WEEKLY WTF
11-06-23 Edition
Free Shit~ Episode 13
Whispers, Smurf Toilets & Purple Wood
Lights Out
Halloween is my fucking jam. I lean towards the more whimsical spectrum of creepy, but self induced fear has a strange allure to many. In honor of today, Halloween, I thought I’d tell you a true creepy tale that occurred deep in the pristine wilderness of the Six Rivers national forest in Northern California many years ago. There aren’t any ghosts in this tale, or aliens or Bigfoot, or… are there? I am beginning to get a sense, just a tickle in my taint, that these things may be all related somehow. I’m not claiming a unified theory of the paranormal just yet, but I’m not denying one either. I suspect that the phenomenon that humans have been reporting since time immemorial are even stranger than what they appear to be. Icebergs of the odd, so to speak. Most of an iceberg is underwater, all we see is the tip. Perhaps “Transcendental Turd” is a better analogy, it’s at least a funnier one. Maybe these phenomena are just a turd turtling. An odiferous oddity that pokes through a portal, a sort of dimensional asshole, and when they touch cloth, we can perceive them. A paranormal skid mark on the fabric of our typically ho hum tightey whitey reality. But fuck it, I digress, lets get to the tale.
Years ago, way before I did this online shit, our yearly Sasquatching trips were modest, and admittedly, somewhat ridiculous. Two dudes on foot with backpacks and only the vaguest sense of where we were going. What began as Jordy and I stumbling deep into the wilderness basically trying not to die, overloaded packs full of doodads and whirligigs, and batteries and cheese of all things, eventually turned into car camping trips. Not too many people will agree to buy a bunch of shit then trek on foot into an unknown wilderness looking for evidence of a fucking Sasquatch. Two separate packs each were required. One for the necessities and one for the booze. It’s a big ask, expecting people to hike in, then immediately hike back out for the booze pack, then pack in again, but we did it. It’s a very different vibe being way the fuck out there all the while totally exposed. Pretending that a thin nylon tent could keep you safe and keep the things that go bump in the night at bay. But once we scaled back and brought vehicles instead of trekking through snow and getting lost, or almost sliding off a degraded shale trail into a fucking abyss, among other things, others slowly began to join. I don’t know what year it was but it was the fateful year in which this photo was taken that we four intrepid dumbasses, I mean adventurers, stayed at a remote little camp called “Cedar Camp”. It’s called Cedar camp because it’s a camp and there are Cedars there, duh. It was a pleasant but modest little grassy clearing with a wall of trees circling it that all seemed to lean in enough to give it a semi-dome like feeling. A natural demarcation between the perceived safety of camp and the thick and primal woodland forest, a small open portal up top through which to observe the cosmos. Did I mention we were also deep in bear country? Well, we were… balls deep in Bear country as a matter of fact.
I think it’s worth revisiting the paranormal unified theory, or lack thereof, again briefly. It has been frequently reported that there are areas of the world which both rain and pour high strangeness. Thin areas where reports of creatures, Bigfoot being one, Skinwalkers, Windingos, giant black dogs, shit like that, happen in tandem with sightings of lights in the sky and ghostly activity. Cedar camp is relatively close to Bluff Creek, the sight of the famous Patterson Gimlin film. You've probably seen it, big hairy gal walking from left to right. Pendulous hairy boobs swinging, hairy everything in fact. You’ve heard of 70’s bush, well this was in 1967, what a trend setter she was, eh?
In regards to actual ghost hunting, I should interject that I haven't done much of that, let’s say I’ve dabbled on my own a bit. It seems widely accepted that whatever it is on the other side of the veil that people report interacting with requires a bit of extra juice in order to affect our reality and make itself known. Or so sayeth all the ghost hunting shows I used to watch which sadly were mostly hype and motherfuckers jumping at noises or shadows that you don't find out are just bullshit until after waiting through a series of fucking commercials. It’s all about the ad revenue. At any rate batteries being drained seems very common but also energy in the form of human emotion can also seem to trigger or feed the phenomenon. I mean if you really want to get down to it everything is energy. And no I’m not getting all woowoo and shit, I’m saying reality is literally a field of mostly emptiness and energy so why shouldn't emotions be part of that? Anyway, you’ll see shortly why I bring this up.
