#Cemetery Dance

[weirdlookindog]

Julia Morgan-Scott - Misdirection

(Cemetery Dance #49, 2004)

[theywillprobablyhateme]

Dear Aloysius Pendergast, your intelligence is so hot.

[nicklloydnow]

“"I was fat and we were poor," Ben Hanscom said. "I remember that now. And I remember that either a girl named Beverly or Stuttering Bill saved my life with a silver dollar. I'm scared almost insane by whatever else I may remember before tonight's over, but how scared I am doesn't matter, because it's going to come anyway. It's all there, like a great big bubble that's growing in my mind. But I'm going, because all I've ever gotten and all I have now is somehow due to what we did then, and you pay for what you get in this world. Maybe that's why God made us kids first and built us close to the ground, because He knows you got to fall down a lot and bleed a lot before you learn that one simple lesson. You pay for what you get, you own what you pay for . . . and sooner or later whatever you own comes back home to you." (pages 81/82)

"He goes to his advisor with a drop card for Eh-141. His advisor initials it. Bill Denbrough staples the drop card to the assistant fiction editor's congratulatory note and tacks both to the bulletin board on the creative-writing instructor's door. In the corner of the bulletin board he sees an anti-war cartoon. And suddenly, as if moving of its own accord, his fingers pluck his pen from his breast pocket and across the cartoon he writes this: If fiction and politics ever really do become interchangeable, I'm going to kill myself, because I won't know what else to do. You see, politics always change. Stories never do. He pauses, and then, feeling a bit small (but unable to help himself), he adds: I suggest you have a lot to learn.

His drop card comes back to him in the campus mail three days later. The instructor has initialed it. On the space marked GRADE AT TIME OF DROP, the instructor has not given him an incomplete or the low C to which his run of grades at that time would have entitled him; instead, another F is slashed angrily across the grade line. Below it the instructor has written: Do you think money proves anything about anything, Denbrough?

"Well, actually, yes," Bill Denbrough says to his empty apartment, and once more begins to laugh crazily." (page 127)

""I feel like a bird must feel when fall comes and it knows . . . somehow it just knows it has to fly home. It's instinct, babe . . . and I guess I believe instinct's the iron skeleton under all our ideas of free will. Unless you're willing to take the pipe or eat the gun or take a long walk off a short dock, you can't say no to some things. You can't refuse to pick up your option because there is no option. You can't stop it from happening any more than you could stand at home plate with a bat in your hand and let a fastball hit you. I have to go. That promise . . . it's in my mind like a fuh-fishhook." (pages 140/141)

“He wanted to tell them that there were worse things than being frightened. You could be frightened by things like almost having a car hit you while you were riding your bike or, before the Salk vaccine, getting polio. You could be frightened of that crazyman Khrushchev or of drowning if you went out over your head. You could be frightened of all those things and still function.

But those things in the Standpipe . . .

He wanted to tell them that those dead boys who had lurched and shambled their way down the spiral staircase had done something worse than frighten him: they had offended him.

Offended, yes. It was the only word he could think of, and if he used it they would laugh - they liked him, he knew that, and they had accepted him as one of them, but they would still laugh. All the same, there were things that were not supposed to be. They offended any sane person's sense of order, they offended the central idea that God had given the earth a final tilt on its axis so that twilight would only last about twelve minutes at the equator and linger for an hour or more up where the Eskimos built their ice-cube houses, that He had done that and He then had said, in effect: "Okay, if you can figure out the tilt, you can figure out any damn thing you choose. Because even light has weight, and when the note of a trainwhistle suddenly drops it's the Doppler effect and when an airplane breaks the sound barrier that bang isn't the applause of the angels or the fatulence of demons but only air collapsing back into place. I gave you the tilt and then I sat back about halfway up the audicorium to watch the show. I got nothing else to say, except that two and two makes four, the lights in the sky are stars, if there's blood grownups can see it as well as kids, and dead boys stay dead." You can live with fear, I think, Stan would have said if he could. Maybe not forever, but for a long, long time. It's offense you maybe can't live with, because it opens up a crack inside your thinking, and if you look down into it you see there are live things down there, and they have little yellow eyes that don't blink, and there's a stink down in that dark, and after awhile you think maybe there's a whole other universe down there, a universe where a square moon rises in the sky, and the stars laugh in cold voices, and some of the triangles have four sides, and some have five, and some of them have five raised to the fifth power of sides. In this universe there might grow roses which sing. Everything leads to everything, he would have told them if he could. Go to your church and listen to your stories about Jesus walking on the water, but if I saw a guy doing that I'd scream and scream and scream. Because it wouldn't look like a miracle to me. It would look like an offense.

