bluetippedhair: (Default)
Happy birthday to me.....


Apr. 19th, 2013 10:43 pm
bluetippedhair: (the candle's glow)
Have you ever found a song that felt like it was speaking to you?

Part of me feels like I've been having that nonstop. I guess it's my own fault though, the music is decent, and about half the band's goddamn discography sounds like someone like me was writing it. Which... I mean, what am I supposed to do? Send them fanmail and ask if the inspiration was anything more than teenage poetics and a penchant for supernatural stuff?

On the other hand....

Your childhood home is just power white bones and you'll never find your way back

One for each day I'm inside this house, it's a trap / One I can't quite escape so pretend it's the place that I love

The life that I got but never used

Don't wake me up / Death is misleading / And when I fall asleep / Sleep with a ghost

Okay, that last one is just as much Cass as me, and there's some things that she says resonates with her that don't affect me as much too.

I'll be honest. I cried the first time I figured out what the lyrics were for one of the songs. It just. It sounded too close to this. Whatever this is. Whatever I am. The same trapped, unforgiven, unescapable state.

It's scary when something hits home that much.
bluetippedhair: (black and white)
Of course, I add new icons, then stop doing anything that would make me use them. Heh.

And I don't really have anything to say at the moment, but I'm bored and my reading page just went empty, so this'll keep it looking like someone is doing something until I've got something better to post I guess.

Yeah, that's a good enough reason.


Feb. 22nd, 2013 11:33 pm
bluetippedhair: (flickering)
I added some more icons.

Still as photogenic as ever, but these should be fun to play around with.

Because expression is nice, sometimes.


Feb. 22nd, 2013 10:44 pm
bluetippedhair: (forest)
I'm having a really hard time convincing myself that posting a bunch of lyrics would be a bad idea right now. Because this is meant to be a blog for my thoughts and feelings and stuff like that, and lyrics aren't really mine, unless I'm writing my own songs or something, and I don't think I'd be really good at that.

But when a song comes on and it hits you like a brick wall... is it okay to share it?

Probably not without sounding like some total emo blog, huh?

Maybe I'll just go make a playlist instead.
bluetippedhair: (alone)
Sometimes, it's hard not to be jealous.


Feb. 10th, 2013 01:29 am
bluetippedhair: (fork in the road)
I'm not sure if I've fully come to terms with the reality of my physical body yet.

The fact is, unless my body is actually somewhere some sort of weird stasis or something, like those movies where bodies are floating in some sort of lava lamp-y goo, there is no way that I would still... be anything more than bone by now.

A six-year-old's body aged for several years, rather than a six-year-old's body that has matured into a young adult's.

I wouldn't fit there. I literally wouldn't belong in my own body. Even if I could return, I wouldn't be comfortable there anymore. But what good's a soul without a body? This form... I'm glad to have it at least, as quirky as it is, don't get me wrong. Though I do wonder if this is what I would really look like, if that body had gotten to this age. It's hard to tell, and that's especially disconcerting.

It still scares me to think that I wouldn't belong there though. Especially since part of me yearns to find it again. To know what happened. To try and go back in, and talk to my mom again. To let her know that I'm okay. To hug her and let her know that everything's going to be alright.

But a skeleton has no lungs, no vocal chords, no muscles, no way of speaking. It would be useless. Pointless.

Still, I haven't come to terms with that. I don't think I can. Maybe I never will, until I actually see proof of what I've become, if I can still call that body "me".

And still I hope that I will be able to say hello to mom and let her know I'm all right for real, one last time.


Feb. 6th, 2013 12:58 am
bluetippedhair: (Daybreak)
I've seen candles used as a metaphor for life several times by now.

A candle's "life" begins when it is lit. Like a baby, it sometimes requires care and nursing until the flame grows to its full size. Candles may have different life spans depending on their size and shape, and yet all eventually will "die" when they are inevitably snuffed, whether by force or by the wick simply burning out.

While lit, a candle can do many things. It can bring cheer, light up a dark room, or ignite just about anything. It can be a sign of worship, a beacon for a lost loved one, or just be used for practical reasons. I know that second one was used with me, not that I had any way of responding. Still, like the candle, people have many different ways of being in their lives. People are diverse, and between jobs, hobbies, and interests, there's got to be as many different ways of life as their are individuals.