So there we were, this very picture taken the very day it happened; from left to right, me, Jordy, Ferniculous and Blue Diamond. We were about 3 days into a 7 day bender… I mean expedition. We were quite cozy at Cedar camp, Ferniculous & I both slept in the back of our trucks and Jordy & Blue Diamond in tents. I can still imagine how the rays of the sun pierced the trees in the morning transforming into radiant swords as they lanced through the smoke of our campfire. I can almost smell the surrounding Cedar trees and feel the cold biting my cheek. I also remember a frightful amount of both bear prints and bear shit throughout our camp. It was this day, day 3, that we decided we would do our first ever night hike. Something that would become a tradition thereafter.
When you're sitting around a campfire surrounded by dark forest there’s a feeling of “out there” the black and mysterious forest. And there's an illusion of relative safety while “in here” sitting next to a fire. Something in our DNA seems to wake up though, when in proximity of the dark or unknown, and we sit on the perpetual precipice of a flight response whilst huddled around the licking flames surrounded by an immense and desolate forest. But when you go on a night hike your regard for the “out there” and the dark changes drastically. The subdued flight response turns to a pleasurable fight response because now YOU are the thing in the night, YOU are what’s “out there”. It’s exhilarating as fuck.
After darkness had totally consumed the forest we geared up. Various rifles and guns were loaded, whiskey flasks filled and stowed and headlights switched to red, night mode, so as to not dilate our pupils. Blue Diamond stayed in camp as per usual, he was having none of it. He is something of a worrier by nature and has a more than healthy fear of all things furry and clawed, scaled and slithery, stealthy and bity. Blue Diamond’s general protocol anytime he is left at camp alone is to go into defcon 10 alert mode. He basically paces back and forth, occasionally freezing, head on a swivel, eyes wide and ears open for the slightest movement or noise, then when satisfied he’s not about to get pounced or eaten he then resumes his low muttering and nervous pacing. Occasionally pulling from the tequila bottle in his left hand, his right hand being constantly occupied by his shiny silver revolver. This being bear country it’s good to leave someone in camp, terrified or not. Personally I would find it more nerve wracking to be at camp alone as opposed to hiking in the night with some well armed mother fuckers but to each their own. Our primal fear of the dark can be a difficult thing to overcome.
Jordy, Ferniculous and I headed out into the darkness on a forestry road, leaving Cedar camp and Blue Diamond behind. As we rounded the first bend both the light of the fire and Blue Diamonds occasional cussing diminished and we were alone in the pristine cold night. We spaced ourselves until just out of sight of each other. We communicated in clicks. 2 clicks meant stop. 2 clicks meant go. 2 clicks meant “did you fucking hear that?” 2 clicks meant drinky poo break. 2 clicks meant sorry I just farted and you’re probably gonna smell it as you walk through the cloud. Just like the word fuck, 2 clicks can mean just about anything depending on the situation and contex. 2 clicks was our only vocabulary for a time which helped add to the delightfully feral feeling that was slowly overcoming us.
We walked up and along a ridge road carved atop the mountains spine as if on a giant’s sleeping head traversing his part. The ink stained forest cascaded out and downward on both sides into dark valleys, an occasional reflection of starlight upon leafy dew gave it a festive sparkling appearance. Above our heads laid bare the cold infinite void of twinkling space pressing down upon our psyches as we marched along leaving wafting plumes of our own glowing red exhalations. Silent, somewhat buzzed and well armed we walked feeling very much like predators. Occasional nips of whiskey tingling our guts and pushing our fight response past its critical mass into a state of fearless exhilaration.
