An Erotic Ghost story.... Sort of.

In the long long time ago. I lived in a University town and at that time the most unique part of it was called the harbor mall. Every element of counter culture existed there. One could see punks with every shade of hair or skins with none to mention. There were the tie dyed "new" hippies and the ones with long gray beards left over. Trannies also came out to play.

Then night fell. This is when the "freaks" came out in full swing. When you began to walk on the "College street" you could close your eyes and know exactly where you were. The smell of incense would hit your nose along with the cold or snow on a winter night. Girls and boys both painted there faces white and their lips and nails black. Silver metal flashed from eyebrows, septums, lips, tounges and if you were lucky enough to see underneath nipples and genitals. Earlobes were stretched so wide you could see through them. You could hear high spiked heels clicking on the brick walk way. Preachers handed out pamphlets to try to save souls.

In the center of all of this was the legendary (locally anyway) Hall Mall. When you entered you were greeted with a very long narrow flight of stairs. At the top was an arrow composed of red, green, purple and orange light bulbs pointing the way. Under it was a sign that said, "Shoplifters Will Be Maimed!" The incense smell was thick and industrial or gothic music was the soundtrack. The heat was turned up to Hells level. This is where the children of the night gathered.

Inside were independent stores. There was a black light poster shop. A store called the Hemp Cat taught the difference between industrial hemp and marijuana. A place called Ruby Tuesday's was ran by a very strange woman. She would tell stories of Egyptian pyramids that she built in a previous life. Her store was loaded to the point of little walking space. There were clothes, jewelry, and what others would consider junk. However, the stuff she sold had really seen it's day. There was a room where you could have tarot cards read to you. There was also a tattoo shop called Electric Head. One of the artists Spotty Potty painted images of demons and devils on the walls that would have made certain people proud. The sign on the body piercing end boldly stated, "We Will Pierce Any Part of The Body!"

Last but certainly not least was a store called Moon Mystique and that is where this ghost story begins. Moon Mystique was three rooms and sold any range of book, occult objects, etc. that you could imagine. You entered the first room and there was the ritual decor, jewelry, t-shirts, "tobacco accessories" and the cash register. A fat guy with a different colored mo hawk every time you seen him ran the cash register. he also had huge spikes coming out of his eyebrows and lip along with a dotted line tattooed along his neck that said "Cut Here". (I later became friends with him and known him affectionately as Big Gay Bil.)

The second room was books and magazines. In here you would find black draped walls with esoteric knowledge on every shelf. They had books on "white light" wicca, vampires, punk fiction, gay/lesbian/trans gender literature, drug culture and Satanism.

The final room had magazines. They had everything from BD/SM, to Industrial Nation, Fast money123, Propaganda, Bizzare, The jehovas scriptures, Jim and Debbie Goad's Answer Me!, and 'zines perversions for every taste. They also had your normal run of the mill tattoo magazines which is what I was looking at when I saw her.

The tattoo magazines were along the floor so you had to squat to thumb through them. I was alone in the room. Then I heard someone walk in and looked up. The first thing I noticed was black leather thigh high boots. A little further and there was milky creamy white flesh concealed in fishnets. Followed by a very short black leather skirt. Her top consisted of what appeared to be a corset (she was also wearing a black leather jacket) which held nice, round, milky white, what appeared to be oh so soft breasts. Her hair was jet black and went past her shoulders. Her eyes were green and she had bright red lipstick on her pouty lips. She appeared to be in her late twenties or early thirties, but damn she looked good.

I began to slowly undress her with my eyes. I couldn't get over the image running my fingers (and other parts of my body) over her pale white skin under the fishnets. Embarrassed, by what I was doing, I quickly looked back down at the magazine in my hand. Then I figured that she probably knew exactly what she was doing and so I should at the very least say hi. Not a couple of seconds passed as I was thinking this when I looked back up. She was gone! Where was my dark angel? There was no exit on either side of the room. I guessed that she didn't jump through the window that over looked the street. There was only one way out. The way you went in. I put the magazine down and went back to the second room. A couple of punks were looking at books but she wasn't in there. I went to the first room. Big Gay Bil sat alone, smoking a cigarette. "Did a woman just come through here?" I asked. "Nope", said Big Gay Bil. How could this be? I went on to give her every description. "Settle down," said Big Gay Bil. "I know your horny but I don't know what to tell you." Tell me where to find her, I thought.

