Well it had been awhile since I had written in this journal, but I have been posting a lot in my livejournal and deadjournals. I had embedded the livejournal in with my page at talkcity. This is one that I thought it was time to to update though I don’t get any traffic to the guestbook there — joined up a few discussion lists on there; one would see the links from the entry in the livejournal and been posting on a few community journals so this one is more of a continuation of a journal that I have posted at deadjournal’s community, Gothic Kingdom

    I had been getting some new writings done as well and those are on the diary-x and scribble journals. I am going to be doing some on the other blog as well which I had been doing all along at the account nickolauspacione.   I have been doing a combination of short and long journal entries there — such as many of the people I had met when I had gone to journal con do.  They had a debate on literary journals to the day to day journals — it depends on the person.  I had never felt so alone in a group of people, I had met up with one of the organizers and she noticed how I did not really mingle among the group because that is just the way I am — I have always been a bit of a recluse. 

    I let the writings do the talking for me;  since the diaryland and diary-x journals have the same mystique that I had created with Writings From The Grave when I created it.  Then I had been asked why did I opt to go camping while the rest of the people at the con stayed at the hotels — it is because I knew of how it is in Chicago,  which is why I make arrangements with friends or relatives who live in the area.  It was a good arrangement to camp in Tinley Park if it did not rain that whole weekend.  It was a few who made the observation that I don’t talk that much for the reason it would take away from what I do and the focus I deliver when I do the journals. 

    It was during the welcome dinner at John Barleycorn, which was a pub in the area near a place where I did my reading of the essay Carnival of Carpathia — I was trying to call my cousin, to find out where it is at because she lives in that general radius. I had never been in this place before but I liked the mood — took pictures of everyone at the convention in the courtyard.  I felt like the odd man out because of the way I am — the reclusive intelectual among a social circle where people do journals as more of a day to day thing.  The question that was pointed to me was very interesting — namely the one on why I had started a journal,  it was in the advice of a doctor.  

    Here I am the one with the most mystique to them — very reserved, almost haunting in some ways.  The vampire if they existed among groups who would not be aware of the gothic journals or gothic writers who kept online journals as well.  The only other serious one was a writer by the name of Josh — who was from New York City, didn’t blame him for being serious because he was about a mile from ground zero.  But as I had said to the person who aske me why I kept a journal — it was one of the deepest questions that I have been asked in a long time.

    I told them that I had been coming to the terms of a death in the family — in form of an aunt on my step-father’s side of the family.  It would be the gruesome cargo that I had in the back of my mind that would inspire the nightmares to be written out in the way that only one who read Poe or Lovecraft could comprehend.  It was the combination of living around Wheaton, Illinois, and the dark suroundings of Glen Ellyn and Glendale Heights that had drawn out what became the poetry which I had read at various open mic nights — then having friends at Wheaton College and the public safety would accuse one of being a Satanist,  there would be some gothic tones there. 

    The feeling that if one was the monster in a gothic novel.   I felt as if I was the elephant man because I have a mental illness — and while living in community that is predominately Christian made it hard for one to get their work out there so I did all my writing in a journal.