Category Archives: writing

Automatic Writing, Channeling, or Dowsing Fiction

Dowsing Fiction: Part 1
“Getting in Touch with Yourself”

by thadd presley

 

There are many ways to get into the flow of writing. But, lately the usual hasn’t been working for me. Things like music, background noises, even sounds from the forest right outside my house have been distracting enough to interrupt my train of thought. And if you are a writer or happen to live with a writer, possibly even if you know a writer, you know all there is to know about not breaking their focus. It’s brutal for you and them. Trust me, a writer’s frustration towards anyone who interrupts them is worse than the painters, musicians, and maniacs put together. But, through this dark mass of frustration, I have found a new device I’m willing to try. One which I would like to share with you.

It’s a method called automatic writing, but you must be warned that some believe it to be dangerous. Their fear is somewhat justified by numerous accounts throughout history. The danger, they say, comes from the idea that automatic writing is a form of spirit possession. The same way a medium channels the dead, an automatic writer is allowing someone besides themselves to control their body. By doing so they are opening a doorway, much like an Ouija board, which could create a connection with something other than intended.

My own belief about the dangers of automatic writing is this: Thereis always a chance of being influenced by a spirit, or the entire spirit world, just as we are being influenced by demons or helped by angels every moment of everyday of our life. I believe completely in the invisible world. So, my warning, is to become smarter everyday by researching things before you attempt them.

We know many of many instances, places, things, and even people that open us up to the influences from the spirit world, so it’s nothing we haven’t experienced before. We’ve all been to church, temple, or mosque and felt a higher force guiding us, and we’ve all heard a song and been transported to another time and place by the music, we all been in a group and heard a convincing speaker, or read something that made us emotional, and we’ve all been subjected to ideas and thoughts not our own. Automatic writing is no different. However, a little caution and a little research goes a long way on the first day of any project.

On this first day, anyone wanting to attempt automatic writing should not focus on the writing coming from anywhere but inside of themselves. Trying to understand the story inside of yourself should be the point of this exercise. To divine your own purpose, your own story, and access your higher self, or your subconscious mind as as some might put it, will unlock a treasure of knowledge that has been suppressed throughout your life.

The step by step guide on how to begin automatic writing will be in the next part.  For now, I urge anyone interested in this method to research meditation and choose a style to practice. Also read about an Egyptian named Thoth and allow the knew knowledge to guide you.

 

 

 

Black Sleep

“The Black Sleep”
by: Thadd Presley

I can only tell this once and would like to keep silent on this account completely; except for the children that might follow my direction and possibly choose a path such as I’ve taken, I would indeed find a way to keep my life’s decisions a secret and work towards erasing all record of myself from the Earth which would turn all the prying eyes from my business forever and a happy man it would make me; to see the end of this thing called fame, I would do all this, you see; except I know it’s impossible to put the smoke back into the pipe, after it’s been enjoyed, and I grow more and more saddened by this knowledge and will forever more be saddened by every young one who looks at my life as something to be desired and at myself as a role model to be followed.

Obviously, not realizing, or perhaps pretending they don’t see, that I rose to these delirious heights and achieved these glamorous proportions by turning against my upbringing and throwing aside the wise words of my faithful fathers and goodly mothers and by disgracing this very special being I was born into; and, believe me, it is with a heavy heart, for I would like to not face this, nor do I want to make mention of it at all, but if I’m ever to have any sense of humanity again, I must admit that by attaining greatness in the sight of others, I forfeited the invisible part of myself, which is the part we all know matters most, and I am afraid of what awaits me on the other side of this life; that is, if there’s anything at all, I wish, with all my being, that I could trade back all that I have for the single thing I once thought didn’t existed.

Death is what I most need it to be; a black sleep, a darker, much deeper sleep than the thin nights I wake from and fall back to each eve. It will be relaxing and filled with sweet dreams if I know the truth and hold it high for all to see. However, the fantasy of life quickly recedes in the light of this truth and the very moment I try to imagine anything more than the blackness my Death needs to be, a cold sweat dowses my brow and the velvet blackness begins to pulsate until a slight crack splits the horizon just enough for my eyes to squint closer and closer until they adjust to the ever so dimness of light that reflect the waves slowly moving below in the inky, limitless sea of pitch.