I walked back down the long stair case and entered the street. Cold hit my face and big snow flakes began to cover my body. I looked on both sides, no woman anywhere. I have often wondered if she was a ghost or apparition. She certainly came to me in a couple of wet dreams after I saw her. Was she a spirit? I'll never know for sure.

One thing I do know, is that since that night I have a Huge fetish for a sexy pale white woman, specifically wearing fishnets. I also know that today this town is filled with staid college kids, unimaginative preppies, jocks and the like. Almost no independent stores exist in this town let alone stores like I just described. The scene I just described, for this towns purposes, is a ghost. It is but a phantom of days gone by.

A sense of accomplishment.

Accomplishment is one of the most important feelings we can have. I know people who were making more money at twenty years old then most people in their fourties were making after being employed with the same company for half of their life. When these go-getters quit their jobs, I am inclined to ask, "Why?" If things were so good, if you were making such good money, then why quit?

The answer was not because they did not enjoy it. It was not that they didn't have enough free time. It was simply because "my boss doesn't appreciate what I do; there is no sense of accomplishment."

It is a moot point that these specific examples I am recollecting happen to have been good jobs, because it is like this with anything. I have also known people who packed groceries for their entire lives, and loved the work they did, simply because it made them feel like they were making a difference somehow.

Myself, I do not do the most admirable work. I never got a diploma because of an inconsistency that I have yet to attempt to clear up, but I never had anything in mind for after school. Everyday I hear, "you are too smart for this, why don't you go to college?" or "you are too tough for this, why don't you go work on the rigs?" what these people fail to understand, is that if either of those things interested me at all, I would be doing them.

When the downers at work come to me and tell me "my boss doesn't respect me." or "people don't appreciate what I do around here." I simply tell them, "hey, at least they are paying you." I am empathetic to them, in a strange sort of way. I can understand that they feel unappreciated, I can understand that they want praise from the higher ups from time to time; I do not share these sentiments, but yeah, I GET it. I will often ask them, "what do you do in your spare time?" and I get a response that I am sure no one here is unfamiliar with hearing.

"Nothing."

This irks me every time. How somebody could go to work for eight hours a day, and then spend what precious free time they have sitting there, and rotting away, is a very sad thing indeed. So then I started to think, maybe it's not that they feel unappreciated that is causing the problem, so much as it is they are simply so bored for the rest of their lives, that the only source of satisfaction they get is from work?

I am not appreciated at work. I do well, and everyone knows it, but I am just as replaceable as any other Joe Schmoe; it's to be expected, customer service is not exactly a difficult task. But for whatever reason, I have never felt a lack of accomplishment, or been down in the dumps that someone didn't notice me that day, and the reason is the quality of life I maintain outside of work. When I come home, I like to get things done. When I look in my notebook, and see that I have filled forty pages in just a few days, THAT is where my accomplishment stems from. When I write a particularly good essay that people enjoy, I feel like I have accomplished what I set out to do; and appreciation comes naturally from that.

I think that if these same people who go home every night, drink a beer, watch television for six hours, go to bed, and repeat the same thing for twenty five years actually got something done in that space, whatever it might be, they may not feel so bad about themselves.

Of course, try explaining this to them; "I just don't have the time."

Yet, there always seems to be plenty of time to watch nine back to back episodes of Family Guy for these people.

On Gin.

Truth be told, your time would be better spent trying
to snap an authentic photo of the legendary Bigfoot
than of me, in an inebriated state. However, I am not
a stranger to drink. I make no claims to be a wine
snob. In fact, wine generally causes me gastronomic
distress. My interest lies in beer and spirits.

While I am open to enjoying tastes found in
varieties various and sundry, I have noted the need
for discretion on some fronts. Allow me to share them
with you.

I have found that, when it comes to scotch, money is
no object. By that, I mean I am fortunate in enjoying
even the least expensive brand. In fact, it seems a
blended variety is more agreeable to my palate than a
single malt; thus, allowing me to imbibe, the whole
while leaving a few more dollars in my
wallet...Perhaps, to slip folded into the feathered
delicates of the young dancer who refers to me only as
"Her Regular".

Whiskey, in other forms, is not so forgiving. True, I can be satisfied with a brand resting upon the lower shelf, next to last; but I stay clear of the bottom. Neither my knees, nor my tongue, are up to the challenge.

