Tomb It May Concern

Spooktacular, Spooktacular, Not Unless Your Name is Dracula

When Ghosts and Ghouls are out to Play... things go Bump in the Night

You know how they say that the dark isn't scary? That's not true. Things lurk in the dark, twisted, strange and scary things that blink out at you with invisible eyes. And they all come out to play in the days round All Hallows Eve. There are monsters, red-eyed, white-eyed, fanged and incorporeal monsters prowling, stalking, waiting for the right moment... 

In the topmost flat on Thirl-blood-stained Road, five such monsters live - R.I.P-ecca Tombstone, - a corpsebride looking for her next husband, Scare Reaperts - a white-eyed hag, Ghostephine Gone-athan - last living relative of the White Witch, Jekyll Ox-slayer - whose name says enough and their pet Death Hound, Ghoul-ivia Rabid-y. They sent out an in-fright, calling all the other ghosties and ghoulies and beasties and horrible things to their Den of Horrors. Note the dripping candles and the smell of lillies over embalming fluid, note the blood that's stained even the mugs on their table - more often than not, stained by the tiny hands of children. 

The wizards were there, smirking in the knowledge that there wasn't a chance of safe hex when it came to the end of their wands. The vampires slunk out from the shadows, licking their teeth in anticipation. A broken doll stared with china blue eyes from the corner of the room, an ogre thudded up the stairs and smacked her chops whilst thinking of all the young things that would foolishly be walking home through the Meadows later that night. Dr Jekyll tipped his hat to his immortal companions, welcoming the new bloodless to his city and Mr Snowman smirked dementedly from beneath his tophat. 

Carving out memories to the beating bass, they chanted and cursed, drank and ate, cackled and frolicked all the way through the witching hour and into the wee hours of the morning. The pet Hound rubbed up against everyone, mentally noting that everyone was already dead and that it couldn't kill anyone who carried the smell of carrion upon their cold flesh. The bloodless shimmied with the skeletons, remembering their deathdays and in-frighting each other to their next big Hunt. 

Even the most ancient witches from downstairs were incapable of a sufficient silencing charm to block out the ruckus as the undead partied on and on.... 

Until the cock crowed. Then silence, stillness descended. Every last one of them... gone into the ether. And all this on the eve before the eve before the eve before the eve before All Hallows Eve. Just imagine what comes next.

 Be afraid, Edinburgh, be very very afraid. 

Je serai poète et toi poésie,
SCRIBBLER

Back To School

Back To School

Why I Need to Find a Job and why my Nerves were Foolish

So it's begun. 

I had the first two hours of my four-hour-week today. Yup, it's Monday at six o'clock in the evening, the sky is blue with only a hint of a dark cloud rolling away towards the coast and half of my university week has already flown by. I have officially returned as an enrolled student at the University of Edinburgh. The irony that I spent today, of all days, dressed in full on Carolina regalia (carolina hoodie, ron-a-thon tshirt, UNC shorts, red owl back-pack that's definitely seen better days) only dawned on me in the last couple of minutes, but it's a fond sort of irony. 

Today was funny. I woke up to my alarm, heard Zoe in the shower already and rolled over thinking 'right when she comes out, I'll get up and jump in', only I rolled over and fell straight back to sleep. Luckily, being the wonderful friend that she is, she did come in and poke me in the head to wake me up once more. So eight-thirty in the morning, I'm up and dressed and entirely clad in my tarheel uniform, thinking I'll go to the gym. Three hours later, Zoe's gone to class and I'm still not at the gym. 

For those who don't know, when I look outside the living-room window I can SEE the gym. If I wanted to I could lob a lacrosse ball through it's likely-closed-off-chimney without having to use the lacrosse stick. It's that close. But somehow, in my head, as my continued Fringe lurgy made my whole body quiver, I managed to psyche myself out of the venture. 

"People. Will. Be. There." I worried, "Everyone's going to see how horribly out of shape I've become." 

"Oh yes," Replied Self-Consciousness, "And they will be JUDGING YOU."

"Don't be ridiculous," Sensible-Me retorted, "Nobody's going to care. You'll be fine."

"But I'll be on my own."

"You're being a moron. Get up and go." This last one sounded suspiciously like my mother. And Lauren. 

Luckily, as this conversation occurred for the umpteenth time and my Shmoo sent me her zillionth video, Zoe came home and we arranged to go to the gym AFTER class. The other fortunate thing about my brilliant procrastination skills was that I realised horror-of-horrors that I had a tonne of reading to do for my first class that I had yet to do. And then even more for tomorrow as well. Scribbling out notes, hastening through Carruther's and cramming a load of talk on neuroscience and folk psychology, I did at least manage to stay one step ahead of the game and do quite a lot of useful work. 

Turning up to class was fun. I was there a few minutes too early (I was quite convinced that it was meant to start at two but apparently not) then, floating through the corridor came a voice... a familiar, lightly-Scottish brogue that brought a curious smile to my lips. Could it be...? YES! It was David, the brilliant retired-teacher-turned-philosophy-student, who joined Holt, Jo and I on our quest to defeat the university exam system and actually pass it despite (in my case at least) kind of having no clue what on earth was actually going on. I feel this might be a recurrent problem this year... it's all right though, Jo is in my class for Social Cognition and we've already set up a study group at his house on Tuesdays. Phew. It totally put my fears to the side and his surety in this teacher makes me more confident too. 

Tomorrow will be nerve-wracking. I still have to write up everything I've read today and put them on a group document that we can all then read and share. It's all Frued and art and psychoanalysis, so whilst I'm sure my subjects will coincide, I'm a little put out that I've two psychology-based classes when I already know how useless I am at psychology. Hopefully my layman's folkiness will be enough. Also, I'm just hoping that everything will fall together like it did today. I must remember to buy some more notebooks and folders. And rocket salad. 

Wednesday and Thursday will be this weeks deal breakers. Dissertation overview meeting and then supervisor sign up... I'm more than a little concerned that I might not end up with the tutor I need as my supervisor. I'm also quite worried that he might hate my idea and reject my thesis as it stands... Oh me, oh my, this is what happens when I have too much free time and can think and think and think over what's to come. Over-thought things always become mountains when they're even smaller than pimples. 

On the plus side, Friday is only four days away and that means the weekend. Wait... my weekend is on Tuesday. Nevermind. Friday is only four days away and that means the return of the Blueswater Collective (whose review I really do need to remember to edit and post up on here) to Edinburgh. This means my bestest squatters will be in the same city at the same time doing the same thing in the same place (oh em gee it'll be the same trill and everything). Yup, Charlie will be back in town and I'll have a good excuse to go hang out with my favourite non-female trumpet player and maybe it'll stop raining. That last point is probably wishful thinking.

So on with the week! All two hours of it. My gosh I need a job. 

Je serai poète et toi poésie, 

SCRIBBLER