In the slightly-pulsating lighted horizon line, I see dashes of swooping red devils, all differing sizes, gleefully thrusting pitchforks into men and women. These tortured people cry silently and ball their fists into their eyes and mouths, some pull at their hair and claw the skin from their faces. Each trying someway to ignore the pain brought on by their decisions and actions before falling to the Black Sleep.

I see many small devils attack a thin, pale, naked man and lift him into the air under the power of their muscled wings. A scream fills my head, but his mouth doesn’t move. Alongside a background of sucking and smacking waves, which is how that sea of hot tar sounds to my human ears, I hear a dark chorus of cellos and violins, and a hundred different voices calling out to the souls who still live in the Universe of Free-Will. Joined in a deafening choir, each voice pleads in it’s own words, for those who still have the strength and can, to turn from wickedness and accept the truth by faith alone.

These voices, crying together as a choir pray, and lament, and scream in torment; and for a moment I wonder, perhaps I even ask aloud: Am I the only one who hears them? Am I the only one who knows the truth of this Darkness crawling under a black sky? And, if I am, who will believe me?

Sadness, as I’ve never known it, fills me and I want so much not to be a liar, and a thief, and a braggart, and a lover of Earthly desires; only, so people might believe me when I tell them that the fame and fortune I have attained, nor the great wealth and perfect health I enjoy, compares to the eternal spirit I place in peril with every action and thought, and that beyond the thin veil that separates life from The Black Sleep, Time does not exist.

I know, in that moment; that, everything worth knowing was a single, simple truth, that forgetting everything I’d learned before made me a genius, and a legend, and immortal, and rich, and healthy, and capable of super-human feats yet seen by mankind.

I know when I wake from the sleep, I will give it all away and walk with the lost, be with the homeless, eat with the hungry, drink with the thirsty, and live with the dying. I will do this because the dreams of my Black Sleep depend on it.

A will bring this great message to the world:

Do not feed the hungry, eat with them.
Do not house the homeless, live with them.
Do not give water to the thirsty, drink with them.

I realize everything now.

As soon as the choir stops screaming and lamenting, and praying; when the cellos and violins quiet, and the black, crawling sea of tar stops sucking and churning below; as soon as my eyes adjust to the dim light on the horizon and I wake up from this Black Sleep, I will change my life.

Fear, Imagination, And No-One Really Knows You’re Alive

“Fear, Imagination, And The Fact That No-One Really Knows You’re Alive”

To push through the distractions of life and ignore the modern concerns, to willingly focus our attention on being ourselves, to offend people, to be offended, to learn things about ourselves we don’t want to know, to be put in our place, to have friends, to lose friends, to be part of something, to be alone, to walk into places that are too loud and too crowded, and to interact with people when we don’t want to, to learn a truth we might never understand, is the reason we are alive.

Feelings and emotions are the biggest part of our lives for a reason and they mean something. They mean we’re alive. Emotions are powerful and crippling and long-lasting, and wonderful. Learn to understand them and we learn to understand ourselves. We shouldn’t stop living just because it’s uncomfortable sometimes. Live more now, learn more now, be more now because you are alive now. Someday you will be dead and that’s going to be one more thing that we’re not gonna wanna do, so we have to act while we’re alive and do things that push us further than we’ve gone before, learn new things, go to new places, see new people, be a real living person for the little time we have left.

Safe places might as well be coffins. They separate us from the real emotions we feel just as real life begins to happen. Pain, suffering, sorrow, sadness, nervousness, confrontation, irritability, anger: things can not be avoided all the time, so we must learn and adapt to them and eventually we will gain more and more control until we overcome them. And we will learn to control them, if we want to be a better person. Dodge them, hide from them, go to the safe place and the emotions then control us.

