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When I was a toddler, my family lived on a farm in the middle of nowhere. One night there was a horrible storm, and I remember waking up and looking out the window at a combine working the field between lightning flashes. This farmer could’ve been desperately behind schedule and working through the night, or I could’ve been dreaming. It wasn’t scary. I remember feeling quite still and mesmerized.
Jul 16, 2025
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👻I was in upstate New York working on a short film (a horror film, of all things) in an old farm house years ago. The cast/crew were on the first floor, and I went to get something I left in the upstairs hallway. When I swung around to head back down, I caught a glimpse of an old woman laying in one of the beds, and my entire body went cold. When I looked again, there was nothing but a fully made bed. I went downstairs and told the home owner, and completely unsurprised, she said, "Oh, you met Martha! She's a nice one." When I look back at that time in my life (a less rigid one with far fewer earthly responsibilities taking up my brain) it makes sense that my awareness was more open to that sort of thing. 🤷♂️
Jun 5, 2025
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I think ghosts are energy that lingers over time and, if it’s not cleared or amplified, it can be made manifest. Not to be metaphysical—I see the clutter that arises out of hoarding in the same way, but that’s a whole other can of worms. Houses, especially those steeped in history, are inherently liminal spaces—they exist at the threshold between the past and the present, the seen and the unseen.
We were once afraid of the darkness in the open expanse of the wilderness at night, and now the darkness is contained with us within four walls. You don’t know what’s going on in those four walls until you’re inside and staying there for a while, whether it’s an overnight stay as a guest, a lease with a fixed term, or a long-term purchase.
Mark Fisher’s concept of the weird captures this unease perfectly. The weird is that which feels out of place—an energy, an object, or a memory that doesn’t belong but refuses to leave. Houses are often full of these anomalies: a creaking floorboard, a shadow in the corner of your eye, a strange layout that never quite makes sense. These small dissonances accumulate, creating an atmosphere that feels uncanny, as though the house itself is alive and aware of your presence.
The trap of the house is also deeply modern. Once you discover its unsettling secrets, you have to stay there, tethered by responsibility and the cost of leaving. The house becomes a site of entrapment—a perfect example of Fisher’s liminal, where you’re stuck in a space that isn’t quite safe but isn’t immediately escapable either, with whispers and presence making themselves known to you from out of time.
If this resonates, you might enjoy my autobiographical contemporary gothic story about living in a house that used to be an old maternity hospital (pictured), where I explore these feelings and ideas. You can read it here: Haunting.
We were once afraid of the darkness in the open expanse of the wilderness at night, and now the darkness is contained with us within four walls. You don’t know what’s going on in those four walls until you’re inside and staying there for a while, whether it’s an overnight stay as a guest, a lease with a fixed term, or a long-term purchase.
Mark Fisher’s concept of the weird captures this unease perfectly. The weird is that which feels out of place—an energy, an object, or a memory that doesn’t belong but refuses to leave. Houses are often full of these anomalies: a creaking floorboard, a shadow in the corner of your eye, a strange layout that never quite makes sense. These small dissonances accumulate, creating an atmosphere that feels uncanny, as though the house itself is alive and aware of your presence.
The trap of the house is also deeply modern. Once you discover its unsettling secrets, you have to stay there, tethered by responsibility and the cost of leaving. The house becomes a site of entrapment—a perfect example of Fisher’s liminal, where you’re stuck in a space that isn’t quite safe but isn’t immediately escapable either, with whispers and presence making themselves known to you from out of time.
If this resonates, you might enjoy my autobiographical contemporary gothic story about living in a house that used to be an old maternity hospital (pictured), where I explore these feelings and ideas. You can read it here: Haunting.
Dec 28, 2024
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I specifically made plans this year to be alone on my actual birthday. And it’s been so nice. The best in years, no tears! I got up early to walk around a wildflower garden, tried a new coffee shop. Read a lot. Thrifted. Sushi for dinner and a peach crepe for dessert. The only thing missing was that I never went and celebrated with my favorite paintings at the museum but I’ll have a belated party with them later. Happy birthday to me.
Jun 13, 2025
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