ghosts

Halloween 2017 | Buttercup of Doom 2.6



This week I talk about Halloween. Yeah Halloween! I give you a short story, a fun yard, and then throw a tantrum about all these people suddenly deciding to hate on halloween costumes…

Available FREE on: PEN Project Entertainment Network • iTunesI♥Radio  •  Stitcher  •  AndroidTune-In • Google Play Music • Overcast

Sponsors:  Subculture Corsets & Clothing (and twitter) | Compendium by Victoria @Zera77 Timpanaro on cdBaby or Amazon | Hug a Horror Writer Month — leave a review for one of Kelli’s books!

Merchandise: pillowssockstees, tanks, hoodies, coffee mug or stickerbeach towelphone case

Suggestions/Requests: n/a (to suggest/request use the form or post on FB)

Mentions/Shoutouts and Linky-Links: Hilarious Headstones for Halloween (article with a much longer title, but pictures, so yeah — go check it out!)

Hashtag Hell: #halloween #costumes #trickortreat #shortstory #childhood #ghosts #graveyard #decorations #dabbing #accountability #seasons #taylorswift #payless #crocs #ombre #trumpcare #nixon #annefrank #subculturecorsets #facebook #twitter #instagram #PEN #projectentertainmentnetwork #buttercupofdoom #podcast #kelliowen

Coming up: location location location – rules – legalizing pot – little white lies – and whatever you suggest I whine about. So suggest something, already!

 

Ghost Hunting w/ Jenny Ashford | Buttercup of Doom ep 62

bodep62-jennyashford

This week I discuss ghost hunting, poltergeists and possessions, with Jenny Ashford, paranormal nonfiction author (and her partner, Tom Ross). To warm up, I cover jump-effects in fiction and online horror, then we dive into real life investigations vs. reality television ghost hunting. Listen, and find out why “Social media killed the poltergeist”…

Available FREE on: Project iRadioiTunesStitcherAndroidTune-In • Google Play Music • Overcast

Sponsors:  Subculture Corsets & Clothing (and twitter)| 13 o’clock podcast

Suggestions/Requests: n/a (to suggest/request use the form or post on FB)

Mentions/Shoutouts and Linky-Links: Buzzfeed’s Short HorrorMammoth Mountain Poltergeist • Steve MeraEnfield PoltergeistDonnie Decker

Hashtag Hell: #fiction #jackketchum #thegirlnextdoor #thedevilsbackbone #stories #family #ghosts #psychokinesis #precognition #poltergeist #demon #possession #rspk (recurrent spontaneous psychokinesis) #emf #haunting #paranormal #hoax #amityville #ed #lorraine #warren #deadfiles #orbs #subculturecorsets #13oclockpodcast #facebook #twitter #instagram #projectiradio #buttercupofdoom #podcast #kelliowen

Coming up:  #halloween #election2016 #trump #hillary #johnson #doomed …and your suggestions

This Week’s Rating: PG13 (language) buttercup ratings system info here

Paranormal Abilities | Buttercup of Doom ep 61

bodep61-paranormal

This week I discuss paranormal abilities, psychic gifts, traits, talents, tricks and otherwise. Whether it’s in your writing or your entertainment, it’s everywhere this time of year… let’s investigate!

Available FREE on: Project iRadioiTunesStitcherAndroidTune-In • Google Play Music • Overcast

Sponsors:  Subculture Corsets & Clothing (and twitter)| Chuck Buda’s Bankrupt

Suggestions/Requests: n/a (to suggest/request use the form or post on FB)

Mentions/Shoutouts and Linky-Links: Jerry Seinfeld’s HalloweenFloatersWilted Lilies

Hashtag Hell: #paranornal #sixthsense #jefffoxworthy #jerryseinfeld #halloween #candy #costume #psychic #ghosts #electrosensitivities #telekinesis #google #psychokinesis #telepathy #precognition #esp #clairvoyance #pyrokinesis #psychometry #biolocation #astralprojection #stephenking #firestarter #carrie #xmen #koontz #thegift #lovecraft #poe #theshining #clairgustance #clairolfactus #postcognition #reincarnation #clairaudience #clairsentient #claircognizant #werewolf #supernatural #secondsight #stargate #unicornblood #motleycrue #sixxam #empathy #subculturecorsets #chuckbuda #facebook #twitter #instagram #projectiradio #buttercupofdoom #podcast #kelliowen

