Mara Smith's Personal Blog

...But forgot it was a modified plague doctor half mask. 

As far as I can see out the back window, nothing is there.

And when I checked out the front, nothing there as well.

I am not a huge fan of dogs and their ability to bark at nothingness...especially since all the dogs I've ever had the pleasure/displeasure of living in proximity to have that trait.

Mean, my college room-mate's dog used to spend what felt like hours just barking at nothing and anything.

Thanks for the tip, anon. Currently cherry picking my way through the entries. 

And yeah, it's your basic 'shit hits the fan' kit. 

But let's make one thing clear. I'm not planning on running if my paranoia turns into an actual reality.

Several reasons, least of all grad school in the UK and some family stuff I need to get sorted out. That, and I've got some freakin' crazy theories that I wish to test, least of all your core supernatural warding ones. (That and I want to see if the litany against fear actually will do anything.)

Suicidal ideation, I know. I'm somewhat aware of, functioning on the assumption that the whole affair is real, that with the refusal to run I may have signed my own death warrant. 

BUT, at heart, I'm a mad social scientist...with some morals. 

I really should inform my sister about this stuff...or perhaps that wouldn't be the best of ideas, if I work off of the infection model. 

Shit. Moral conundrums. 

But on the other hand, it would work as an experiment of how exposure to Fears effects an uninfected mind. 

No, I will not, and CANNOT, do that. No mad scientists. No willfully placing siblings/family within harm's way. 

Despite fact informing them that "Hey, guess what, I may have accidentally, inadvertently, loosed a set of ultimate evils that I heard about on the internet" may get me sent to the mental ward. (And that's one trip I really don't want to take)

Marble Hornets and high frequency noise sensitivity are not things that should be often combined.

Least of of all if you're ploughing through...and then taking the TriMet ANYWHERE.

...At least I hope that's what's causing the start of what feels like a promisingly painful headache. 

Remember that "Marble Hornets" has distortion.

Loud volume because you are watching it is not a good idea

Okay. That's just preturbing as all fuck.

/guess who’s bullshitting herself?

ANYWAY…

Before I start, let me say this one thing. I hate keeping blogs. They always seem like a plea for attention, especially when it comes to these topics (read, anything related to the Fears and anything related to the first (?) offshoot…aka, Slenderman)

But having been warned before, ‘cause I’m going into this genre savvy. No running after something late at night. No going out without informing someone. No pasting weird, unknown symbols onto my blog/house/computer until I know what it really means.

I thought it would be best to keep a blog. Just in case. I know it’s not reliable. I know I’m unlikely to keep on top of EVERYTHING I do outside of spending unhealthy amounts of time on the computer. But, it’s better than nothing. And, if anything, someone will learn from my errors. That is, if anything happens. Still don't believe in them. It's silly, indulgent, and almost childish.

 That ramble out of the way…

My name is Mara Smith. I also go by Squeek. I have no preferred pronouns, but an attempt at using personal ones would be appreciated...I'm not an it. I'm a living person. 

I have recently graduated from the University of Arizona, with a BA in anthropology, and a minor in psychology.

Again, I digress

The main reason I decided to start keeping this (and Pulling off Masks), other than protecting my lily white ass?

My interest in being scared.

I originally thought I would be using this topic for a grad project. But, in the end, I didn’t...

The topic would have been: The diffusion and transference of urban legends and myths (more on the difference later) on the Internet.  Or, in normal people speak, how we talk about scary shit and fallacies on Teh Interwebs.

Why the Internet for the focus?

Because it's the new public square. Information posted upon sites such as LJ, Tumblr, Facebook, etc spreads like wildfire, and like its origin point, the stuff that returns back to you is...very changed.

My background with tracking down horror stories?

I grew up as the kid who would constantly check out the "Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark" books...and found them laughable.

As I grew up, I got into more extreme forms of horror and FINALLY found something that scared me...sort of, hit and miss...but J-Horror, K-Horror, and indie Western films. (I'll tell you about the hour and half long dead baby joke someday)

I also love legend tripping. I will deliberately seek out the creepy shit in a town.

