Earlier this year I visited our decaying house in Oyster Creek and took some footage with the hope of creating a documentary project with stories from family members and childhood friends. Last night, with an urge to be creative and have some fun, I decided to return to my horror film roots and edit this short piece together. The haunting tone reflects how I sometimes felt as a child in this old house, wondering if the devil himself or a deranged madman peeped through the windows as my brothers and I watched television or chased each other through the house. The fear, coupled with other life’s circumstances, fed into my anxiety, that has been with me since.
Prayers of a Baptist Tex-Mex
I was a God-fearing Christian as a child. Not because my parents forced their religion on me. They didn’t even go to church, or even cared if we went. Continue reading
our stepdad became james brown right before our eyes in the living room. it would normally be after returning home from sportsman inn, the bar next to the creek. Continue reading