Morticia Morgendorffer

  It's that time of the year again. I've never really gotten to celebrate Halloween but I like the idea of it. What's not to like about people dressing up, entertaining their morbid fantasies, going out asking for candies, enjoying the chill in the air and trying to summon nasty entities from beyond? Do I believe in ghosts? No. But for the longest time, I did have a question about how when matter can neither be created nor destroyed, what happens to our energy when we go to our graves? These ideas have come and made a home in many who came before me - who shaped their thoughts and created beautiful mystic pieces of art from their fears of the unknown. You may or may not know Guillermo del Toro but I remember him primarily because of the profound effect The Shape of Water and Pan's Labyrinth had upon me Upon further reading, however, I got to know he's been scaring kids for almost 3 decades now. And he's back with another eight-episode treat for twisted toots thi

  Curly comes over to my house for the night. We're going to watch Sex Education on Netflix. It's super late at night but I actually enjoy spending time with him so I don't mind wrecking my sleep schedule for a day. We talk, snack on waffles, and watch the show. Sometime around 3, we kiss for the first time. It is then that we both realize that we're both worn out and incredibly sleepy. He leaves. The thing is, Curly & I have always been friends. He’s never given me the hint that he wants to be more. We have tons of things in common - the love for beer and black coffee being the things I love doing most with him. He's taken me to fancy new coffee places I'd never bother to explore on my own and I love that about our dynamic. Every time we go out for food, we split the bill like sane people.  But here’s a sad and disturbing truth I just found. Curly has a nose-picking problem. My brain is squiggling just thinking about it. One moment his forefinger is tuckin

"Have I become a fucking prude? I don't even like kissing my dates anymore."  It's alright. Nobody kisses fruits before eating them. Just chomp at them "Not the fruits, you moron, I mean the dudes I go out with. Am I losing my libido? What is wrong with me?" Maybe you're gay? "I don't like kissing my female dates either." I think you may be emotionally constipated "Elaborate, please" Sometimes after an emotionally draining event, it takes time for your emotions and feelings to catch up to you. "Is that how you operate?" Honestly, I have no idea what I'm talking about. I was just trying to make you feel better. "That's very sweet of you. But it's alright. I think I'll be fine."  I know you'll be.  "So, what's it like, up there?" You know how you look at Instagram memes all day on your explore page and you gotta pick out which one to go with? "Yeah?" It's like that.

  I fucking hate pigeons. I forgot to shut my bedroom window completely only to come back to three of these cunts hovering, panicking and flapping their wings at my sight. They could neither sit in patience nor let me help them get out.  I’ve had quite an eventful past few weeks. I’ve gone from feeling incredibly terrible in every waking moment to realise that I can’t do anything about things I have no control over - to just trying to breathe in my reality without having a breakdown every day - to feeling my breath ease with each passing night. The Sandman on Netflix is brilliant. I cannot get out of awe of Neil Gaiman. Motherfucker put the comic out in 1989 and it’s every bit relevant, 33 years later. And for those of you who’ve watched other shows based on Gaiman’s books [Nirvana, are you here?] you think you know what to expect, only you don’t.  The story depicts a wannabe, emo, [initially] weak-ass bitch with punk hair as ‘Dream’, one of the four siblings [besides Despair, Desi

  "Change is a curious thing. It is not an option but a constant. It takes place during conversations. In the pauses between thoughts. Like the spinning of the earth, it's happening as we speak, but it's so all-encompassing that it is largely imperceptible." I wake up everyday feeling heavier and lighter, both at the same time. Heavier because of the thoughts that flood my brain as soon as I wake up, and lighter when I think I surpassed another day of summertime sadness. More like monsoon gloom. Monsoon Melancholy? Ugh. Last month, I got a bunch of stuff for myself - including a tattoo - with a few more on my mind. I have to tell you about my friend Shels who went with me and allowed me to squeeze the life out of her hand. Pro tip: The insides of your bicep is a painful place to get inked. Looks incredibly badass though. Win some, lose some. I got all the pores of my right ear licked clean. Even the hole where the ear wax is. If the dude had put his tongue any furt