Passing a massive huckleberry hedge on my right I heard a sound, it was a songbird tweeting merrily. It struck me as odd. I realized only at that moment, that I had never before heard such a sound in a forest at night. A pleasant bird song that inspired thoughts of early morning sunshine and coffee by the campfire, it made me stop, puzzled. I then heard another sound, perhaps a mere 10 feet to my right obscured in the huckleberries, a deep reverberating roar, a fucking bear and a big one from the sound of it. Its deep guttural growl that peaked into a whining sustained explosion of sound seemed to vibrate my rib bones and chatter my teeth, as if standing next to a speaker at a rave or some shit. I was over the moon excited, the dumping of adrenaline into my system mixed with the spirits of the Irish was a cocktail so intense I merely stood awash in the feeling. A foolish sort of bravery alighted in me in which I somehow knew I would be unscathed. As fast as bears move, if he wanted me, he would have already had me. I suppose on some level I understood his call as a warning, an animalistic statement meant to trigger my flight response. In other words he was simply saying “leave me the fuck alone dumbass.” A sentiment I myself could very much relate to.
We eventually began walking back to camp, together now, stealth mode forgotten, but still exhilarated. We started thinking of ways to sneak up on Blue Diamond to try to scare the shit out of him but remembered he had a full bottle of tequila and was armed with a revolver so rather than getting ventilated we chose to abort that plan. Upon nearing Cedar camp we heard an odd noise and as we drew closer we realized it was Blue Diamond engaged in a tirade of cussing and guttural yelling by himself in camp. We hurried down, worried that something terrible had happened. He was pale, tequila bottle nearly empty and his right hand white knuckled holding his pistol disturbingly tight. He immediately unleashed a breathless story about how he heard a songbird, he seemed perplexed by it too, as if it was a foreboding thing. He also immediately heard a bear’s roar uncomfortably close. Since it was on the opposite side of camp from the trajectory of our hike it seemed less likely to have been the same bear I heard but who knows, we were gone a couple hours. And what’s up with the fucking bird!? But whatever the case poor Blue Diamond was bedraggled and fucking terrified. Still riding high on adrenaline and whiskey we found his terrified exploits and his wild eyed gesticulations fucking hilarious and we started laughing. And when I say laughing I mean like laughing so hard we could barely breathe, doubled over holding our aching guts, while he went on and on with his tale of terror trying to make us understand the weight of it all. If emotion is an energy and if that energy can radiate and occupy a space then in that moment wafts of both terror and unbridled joy filled our little clearing in the woods. We eventually settled down and all sat by the fire as folks have done at the conclusion of a night since fire was first wielded by our obscenely hairy knuckled and heavy browed ancestors.
Sitting around the fire, glossy eyes aglow with dancing light, occasional eruptions of laughter still spilling out, I brought up my notion about different paranormal phenomena perhaps being related somehow. I also suggested that there was maybe one component which people leave out of the equation: consciousness. Jordy is the fucking man with the plan when it comes to trying to find evidence of the big hairy guy, or gal. Trap cams, apples left out as bait, bells in trees, XXXXL sized Bra’s hung on branches (no not really, duh) and so forth. But what we have hitherto never tried was to harness our consciousness in the form of intent, an intent focused hard enough, I surmised, might act as a communication of sorts or at least might trigger a manifestation. I mean we’re already out here looking for Bigfoot anyway so fuck it might as well go all in and get even weirder.
I got them to verbally agree to an experiment. Ferniculous, I knew, was all in. I suspect that Jordy was skeptical of my angle but cooperative and I think Blue Diamond was just happy his ass hadnt been mauled by a fucking bear. But, they agreed and we all simultaneously broadcasted the same intent: “Whatever is out here, show yourself in your true form” The important thing to me was that we did not specifically ask to see a fucking Sasquatch or alien or ghost. My aim was to get to the bottom of it you see. Having completed our pseudo mental ritual we carried on drinking and laughing and taking turns to feed and casually poke at the fire. The soft orange glow of the undulating flames dissolved into the night just at the clearing’s edge and was then replaced by maybe 10 or 12 various lights we had along the perimeter of trees. Silent LED illuminated tree sentinels awash in white light. We had all manner of lights, some had batteries, some were solar, a hodge podge of all we had collectively brought. We were very diligent about our lights and maintained a strict protocol of charging and swapping batteries so as to have a bubble of illumination at the border of our camp each night and as a result of our diligence, we did indeed have light throughout every night, save one.
