In this unofficial first installment of The Superparanatural Podcast I introduce exactly what the podcast is about, which is my research into the supernatural and paranormal topics of the world.
I had, not an adventure, but a ways of it yesterday. I got up early, at least considering my recent sleep habits, and went – a go-getter a friend’s mother would call me. But it’s more of a, nervous tick, a reaction to being awake again and reality having set in. But today, there was a reason, and someone on some high somewhere, placed this lovely calligrafied sticker in my path.
Today I had my projects on my mind and was on the lookout for something along my everyday life that screamed to me otherworldy, but I hadn’t expected to be entranced by some rando charm and left alone in the sterile room I had to snap a shot, . I did hesitate: should I take the picture? no. but it’s pretty. should i ask? he’s not here. whatever. *snap, snap* and the deed was done. I actually took two pictures but the first one was lopsided.
But then I left, and went to work. And while I was at work, a lull in the phone calls, had me flicking through my photos and lo’ and behold i spy that “Everyday was A Gift.” Did I forget to mention that I managed to take a well-needed, hard earned trip home before I stumbled upon mi Mensaje del Día.
I saw my mommy, and I saw a friend, now taking up residence in my room at my parents house. But it was momentary since I was in a hurry, I grabbed a few materials for my various Superparanatural Productions projects, and I couldn’t stay, but seeing my mother is always cathartic for me and for her. And my nervous day became a calming one.
I’ve never really been over-religious, my mother being raised Catholic if memory serves and I don’t ever recall my father speaking of his upbringing’s Christian denomination, so I couldn’t muse, but I wasn’t brought up in a church. My family did impart to me a belief in God, which I hesitate to use except as a metaphor for something I can’t so easily define.
God is Real. I have no doubt in my mind. But that’s not to say that there aren’t Gods, and Goddesses, and Deities of some sort, for someone, for someones. I’m not very religious, I didn’t have an exact concept of God cemented in Imagination, but my parents did convey to me that everything happens according to some plan, they use “God’s Plan,” which isn’t wrong – I use some unnamed plan with hints and quirks moving me along.
Yesterday, I got told that Everyday Is A Gift. And it was, is, so true.
Hallelujah, Feliz Navidad, Hare Krishna.
Today’s adventure marks the very first day in what will hopefully be a long haul of paranormal investigations and field-studies of the fantastical. I know that sounds like a bit much, but shoot for the stars and IF you miss you’ll land on the moon. So here I am, at the start of my journey, making another blog entry. Accompanied by friend and photographer Ariel Gonzalez, who all of my photo creds thus far go to.
I am a resident of San Francisco, CA, and this city, like many others, has a rich history of ghosts and hauntings. And my first entry to my vlog, which will be hosted at youtube, will be a countdown of some of the haunted locations in my foggy city. Today took me to three of those reportedly haunted locales.
- City Hall
- Queen Anne Hotel
- Neptune Society Columbarium and Funeral Home
The photo above is from the Columbarium, and features one of the niches that family members have modified into shrines. The one above caught my eye, and in fact, spurred the idea of researching who some of the ashes belonged to. I haven’t done that yet, considering this is just supposed to be a preview posts of sorts – a way to get out today’s creative juices and try to stay “relevant…” lol.
I also got to peruse the lobby of the Queen Anne Hotel, where a “ghost” of woman not having even died there. But significant landmarks can also hold ghosts of a kind, and the woman in question was the school’s, as it was originally, premiere teacher.
And City Hall, backdrop for the horrendous murders of Harvey Milk and Mayor Mascone, is where tourists and visitors to the city’s center have reportedly seen the ghosts of the two men, and their murderer despite him not having died there as well.
It seems that not only these, but other San Francisco haunted locations have a running theme – is the place popular or historic? not just run-of-the-mill cool place to be, but a cultural landmark? if so then it is probably haunted. almost like the Fog called Carl. we San Franciscans love our local urban legends.
Urban Legends aren’t exactly hauntings are they?
I’m very excited about this current project of mine the Superparanatural Podcast. I’ve only been aspiring to it for a few days now, but I’ve already set up some social media based outlets for this obsession. I’m torn, though, I don’t have much of a direction and the actual podcast portion of it is daunting. How do I get people to watch, or listen, or read. I may have gotten overzealous in my aspirations and paid for services I won’t be needing anytime in the foreseeable future, but I am excited all the same.
