I Wonder

The World

Do you ever wonder what it would be like to exist in a place left behind? The sense of liminal spaces, but....everywhere. Only meeting others maybe once, maybe not at all. You go about your days either living, exploring, or what have you. You have a goal, of course, as to have a goal, to move forward, is human, is to live. What does this world look like? Is it industrial? Places of high traffice and commernce, creation, construction, suddenly stopped? Has nature taken over? Did humanity even gain any sort of foothold to begin with?

Where I grew up, the town had never really truly been majorly populated and thriving, but whatever little existence it created had already started to fade by the time I was able to form memories about it. I was told many times by my parent's generation that the town had been "a successful saw mill", but I never held any memories of people working amongst the all machinery meant to move logs and sawdust. In fact, I remember the neatly-lined stacks of unused timber slowly rotting away as I got older. Untouched, but also unusable, I'd be told by adults that it "needs to be there for when the strike ends and the mills start up again". As of 2025, the last time anyone told me about the mills, the wood (what's left of it) remains unmoved.

That wasn't the only thing (well, two things) that had fallen to ruin. Down near a section of the river, by the dam, was a "power plant" that hadn't been touched in what looked like decades. It was a two-story, long, rectangular building with many windows. You could look in past the dust, moss, and mold and see what looked to be old generator parts, as well as metal walkways and a few work areas. Power lines of all sorts snaked through, in, and out of the building. There was something similar on the island connected to the main part of town by an old wooden bridge. A tall building on top of the tallest part of the rocky island. You could walk up to it, but the door was bolted shut with a large metal plate, and no windows were present, at least at ground level. More power lines connected to this tower, but I was never ever to really see where they went.

The Dream

I belonged to a civilization that lived high in the mountains. All of the modern comforts were there, but it was still somehow considered "away" from the rest of the world. The setting as a whole really didn't register in the dream, but what mattered was one very specific element - people were able to choose when they "died". The reason "died" is in quotes there is the whole point. Someone's passing was a ritual, and not in a way many would think when I say that. No one was killed, but they did "die".

The dream started with me standing in what looked like a carved-out cathedral in a large mountain. Rock was above and below us, but the stained glass windows still let in light. The place was full, with church pews all filled up. At the head of the chapel was a large entrace to a cave, well decorated and lit with various ceremonial candles. I waited near that entrace, I had chosen to "die". I don't exactly know why I had made that decision, but I was very at peace with it. It was not made out of sadness. I don't know how old I was, but I was content in knowing that I had lived an eventful and full life, and I even recalled that I had done something that, in my heart, I knew I would be well remembered by those around me.

My spouse (who, was neither my real life husbund or boyfriend, instead being someone completely made up for the dream) was of course, very sad. They cried as they hugged for a long time. They weren't hysteric, as they also were at piece with this, clearly, but the thought of not being with me any more was of course, heartbreaking. I was sad too, but I had reached a point of acceptance since, after all, this was my choice.

Then, it was time for me to go.

With a soft wave goodbye to everyone in attendance, I was joined by a small group of holy persons, I knew that those would be the ones to walk me to my "death", and were the only ones allowed to both enter and exit the cave entrace at the front of the chapel. Everyone else only entered. The church organ began playing a hymn, I took a breath, and stepped forward past the threshold. I and the holy persons began walking into the darkness of the large cave, and soon, the sounds of the church faded. Again, I wasn't scared. I felt the sense of anticipation that follows making major decision such as this, but I didn't feel fear. The path was lined with low-light candles, and the walls of the cave ornately painted with murals I couldn't even begin to understand. Those walking with me were of good spirits, quiet in the reverence of my decision but not somber. They had seen many "deaths", of course, and we all knew what that entailed. And so, we walked on. It took a few hours, I recall, though I'm not exactly sure how long it was. Eventually, though, the cave opened up to a large field. It felt...impossibly large, but I also understood it was closed in by the mountain surrounding it. The sky, though, was open and above us. There was greenery, waterfalls, and many, many, well-placed living strutctures.