Coming up: #ghosthunting #halloween #election2016 #trump #hillary #johnson #doomed …and your suggestions

This Week’s Rating: PG13 (language) buttercup ratings system info here

Ghosts | Buttercup of Doom ep 10

BODep10-Ghosts300Now Available at Project iRadio!

In this episode … This week, there is no real venting, only discussion. Discussion I’d like to open up with the listeners, so pay attention, get your questions & comments ready, and let me know what day you want to do this creepy periscope thing. That said, we cover 2-sentence horror stories to get in the Halloween mood, and drag those kicking and screaming into the kiddie pool of atmosphere. I send you to download a funny app because smiles are good for you. We discuss, at length, ghosts—as requested—and even a bit of a religion as necessary to further the discussion. The wrap up includes a deep thought and fun assignment… if you dare! Oh, and I created my own rating system… with a grin.

Sponsors: Robert Swartwood‘s novel LAND OF THE DEAD | My ghosts WILTED LILIES,

Suggestions/Requests from: our friend from the north, Ron Dickie of Canada asked “Do you believe in ghosts?” and I answer… (to suggest/request, use the form here)

Mentions/Shoutouts/Promised links: iFunny | 5lb Gummy Bears | My old blog post about the haunted house | Burning Questions — see below for this week’s Q&A, assignment, etc.

And don’t forget — for advertising inquiries, contact me at buttercup@kelliowen.com or use the form

  This Week’s Rating: PG13—GAD

Discussion includes: (My own little “glads” system… and a giggle)
G – god, or religion in general
L – language (s/sh*t, f/f*ck, x/truly tabboo words, g/genitalia mentions)  
A – adult themes
D – drugs
S – sex or sexual situations
RR – rock and roll =)

 

Burning Questions… This week I asked for a couple things for interaction, use the comments section below to answer:

1. “Do your religious beliefs/views, or lack thereof, play any role in whether or not you believe in ghosts?”

2. (a) Are you interested in creepy voyeuristic Periscope discussion for this podcast episode?
(b) Thurs or Friday (to be held at 8.30pm EST)

3. Go ahead… try a 2-sentence horror story that answers the question “Where do ghosts go when you tear down their haunting grounds?” Or just discuss your thoughts/answer to the question.

Please, if you attempt the 2-sentence scary story, note it as such with #2sentencehorror at the end (and I’ll post the few I used as examples). Thank you, and thank you for listening and playing along!!


In the Beginning

rocker200…I don’t know what happened. I wasn’t there.

I wasn’t at my birth either, though I’ve heard the story and it’s quite humorous.

No, the consciousness that is me, wasn’t actually around until about the time of this picture. And yes, that IS me—I’ve always had those dark-ass gypsy eyes and fake smile.

Life, for me, began on a very specific night. I don’t remember much of anything that came before—only faded recollections of memories too far gone and long forgotten to be anything remotely clear. My existence before that night consists of running watercolor canvases filled with the blur of three dogs, the bars of my sister’s crib, and monster-sized blue bottle flies on a window sill. I vaguely recall the smell of a house whose interior I can’t picture, and the surroundings of a glass-topped fishing lure case I apparently danced on with my black patent-leather shoes. And I remember once remembering the chimes of a cuckoo-clock, which mom said was at a babysitter’s, but I don’t remember the sitter or her house, and only “just” recalled that she had a son I later went to school with.

No, me and the memories that make up me started one dark (though not stormy) night.

We had just moved into a new apartment. I don’t remember where we came from, or the act of moving in, I just remember that night, that place.

