miscellany

 there are different levels of how one may see a ghost. if a living person is similar to the ghost (as they were in life) in some way, it is easier to see them. if they are very similar, the ghost will almost be as a mortal. as one gets to know a ghost better, they will become more defined and easier to see. the older they are, the more a ghost fades. the farther away they are from their place of attachment*, the more a ghost fades. the face is the last thing to become perfectly clear in these levels.
in the presence of someone who sees the ghost at a higher level, the spirit may appear more clearly to someone who would normally see them at a lower level.

1. a chill in the air.****


2. same as above, and a slight fog. orbs may appear in photographs.**


3. cold air, fog, indistinct whispering. footsteps may be heard.


4. the above, but the whispers may include some distinct words. an indistinct figure may appear in photographs.


5. louder, more comprehensible sentences may be heard. may appear as an indistinct figure to the naked eye (like fog condensed in one spot.) figure will be more humanoid in photographs.


6. humanoid figure (like photographs in previous level; this rule will persist) will appear to naked eye; this figure will be nearly transparent and monochromatic, without a face. the voice may almost be at the level of living speech, but still not as clear or distinct, and may sound as if they are far away or behind a wall. in photographs, will appear more opaque. if touched by a living person, the ghost will seem to "dissipate."


7. figure has distinct edges but is still somewhat translucent. there may be some slight suggestions of facial features, but they will appear "hard to focus on". if touched by a living person, the ghost will not be solid, but will not "dissipate." voice is nearly identical to the speech of the living, if a bit "hollow-sounding."


8. figure is almost entirely opaque, with clear and distinct details such as clothing***, fingernails, etc. the spirit may look odd and transparent in the light. facial features are slightly more distinct, but still not at the level of a living person's. it is very easy to mistake this level of ghost for a mortal from afar, in low light, or if their head is turned. if touched, they will still not be solid; however, with some effort, the spirit may create a sort of "resistance" to being pushed through, as if made of some sort of jelly.


9. figure is almost entirely visually living, but may seem slightly translucent in direct light. facial features are smooth and vague, but would not seem out of place on a living person. if touched, there will be a "resistance" without any effort on the spirit's part. with effort, the spirit may be touched as a solid form.


10. figure is basically identical to a living person. their opacity may falter (generally undetectably) in bright, direct sunlight. their facial features are as they were in life, as is their voice. they may be nearly entirely solid to the touch, without effort on the spirit's part. it is extremely rare for one to see a ghost at this level if one was not already both extremely close and extremely similar to them in their life. it is almost impossible to see a ghost at this level if one only comes to know the ghost after they have died.

*place of attachment: somewhere a ghost is most likely to "haunt," and where they first appear upon awakening after death. this may be the ghost's place of death, or a place that was especially important to them in life. it may also be the place in which they lived prior to death, or the place where their body lies after death. the condition of the body has no bearing on the condition of the spirit.

**the level at which a ghost appears in a photograph depends not on the person taking it but on those who are present at the time of the photo being taken. visibility in photographs also depends on age of the spirit and distance from place of attachment.

***as with the place of attachment, the clothing a ghost wears after death may vary. in many cases, they are seen wearing the clothing in which they died. in others, it is the clothing in which they were buried. if there was one outfit with which the ghost tended to associate themselves, had a strong attachment to, or were associated with by a great number of other people, they may appear in these clothes. in some cases, spirits have been seen in different outfits from day to day. it is not yet known how they are able to "change clothes" in this manner; the "clothes" are not real textiles and are made of the same phantasmic substance as their "bodies."

****in places where ghosts are known to manifest, there are often readings of high "infrasound"- an extremely low frequency sound that is below the limit of audibility. ghosts themselves produce this infrasound, which manifests a number of effects commonly associated with the presence of a spirit, such as:

• a feeling of awe or fear.
• seeing figures out of the corner of your eye.
• feeling chilled.

• is a story about one man (the hero) and told from the perspective of another man (the apostle)


• the apostle is somehow an outcast compared to the hero, has some sort of deficit, lacks something the hero does not, and from this grows a sort of adoration, which may become obsession
  the hero may be the titular character while the apostle is delegated to the role of storyteller


• the relationship between the hero and apostle is multifaceted
  it may be abnormal, in regards to the aforementioned adoration/obsession from the apostle
     it may be unhealthy and bordering on adversarial at times
   it usually will not be outright stated to be romantic, but may easily be read as such


• there is a woman in the story who complicates the relationship between the hero and the apostle
  this complication may be romantic or otherwise
  there may be more than one character who fits this archetype, but often there is only one who is close to both the hero and the apostle in some way at a given point in the story
   she may have her own somewhat apostolic dynamic with the hero as well
     she may bond with the apostle over their shared adoration of the hero


