Night Car

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A cheesy edit I did of the old Volvo that once stood in my driveway. I kept it cheesy to let it have the crappy/cheesy B-Horror Film Feel.

A cheesy edit I did of the old Volvo that once stood in my driveway. I kept it cheesy to let it have the crappy/cheesy B-Horror Film Feel.

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Mystic Land

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In the mystic lands.

With food so plenty.

Where mystery creatures,

were once our teachers.

A world where the mind,

was free to fully bloom.

Knowledge was power.

No bias media to consume.

Where has this mystic land gone?

Why was there only one?

Oh where is this mystic land?

Why are we fed the devil’s hand?

The heart & soul had reigned on earth.

The mighty evil powers, struck down by the Gods.

Simplicity based.

Born to strive necessity.

Not luxury.

Where has this mystic land gone?

Why was there only one?

Oh where is this mystic land?

Why are we fed the devil’s hand?

We live in a world where knowledge is terrorism.

A heart the enemy, people roaming hungry.

The creatures are now extinct.

We’re programmed to think.

Where has this mystic land gone?

Why was there only one?

Oh where is this mystic land?

Why are we fed the devil’s hand?

Home is this mystic land.

Where I strive to be.

Oh, take me to this mystic land.

Just please set me free.

Home is this mystic land.

A human being I shall be.

With fields of imagination.

Heaps of creativity.

Where has this mystic land gone?

Why was there only one?

Oh where is this mystic land?

Why are we fed the devil’s hand?

Home is this mystic land.

Please take me home.

Where I can roam free.

I want to go home.

© Mercy Desdemona 2013

Anti-Extremist

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I am against extremism. I have people always asking me why I’m Anti-this and Anti-that. I guess, the best way to say what I am is Anti-Extremism. I don’t like extremists for they are bullies. They push their believes, their views, their life on others. They form groups to spread hate for those that are different, to make them feel superior. These are technically the bullies in high school that never grew up.

I am Pro-Choice pertaining to Life itself. If you don’t believe in abortion, Don’t get one. Don’t take the right away for someone that does believe in it. You want don’t want to marry a same-sex partner? Don’t do it. It’s not your business who people love. Don’t like a person’s religious preference? Don’t follow it, follow yours. As long as an individual isn’t out harming the world, what do we care if someone is gay, straight, pro-choice or pro-life, christian or atheist, republican or democrat, liberal or conservative. Who Cares? I say the biggest terrorist of all to life itself is the power hunger extremists. Ruining this beautiful world for the everyday people. For those that truly can co-exist with others and be civil.

The terrorist isn’t the athiest minding their own business at the dollar store because they don’t believe in God. Nor isn’t it the Muslim woman standing in line infront of you at walmart. Nor the gay guy holding his hands with his man out on the town. Nor the woman that chose abortion instead of adoption.

The terrorist and the threat to society is the EXTREMISTS! Who all want power to control the masses because of their PETTY life! They are people in high school that were in the clicks. Picking on the person minding their own business… becasue they don’t know how to grow. They don’t know how to be a strong willed individual. They have no sense of reality becasue they are trapped in “Days of our lives”.

I’m not against religion, gays, repubs, demos, libs, conservs.

I’m against the people that are bullies to the world. That try to conquer the peaceful people. That try to squash the beauty of free thought. That try to squash a human being for being different.

Differences make this world a beautiful place. We don’t have to hate nor be full of love for one another. But, we could just let people live their lives.

– Mercy

Spirit Stories

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Me in a graveyard circa 2006.

Me in a graveyard circa 2006.

I have always been fond of cemeteries. When I was old enough to take walks by myself, I would start to take walks to different cemeteries in my area. As I got older and received a license, I would travel to cemeteries in different towns around me.

Me in a cemetery circa 2012.

Me in a cemetery circa 2012.

These places are like parks to me. I would sit down and read before long I would start taking photographs and started to write. This is when things got a little weird. I’ve always been one that believes in the spirit world as you have read by other posts on my blog, (and if you’re a first time creeper, well now you know), my first experience with the strange is when I was still in high school. I went for my usual walk to a local cemetery notebook in hand. My attention was immediately drawn to this a particular grave. It was a grave of a young woman who died in 1920s. I sat upon the grave and started to write. It was like instant inspiration. I looked over the story and saw that it was about a woman in the 1920s who met her demise by falling out of a building and into the river below. I didn’t take this so seriously. When I write, I usually write and go with it. Not thinking twice about it. When I took it to school, I had my friends take a look at it. They looked at me quite funny after reading it and said that it sounded like something from the news. I thought they were picking on me because I told them I was hanging around the cemetery and they would never do as such.

What I did was go to the library and searched the young woman’s name and the situation that was in my story. It turns out the young woman who I was “sitting” with actually did die the same way that was written in my story! I went back to the cemetery and felt a pull to a different grave site. This one was of a man who had died of natural causes but regretted not seeing his wife one last time before his demise. I went to my friends with the story. One of them started to tear up and tell me how that was their grandfather and that he didn’t get to see his wife again because she died the same night while away.

It wasn’t just cemeteries that would have this connection with me. Abandoned places as well. I started to take a notebook everywhere. Lyrics/poetry would come out. I took it as nothing more than these places inspiring me. Whether I have the gift of being a medium or not, I honestly don’t know. But the writings matching with up with events of the people that had perished were too perfect.

I know that there are spirits in my home besides my visit from grandpa. I hear a tiny girl in my bedroom, her name is Lisa. The land of which my house sits used to belong to her family in the 1700s. I started researching my own property and found out that my writings have told the stories of those passed. It first alerted me when I was writing about things I didn’t have a great knowledge about, speaking in old mannerisms, and feeling like I was taken back to the place this all happened. Could this be the spirits trying to share their life with me? Or perhaps wanting a few last words before crossing over? Do they just want me to listen? Questions that will never be answered I suppose.

= Mercy Desdemona

Post-Mortem Photography

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What is post-mortem photography?

Post mortem photography is the taking a photo of a loved on. Usually they are propped up to look alive while the family or individuals pose with them or they are given the aspect that they are soundly asleep lost in dream land. According to my research, it was quite popular during the Victorian Era.

Why do it?

A memorial to the loved ones passed.

Is it still around today?

The answer is yes. In a few places around the world this practice is still done today. The popularity however has gone down due to the fact that instead of viewing this as a piece of memory – society has made it into a dark/creepy/serial killer sort of thing. When in reality, that’s not what it is.

My views on Post Mortem Photography:

I don’t have an issue with it. If you take your time to Google images (I wont post them here in case individuals that read this are sensitive to the imagery), you can see how lovely the photographs are. Most of the time you can’t even tell the person is deceased. It’s an art-like way to pay homage to the darling that has passed. It doesn’t make you a sick individual for wanting one last image with your family. Or maybe that’s just me. I think our modern society has the strong ability to take something so human and lovely and make it into something ugly and horrid.