March 18th, 2012 by P.L. Cobb, written for the Enigmatic Monster Project

March 18th, 2012

It’s Sunday, and I am at the same place I always end up on this day: church.

I don’t talk to God though; I don’t give him the attention they say he deserves. All around me people whisper, saying things under their breath like ‘Jesus, please forgive me’ or ‘Help me to forgive, so that I may be forgiven.’ Somehow I’m able to sit like a statue, unmoved by the subtle heartbreak that surrounds me. Everyone here just wants to be loved.

So, what is love? How do I understand all the ways in which a person can love? Or, how about all of the ways the congregation claims I am loved: selfless, sacrificial love–but not truly free–surprise!

So, how would I describe love? Maybe as a mystery of the deep, or deeper than deep, an enigma. All the why in the world could not contain it. All the how would never explain it. No man-made gods could ever give or withhold it, but we just can’t accept that. If we could we would all possess it by now.

The sermon goes by in silence, sometimes someone coughs. I nod my head, not out of agreement with anything that the pastor is saying, but because I am starting to fall asleep. When the pastor ends his speech the congregation bows their collective head in prayer. My head lowers out of respect, but my eyes and my heart are focused on the blue carpet. I wriggle my toes just to make sure I have not fallen asleep. The collective gets up to leave, me trailing along behind them.

Another Sunday has come and passed and I am still waiting for an answer. Are my questions so difficult that even the good god above cannot answer them, or is this LOVE truly that abstract?

Adventure Time

Isolated, by P. L. Cobb

I like Adventure Time (a lot). I am also an adult.

I like Adventure Time (a lot). I am also an adult. I know of other adults who like the show, and I have had others tell me that it’s too much. Does that say more about me or them?

For me it’s the layers that the show has: it’s cute, weird, bizarre, macabre, and Lovecraftian (any episode involving the Nightosphere). If you watch the show you’ll find any number of these things. Re watch the show and you might notice more things in the background. For a cute kids show Adventure Time is . . . Different. For crying out loud, there is a freakin’ Lich King! And. It. Is. Voiced. By. Ron. Perlman! My family would have tried boycotting that. They would have tried to convince me that the show was evil and dark–not that it would have helped; I read and loved the Harry Potter series, it’s no more magical than the Lord of the Rings or The Silmarillion, or the Chronicles of Narnia.

While I wouldn’t class Adventure Time as exactly the same as Harry Potter or The Lord of the Rings, it is very close. I suppose this means a segway into why you can’t blame a book, a movie, or a cartoon for your behaviour (Clockwork Orange, The Catcher in the Rye), or why you can’t just assume that someone is weird, angry, or undesirable because of a certain thing they like. Now that I’ve said that I suppose this means a segway into people, and the pre-conceived notions that other people have about them. I call them ideas, or odd ideas. They’re odd because you don’t really know the person. Or they’re odd because you don’t fully know the person.

For myself there are several people who have had these odd notions about me; needless to say I never held them in very high regard. Why should I? If you’re not going to take the time to at least try to understand why someone is the way they are (without going overboard, mind you) why the hell do you get offended when they don’t extend the same thing to you? Can you smell another segway? Perhaps I should title this article: Adventure Time Made Me Think About People?

This is either a segway or I’ve unknowingly come around full circle.

Hypocrisy. We all do it. That doesn’t mean we’re all horrible people. At the same time that means that someone does not get to say what’s so because of something else, especially if they are a perpetrator of that same thing. If a nice person puts their foot down, I don’t get to call them out for that:

  1. Being assertive is not wrong.
  2. If that person is putting their foot down, it’s likely because I am an asshole.
  3. I put my foot down all the time; I’ve exploded when people don’t listen.
  4. If I can do it, why can’t they?

If you were wondering what I’m getting at, this is it. Don’t get me wrong, people are tricky; we react to certain things, often ridiculously. We can’t all be like Spock. But the fact remains that we do this; people do it to me, and I do it to them. It’s a never-ending cycle. Sometimes it is spectacularly wrong, vicious . . . And unnecessary. A lot of the time it is unnecessary.

Just as unnecessary as labelling someone. As Coca-Cola said: labels are for cans. I listen to heavy metal and I run a horror blog. But I’m not goth. I’m. Or punk. I watch Adventure Time too, but I’m not really weird. I used to be quiet; some people assumed that I didn’t like to talk to people or that I would never want to travel. The thought that I was just trying to find my footing in a world full of jerks never occurred to them. For the record I love tourism; I enjoy people. I’m a social-introvert. And I enjoy getting away from Sault Ste. Misery. I’m also a graphic designer. Because of that some assumed that I wouldn’t be able to take constructive criticism, but never stopped to consider if they were just nagging . . .

I have had my fair share of wrong assumptions too. To an extent I try to be fair. Not all the time, because it’s not always worth it. Life is just one big grey ocean, and you just have to learn to tread it carefully.

In the end, adults watch cartoons. Not all cartoons are bad, and just because you think Adventure Time is too much doesn’t mean you’re right. It also doesn’t mean I have to quickly adopt your opinions, or you mine.

What it does mean is that there is something somebody put time and effort into that other people enjoy. And it’s not for everybody, which is okay.