Something changed, I couldn't quite put my finger on it but we all felt it. Was it a sound not quite heard? A smell barely discerned? It was neither, It was as though the air got thick and cold. It was like a tinnitus buzz but in our bones and inaudible. Our laughing ceased and we all found ourselves sitting very still. Focused waaay to intently on staring at the fire for perhaps some subterranean fear of looking out into that vibrating dark forest, out towards that unknowable depth. For we were now very much “in here” and we all felt that there was something alive and perhaps terrible “out there”. But in truth whatever was “out there” was not actually, it was here, with us, we felt it like an invisible tide had come in and swallowed us, the hair on our arms standing at rigid attention and a queasy churn in our guts. Then, it happened. The lights started going out.
It shouldn't have happened. It had never before nor has it ever again happened. It wasn't particularly late and like I said we keep our shit charged daily. I don’t think we noticed the first one blink out, but we noticed its absence when the second one did. Vanquished instantly in a darkness so deep that it seemed surely to be a cavernous maw of a great and infinite swallowing depth. There was a feeling that in such a depth something must be alive, silently watching, waiting. Let’s say there were 11 lights, in a period of about 1 minute 10 of them were out. The only light that remained was in the floorless tent we put our toilet seat in, over a hole filled with sawdust for doing our business. There was an oppressive force of fear that seemed to press in on all sides and Jordy and Rob both stood in tandem. Jordy simply said “nope” and Blue Diamond said “fuck this shit I’m out, don’t worry about what I’m doing” and hurridly retired to the false safety or their thin nylon tents leaving Ferniculous and I by the fire, now clutching our rifles and slowly passing the whiskey bottle back and forth, eyes scanning and the backs of our tingling necks feeling exposed and vulnerable in the oppressive cold void at our backs.
The darkness was just too much, it was somehow alive and aware and we both felt a need to dispel it. I took my brand new fancy ass and fully charged mega high beam flashlight out of my pocket and defiantly stabbed its beam into the depths. That terrible unknowable blackness swallowed both my beam and drank my fully charged battery as it died in my hand within seconds. Ferniculous did the same and his light was also vanquished in seconds. “Fuck that” I muttered and went to my truck to grab the mega mega ultra giant fucking spotlight I had brought so as to illuminate the fuck out of whatever the fuck this fucking bullshit was. It briefly ejaculated its luminance into the black field then it sputtered and died. We were now in the dark save for the fire and that one single light in our toilet tent. I stared at it, that one last light, willing it to stay lit. A solitary beacon which I felt that if it went out, I would lose my fucking mind right there and then. It never went out thankfully, saving the little bit of sanity I had left.
And that was it, that’s the story. There were no tentacles that emerged from the night. No yells or tree knocks, in fact no sound at all. A silence so thick you could chew on it. No glowing eyes, no hairy figures, or hairy boobs sadly. No lights or specters. But I cannot stress this enough, something was there. It wasn't a thing in the dark, it was the dark. It wasn't something we could perceive with any of our sense organs, it was a thing that flooded into our clearing that night. It washed through us, ignoring the demarcation of skin entering us as though we were as permeable as sponges. Meat sponges which absorbed a thing so strange and so foreign that only our ancient survival systems recognized it and kicked in and fear was all we knew for a while. We had, after all, fucking asked for this shit, for “whatever is out here to reveal itself in its true form”. What we got was a formless form, a presence, a sentient darkness filled with every possible terror but which remained in its raw state swadling us in its dark shroud. A thing so outwardly indiscernible that it hides in plain sight, the very darkness itself.