But it's not a perfect metaphor, is it?

I mean, when the candle is "dead", the flame is extinguished, leaving a body but no soul. That is what most people can accept, what they can prove, within the real world.

But our souls don't disappear, do they? They may be ripped from the body, but they can't just be extinguished like that.

So where do the flames go?

If we were to extend the metaphor, would there be a ball of light to which the extinguished flames fly until they are needed again? Was it disembodied flames -- ones without a candle -- that ended up over the heads of the apostles in that one bit of scripture from the bible?

Are the flames gone? Or can we just not experience them anymore without a vessel, the candle, to show us that it's really there?

They said that my candle, my light, helped to light up the life of others. They spoke to me as if I were there listening, and yet they'd think Cass crazy if she were to insist that I've really been there all along. So what do they think happened to my flame, and how the hell do they reconcile the mixed messages and metaphors?

...and I guess this is another reason why so-late-it's-early posts are interesting things. Apparently I go all philosophical.


Jan. 28th, 2013 09:32 pm
bluetippedhair: (fork in the road)
Sometimes I wonder what it would be like if we had one of those ghosthunt-y shows here.

Not that we ever would, or could. But... as a what-if.

Maybe they'd believe her after that. Or maybe we could safely debunk the whole setup of theirs as a fake. Depending on if they found signs of me or not.

It's always made me curious... the idea that I still might be leaving some sort of footprint in the physical world despite... my incapabilities.

It would be cool if we could see it actually proven with me. But it would also be really depressing if it didn't.

The question is, is it worth the repercussions to try?
bluetippedhair: (forest)
Reincarnation. Ghosts. The things that remain, and the things that don't.

Are there rules to it all?

What if we are bound to certain people? To our soulmate, or soulmates, in a way that lasts beyond our physical bodies? In ways that are directly soul to soul, wound together in inexplicable and wonderful ways, like the red threads of legend.

Is it possible that we carry the same bonds from life to life, assuming that there is a "life to life" at all? Is it possible that the bonds can be so tight that one cannot carry on until all those attached are ready as well?

If so, I'm here because she is. I'm aging because she is. She can see me, because the bond allows her to. This is my home only because it is hers.

That still doesn't explain why I can't leave, though most I've "met" like me can. It would only explain why I can't move on. Though I'm still not sure I want to. And for all I know, that's all it is, too.

Real death is scary, ok?

So what happens when she dies? Am I dooming her to a short life, because mine was curtailed so early? Or will she still have her full natural life, despite me? Can I "last" that long?

Am I in her way? Am I dooming her to a lonely and unfulfilling life?

But what if it really is the house that I'm attached to, at the end of the day? How long until she's committed, or decides she wants real companionship, or she has to move because the house falls into decay? What will happen to me then? Will I be able to survive?

Can this even be called survival?

New theories gives new food for thought. It's annoying that there is no real way to prove or disprove anything, and both remember it and not put anyone's lives at risk needlessly.

I wish there were answers to my questions. Instead, there only ever seems to be more questions and frustrations.
bluetippedhair: (into the abyss)
The world is too quiet at night.
bluetippedhair: (Default)
So. To date, we have found....
  • Creepy dude who may or may not be a hallucination, but leaning towards the may not because "dad" can see him too.
  • Triplet who has the freaky multiples thing going on.
  • Me.
....I'm not sure whether to be proud that I'm the most well-adjusted of the three of us, or be frustrated that, even though we follow some of the same patterns.... they know pretty much as little about... what and why were are as I do.
bluetippedhair: (Default)
For reference. In case anyone's interested...

This is what I looked like. Before I...

When I was still reeeaaalllly photogenic.

bluetippedhair: (in the light)
Ok. This is what I remember.

I was in grade one. I was walking home from school. Normally, I walked home with Cass, but her mom had picked her up for a doctor's appointment. (I don't actually remember that, but I've seen and heard the police reports enough, and Cass remembers that part quite well. I just know that I was walking home alone, and that Cass wasn't with me.)

So, I was walking home from school. Alone. For about the fifth time ever, not that I was scared or anything. It was just a little weird. But I was a big boy and though the night was gonna be a little lonely because usually the two of us hung out together until suppertime, I thought I'd get home and do just fine all by myself.