As far as urban legends and myths, the town I’d like to call ‘mine’ (Tucson) was pretty much dead (no pun intended)…and the University campus as well. Sure, we’ve got washes, so supposedly La Llanora works her charm every night there. And yeah, we’re near a reserve, so we get the occasional scare about Skinwalkers…but nothing interesting, nor fun to trace. Everyone who’s lived in the Southwest for a while knows these stories.

As for the University I used to go to? Well, Centennial Hall is supposedly haunted, but the ghosts are notoriously tame. I mean, honestly, a ghost that may, sometime down the road, give you a heart attack?  And a white lady?

And don’t get me started on the bloody dorms. My first year of college myself and Lily tested the possible theory that Maricopa is haunted by a girl who hung herself in the basement. Pipes are too thin to support even the lightest of my friends, and that’s working on the assumption that the girl was under 5’3” and 110 lbs.  All of the dorms built pre-1960 have that legend, so you can understand my scepticism there.

Now that I’m up in Oregon, this may change, but I’ve not dove into the mythology/legends here yet.

    FOR EZRA POUND     IL MIGLIOR FABBRO

I. The Burial of the Dead

April is the cruellest month, breeding

Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing

Memory and desire, stirring

Dull roots with spring rain.

Winter kept us warm, covering

Earth in forgetful snow, feeding

A little life with dried tubers.

Summer surprised us, coming over the Starnbergersee

With a shower of rain; we stopped in the colonnade,

And went on in sunlight, into the Hofgarten,

And drank coffee, and talked for an hour.

Bin gar keine Russin, stamm’ aus Litauen, echt deutsch.

And when we were children, staying at the arch-duke’s,

My cousin’s, he took me out on a sled,

And I was frightened. He said, Marie,

Marie, hold on tight. And down we went.

In the mountains, there you feel free.

I read, much of the night, and go south in the winter.

  What are the roots that clutch, what branches grow

Out of this stony rubbish? Son of man,

You cannot say, or guess, for you know only

A heap of broken images, where the sun beats,

And the dead tree gives no shelter, the cricket no relief,

And the dry stone no sound of water. Only

There is shadow under this red rock,

(Come in under the shadow of this red rock),

And I will show you something different from either

Your shadow at morning striding behind you

Or your shadow at evening rising to meet you;

I will show you fear in a handful of dust.

                      Frisch weht der Wind

                      Der Heimat zu

                      Mein Irisch Kind,

                      Wo weilest du?

“You gave me hyacinths first a year ago;

“They called me the hyacinth girl.”

—Yet when we came back, late, from the Hyacinth garden,

Your arms full, and your hair wet, I could not

Speak, and my eyes failed, I was neither

Living nor dead, and I knew nothing,

Looking into the heart of light, the silence.

Oed’ und leer das Meer.

  Madame Sosostris, famous clairvoyante,

Had a bad cold, nevertheless

Is known to be the wisest woman in Europe,

With a wicked pack of cards. Here, said she,

Is your card, the drowned Phoenician Sailor,

(Those are pearls that were his eyes. Look!)

Here is Belladonna, the Lady of the Rocks,

The lady of situations.

Here is the man with three staves, and here the Wheel,

And here is the one-eyed merchant, and this card,

Which is blank, is something he carries on his back,

Which I am forbidden to see. I do not find

The Hanged Man. Fear death by water.

I see crowds of people, walking round in a ring.

Thank you. If you see dear Mrs. Equitone,

Tell her I bring the horoscope myself:

One must be so careful these days.

  Unreal City,

Under the brown fog of a winter dawn,

A crowd flowed over London Bridge, so many,

I had not thought death had undone so many.

Sighs, short and infrequent, were exhaled,

And each man fixed his eyes before his feet.

Flowed up the hill and down King William Street,

To where Saint Mary Woolnoth kept the hours

With a dead sound on the final stroke of nine.

There I saw one I knew, and stopped him, crying: “Stetson!

“You who were with me in the ships at Mylae!

“That corpse you planted last year in your garden,

“Has it begun to sprout? Will it bloom this year?

“Or has the sudden frost disturbed its bed?

“Oh keep the Dog far hence, that’s friend to men,

“Or with his nails he’ll dig it up again!