• the hero dies at the end
   he may be shot to death, but any death can apply
   the apostle outlives the hero, in order to tell the story
  the death may be purely symbolic(?)
   in some cases, both the hero and the apostle may die
     this is most acceptable in cases such as hannibal, where the apostle has a storyline heavily relating to "becoming" the hero. in this case, given that this also causes the apostle/hero relationship to become somewhat confused, only the apostle dying would also have been accepted.

 right now I am on a subway, which is a very long train- that is, a vehicle. its intent is to take people (like me) from one place to another. the difference between a subway and a regular train is that a subway runs underground, while the other runs above. they run on tracks. and they're rather long. anyhow, now I am on a train, in [...], in canada, which is a country- I'm sure you know about countries? it is a place that is much like america except that america very much wants to believe it is america and canada does not. [...] is a city in canada. I am travelling from the place that I was, which is a school- a university, which is a place for young adults like me to go and learn, ostensibly, and live, sometimes- to the place that I am going, which is downtown, a place people go to shop, and have fun, I suppose, and die, sometimes. I am travelling there to meet my mother- you know about mothers, don't you? in a way you are a mother. a mother is another person that creates you, sort of, and raises you, if she feels like it. I'm going to see my mother because it is her birthday today; that is, it's the anniversary of the day she was expelled from her own mother's womb- 53 years ago on this day, she was born. we generally like to celebrate this sort of thing. humans are sentimental that way.

 I think it's important you know that I know I have no excuse.
 It's tempting for me to say it was some sort of accident. That I blinked, and one day suddenly everything was toppling around me, and I had to dig my way out. That I wasn't conscious, that it wasn't my fault. But none of that makes sense, and I want you to know that I know. I have no excuse. I can't honestly say I don't know what I was thinking. Because I do. I was thinking of desire, and passion, and something close to love but not quite there. I was thinking of power, too, and control; something I severely lacked in my life. But that's not an excuse, not really. Plenty of people lack control. As a matter of fact, the way the world works means that the majority of people give up control over nearly everything in their lives. Think about it. What, in your day-to-day, do you actually have a solid hold over? What can you change? Most of the decisions you think you're making have already been made for you, some by people that died before you were even born. Choosing what kind of cereal you eat in the morning before you go do the job you thought you wanted so you can potentially one day retire (which you also think you want to do) isn't a choice, it's an illusion. It's the equivalent of picking whether you want the green or pink electric chair. This is why people go live in the woods, in a cabin with no electricity.
 But I digress. I know I have no excuse. It's hard to tell the difference between an excuse and an explanation, so I'm telling you upfront which one it is. It would be an understatement to say I have done wrong. I've thought about it, and I don't know that there was any one thing that really led to my actions. I didn't fall off the swing and hit my head as a child. No laviscious pastor fondled me. If I had to point to one thing, it would be that lack of control. But I don't have an explanation as to why I reacted to that the way I did, when most other people don't. There must be something- some sort of seed inside me, and the other sick fucks like me- that only germinates under specific conditions. Other people, lacking the seed, can go through the same situations and come out the other end perfectly normal. But something inherent to me sprouted at some point. I don't much like this explanation, although it's the only one that really makes sense. It points to an essentialism that I dislike; like I said, most people don't have any control at all. If it was inevitable that I'd be powerless, was it also inevitable that I'd turn out this way? I guess in a way that absolves me of guilt. The problem I have, then, with this idea must be that I feel that it makes me "A Bad Person." Of course, at this point, anyone you ask will tell you flat-out I am obviously a bad person. But the seed means that regardless of what I would have done, no matter how I tried to do good, I would always, on the inside, be "A Bad Person." And there is nothing to be done to change that.
 Again, that relieves some responsibility. Maybe I should be happy about that.

  I consider angels to be beings made of light, while ghosts, generally, are more represented by shadow or fog, although there are circumstances in which there is a "bending of light" i.e. something that seems like a silhouette, like something is there but not really, the empty space where a figure should be- this is an overlap in representation which could be either ghostly or angelic. ghosts are also represented in the context of the past; memories, longing, so on and so forth, while angels in the context of protection, guidance, futurity. both can be linked to childhood or innocence. ghosts have a strong association with hands- they most often manifest as the doing of something; closing a door, pushing something off of a surface, breaking things, etc; in my mind ghosts' hands manifest first or most commonly, and most rarely their faces, so ghosts are often faceless creatures, while angels have faces generally as often as not, although they might be altered from how we are used to seeing a face. ghosts are often more strongly associated with a monochrome scheme, perhaps for no other reason than aesthetics, although there may be a connection to the past and how it is viewed through film and photographs. both can be represented by vague human like forms, silhouettes, or seemingly bleeding into the air around them, although angels tend to do so with the effect of glowing light, while ghosts seem to dissipate into their surroundings. they both may seem to be deformed, have an unusual amount of limbs, or strange faces, bend in impossible ways, etc, although angels are much stronger in their conviction that they have created a proper form, and thus present it viscerally and confidently; the mistakes ghosts make in manifesting are due to the strength of the border between life and death and their lost memories of their own form, so it is more ambiguous and uncertain.