Am I saying we’re a bad people if anxiety stops us from enjoying life? No. But we’ll enjoy more of our life and be more of the person we’d like to be if we allow ourselves out into the world and feel the uncomfortable reality of life.

Life is not all about being in a good place all the time. It’s also about the scary places just as much and the fears that come with those places. Yes, we realize anxiety is scary and it’s a real emotional response to a real world situation. It’s truly happening to us and we are right to feel the way we do. But, it doesn’t last forever. When it comes, it’s like a wave. Ride it out.

There is nothing fake or easy about it. There is no way to just get over it when it comes. Our anxieties and our fears can be controlled and we should practice controlling them every chance we get because we should want to overcome our fears.

Again, I’m not saying our emotions aren’t real, I’m saying they are not justified by reality. Just like the monster in our childhood closet. Were we scared? Sure. But was there a real reason to be? No. It was all in our mind.

Just like the dark, once we spent enough time in it, grew up in it, we learned there was no reason to be afraid. The same will happen with crowds, noises, places, and all the other things that make us feel anxiety and fear. It comes from the unfamiliarity of the situation. Just like sleeping alone in the dark causes all types of fear at first and we imagine all manner of things in the closet, under the bed, and lurking in the dark. It’s only our imagination working overtime.

The same things happen with crowds of people and new places. We imagine the people are thinking of us and talking about us. We imagine they are laughing at us, looking at us, pointing at us. We just know they remember every little thing we do and that we’re always on their minds. They just can’t wait until they get a chance to laugh at us again.

But, none of that is true. No one is thinking bad things about us. No one is laughing at us or pointing out our mistakes. No one is talking about that time we dropped our fork in the cafeteria. In fact, practically no one even knows we’re alive. And that’s the thing we should be afraid of, really. Going our entire lives and being afraid of our imagination and too scared to go to the store, so when we die no one even knew we were alive.

 

We are here, what now?

We Are Here. What Now?
 

The fire in my belly is lit
I don’t use an alarm clock
I’m up before six
with dreams so big you’d think I was a kid
anxious to meet and play with friends

The gleam in my eye is bright
from the dark, a focused light
projecting visions from inside my mind
straight to your heart
illuminating the places you try to hide

They can’t take away or frustrate
the day you stake your claim to fate
For God’s sake, the ache,
this has to be a mistake
there’s no way that Life is such a waste

Beautiful creations clean you
Renews the used and abused
and brings to bloom the fruit needed to prove
that you can choose
without fearing what there is to lose

Choices are Life’s crossroads
designed with many ways to go:
stay where you are or dare into the unknown.
Both are risks that will show
you choose to live over growing fat and old

Should we continue to be absurd
to flog a dead horse with cotton candy words
to bring sandwiches to banquets for the birds
or can we allow the truth to be heard:
You can either live in the past or have a future

Words We Don’t Know

Words We Don’t Know

The words come and go
But the soul knows
There’s so much more we could say

Love comes and goes
But our heart knows
there will soon be better days

Some friends come and go
But in the end
we know that real friends were made

Life can often be slow
but, oh, time goes
and we always love again

We find we must use
words we don’t know
as our muse dances and sways

When toe to toe
with those holding our soul
we pay through the nose for our trade

Our work always grow
but often we’re shown
our best effort is still clay

Poetry: MESSIAH

 

M.E.S.S.I.A.H.

by Thadd Presley

Miracles mirror the Maker’s material
Even established events of entertainment are ethereal
So that such a show of Self, so shamelessly spiritual,
Should somehow shatter the signal of the subliminal
Image of the Immaculate Individual
And allow an Appreciation of anything abysmal
However Hellbound the Heretic’s Hypocritical Hymnal

Reverse Image (part 3)

Reverse Image
part 3
by Thadd Presley

What Delilah saw at that moment frightened her. The top half of her mother’s face changed. First, her pupils dilated, but not together. Each one on its own grew to the maximum size and then shrunk back down again. Her nose flared much like a horse’s would in the spring. Delilah stood and stepped away from the table. Her mother had become someone else.

