Driving out to the edge of town to get a replacement door for our car. Junkyard stretching for miles. Narrow path between. Silence. Then i start to notice all the burnt out hulks. All alike. All the same model as our Pinto. It's like some demon had been dispatched to blow them all up.
"A reason for bed is this, that a decline, any decline is poison, poison is a toe a toe extractor, this means a solemn change. Hanging." --Tender Buttons
Any dark day is sinister in the City of Magnificent Splendors, for it means the chance that these clouds might twist & stretch into the makings of a ravaging tornado. There is a certain greenish light we learn to look for. Even though the last tornado occurrence was years ago, we still watch & wait.
"Suppose our leading scientists discovered that a meteor, hurtling toward the earth, was set to strike later this century; the governments of the world had less than ten years to divert or destroy it. How would news organizations cover this story? Even in an era of financial distress, they would throw teams of reporters at it and give them the resources needed to follow it in extraordinary depth and detail. After all, the race to stop the meteor would be the story of the century." --Eric Pooley
"There was a Dallas urban legend in the 1960s and 70s that led many to believe witches roamed the streets of the city after midnight. The most famous location for their satanic worship ceremonies was between two tall skyscrapers called the Stemmons Towers.
The Stemmons Towers are located along Stemmons Freeway, a major thoroughfare of the city. Probably every high school kid in Dallas in the late 60s and early 70s took at least one midnight cruise by the buildings. These cruises were usually reserved for teen initiations into drill team, drama club, etc. To the unsuspecting youths, as their vehicle slowly entered the business property, there indeed seemed to be a coven of witches gathered at the site. However, in the daylight, the coven was revealed to be a group of three dark, human-sized monolithic sculptures! A mini Stonehenge, if you will.
The Dallas urban legend of the three witches ran so rampant in 1970 that the Dallas Morning News ran a scary story about the false coven, complete with eerie photos of the statues. Unfortunately, the modernistic statues no longer exist. The rumor is that the owner of Stemmons Towers, due to the disruptions caused by all the nocturnal tourists to the property (especially on weekends), removed them in the 1980s." --Dallas Mythbusters ...More. And more.
"Unfortunately -- when everyone is actively promoting propaganda, and fewer and fewer people are actually fooled by it, the net effect is just the same as if the broader society buys into the propaganda wholeheartedly." --commentator Thomas Daulton at Archdruid Report blog
I would always pass this motel on the bus. It lay up a hill covered in kudzu; all you could see was tile rooftops. Some people said there had been a murder committed on the premises. One night we drove up the scary steep ramp to look around. Not one car was parked out front.
I lived for awhile in a refurbished church in a bad neighborhood; in an actual garret, in fact. It suited me. I seldom saw my fellow residents. The doors were never locked. The locals were convinced this was a witch house. True, we were fond of Mazzy Star, black candles, and incense.
A nondescript building on the historic campus houses its closed-stacks theological library. I was researching Latin decadence poetry & got permission to use it. I would pass a glass boxed mummy in the foyer, then sit reading for hours in the narrow aisles, entranced, utterly alone. They even had a complete set of the Equinox.
A former dinner theater in an industrial area now housed a club for goths. It had a narrow balcony & I would sip orange Curacao up there, wearing a cape & sometimes raccoonface makeup. Nobody spoke. The music was loud & relentless. When Diamanda Galas came to town, she played there. The mood was electric.
A large, ornate old house with a garden full of strange pale statues lay off a busy overpass. It was supposed to be owned by a famously rich, suspiciously secretive cult. You could only catch glimpses of it as you passed. The way down there was hard to find. The way back out was impossible.
