? or am i making myself more vulnerable to the spirit world by actively ignoring it? am i perhaps a communicator between the worlds of the living and the dead zone, chosen by fate to bring peace to the legions of limboed wraiths caught between the voids? this post has officially ventured out of the charming and into the "i don't know if he's serious and i don't like it".

i'm probably schizophrenic.