I’ve seen and experienced some weird ass shit in my life but so much of it has just involved me and is therefore subjective. This though was some fucking high strangeness that involved others. I occasionally bring it up with them, to fact check and make sure my memory of it remains true and un-embellished. They don’t seem to particularly like talking about it but we cannot deny how odd it was. We all admit that something fucking happened that night, what it was though, we do not know. I suppose I could go on and extrapolate from this experience and try to shove it through the aperture of some theory or another, but I won’t. I present it here to you as experiential data, make of it what you will. A terror that hides in plain sight is a difficult thing to prove. It’s much easier to blame stress reactions on it and let it go because the idea that darkness is alive is a bit too much to bear. But, the next time you find yourself in the dark and your skin starts to tingle as your hairs raise up in alarm, I hope you remember this tale and I hope it makes you wonder if the dark you are surrounded by, or that lightless corner in your room, or under your bed or in your back seat, is not just an absence of light, but something awake, perceiving you as you perceive it. I know you can feel it watching you. I know you can feel it just behind your neck while walking down a dark hallway and you quicken your step and force yourself not to look behind you. Maybe the fear you feel is its food, a hungry darkness obsessively observing you. A marination of terror preparing a meal for consumption. Or perhaps you too will make an intent, an intent to stare into the void. And just maybe, the void will stare back into you.
Toodaloo.
Pop Goes the Wee Soul
A Little Ditty About Death
Remember
A Philosophical Kung Fu Epic, Full of Shameless Self-Promotion
Scoot
We walk a strange path,
each of us do.
Our feet like to lie,
the ground is what’s true.
A strange path we walk,
we zag and we zig.
We don’t ever stop,
we don’t ever dig.
The strange forest of life,
has things it will show.
That won’t be revealed,
if we hurry and go.
Take a fucking minute,
take a fucking breath.
The end of our path,
leads to fucking death.
So why all the rush,
why do you run?
Explore this path deeply,
have some damn fun.
Some climb a steep path,
others hike down low.
It’s the same underfoot,
the point is to grow.
Gain ground- look around,
knock off self talk.
This moment is a miracle,
your job is to walk.
Don’t hurry just stroll,
stay for a while,
You can tweak your brain,
with simply a smile.
Make life a pilgrimage,
push an egg with your nose.
Sometimes we walk backwards,
it’s just how life goes.
It’s your path you walk,
let your feet write a book.
Don’t be a dumbass and forget:
to stop and to look.
Ok that’s it,
a virtual scoot.
Go move those legs,
barefoot or in boot.
Blow
Oh to be,
rooted like a tree,
neural branches stretch to the sky.
Nowhere to go,
nothing to show,
no explanations- never asking why.
Not constrained,
by thoughts in a brain,
simply leaf, branch, roots and a trunk.
Stuck to the ground,
it makes not a sound,
it knows no woes or any funk.
Though it does not worry,
and never needs to hurry,
without lows it doesn’t ever feel high.
Without ups and downs then we,
would simply be a tree,
we can’t laugh if we don’t know how to cry.
When life is shit,
when we’re fucking done with it,
being a tree doesn’t seem so bad.
Our life is so brief,
we’re seasonal like a leaf,
we get to feel both happy and sad.
Life is not a riddle,
the truth is in our middle,
unrooted we wander- experiencing it all.
Maybe a tree,
sometimes wants to flee,
meat or wood eventually will fall.
A tree is not bold,
it knows to unfold,
grow leaves, spread seeds then death.
That’s what we see,
but what is it to be a tree?
Something that allows our every breath.
Is life to much to bear?
A tree just makes its air,
converting CO2 for you.
Perhaps when we hurt,
there’s something we convert,
judgement obscures what’s true.
What if every tree,
said “this life shit ain’t for me?”
Then algae decided to throw in the towel.
Our atmosphere would die,
we’d lose the oxygenated sky,
collapsing and choking- a death most foul.
What if our despair,
is like a tree making air,
if we accept suffering, joy comes with ease.
Just you being awake,
is like a life giving lake,
a wakeful sky became you as a breeze.
You don’t have to know,
you’re the wind just fucking blow,
resisting what is- turns life to shit.
Before our tree has fallen,
live life and spread that pollen,
your only job: breathe and exist- that’s it!
Here’s a Nice Little Article About Yours Truly from the Sebastopol Times
Alrighty, well… have the week you want not the week you’re given. It’s up to you. You’re the one livin’.
Toodaloo
