weirdameriica

When I was about 14 years old, I made it a mission for God that I was going to "handle" the Devil by conjuring him up & yell at him of all goodness sake to not take for granted all the things in life God gives us.

So I went to the local cemetery, which was just a walk down my street away, to go stomp on some graves and wake some of the spirits up, so they can get the Devil's attention for me.

I figure, if I stomp on some of the graves, I can "wake up the spirits" and ask for the Devil, personally. So that, I did. Upon the entrance of the grave, with this very mission in mind and intent, the black crows that lined it's tree began cawing sporadically and violently — as a warning not to enter and do what it is I came there to do. Upon walking a couple of steps inside, my pantyhose then began to rip on both legs, horizontally. It didn't snag on anything, and I felt a male presence.

I began entering and found a woman & man's grave and began stomping on top of them, before making it back home.

A guest of my father's (I was living with him at the time) was staying the night, and upon a location behind the couch, her and I both felt a menacing male presence.

I miss all those late AM prank calls to the sex hotline.

"Hello, this is Park Ranger Kelly, stuck out here buck naked, in the middle of nowhere..."

I remember how after he died. How it didn't hit me & I could still hear his voice in the distance of our room to 'come back'.

He used to say "I prayed for you, and you came". And how I remembered us together in a past life, married, spending our days talking about life & living — the purpose, drive, and meaning of it.

He was my eternal sunshine.

The greatest of all time.

Till we meet again...

so I could love you again...

live in peace, 

always watch over,

and know you are fondly missed.

Melancholia has reached me beyond the splendor of celebrating life, everyday. I'm told to get a gratefulness journal and count my blessings. You know, simpleton things, such as gratefulness for oxygen and clean drinking water — but I want more than just the spectacularness of the mundane. 

I want to be felt. Absorbed. Known.

Reach within me and tell me how I feel. 

There are emotions that rely on the description of my existence I fail to mention, for the words I cannot find suitable enough to describe such a kaleidoscope of different feels. 

How does one describe existence? 

Language doesn't due justice, just try and put into words how a song made you feel. You can to an extent but words make everything fall flat, in comparison to the abstract and varied states of existence, being, breathing, changing. Each note, a pulse of rapidly beating emotion.

A painting is easier to describe than the vastness of internally eternal space within one's self.

Ask me why I exist — the answer: I just be. 

I didn't ask for being created, but I'm beyond grateful that I can touch the space created for me to just be.

Going through a melancholic depression...wondering when it's going to clear for me. Children have so much creatively humorous energy that I borrow, in it's waves of euphoria and giddiness.

I wish I was a child.

As Kurt Cobain once said, 

"I wish I was like you, easily amused."

My letter to the Government,

I met 3 hostages released from who they describe as "The Devil" aka "Satan" - a gentleman with horns & black skin color, though I know him to be white and who's real name is Gabriel, aka Adam my husband. My name is "Sera", meaning evening, aka "Sarah" - Satan's savior, otherwise known as Jesus, with the "t" in the name Satan signifying I died on the cross back in the 1900s, who's also a letter away from the name "Sarah".

The hostages were reluctant to tell me his location or to take me to him, out of protection, but I ran into them in front of Cardena's grocery store off of Julian Street in San Jose, California. The third hostage I ran into was in front of the hotel off of The Alameda in San Jose, next door to Whole Foods grocery store. I'm guessing he (Satan) is hiding out underground, in the sewage tunnels or tunnel above/below, as the catacombs in France is relative to the situation and could be his old stomping ground. If you can, bring those devices that can sense thermal heat through walls & buildings, but look underground for him between those two regions mentioned above (Julian St & The Alameda streets).