ICP meets Mozart

Seriously.

(And yeah, I totally did the face paint to the left myself. Woop woop!)

Wow.

This starts off bad. Then after a minute and a half it gets worse.

about the ghost blogger

one night i was feeling lonely, feeling bored, feeling uninspired. despite all that, i was also feeling silly. free.

i pulled out my ouija board.

adam, no longer my friend but once someone i'd called a 'best' friend, had given this official board to me years ago. you might remember tales of my homemade pizza box ouija board from when i lived in saratoga. or you might not, it doesn't really matter.

i store the ouija board under a teeny table that holds all sorts of silly ephemera. rocks and seashells and coins and tarot cards and dream books and discounted used CDs. the board rests on the floor.

so, on this silly, lonely, bored, uninspired night, i decided to toss aside my skepticism. decided to attempt a reunion with my former, more spiritual self. decided to try to talk to joshua james brisbin.

i reached for the box. it didn't want to move. i yanked. paper from the box stuck to the hardwood floor and i heard it separate from the cardboard. i yanked some more, kind of gently but also kind of violently, cringing. i imagined myself goo-goneing it in a few years when i move out of this place. i freed that damn box from its cave.

i took a step with it over to my bed and sat down. placed the box in front of me on the white comforter.

a deep inhale. a deep exhale. a quick check over my shoulder to ensure the door was shut. if the door is shut, the door is locked. that's how i do. no privacy or utter privacy. i'm extreme.

i took the board and planchette from the box and cast the case aside. my heart raced and i felt nervous and excited and even sillier than when the idea struck me.

i took a few more deep breaths. tried to push doubt from my mind. also tried to push away any impending tears. and then i pushed some more doubt away.

i know it's a toy. i know that if you use it alone, any movement is the result of blood moving through your fingertip veins and your subconscious trying to please you. i know that as an atheist i shouldn't pay credence to the notion of ghosts or spirits or what-have-you. i also knew that if there was a chance i could talk to josh one last time (or for the first time in a new way), i wanted that.

i sat there with my fingertips lightly placed on the centered planchette for what felt like days but was probably about two minutes. if it scooted slightly, i released any pressure from my hands. i whispered a few times, as is customary, "is anyone here?" i felt scared and foolish and morbid and silly. i felt a bit embarrassed, though no one knew what i was doing.

a week (two and a half minutes) passed and it seemed to start moving for real, slowly and deliberately. i freaked out and said aloud, through throat tears, "good-bye," and moved the planchette (as is also customary) over the words "GOOD BYE" at the bottom of the board. i even did the silly 'erasing' motion of wiping the planchette across each side of the board, a move i picked up during myriad 6th grade seances. i put it all away. board and planchette into the box. box into the cave.

then i sat on my bed and cried.

looking back on it, it's a little funny to me. i've thought a lot recently how death of a loved one can change survivors' perspectives. in the days of group mourning, i couldn't jump on board when people spoke about josh being there with us, about josh watching and listening to us. i understood it's a way to cope, a way to slowly distance oneself and say good-bye. but i also understood that he was gone, that he wanted to be gone, and that that was that.

still, i cling to the hope that maybe on another night i'll being feeling lonely and bored and uninspired and silly and brave. i cling to the hope that i'll feel even more open and spiritual and that i will open some line of communication with my little brother.

and i'll finally get to know him. like i had been looking forward to doing for the past few years. no lie, i think that in the last year or so i trolled his facebook page more than anyone else's. i saw that he was blossoming. i wanted to know more but i didn't want to bug him. i wanted to observe. most visits to his page showed me nothing new, no new posts, no new status updates. but i always got excited when i saw that he did post something. there were signs of maturity and it blew my mind.

i was excited to get to hang out with him at future returns home, infrequent as they'd be. excited to play around with him and you two and laugh at his jokes and pick on dad with him.

well, that's not going to happen now, is it? and i try hard not to beat upon myself for not including him on emails i've sent to you guys and dad with writings and songs i've done. i had considered including him each time, but we weren't close and i didn't want to bug him. i guess now i wish i had bugged him. but i didn't. hell, that night with the ouija board i think i was a little worried that he would answer and that i would have been bugging him. who knows.

maybe at christmas i can show off my (ever-cute) ouija skills and we can attempt to bug him as a group. just an idea.

i love you guys like crazy.