The apartment had those old ginormous cast-iron radiators. I was standing next to one taller than me, holding the teddy bear my grandfather gave me—which I still have, upstairs, on the dresser. I stared out the window at the moon. It was huge. Bigger than me, my family, our new apartment. Bigger than life as I knew it. Around me were smells I still remember clearly—and almost fainted at when I moved into a new apartment after my divorce and was hit with similar smells thirty years later. The apartment of my beginning had lots of woodwork. Old varnish, new polish, life absorbed by the grains and held tight in the knots—it had a smell.

And a sound. But the sound wasn’t the wood. It was my grandfather, on his hands and knees, pounding the nails down in each and every floorboard to make sure they were flush and wouldn’t hurt our tender little feet. Our. Because even though I don’t remember her that night, I know my sister was there. Probably sleeping in her crib.

That was the night my life started. With the sounds and smells of my mother making coffee in the kitchen wafting through the apartment and mingling with the smell of  wood and sound of grandpa hammering. And the moon. My moon. The gypsy’s moon that hangs in that sky every night and calls to me with its secrets and wise silence. The moon I’ve gone back to time and again.

I remember so many things, from big events to tiny details, from that day forward. That’s where I fell in the mud as a ghost for Halloween. That’s where I cracked my head open on the sidewalk thanks to Billy and Kong. That’s where the lilac tree lived across the street, Trina had a better tan, a mime lived downstairs, the Cottons across the yard, kindergarten started eventually, and grandma lived across the alley—where she made lovely green ice cream drinks for the adults but wouldn’t let the kids have any. It was where grandma made me sit on the Sears catalog because I was short, and then ran me to Sears for portraits when I fell down the stairs and got two black eyes, because that’s how we roll in my family. I remember a ton. Mostly good. Very little bad. My mom’s 8-tracks (sorry for shredding those), and an album with a fairy tale on the cover or a wolf or something that my mind turned into a fairy tale. I remember the claw-foot tub and being afraid to flush at night because I was convinced the monster that belonged to those feet would come up and eat me. I remember “the vice” (sorry Jen), and the awesome-tube, and hiding behind the couch when the wicked witch appeared on Wizard of Oz. Lasagna and mom’s friends. Climbing in the bathroom window because mom liked to forget her keys. Laying in bed listening to the sounds outside, and the voices inside. I remember…

But nothing concrete before it. Nothing solid before that moon and the sound of grandpa making my world safe.

Sometimes, feeling safe is more important that we realize. It can become the beginning as we know it. Sometimes, we take advantage of or get comfortable with the fact that we’re safe. And only realize it when we reach an end. Sometimes, the moon needs to wink and remind us to appreciate it, or seek it out, or spread it to others. Because even when the clouds cover the moon and the comfort of a teddy bear is outgrown, safety is still there, still whispered, in the quiet presence of memory, and everyone should have a beginning.

Scattered

metaphorAsk me no questions…
And I’ll tell you no lies.
~ Oliver Goldsmith

I googled “metaphor” and got this image. The gypsy said “what?” and the child said “use it!”

I don’t have the wit today to properly tell you about the baby squirrel.

I don’t have the strength to discuss Chaos.

I don’t have the fortitude to allude to unspoken truths.

And I don’t have the energy to explain why the sky is blue.

I thought about blogging in metaphorland. Debated discussing secrets and desires, wishes and hope. Briefly toyed with the idea of relationship tricks and the sheer amount of words that go unspoken. Unexplainable pain and frustration flitted across the thought process and were spit out the other side looking very much like a car after the junkyard has reduced it to a cube of useless metal. I even erased several sentences worth of a scream I’ve been holding in, that wants nothing more than to be heard from the tallest building.

But no. I can’t. I won’t. Whatever.

Instead, I’m going to go to work and lose myself in numbers. Then, I sense a very hot shower, nap and possibly some journal time before I emerge from my cocoon—family none the wiser—to sing while I cook and smile at the little things in life that people don’t usually see.

As I’m expected.

Because I am the gypsy, the wench, the twelve year old, and the tomboy. I am the best friend, the little sister, the daughter and the danger. Today, I am a puzzle purchased at a garage sale. I can still be put together and appear wonderful, but missing one piece…

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