Fun story. I was possessed once. A friend asked me to play background music for a film shoot at an old house. When I sat at my keyboard I felt my consciousness "pushed aside". I didn't "return" until I got back out to my car.

I may have seen something like this "Once Upon a Time". But. I have reached my limit for effort on originality. May God have mercy on my creative soul? Well. On second, third, fourth thought. Just give me ... "The End".

Welcome to the cookie universe, aka “The Cerse” – the new home for The Cookie Folk! We’ll see which lasts longer: them, my sanity or our planet. Please. No betting. The odds are not in anyone’s favor.

At one time – photographs of atrocities had the power to overwhelm us. Do they still? Or are we numb? Maybe, we need to be haunted by something more …

I started using the internet while I was in college. Then. The Cleveland Freenet. I still remember my user ID – io382. Ah, the wonderful days-gone-by of chat rooms. But. I actually did meet a former girlfriend in one.

What is my Holy Grail? People that are interested IN me. Rather than what they can get OUT of me. An added bonus? To have them be a teensy weensy bit emotionally invested. At least … as another human being.

I had this in three funnier places. But. I thought about who might see it. And. What could happen. Acting responsibly isn’t censorship, giving up rights or sacrificing freedoms. It’s being human. Instead of ghosts.

Sillyistic Sunday! Would I want to be a ghost? That depends. On? If it’s an anything-goes-anywhere afterlife. If so? Then no! But if it’s the Beetlejuice model and certain terms and restrictions apply? Absolutely!

My great grandfather, a craftsman and artist, moved the family from Chicago to Cleveland in 1924 to make sure his kids stayed “legit”. Paranoia? Nope. His brother “ran numbers” for Capone. And. Rests just across the road.

What is “living”? Perhaps. It is merely a side effect. Of imagination. Or. Lack thereof. Anyway. I might not know when. And. I may not know how. But. Provided the zombies don’t get me first. I have always known … why.

When we moved into our first house – I quickly discovered it was haunted by a boy that would look out my bedroom window. On an unrelated note. Nothing good has ever come of those that have caused me pain.

I survived my teens and early twenties with a journal and meditation. The latter I discovered in the 1st grade. The metal on an eraser-less pencil scraping on paper triggered a response I could use to relax my body. And mind.

The “Unknown”. As primitives? ‘Twas. A time. The moonless night. A place. The oceans deep. A cause. The lifeless soul. But fight or flight fails. Fools. When we face that beyond fear. Folklore. Fantasy. Conspiracy. All … the same.

Modern folk music is my “find myself” place. It's rhythm. It's poetry. And it's personal. As for the “Indigo Girls”? The perfect running music. And also great for … pondering. And solving. All the unknowable. With a laugh.

Bobby does great work. Highly recommended. 10 out of 10. If you need some bodies unburied – he's the ghost to get it done. To view this as "thing" as a minute-sized animation, check out my YouTube channel: youtube.com/@TheKrumblz

A cool side effect of my inherited Visual Snow Syndrome with Tinnitus? I learned I could use the "ringing" like a bat's sonar and sense when something disrupted its harmonics. Vacuum tubes turning on/off. Light bulbs about to pop. But my favorite? An awareness of things you can't see ...