dulcetly...notes on a bookish life

The last few days I've been distracted from other projects working on phobia titled poems....apiphobia (bees), arithmophobia (numbers) dysticiphobia (accidents), chronomentrophobia (clocks). They're sort of fun.

Tonight, it's folding and stapling How to Study Birds and watching trashy horror movies...this time it's House of Wax, terrible I've heard, but worth it to see Paris Hilton get what's coming to her. Last night, finally got around to watching Wisconsin Death Trip, which I mentioned here. Luckily no references to crazy Bowens. Though they were surely around then, probably my great grandparents era, and the whole area is still thick with them, even though my dad moved down here when he was still pretty young.

One of the creepiest things about Black River Falls is not in town at all, but out outside town. Alongside this narrow wooded un-named road, there's this baby grave. No house. Nothing for miles, though you can see where a house may have once stood. And there are always flowers on it, no matter what time of year it seems. We always wind up going past it on our evening rides looking to see deer. (I've never understood the need to do this when plenty of deer regularly traipse through my parents yard back home. Apparently, Wisconsin deer are much more exotic.)

There's still something about it that sets me ill at ease and always did, even when I was younger.