Nightmares of the Shy and Unpopular

Dear bleeders, madmen and deviants; all you black widows, secret sadists and fantasy fornicators,

I am not a pretty girl. Sure, if I pull a comb through my hair and put on my finest leathers, I’m something to behold. But I am not some peroxide blonde, walking billboard for Clairol or Estee Lauder, Calvin Klein or Guess.

I’m not some princess in a tower waiting to be rescued, and I’m sure as hell not one of those giggling girls you longed to belong to in high school.

I’m that strange girl who sat by herself, all dressed in black and writing awful poetry over and over again until it wasn’t so bloody awful anymore.

I’m that girl who all the boys secretly dreamed of, but also secretly feared would scratch their eyes out if they got too close. And so they called me a bitch or worse, hurling their insults at me, and I swallowed them all down, sweet and delicious pain, and I let it mold me and shape me and turn to bile in my stomach.

I had a horrible nightmare that I died, and was reincarnated as a corsage flower, and was pinned to the most popular boy for prom night. I was a re-in-Carnation.

The horror! The horror!

I awoke in terror, relishing the feel of my heart trying to burst through my chest, and licking the sweat off of my upper lip. It tasted like wine.

Fear. T.S. Eliot said “I will show you fear in a handful of dust.”

Be afraid of the dark, dear bleeders. There is more than dust in the corner of your basement. There are things down there.

Ancient, horrible things that wait… and hunger.



12 responses to “Nightmares of the Shy and Unpopular

  1. Ahhh dear Darkling, so you had poetry and intrigue and that elusive allure of the thing which is probably dangerous and so prudently forbidden by common sense, making it all the more slightly intoxicatingly desirable. What a wonderful place to come from.

    I was the thing in the dark. Or rather, the thing which would have preferred to be in the dark, for out there, where things lurk and unspeakable horrors can’t be seen, at least it is dark, and from there it is possible to watch the pretty things dancing in the light, and even the skulking ones at the edge can get their share of sunshine…yet to be the thing in the dark where the relegated belong, the feared and foul and undeserving – the rejected – with that comes revulsion and repugnance, and those too can be used.

  2. Jessica, you are my “Heart of Darkness” 😉 I’m sure if you ever did become re-in-carnated as a corsage, you’ll find some way to horrify the poor boy whose chest you are pinned to 😉 And then do tell us all about it.

  3. Pingback: Living Musically, Or The Son of Paleface Returns | The D/A Dialogues·

    • Waste Lands is FULL of amazingly dark and depressing imagery. If he were around, I would chain him up in my basement and make him recite that poem to me over and over again while I did nasty, naughty things to myself. If you are an Apple acolyte, There’s a Waste Lands app that is full of amazing amazingness — an annotated version of the text, biographical information/history, and — the coolest thing — a reading of it by Fiona Shaw, who played Harry Potter’s Aunt Petunia. If you don’t at least check this out, JennieSaia, I shall be forced to put you on my naughty list, and you will get more than just coal in your stocking, believe me.

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