Because he could say none of these things, he just reiterated: "Being scared isn't the problem. I just don't want to be involved in something that will land me in the nuthatch."" (pages 429/430)

“We lie best when we lie to ourselves.” (page 439)

“(���) the worst of the beating took place inside, where you were apt to suffer something that might be called interspiritual bleeding.” [page 631]

[inthewindtunnel]

durl

cemetery dance

...and I loved death

-album-

[mttonex]

joanfucius if one of them was a zombie and they killed people for body parts (lisa frankenstein au)

bonus doodles :3

[bittersweetterror]

trying so hard not to talk abt the similarities between Dance Dance and Cemetery Drive bc no one gets it like i do

[ourstaturestouchtheskies]

The Gambols of Ghosts According with their Affections Previous to the Final Judgment – William Blake // Daffodil – Florence + the Machine

[xlr8nrg]

It's about to get SPOOKY

[bizarreauhavre]

Thomas Rowlandson - The english dance of death, 1815.

[weirdlookindog]

Steven C. Gilberts (b. 1962) - Illustration for Glen Hirshberg's 'Sisters of Baikal'

from Cemetery Dance #55, 2006

[dreveel]

Goth Collection:

{Credit} - {Credit} - {Credit}

{Credit} - {Credit} - {Credit} 

{Credit} - {Credit} - {Credit} 

[nicklloydnow]

“”You saw those balloons," Gardener said.

Don Hagarty slowly held his hands up in front of his face. "I saw them as clearly as I can see my own fingers at this moment. Thousands of them. You couldn't even see the underside of the bridge - there were too many of them. They were rippling a little, and sort of bouncing up and down. There was a sound. A funny low squealing noise. That was their sides rubbing together. And strings. There was a forest of white strings hanging down. They looked like white strands of spiderweb. The clown took Ade under there. I could see its suit brushing through those strings. Ade was making awful choking sounds. I started after him . . . and the clown looked back. I saw its eyes, and all at once I understood who it was."

"Who was it, Don?" Harold Gardener asked softly.

"It was Derry," Don Hagarty said. "It was this town."

"And what did you do then?" It was Reeves.

"I ran, you dumb shit," Hagarty said, and burst into tears.” (page 36)

“Can an entire city be haunted?

Haunted as some houses are supposed to be haunted?

Not just a single building in that city, or the corner of a single street, or a single basketball court in a single pocket-park, the netless basket jutting out at sunset like some obscure and bloody instrument of torture, not just one area - but everything. The whole works.

Can that be?” (page 145)

[midnight---muse]

❝𝐖𝐡𝐞𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧 𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐬, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐯𝐞…❞

[halles-comet]

sometimes you wake up on a cold winter morning after spending a week in your hometown and instantly know you're on a 24 hour 'jenny from thebes' lockdown

[pleasereadmeok]

Matthew Goode blowing smoke rings. [Found it @jdms-flat-ass !]

Coz of course he does.

The most hilarious ones were in Dancing on the Edge - look over Janet Montgomery's shoulder/seat back and guess who is sitting behind her?

Yep - pulling focus again.

📷 B/W original - Sarah M Lee [that looks a bit familiar 🤔] rest my edits from Inspector Lynley Mysteries, Collider interview, Cemetery Junction, The Crown and Dancing on the Edge.

[dark-ethereal-visions]