Nobody fears the ghost of flight 721. It passes overhead, far above, where it cannot be seen except for the ethereal shades of the contrails it leaves behind it.
I think you’ll find, if you check your Bible, that it was Adam and Eve, not Adam and Steve…
…who were so corrupt, arrogant and incompetent that they couldn’t follow the one simple instruction handed down to them by their Creator, creating Sin in His creation and ultimately landing us in the state of permanent disGrace we’re in now.
No wonder God loves the gays. Heterosexuality is just a recipe for disaster. It’s right there in the book, you guys.
Dan Lester – Author of “Bell, Book & Handlebars”, an account of his cycling tour of the UK’s supernatural hotspots – has returned to Elephant Words, after a triumphant six month engagement in the colonies.
His first new piece is a deceptively simple piece of faked-up ephemera that has one absolute killer idea at it’s core. It is called “The Museum Of July 22nd, 1987”, and exists here.
This seems like as good a time as any to take a look at some of my favourite moments of Mr Lester’s previous run at Elephant Words. His first post came on 29/07/08, but his first appearance came a week earlier:
Peculiar noises abound in the house, that J. claims not to hear… most unusual. He has been listening more and more to that dreadful eighties revival house music, in an effort to distract from his current situation, but it is difficult to imagine that even that din might drown out the screams that persist in our walls.
Anya has found more pieces of the body, though now I begin to suspect that these seperate parts are from more than one corpse. I continue to place them in the shed – they are too far gone even for my own tastes, and you know, Dear Journal, how I like to know where my food has been.
The shed, incidentally, seems a little… odd. Time spent in there seems to take on peculiar qualities – I oftentimes was finding that I would step in there for but a moment in the noon sun, and it would be past midnight when I exited. And the walls seem to sweat, despite the dessicated nature of most of the body parts I am storing in there.
To be frank, I don’t like to spend any longer than absolutely necessary in there.
The best story about Anya today is that she somehow managed to find her way into my cupboard… goodness knows how she managed to lock herself in there… I was trying to call her in from the garden for over ten minutes before I realised she was crying from inside the house.
She left the cupboard in an awful state, with mud and bodily fluids not her own covering the floor. Though oddly, when I was looking for her, I hadn’t seen any trail through the house to the room. I must have tidied it away in a frenzy before realising she was missing, quite despite myself.