Doing research is exciting in itself, but this first installment of the podcast, with it being about cryptozoology and a nascent love of the paranormal has got me almost thrown for a loop. I have loads written, I have a certain grasp on the audio editing program Audacity, which I am using, but then there’s trying to get my writing out there, and people liking the facebook. I think I am really concerned with what my potential audience will view, but even before that, how do I get them to view it all. This at all.
It is only like Day 2 or Day 3, so here comes the rest of today. I’ll be trying to finish recording the podcast, maybe I’;ll post a very raw version of it. I’ll at least post a link to the Podbean site, where it’ll be hosted.
The coffee cup floated out of the open microwave door, across the small kitchen, and rested soundlessly upon the redwood table. With one hand Cameron flipped the page in the magazine he thumbed through, and with the other he lifted the rewarmed coffee to his lips, took a sip, and then sat it back on the table. A slight snarl arched his upper lip. Too bitter, one would suppose. Another flip of the page was accompanied by the cup being replaced on his lips. A more slight snarl followed.
Skeptical Inquirer, the magazine occupying Cameron’s attention, could no longer hold it. He placed the coffee on the table, with his hands of course, and grabbed a cigarette. Two steps had him on the back patio, and a flick of the wrist brought the lighter to his open palm.
The resident hummingbird came swooping down, reverberating wings left him hovering just inches from Cameron’s wide eyes and sealed lips, inches away from the swirling stream of smoke pulsing from the tip of his Camel Crush Menthol, the green pack. A swoop to the left and a swish to the right, a quick inspection of the faux flower feeder hanging from the banister and off the little flittering bird went. And up came the cigarette to the now parsed, recently moistened lips.
Dragonflies skated on the sun. Purple ones today. Cameron couldn’t decide if the gold sheen was because of the yellow sunlight, or if iridescence really worked like that. The gossamer wings had to have been silky, nothing else gave such a shimmer. The darting trail left behind the dragonfly marked where it had made its kills, fed its serpentine body, and spotted its next gnat for consumption.
Cameron caught the streamlined bug. No net needed, instead he sealed it in a sphere of soundless force. The bug circled within the foot of space he had allotted it, dragonflies didn’t tend to fly in smooth rounded lines, and this proved no different, it zig-zagged and bumped into the invisible walls confining it – Cameron felt each of the bumps and every brush along the mental construct he had had formed, more so than the air that the cup of coffee displaced as he had moved it through the air, and even more than the idle beating of the hummingbird’s wings. After a few moments Cameron willed the sphere closer to his face, and with it the purple dragonfly enamoring him. It had felt out its confines now and could now dip and dive without running into the sphere of kinetic energy encircling it. The delicate winged creature held Cameron’s attention, the skeptics would have to hold while he spied the beauty.
“I could’ve crushed you, darlin,” punctuated by a smile. He held his hands as if cupping a ball in front of him. It was how he held the bubble-gum dispenser fish tank he had once upon a time, with the gold fish won at the fair and the tiny, little frog he bought from the Walmart – a little terrarium. “Glad I didn’t try to catch you like that coffee cup.” After another couple of moments, the space opened, the dragonfly skated away, and Cameron was left with the sun beaming down.
“Ooh, a butterfly.”
He bound down the staircase, not quite spiraling but a sharp, angular descent. The pale, white fluttery wings always in his periphery even when not in his sight, even with his back turned and his eyes wide shut. His foot landed on the last step and pushed off launching, not far, into the air towards the butterfly. The pretty lady flew. With his own flutter, of a finger, he nudged the flitting thing down the tree it searched for sap along. She landed on the trunk, pulsing her thin wings slowly.
Left without knowing what to do, Cameron stopped. Feet planted and neck tilted Cameron stopped and stared, just for a few moments. The fun with butterflies was chasing them, otherwise the feel of watching them became more cathartic, for Cameron at least. The paled thing wasn’t merely white, like his eyes earlier betrayed him into thinking, but a tinge of yellow rested upon her wing’s fringes.
“Purple, black, yellow. In the order.” Cameron grinned, toothy and gummy, and found his favorite butterfly. “Wonder what you’re called flutterbaby.”