Don Mann: Focusing on my Craft

Saturday, Feb. 19, 2005 - 3:59 a.m.

I miss 2001.
I miss the Walker Building.
I miss the spiral staircase.
I miss incantations by candlelight.
I miss the whispers in the asylum.
I miss our haunted forest.
I miss the chills.
I miss the adrenaline.
I miss the way the spirits surrounding us forged a bond between our own kindred hearts.
I miss your nervous grabs at me for security.
I miss seeing with my eyes closed.
I miss the cold, dry air.
I miss unreliable flashlights.
I miss Switchblade Symphony.
I miss chewing nervously on pens.
I miss getting the fuck out of there.
I miss the voices from the trees.
I miss the chills on my spine.
I miss the police's psychological grip on our behavior.
I miss packing my bags for nightlong stays under haunted gables.
I miss exploration.
I miss my notetaking, and tape recording.
I miss Mark Z. Danielewski.
I miss Poe.
I miss Ellis J. Deans.
I miss the Pagan Store.
I miss road food.
I miss late night Wendy's.
I miss hot summer nights.
I miss the deer, the dogs, and the apparitions.
I miss believing in the intangible.
I miss my youth.
I miss Fairfield.
I miss underground tunnels.
I miss bloodcurdling screams.
I miss gasping in darkness.
I miss kicking doors down.
I miss broken toilets and sinks.
I miss local potheads.
I miss incense.
I miss cuts, scrapes, and weary muscles.
I miss Newport cigarettes and cheap digital photography.
I miss freaking out over events I still can't explain.
I miss the ambition to do it all again.
I miss Don Mann, Amateur Ghost Hunter.

Delve Into The Past - Onward Into The Future