She didn’t know why this was happening, but she thought it might be a stroke. Her mother was still young. Thirty-eight was young for anyone to die.

Clare saw a color of red that she never knew existed. It filled her vision and then doubled over on itself. She saw the walls of her world deepen and drown in the color. It was the color of murder, of hatred and sex and violence. God didn’t create this color to be seen and talked about. I was the last color anyone was ever to see. She knew deep in her heart that she was dying and it was a good thing.

“Mom. God.” Delilah screamed and ran to the breakfast counter where her cell phone laid. “911,” she screamed. “911.”
A woman had answered the emergency line before Clare knew what to say. “What’s your emergency?”

“My mom. My..she’s having a heart attack.”

“OK. Calm down. What’s your address.”

Delilah took a deep breath and answered all the questions.

Finally, there were sirens in the air.

The siren grew louder and closer. Too close for them to be for anyone but herself.

Clare opened her eyes. Red still covered everything and she still certain she would die. No one saw that and lived, she kept telling herself. No one could see that and live.

“Mom. Mom.”

The voice of her daughter was there in the red somewhere and that was somehow the worst part of it all. Why did she have to be involved?

The sirens stopped and doors slammed. The red was growing. It was outside now. Even the sky would be covered in red.
“Ma’am? Can you hear me?”

No, Clare thought. If I hear you then the red will get you.

“Look at her eyes, Cap. What do you think happened?”

“Looks to be a serious case of subconjunctival hemorrhage.”

Delilah screamed. The next thing she saw was the kitchen floor.

“She’s coming around, Cap. You alright sweetheart?”

“My mom. She had a hemorrhage. Her brain.”

The paramedic sat down beside her and smiled. “Let’s sit up.” He helped her. “There now. Your mom is fine. It was scary for her and for you, but that’s all. Nothing serious.”

“What happened?”

“Well, we don’t know why but she became extremely stressed and it busted a blood vessel in her eye. Both of them actually. She’s going to the hospital.”

“She’s OK?”

“Yes. Very OK.”

“I want to go with her.”

“That’s fine. You want to go ahead and stand up?”

Together, they managed to walk to the ambulance.

A moment of panic shot through Delilah’s chest when she saw her mother’s eyes. They were both filled with blood. Her mother looked like a zombie. Quickly, she snapped a picture and smiled.

“I got your good side that time.”

“You’re not funny. I don’t know how you can laugh at me. After what you’ve done. Being pregnant is hard enough on a family, but…”

“Pregnant? Mom!” For a moment, Delilah didn’t think she heard her right. “Mom, I’m not pregnant. Who told you that?”
“Don’t lie to me. You already…”

“I’m not pregnant. You must have hit your head or something when you fell.” She looked at the paramedic who wishing he was invisible. “I’m not, I swear.”

Clare was visibly upset.

“We can settle this once we get to the hospital,” he told them. “There is a planned parenthood clinic there that offers free pregnancy tests. You can go from there. How’s that?”

“O.K.” Delilah quickly assented.

Clare didn’t say anything but nodded her head.

“Let’s get this rig on the road, Cap!”

Slowly, the ambulance made it’s way onto the street and ten minutes later they pulled in at Methodist Medical Center.
An hour later, mother and daughter sat together in the E.R. A negative pregnancy test sat in a paper cup, wrapped in a paper towel.

“But, I don’t understand why you thought I was pregnant in the first place?”

“You said you found out something this morning and I thought you meant…”

“Mom, jeez. I learned something from Youtube that’s all. Really, I should have realized it a long time ago.” She smiled. Her mother’s blood red eyes looked back at her. “Oh, I’m sorry. I love you, mom. Thank you for worrying about me.”

“Well, child, that my job. It’s not this hard most of the time. What can I say? You’re a good kid.”

Ryan was escorted into the room by a nurse who was telling him that everything was going to be fine. “Clare is in no danger,” she said. “She just had a scare and fainted.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s been one heck of a morning for all of us.”