Of course, that was before the shit hit the fan.

So, I was about halfway home. Walking on the sidewalk of Ferris Street (I think), when a van came up beside me. It was big, it was dark -- a black van. I think the windows were tinted, at lesat in the back.

It stopped, just in front of me, on the road. The van door opened, there were three or four men inside. Grown men. One of them... one of them came out and grabbed me.

From there, I remember faling asleep, and waking up dead. In Cass' bedroom.

She screamed, I screamed because she was screaming. Her mom only heard her. That was the first sign that I was gone.

And then there was my mother coming in, distraught. That... was heart-wrenching. I wanted to tell her that I was right here! And I tried! ...but that's about when I learned that, while I was solid to Cass, and to furniture... most other people couldn't see me. And if I couldn't be seen, I could be gone through. Trust me. I never want to see my mom's spleen again.

Discoveries kept coming after that. I can't leave the house, even if I try. And trust me, we tried. Including once involving rolling luggage.

I'm tied to Cass just as much as the house -- I need her around to survive. One day of school is fine, but if she was away for, like, a couple days at camp, I felt weak, could feel myself fading. To be honest? That still freaks me out every time.

I don't need-need food, but I can injest it. I don't need-need other products, but I like blue hair gel.

Sadly, not as much was learned about what happened.

My body? It remains unfound. My captors -- my killers? Unknown. No one believed Cass when she said I was here. And so we both knew I was dead. But the search went on for months -- there's still missing child signs around, though hope has pretty much died. Cass stopped talking to her mom about me, because her mom was starting to think she was crazy.

And, for us, life, whatever this is, goes on.
bluetippedhair: (Default)
#1) I'm dead, but alive. Aging, living, but not corporeal.

#2) She's the only one that can see me. Or touch me. I have no clue how this works, but it's true. Others have walked through me. But she'd just bump into me if she tried.

#3) I'm bound to the house. Why here, when I'm... pretty sure it didn't happen here and that my--um, nothing's here, I don't know. I wonder if I'm bound to her, which would explain #2, but then, she can leave the house and I can't.

#4) I can blog. Obviously. (Mom still won't believe that. But then, there's, like, nothing I could tell her that she hasn't said about me already, so it'd be really hard to prove it.)

#5) Sooner or later, hopefully someone realizes that yes, that hair gel is being used, and that she's not wasting her money on it. (...what happens to that stuff is another question that I don't have answer to. I mean... if I'm using it, does it become... like me? How the hell would that work? But then, if it doesn't, why can't anyone else feel it or see it?)

#6) One of these days, we're gonna have to breach all the uncomfortable topics again. And we're both gonna hate it.

#7) One of these days, I've got to figure out a way to do something to make it all up to her.
bluetippedhair: (Default)
People also don't believe that ghosts need sleep.


Nothing can run on perpetual energy. Even we need downtime sometimes.

Dunno if it's the same or not. It's been too... almost 3/4 of my "life", I've been dead. Guess what I remember better.

But yeah. I need downtime as much as the next.... thing.
bluetippedhair: (Default)
I really need to get my hands on some better music.

Wonder if I can convince someone to buy some for me.

Or just wander youtube.
bluetippedhair: (Default)
Crap, I've just found someone else like me.

But he's destruction. I just... want to live.
bluetippedhair: (Default)
Am I alive?

That's a... difficult question to answer.

I was murdered in 1994. I was 6.

But I'm not six now. I'm 23. Soon to be 24.

I don't look 6, I don't act 6. I'm not a child and perhaps never will be again.

People expect ghosts to not age, and so either they're wrong or something's really messed up with me. Because I'm not like I was then. I'm not--- I'm not going there.

I'm alive. But I'm dead. I'm here. But I'm not. I can't leave, but I can live day-to-day.

Or maybe it's just that I can't rest in peace, yet.
bluetippedhair: (Default)
I have a new layout.

Honestly, I don't know whether or not I like it. The colourscheme is nice, but it's a little chunky.
At least I don't have to put up with ads for it.

It was between this and Fleur, but I needed the blue, especially with this username.

Now just for... everything else. Hell if I'll ever find perfect icons.


bluetippedhair: (Default)

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