The sorts that take the greatest care are those of clear liquid. I am speaking, of course, of vodka and gin. While there is a wide variety of vodkas that work quite well if it is your habit to adulterate the near perfect with the crude. Deliver me from the need to dilute one's glass with soda, juice or lime. But if you must, the world…or liquor store…is your oyster. My rule of thumb; never consider a vodka that is below eye level.

Now, my personal choice is, and always has been, gin. If ever a plant could be called holy, it is most certainly the juniper.

Gin, I am told, comes in two varieties…Distilled gin, which is redistilled after being flavored; and, compound gin, flavored with no further distillation. Compound gin is actually a vodka. A piece of trivia with which to wow your friends.

The crowning gem upon this great tree is…Tanqueray.
This is no bottom shelf broad…this is a lady. And as a lady, she does not want to be rushed. She needs to be appreciated first. Notice her fine green complexion. Gaze upon the monogrammed “T”, written in gothic script. Slowly caress her neck, feeling the smoothness of the glass.

It is now time to choose the best vessel in which to hold this sweet ambrosia. You will probably narrow your choices to two; a shot glass or martini glass. I suggest the martini glass. Several laboratory tests, and my own observation, shows that the martini glass holds more volume. This is your better choice.

Now, slowly pour the odiferant brew into the glass, as if you were resting a lover upon a soft bed. Breath in the fragrant bouquet. Drink in a small amount, allowing the liquid to evaporate into your pallet.

Ahh…What wonderful indulgence.

Now, if you will excuse me…I have a date.

So you wanna be a writer?

Most people with aspirations toward writing can’t string two coherent sentences together. Many think that modern inventions like stream-of-consciousness prose and blank verse poetry mean they no longer need to worry about technique or construction. I hate to break it to you, but you are not Marcel Proust or Allen Ginsburg. Not even Proust and Ginsburg started out being Proust and Ginsburg. They had to work at their craft for years and learn all of the rules before they were allowed to break them, and so must you. Putting a line break between each sentence does not turn your shoddy prose into poetry. Writing is a fine skill, one that fewer and fewer people choose to study, and I applaud anyone who wants to learn. Just remember that writing, like any skill, takes time and dedication to master. Not everyone is cut out to be a writer. If you don’t have the time and inclination to really work at it, you shouldn’t do it. If you are willing to work at it, but don’t know where to begin, start by asking yourself a few questions:

First, do you know the basics? Do you know the difference between “there”, “their”, and “they’re”? Do you know the difference between “too”, “to”, and “two”? Do you know the difference between “its” and “it’s”? Do you think it is ever acceptable to use words like “irregardless” or “thirdly”? Do you know the rules for commas, periods, colons, and semicolons? Do you know the possessive singular and plural forms of names like Charles and Moses? Do you know the possessive forms of “her”, “their”, “your”, “our”, not to mention words like “righteousness” and “conscience”? Do you even know what the possessive form is? If you are unsure about any of these things, you are not ready to write. Go read The Elements of Style by William Strunk and E.B. White. The entire text is available on Bartleby.com, or you can get the book for around $8 new at any major bookstore. Read the whole thing, cover to cover. Refer to it often. Commit it to memory if you can.

Second, do you have unrealistic expectations for your writing? Do you think rules like the ones listed above are unimportant? Do you think writing well is easy? Do you think revisions are unnecessary? Do you expect that the first story you write will be published and become a best seller? Do you think the fact that nobody criticizes your poetry means that it is perfect? Are you just as proud of something you wrote ten years ago as you are of something you wrote yesterday? If you said yes to any of these questions, you are being unrealistic. As Isaac Asimov said, “Don’t expect to sell your first story. Yes, I know Bob Heinlein did it, but he is Bob Heinlein, and you are only you.” Professional writers will revise a piece over and over before submitting it to publishers, and even then they are usually rejected. No piece of writing is ever perfect. No matter how good it is, it could always be better. One of those truisms that has been repeated and paraphrased so often that I am not even going to bother trying to find the original quote is “art is never finished, merely abandoned”. A good writer never feels a piece is finished. He will tweak it over and over until he reaches the point where he has to say “this is good enough” and move on, either because the deadline has arrived or because he cannot bear to work with the piece any longer. Good writers, like all craftsmen, hone their skill and develop their own style over time. The absolute best, defining work of a great writer is not always the last thing he publishes, but it is never the first. If you do not see anything wrong with your old writing, or you do not see any improvement in your new writing, then you are either not working hard enough, or not being sufficiently critical of yourself.

