whispyexcerpts

[whispyexcerpts]

You remember it right? Silently driving past an old sleepy town. A town that seems to move so slowly past. Rundown houses face you, the paint on the outside chipping away. The overcast makes everything look so dull. What a pity, imagine how pretty this little town looked in its hay day. Each house, has something different, a light on. Ugly curtains. A backyard with run-down toys, or maybe a “beware of dog sign” that’s rusted around the corners and bullet holes shot through it, of course there is no dog in sight.

More houses pass, the houses of sleepy old people. “Why would a young person live here?” You might think, there are no opportunities to seek here. You hope that all the people here are content. Thinking about how each individual person has their own life, goals, dreams, memories. The houses soon begin to fade and wooden buildings tower over your car. Each with wooden signs. “Blue house grill” “Bob’s sea food” etc. odd how you’ve never seen a take out place in small, dreweary towns like these.

Resting your head on the window you look at the top of the buildings, some have worn our trims, others have metal rooves. You drive for a bit longer, and see an old fire station. One that looks like it’s been out of commission for years. Street lights begin to illuminate the street. If you could talk to the people in this town what would they say? Would their stories be of exciting triumph, horrible anguish, or maybe....of monotonous boring average talk. But your positive this town has at least one special gem of a person right? Perhaps a talented violinist, a retired actress, an extremely sociable man who’s conversations skills could persuade anyone of anything. Maybe an old wise woman with so much knowledge she could write books and books and fill a library.

Who know’s will you ever see this town again?

self isolate 

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Look, you see the stage lights? See the audience? Control your breathing now love. Your up next.

And don’t. Mess. This. Up

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Sweetheart, put the mirror down you look beautiful, come now. We have a party to attend. And cover your drink my love.

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My dear, have you been here?

Is this your house?

No?

Are you safe here? Do you want to escape? Do you want to leave?

Run little child, and don’t look back lest they eat you up.

Your just too. Darn. Adorable. For. Them. To. Not.

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•TW: Trauma•

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You all know I’m one to dive down into wierd and odd aesthetics. And while diving head first into wierd core, dream core, liminal spaces, and even learning about a fictional place known as the “back rooms” I then stumbled upon trauma core.

🔴However, before I begin I wish to make one thing explicitly clear. Because of the fact that I have never personally experienced trauma (to my knowledge) I will not be talking part of or “joining” trauma core. I feel as though it would be rude and inconsiderate of me, and this aesthetic should be set aside for the poor souls who have had to go through that. I’m simply here to give you my personal interpretation of it🔴

Now my little whips, let us begin.

Trauma core seems to be a cross of dream core and simple innocent cartoons (Ex. Hello kitty)

These Pictures, some more disturbing then othere. Of Tiny characters, curled up and crying in an abandoned run down room. These pictures radiate destress and anxiety, and ultimately the need to escape. The need to feel free from the trauma or the thing that caused it.

I feel as though child-like characters are used as a way to show innocence, innocence that was stripped away from the person- unfairly stripped away. And the text written resembles what a scared child might cry out to their mother in destress, which I feel also resebmles the desire to go back.

To undo.

To escape.

When looking at these pictures, and reading the text the first thing I could think of was simply a child, desperately crying for help. Desperately wanting someone to hold them and tell them it’s all gonna be ok.

In all reality, I feel as though these pictures just scream the need to escape, the need to feel good again.

The need to feel free.

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•Again, I just wanna make it clear that I personally have never experienced trauma, unless you wanna count the time I was tied up in a straight jacket at the dentist office when i was like 5, but I don’t think that did any significant damage. So therefore, I will not be taking part of or joining trauma core hopefully ever•

Thank you for listening my little whisps, and stay safe.

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Have you ever gone down a rabbit hole of curiosity? Let me introduce to you, wierdcore/dreamcore/Liminal Spaces my little whisps.

Let us begin with weirdcore. Pictures often consisting of old, vintage looking rooms, with text. Making you feel as though your being pulled into the image. But those images can deviate from vintage photos, to completely digital edits, with distorted bright images, or dulled muted colors.

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Now let’s us visit dreamcore.

Dream core is much like wierd core just more...nostalgic. Like I’ve been there. In a quiet, cold, dark, empty room. Just me and an entity, that’s neither good nore evil. I’ve been here before? Right?

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Finally. We should make a stop at Liminal spaces. Pictures often times featuring empty-run down, and abandoned rooms. Sometimes with some digital modifications made. But mostly, there just there. Devoid of human life. Making it seem like your the last one alive. Like you were the only one strong enough to survive. Yet something is watching you. It’s still and quite, but that dosent mean it’s doscile. That doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be screaming for your life right now in this empty room where no one can hear you.

But you don’t know what to think, you don’t know to be scared or comforted. This is the type of core I personally don’t like. Some images I find comforting, others I don’t. Some make me feel like if I were there, I should be running for my life. Frankly banging and bashing myself against doors to escape.

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But what makes liminal spaces so eerie? They feel out of place. The word liminal comes from the Latin word “limens” meaning threshold. Meaning your essential looking at the (imagined) space or threshold between two realities. Which is why it feels off.

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Tell me the kind of aesthetics you like looking at, or even the ones you tend to avoid. Why do you avoid them? And why are you drawn to the other? 

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There will always be something special about standing in the wings of the theater. Those heavy, dark, and almost protective sheets of fabric.

You peek out, then swiftly pull your head back as to not allow the audience to see you.

Excitement and nerves overflow up to your head, and spill out your hands and feet causing them to shake and tremble.

Yet, this isn’t a bad feeling. The nerves motivate you and the excitement aids in the enjoyment of bringing entertainment to others.

This is your time to shine, your time to show what you can give. Whether its presented to a group of little kids, excited parents, or even to judges. It’s finally time to show what you’ve practiced months and months, sometimes even years. All the work you’ve put in has built up to this moment.

Yet, those are just the thoughts that race through your head in the wings. The best, and most unpredictable is yet to come. Are you ready?

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Ever since I was a small child I’ve always been amazed by glass. I remember running to my grandmothers giant cherry-wood cabinet just to take the glass wear out and admire it. I remember how on edge I would be while handled it. My entire body would tense as I gradually lifted whatever I wanted to examine out of the tight confineds of the cherry cabinets. I would stare at the glass as though it was pure gold. How the engravings of it would dance throughout the otherwise, plain work of art.

Rotating the beautiful work in front of me, I would trace my fingers ever so delicately through the engravings. Admiring how perfect they were.

The smoothness mesmerized me too. It was cold and my fingers would glide along the surface of the glass wear.

I would constantly be drawn to the most interesting looking pieces, while bowls and giant serving plates bored me. Intricate candy dishes and long slinder vases occupied my little mind. It never ceased to amaze me that some human made this. Pure, raw, hand blown glass. An old dying art, was what drew me in.

The sounds drew me in too. The glas wear would tinkle and click together when one dish touched another. The sound was calming and familiar. It made me feel like a powerful sorcerous mixing together various different positions.

What childhood sensations did you really enjoy. I’d love to hear them. Thanks for spending some time at my home. I hope you found your stay cozy and welcoming. Until next time Whisp out.

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