Reverse Image (part 2)

Reverse Image

part 2

by Thadd Presley

 

When Lucas entered the room, the quiet atmosphere stopped him in his tracks before he could say anything. There was a furrow on his dad’s brow he’d not seen before and his mother’s face spelled out volumes of unspoken emotion. He hoped they weren’t talking about his spring semester grades. He brought them up at the end.

Dad spoke up first. “Would you mind explaining exactly what you’re talking about? Your mother and I don’t have all morning to play guessing games. This afternoon we can hash out all the details and decide what we will do.”

“Ryan Butress.” Mother sounded extra-weird to Lucas and for the first time that morning he and his sister looked each other in the eyes. “I’ll not hear more of that. I have all the time she needs and so do you. She will tell us what she wants, when she wants. And we will not decide what she does, she decides what she does. Understand?” When her husband didn’t answer right away, Clare started crying.

Delilah stood in the gaze of three stone serious faces and she didn’t know what to say. Lucas broke the silence before it became hysteria.

“What is going on?”

“I don’t know. I think it’s because I’m not wearing makeup.”

Dad looked up from his bowl of cereal. “Sweetie, I’m not mad and neither is your mother. We just want you to be alright.”

“Well, I’m fine,” Delilah answered. “I just want to think about how I’m going to tell you what I found out. It’s been staring me in the face for so long and for me to just realize it. I mean, it’s stupid that I didn’t see it before. Why didn’t one of you tell me? Did you not know?”

“How could we know?” Her mother asked. “I don’t sleep in your bed, I don’t go out with you when you stay over at Angela’s house.”

“Is that what happened?” Her dad asked.

“That’s not important.” Her mother answered. “What’s important is what happens now.”

“O.K. Fine.” He stood from the table. His left hand shook and that was a bad sign. It meant he was really pissed. Delilah didn’t understand why her mom was so angry. “I’m going to work before I get in over my head and say something I’ll regret. I love you all and I’ll be home by four if anyone wants to fill me in then.”

As soon as the Mercedes backed out of the driveway, Lucas took this chance to jump ship. “I’m going to the gym and then job hunting. Bye.”

His mother crossed the kitchen and hugged him. Then, she turned and took an apple from the basket. “Eat this on your way. You’ll need energy to workout.”

“Thanks, mom.”

After the kitchen cleared of the menfolk, the women of the house stood quietly. They stood at the sink and watched Lucas jog down the sidewalk until he was out of view, then they looked at each other.

“Why are you looking at me that way, mom? God, why is everyone is so weird this morning.”

“I’m just worried about you. We are worried. Your dad and I.”

“Mom. It’s not a big deal. Here, listen. I’ll try to explain.”

“No. I want you to listen. That’s all I want you to do right now.” She pointed to the kitchen table. “Sit down so we can talk.”

“Mom!!”

“Don’t you yell at me.” She said it quietly, but it was a command that Delilah knew to obey. She sat and waited for her mother to speak. “Now I only have one question and I want the truth. Who’s the father?”

“What?”

“Just answer the question. Who’s the…”

“I don’t know. Dad, I guess. Who else?”

The words her daughter spoke didn’t make sense to her. They had meant something, but they quickly turned into something else before they reached her ears. Something like red worms burrowing through the dirt. Worms that ate the all the bad words once they left the mouth and spoiled in the open air.

Reverse Image

Delilah looked at her face reflecting in the bathroom mirror. She had just learned on Youtube that the image she saw reflecting back at her was not the same as it appeared to people on the street. The reflection was a mirror image. Exactly opposite of what everyone else saw.

She wished she could see what other saw, how she looked from the vantage point of others. How had she gone so long applying make-up backward to her face, primping and teasing her hair backward, smiling approvingly at a look that was completely opposite of what she had always thought it was?

There’s no wonder why she never turned any heads throughout middle school and during freshman year. But, now things were going to be different. Delilah was certain to see what everyone else was seeing.