after a long, hard battle with faulty machinery, a spacecraft has fallen into a young boy's bedroom. (the boy was killed on impact.) the spacecraft's pilot took it upon itself to play his role, as a show of respect to the human race. (funeral rites were not held.)
the alien, in the midst of its assimilation, became aware of a certain burden of suspicion (a doubt which, while not misplaced, is nonetheless bothersome). despite best efforts, its mask somewhat slipped, and once noticed, this misgiving could not go unpunished. the alien could not flee. it had nowhere to go. it instead attempted to will its own humanity into existence, a feat which was successful only once in all of history.
I'll keep telling you, "I come in peace," and you'll keep not believing me.

  I keep moving from item to item, seeing something and thinking, that must be fun, it looks like they had fun when they did it, and I try it and don't have any fun, I don't know what to make of this. I think everything I've thought I really wanted to do in the past was only due to a perception that it seemed to make people happy, which is different than thinking it would make me happy, somehow. like I watch movies and think, "this looked like a lot of fun to make! I bet if I made them I could have fun too!" and then I try it and I don't because something is broken inside of me, and it's not that I don't know how to interact with people but that I do and it's violent, inside of me, when it happens, it's like a violent mitosis, and it's painful and I don't like it. I'm on the subway hyperventilating. I plan my outfits out a week in advance. I dress nicely so the people on the train will like me. the only way I can motivate myself to do well in school is if I care about whether the teacher likes me. otherwise I don't see the point. because there is no point- I don't have an end goal, I'm just doing things to do them. it's just an excuse so people will get off my back. oh god, but they don't. it doesn't even work. I'm always putting all these damn clothes on. I don't know why I put so much effort into it. I don't even talk to anyone in my classes. I don't, anyways, I pretend to, someone else does it for me. and still, not really. I'm afraid I'll break the illusion. I don't know. I'm only having fun when someone is complimenting me. every other smile is dull amusement with a rubber-band snap-back 20 minutes later, if that many. I'm not smart enough to qualify what's going on here. I don't actually know at all. I'm constantly thinking about complete bullshit. this whole thing could be lies, I wouldn't even know. god, I hate myself. I like myself in theory. on paper, I love myself. it's like this: I made a character for me to imitate, as a facsimile of what someone would probably call "being myself." I don't have a myself to be, I have to make a character. I always love my characters. so I love that character, called me. and I strive towards it, I want to be it. but I hate myself, the me who's doing it. I don't do it right. I'm a poor adaptation. I'm a cheap knockoff. it's taking all my focus to keep my joints from dissolving. I'd be a pile of flesh. I don't know what's going on or where I am or what this is. I keep thinking, I just have to play the game. why am I so bad at playing the game? surely there's a trick to it. I just want to have fun. the only reason I'm not an alcoholic is because I can't afford it. I don't want to be thinking all the time. I don't want to be this thing anymore. world's ending. the world is ending. that's basically the story.

  I think I've basically always-- and here I use "always" in the same tone I generally talk about my past with, a sort of undeserved confidence, with the understanding that most of this is extrapolation at best and functionally lying at worst-- basically always, as far as I can remember or otherwise tell, felt an immense discomfort it with my life as it is (or was), like an extremely basic instinctual disconnect between myself and the life I'm living, the world I'm living it in. no matter where I was, I was always thinking "I want to go home," and most of the time I was ostensibly already there-- everywhere I went, and go, I wanted, and want, to be elsewhere. I don't know what to do about this. I think this wistfulness was possibly part of the reason for my conception by adults as an "old soul," although why this is generally even considered a positive thing to say to or about a child is beyond me. I can't tell you what I thought about it then, because I don't know. I was, and am, terminally out-of-place, never quite feeling at rest in the way others seem to. it seemed impossible that it was really so easy for others to be comfortable. it was as if I was always sitting on nails. I thought they must have been pretending. I never said anything about it, because I rarely said anything about anything. and all of this could be fake, to be fair. I could have made it all up.