Finally, can you take criticism well? Do you get angry and defensive when someone points out a mistake or suggests a correction? Do you ignore criticism, telling yourself that your critics are just jealous, or too stupid to get it? Do you live for adulation and empty praise? If you do, you are selling yourself short as a writer. The last thing a good writer wants to hear is “Great job! Don’t change a thing”, because he knows that there must be something he can improve upon. Good writers need to have their work read with a ruthlessly critical eye. Once you have spent enough time with a piece, you become blind to its particulars. You cannot see the forest for the trees. You cannot tell if others can follow your thoughts, because you tend to read what you wanted to say, rather than what is actually on the page. You need to have others read your work, and you need them to be merciless. A good editor will cut out words, sentences, even whole paragraphs because they are unnecessary, and a good writer will be pained by those cuts, as if he's own flesh were being sliced. But just as an athlete needs the pain of training to grow stronger, a writer needs the pain of editing to make his work stronger. No matter how much he may recoil at first, a good writer will find he's work much improved once the excess fat has been trimmed away and all the unsightly flaws have been circled in red ink. If you don’t have the stomach for criticism, you shouldn’t be a writer.

Once you have come to grips with the facts of writing, and committed yourself to starting down that painful road, there are a few golden rules to follow. Read, read, and read some more. Reading is by far the best way to develop an “ear” for writing, and analyzing what you read is a great way to develop critical skills you can apply to your own writing. Read both fiction and non-fiction. Read many different styles of writing, from award winning prose to advertising copy. Read books about writing (I recommend On Writing Well by William Zinsser, to start). Read LaVey’s essay “Writter’s Disgust” from Satan Speaks! Read anything and everything you can get your hands on, with one notable exception. DO NOT, under any circumstances, read personal blogs and websites, let alone chat or text, as if they were examples of real writing. Though they may occasionally be well written (as I hope this one is), the vast majority are terrible. Not only do spelling, grammar, and punctuation all get thrown out the window, but quite often these kinds of writing don’t even contain complete or coherent thoughts. They seem to be written by drunken schizophrenics with the IQ of retarded chimpanzees.

Pay attention to what you read. What was effective, and what wasn’t? Read works that are critically acclaimed, and try to figure out why they are considered good. Analyze why a piece is good or bad, what you liked and what you didn’t. Was there a particular phrase that just jumped off the page at you? Why did you like that phrase? Was there a section that you had to read over and over to understand, or a phrase that was so awkward it hurt to read it? What was bad about it, and how can you avoid it in your own writing?

Remember that popularity is not equivalent to quality. Reading every book on the New York Times Best Sellers list may help you determine how to write a book that will sell, but it will not teach you how to write well. Conversely, just because something is widely critically acclaimed does not mean that you will enjoy it. That is fine. Something can be good and still not be your style. During the course of my literature studies I have often come across works that I simply hated. I could understand why they were assigned and could develop an appreciation for what made them quality writing, but I would still never choose to read them again, and would absolutely never write that way myself. Still, there is much to be gained from reading these works, just as there is much to be gained from reading writing that is universally understood to be bad.

Finally, write, write, and write some more. Write every day if you can. Don’t worry about making it good. Most of it won’t be. Most of it will be terrible. That is ok. You can go back and rewrite it if you like, or you can move on. If you know it is bad you may want to refrain from asking others to read it, but just the act of writing will make you a better writer. Write on whatever topic you like, or no topic at all. If you have a particular piece you are working on, you will usually want to write for that piece. This is good, but remember that sometimes it is better to just clear the pipes by writing something else. If there is something consuming your thoughts, write about that so you can get it out of the way. If you get exhausted with one topic, put it aside and write something else. If you absolutely can’t think of anything to write, it might be good to take a break and do some reading instead. Reading will get you thinking about writing and may give you inspiration. Just make sure that you come back to your writing later on. Just like any other skill, if you don’t use it, you will lose it. So whatever you do, make sure you write something.

If you find yourself unwilling to do the work involved, you are not a writer. There is no shame in this. Not everyone was meant to be a writer. Accept your shortcomings and move on. But whatever you do, DO NOT subject me to your shitty poetry!


Most poets are wannabe writers who can’t properly compose a sentence, much less write a story. – Anton LaVey, Satan Speaks!