“Dee, hurry.”

It was her older brother, Lucas, standing outside the bathroom door, probably doing the pee dance.

“Dee, please.”

“Go downstairs. Use dad’s.”

“He’s asleep. He’ll go ballistic if …”

The bathroom door flew open. “Fine. Whatever. Just stop talking to me.”

Lucas stared in disbelief. “What have you been doing all this time? I’ve been waiting patiently, gritting my teeth, because I know …”

“You don’t know anything, Luke. Just like always.”

He pushed past her and closed the door, not sure what he said wrong; without time to think, he could figure it out later if she was in a better mood.

Downstairs, Delilah’s mother, who everyone in the world called Clare, greeted her daughter with all smiles. “You’re gorgeous, do you know that?”

“Mom.” She glanced at Ryan, her dad. “Morning, dad.”

“You’re mom’s right, you know?”

“Yeah. Yeah. I’m not wearing makeup.”

“And I think that’s a good thing because makeup should be saved for special occasions.” Clare continued while buttering toast. “It shouldn’t be for everyday use. It’s really not good for your face over years and years of use.”

“Yep. Clogs your pores.”

“Well, that’s not why I’m not wearing it. It’s more complicated than that. I just found out something huge. It changes everything. Last night actually.”

“Like what?” Mom questioned.

“I don‘t know. Well, I don‘t know. I’m not really sure how to tell you. It’s hard to explain.”

“Whatever it is we we’ll understand.”

“Well, I should have realized it before because we were talking about it before school was out. At least last month ago or two at the most. I should have known.”

This brought the attention of both parents.

Continue on Part 2

Shallow Grave (part 8)

Shallow Grave

Part 8

Thadd Presley

I never had to sign my name in blood to hear the voices. The voices have always been in my head, loud and clear, before the man came. While in my early teens, I listened to what they told me while dreaming of the day I would publish their lives in my stories.

I never thought I would publish a book every year? I didn’t know the public would enjoy the stories as much as they do. It never occurred to me that I had a future doing what I loved. I didn’t believe in myself, which is why I took the deal – if that’s what it was. I swear to you I didn’t realize at the time.

The voices didn’t care one way or the other. They were part of my life and I accepted them for what they were: a universe of characters swirling in my head, living out their lives for me to document. After the man talked with me, the voices became louder over the years, and now they grow more commanding everyday.

It seems lately that I don’t have a moment of quiet.

Usually, the voices took their turn. I wrote their stories and, once I had their voices on the page, they would quieten down again. Some had overlapping stories, since many of them lived in the same area, practically the same town. But, lately — and especially on nights like tonight — no amount of writing, no matter how much I wrote, could quiet the voices. They grew louder and louder. Underneath I heard a deeper fear than usual.


I began writing early this evening, my regular time, because I wanted to finish a story contracted through a horror magazine that my publisher told me would really pay off in the long run. I needed to get it written so that I could write my column for the local newspaper. But, it never became possible. I have been constantly interrupted by a small female voice. Mingled within her lightly spoken words has a loud cracking voice of an elderly man. They have kept up a running dialog in my head all evening and after just a few hours, they had taken over my head completely. I heard nothing but what was happening in their world.

Lydia, don’t you love me?” the old man asked again, possibly for the twentieth time. He spoke with a cracked voice between labored breaths. I clearly saw the bedroom and hospital bed. An oxygen hose hung loosely below his nose. A crown of billowing white hair ringed his head.

Yes, I do Papaw, very much. Now, please, you should sleep. It’s coming up on three in the morning.”

Yes, I thought, please go to sleep. Please, leave her alone and let me get back to my story.

But, Lydia dear, I can’t sleep, darling. Not while he’s here. He’ll take me away if I do. I know he will.”

She stood at the bedroom door looking in on her grandfather. Her face looked pale because of the wet, black mascara trails streaming from her eyes. “There is no one here except us.” She spoke, trying to calm him. She was worried about him not sleeping, because she’d seen this delusion worsen without proper rest.