Post the Forty-Seventh: In Which I Discuss Ghosts

In addition to ghosts, I want to apologize for posts being a bit thin on the ground. I’ve been working very hard on making writing for a living a viable option, and in the evenings, when I have time free for the blog, I stare, impassive, and then do something else. However, I did just submit some poetry to a magazine, finally, and have been working on the novella. Hurrah!


Right. Ghosts. Well, Gentle Reader, I have  a tradition of getting fall-down drunk and communing with my dead. As my grandmother used to say, drunkards and imbeciles are close to other worlds*. That’s why getting rather swiffy beforehand is necessary. At any rate, it’s tradition, and there’s a little light ritual with it – photographs of your beloved dead, candles before them, a waft or two of incense; if it’s not impromptu and there’s a specific relative that you wish to talk to, perhaps some of their favorite food, that sort of thing. It helps to listen to your target’s favorite music, drink their preferred beverage, and so on.

Eventually, overcome with fondness, nostalgia, resentment, whatever – you’ll start talking to them quite organically. You can hash out old bitter pettiness, rail against family secrets too well kept, now lost. It’s wonderfully cathartic. It’s comforting, particularly when you miss somebody who’s gone.

Disappointment in you doesn't stop at the grave

Disappointment in you doesn’t stop at the grave

At any rate, last night I needed to commune with my dead, because I needed to apologize.  The last time I had done this, I was very angry with my grandfather – and I was rather rude, and unreasonable. I then laid into a number of other relations, for keeping everything about mental illness in the family so close-mouthed, leaving those of us left to wonder precisely what demons lurk in our blood.

I didn’t really leave anyone out, on either side. This includes my mother’s birth mother, for withholding information on my mother’s birth father. We’ll never have his medical info, for example.

Any road, I was being very disagreeable to a flock of ghosts, and they didn’t take it well. Therefore I had to appease them last night. They were also rather apologetic, particularly my father.

Is this weird? I don’t think so, but I’m pretty sure that other people don’t do this sort of thing.


*She also used to say that Drunkards are close to Imbeciles, usually right afterward.



About Ty DeLyte

Madame DeLyte has suffered a grave disappointment - YET AGAIN - and still believes that freedom, beauty, and truth are what's valuable, rather than vulgar cash. He'd add love to that list - but, well, what can he say about love?
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