The holy persons stopped at a lampost that had been stationed at the cave's exit. One alone guided me to an empty house nearby. This was going to be where I "died". He explained to me what I already knew, we all knew, but having it said again was always helpful. This was to be where I resided in "death". Food and other amenities were restocked regularly, and there were other means of entertainment, and I was also encouraged to meet and form community with the others here who had "died". After all, I was going to be here for the rest of my "death", until I did, truly, die. On the anniversary of my "death", I was told, loved ones would be able to send me letters that would be then passed down to my new place of rest. I wouldn't be able to respond, of course, as I had "died", but I appreciated that. For now, though, I had been walking for quite a while to get here, and I wanted to rest, I'd work on further adjustment to the new situation later. I thanked the holy man, and he returned to the lampost where the others were waiting, and I watched them return through the cave. I imagined by the time they came back the church would have cleared out, the organ no longer playing, my spouse tears dried, and everyone returning to their life.

Suddenly the dream had jumped to many years past my initial "death", I can't say how many, but it has also been a few years since my spouse had also "died". Things get shaky from here, as I must have been waking up, but I remember they were telling about something new they had crafted in our kitchen. They had used their time in "death" to work on culinary experiments which were then shared amongst our neighbors.

Then, I woke up.

The Last Tour of the Backrooms' Oldest View

Media is Good Again, y'all.

Okay, that's honestly a bit reductive, but it's been really great to come across so many things that I like in such short time. I think in part that's because I'm living a life I enjoy more. Of course, there are still things I would improve (a more comfortable job, etc) but I can say that this is a state in which I'd consider myself the happiest. So in that sense, I'm falling back into finding new takes on my favorite type of media:

Emptiness.

Liminal spaces are something that I see so many people call "creepy" "scary" "unnerving", etc, but I've always found them comforting. There's something about the quiet, the mystery, the general vibe of a space that makes me more interested in exploring it further, in occupying that place. As an aside (shocker, I know), I've gotten back into using mynoise as a way to focus while doing things, even at work. That lifetime supporter donation I made back in college is still paying off, nearly 20 years later. While I have others in the library, I play forest noises, garden sounds, something to just fill the ever opressive silence. While I'm alone, though? Dark Forest combined with Number Stations. I'm even listening to it right now while writing this!

Again, I thrive, mentally, in places that are liminal, empty, a little bit creepy in their lack of existence and habitation. So intaking media with those themes are also, on some level, comforting to me, even when they're not supposed to be. Or...maybe they are? Maurice Sendak (paraphrased) said that he wrote books, and then was told they were for children. So maybe, at least for some artists, they find comfort, and then they're told it's horror. Don't tell anyone (you will), but I'm currently writing a one-shot TTRPG campaign that really plays with the feelings of liminal spaces, among other things. In whole, though, all these themes are things I have found comfort in, but I already know they are going to scare my players. This isn't unintended, but I'm finding it interesting merging those two different interpretations.

Anyway, in about the span of a month, I watched Backrooms, The Oldest View, and read Girls' Last Tour. I think if you have an interest in anything I just spilled out into my text editor, you should take a look as well.

Shells

Did you know I once worked at a place that was 80% abandonded? Not anymore, thankfully, but I don't think my experience is too unique either. We're always building places on top of places, even if the places are still currently alive in some way. Then they pass, become empty shells, but they're now part of the foundation for what was build on top of or around it, so it's now a part of the whole. Sometimes we build around it in ways that create problems and pathways for everything else.

I loved going to the archives during that job, because it required me to travel down 3 flights below street level and travel through a series of locked doors that only I and 4 others had the keys to. Some of the hallways were actively falling apart, but it was past them that the archives were stored. On the way, you could hear conversations from departments that were closer to the abandoned sections, until eventually you just heard nothing at all.

The town I grew up in had something similar. My mom worked for a real estate company (she didn't sell, her job was to make sure new housing met state compliance), and the business only occupied the front of the building. Past that, there was an indoor halway that led back, with no other rooms used for offices or smaller businesses. As you went back the hallway became more narrow, and the lights dimmer, as less and less were used or kept on. Then, at the back of the building, was a dark doorway and a very steep set of stairs. I remember it being near total darkness. I always wanted to go down there, but never build up the courage (I was 7, give me a break).

I think...when I go back there (I have a plan to return to my hometown after both my parents have passed), I want to see if the building is still standing. Nothing ever moves or changes there, not in any way that matters, so I'm sure it'll still be standing. It'll most likely be just as empty as before, since the population has only decreased since I moved away.

When I go back, I'm going down there, wherever it leads.