  Did you know? Everybody’s favourite babysitter & badass Steve Harrington (Joe Keery) is apparently also a singer and goes by ‘Djo’? Some songs make me cry. For no reason. They just mix with my being and stir my strings. Music may be the best thing the human race has to offer. Don’t believe me. On the Voyager spacecraft(probes launched to observe and to transmit information to Earth about the giant planets of the outer solar system and the farthest reaches of the Sun's sphere of influence), Carl Sagan & his buddies had a whole mixtape made titled “ Sounds of Earth ” that comprises a selection of Eastern, Western and ethnic music so if ever the Voyager finds beings of another kind, they’ll know the legacy human beings left behind - one not about wars victories and ideologies, but purely music.  Love that, don’t we? I’ve had an exciting couple of days. And as an introvert (I still believe i am one, i think), i cant believe hanging out with people can sometimes turn out t

“Sometimes I get fragments. Like… trees. Sunlight. A kiss.”   In a previous conversation with a friend where we were discussing the ill-effects of the rainy season, she mentioned why she has a love-hate relation with the rain. She said it makes her moody, lazy, but most of all, horny. Jesus Christ, if that ain’t the truth.   So when I got home early this evening with the weather nothing short of perfect, I began to wonder what I could be doing that would make me happy. I turned to browse Netflix and Hotstar to look for something to watch. No luck. And then I realised why I was being morose for no reason – I was lonely.   In the past few months I’ve gone from feeling terrible to feeling alright to feeling like my world was crashing in on itself with me having nothing to hold on to. While I immensely enjoy work, I forgot that it is important to have fun too. And not just the one you could buy. But the one you feel doing the things that you love. The things that make you feel whole. Work

Everybody's looking Everybody's talking Nobody's listening My spirit feels like it's drowning beneath a sheet of ice every emotion, every feeling every commotion comes raving but dies down at the door my being's in the 5th dimension but my spirit's on the floor. I know I'm not easy to handle some days I'm a handful Some lyrics resonate with me but they're cruel and hurtful. my empathy wears thin like the paint peeling off the ceiling what do I do who do I look up to all my idols killed themselves at 27.

An awkward pigeon is peering inside the window. My friend Nirvana thinks squirrels are Soviet spies, but I think pigeons are better suited for espionage.  I learned that plants and animals shrink/swell in size as the moon waxes/wanes. I don't know if you know this about me, but I have an exceptionally sensitive sense of smell. Two of my coworkers just arrived smelling the same. Does that make sense? This dude asked me to look at him while I was orgasming. I don't know what guys think women look like while orgasming or if it incites them sexually. I don't know if it looks anything like they show you in porn. I don't know what he expected but I think I may have ruined it for him.  I have had the busiest and most fantastic week ever. Except for the fact that I cannot take time out for dancing. There's nothing like the intoxication of sleep that comes from busting your ass doing things you like all day. Some people's names must be so difficult to pronounce during se

 It’s 2007. A maniac points a gun at three children – a 10-year-old, a 7-year-old and a 5-year-old. Don’t get too stoked though – the barrels of the gun are empty. Their father had watched way too many movies and just got a little too dramatic.  So while the gun was a new gimmick for the children, they were mostly used to his drama.    It was an exciting night, like most nights. The kids would spend most of the day like other children, with the exception of nights where their father, under the influence of alcohol, would play his sick twisted games with them and their mother.    It’s almost beautiful how the human brain can adapt to everything – love, hatred, violence, just like that. I read somewhere that kids growing up with violence around them learn to embrace it and begin to find a home in the chaos. Which, for the most part, is good, but they never get used to normal surroundings, normal relationships, the normal status of life.    The father is hardly to blame here either. Young