Before I go I would like have my last hurrah: this is why I write horror. Horror is the vehicle in which I use to dissect. The nature of people, my own experiences, the experiences of others–this is what inspires me to do what I do. There are more grey areas than there are black and white. Hence the grey ocean. If I sound preachy I apologize, but this is something that I am passionate about. And if I can’t do it then I am going to go out with bang.

Broken Glass

Broken glass

Or gun blasts

I will not forget that sound

Shovels and picks, clinking chains

Frightened families hiding from gangs

Lives deemed unclean, never to last you say

But that is all in the past?

Asking us to forget the shattered glass?

Brutal angels sing a choir of damnation

As we unite (purge, assimilate) our great nation

Racism by any other name

Will always stay the same

Look into my eyes and


Adults Are Evil

Adults Are Evil

Adults Are Evil

Let me tell you something about full moons: kids don’t care about full moons. They’ll play in a full moon, no worries at all. They only get scared of magic or werewolves from stupid adults and their stupid adult stories.
–Neil deGrasse Tyson

I happen to take pride in my ability to ruin everything. Cute little puppies? Nope! Those were just . . . puppets . . . Good clowns? No, they’re pure evil. Kittens. Well, cats are actually just elaborate illusions orchestrated by spider people.



Drastic Silence

Consider this payback, for all the undesirable things that you have done to me in the past. Like it or not, but this will happen . . . My Revenge will soon take flight; you will never know it until your time is up, never see it till it is on top of you, ripping you apart. It will devour you, I think. It might even play with you as you die. I cannot say for certain. Which is rather unfortunate, but I digress.

All I did was hatch the thing. Then I told it what to do; I gave it something that was once yours, for the smell. Then I gave it your picture, for the sight.

That was all. Revenge is fairly easy like that . . . Very low maintenance.

And when you are gone, when Revenge has finally silenced you for good, I think I may sit  back with a glass of wine. Enjoy the good weather. Yes, I think that is a good idea.

The best part of all: everything will be quiet and calm, as if you were never around to disturb my existence.

As if you had never existed yourself.


P.S: I am sure your friends below are toasting to that; they would be crazy not to.


To Those Two . . .

Yes, you, you two.

You must think that I’m stuck up or something.

Or perhaps you should just stop.

I can’t help it if I seem to be watching you out in the public spaces of this miserable town.

(Everybody else does it.)

I’m not that sorry if my determination not to look at you bothers you both either.

It’s not my fault you both look frumpy . . .

Frumpy, old, young couple . . .

Such tragedy.

I’m not going to back down though; I’ve face demons and far worse than

two disgruntled youth.

Yes, although I am young like you.

I’m not like you two at all.

(By the way, disgruntled girl, your disgruntled boyfriend is actually a ghoul,

in case you were wondering what was so great about him:

it’s nothing.

I dated one once . . .)


No More Than a Hybrid

All those strangers,

who thought they knew me after no amount of time.

I thought I knew them too.

“We think so highly of you,” they said.

So, now that I have turned their world upside down,

turned it on its head . . .

Do they still think so highly of me?

Now they know, I am nothing more

than human,

a hybrid of good and evil.

Is it me, or is it truly them?

I make no claims to be nothing more than what I am.

So it must be them,

these people who live in a dream land.

It must be nice,

except when confronted with the hard facts of life . . .

I don’t care.


Made with Paper

goblin marianna1 marianna2

Made with Paper

These are from my Tumblr page, and they were made with Paper, an app that you can get for your iPad. So far I’ve been loving it.


–Penny C.


The Most Canadian Thing Ever

The Most Canadian Thing Ever


Who am I?

I am we; we is who . . .

. . .You are you.

How do you do?

There is one problem in life which plagues us, vexes us, curses us, heckles us . . . It is what?

What is it?

Identity; that is what. It is one thing for you and I to fuss about ourselves and the lack of understanding our peers seem to give us. We cringe at the thought of what others may think. Oh no! you say to yourself. What if they found out I was human after all?

Heaven forbid if they do.

It just wouldn’t do to have pitchforks and torches shaken in your direction. Oh no!

But imagine waking up to find that you were not who you were when you last went to sleep . . . You’ve woken up, transformed into something verminous.

In Metamorphosis, Gregor Samsa did just that. He woke up not himself. Who was he? What was it? Who was what? It was like a mid-life crisis of nightmarish proportions.

How could such a horrible fate befall Gregor Samsa? Selfless Gregor Samsa, the travelling representative who had worked especially hard to help his parents out of debt? Thoughtful Gregor Samsa who had wanted to surprise his sister by sending her to the conservatory?

In the bitter end they came to hate him, and I saw for the first time the subtle hints of evil which his family portrayed. Neglect, hypocrisy . . . Perhaps the question was never Gregor Samsa’s identity, but that of his mother, father, and sister. They were not the people he thought he knew.

Did they try to help him? Yes, but then that help gradually dwindled to nothing. In fact, it was their attempt which killed him; they should have let him out, to be free.

The ending of the story is bitter-sweet, no matter how you look at it.

Fate, I believe, would have been kinder to Gregor had he not tried so hard. He could have had a life . . .