Lmst

Blue Hour in Manchester (aren't they all?) #iwm #iwmnorth #imperialwarmuseumnorth
#manchester #contemporarycity #liminalspaces #architecturalmood
#urbanpoetry #citiesatdusk #bluehourvibes
#transitstories #modernnoir #citycinema
#rainycity #northernmood

Rain-slick tram platform at dusk in Manchester, with a lone figure walking toward the camera as blue light reflects off wet tracks. The angular glass facade of Imperial War Museum North rises in the background, framed by glowing streetlights and overhead wires, giving the scene a quiet, cinematic mood.

#liminalspaces #Backrooms

Ein Flur in einem Bürogebäude. Durch das Fenster am Ende scheint die Sonne und spiegelt sich in Linoleum.

Liminal space
#photography #liminalspaces

#liminalspaces

Have you visited this liminal space?

#liminalspaces

Grungy

#liminal #liminalspace #liminalspaces #liminalcore #liminalspacephotography #liminalphotography #nostalgia #liminality #analoghorror #lightleaks #snapseed #iphonephotography #iphonephotographer #iphone15 #iphone15promax #liminalspaceaesthetic #lightleak #photography #analog #analogaesthetic

Liminal Light Leaks

#liminal #liminalspaces #liminalcore #liminalspacephotography #liminalphotography #nostalgia #liminality #lightroompresets #lightleaks #snapseed #iphonephotography #iphonephotographer #iphone15 #iphone15promax #liminalspaceaesthetic #lightleak #photography #analog #analoghorror

📷: Canon EOS 6D
🔎: Helios 58mm f2 44-2
#noai #noaiart #liminalspace #liminalspaces #snow #digitalphotography #photography #alleyway #helios44 #canon #sovietlens

Underneath Jasper Avenue in the Bay-Enterprise Square #yegLRT station ticket concourse level is this strange corridor. I first noticed this maroon and green stripe and signage back in the 1990s. I hear it's been there for longer.

There were originally supposed to be retail spaces built into this and other LRT stations, but they never opened and just remained walled off. You'll see these spaces with one finished wall, and one more temporary looking wall. This is the only station with a sign that hints that this was ever a notion. One of these pictures is taken in 2016, and one in 2023; in both, the paint looks fresh. So, someone is probably maintaining it. Either that, or this corridor is still in 1984.

#photography #liminalspaces #yegdt

A white wall painted with a maroon and teal stripe on it. As the stripe goes around a corner, it dips 45 degrees, then rises again, doing a loop near the ceiling. If you look close, there is a shadow under the wall cast across the varied tones of blue-grey tile. This corridor has the striped polished metal ceiling typical of Bay and Corona LRT stations.

Oddly spaced, and spanning the corner in a thick weirdly rounded font that is very Edmonton in the 1980s, printed in matching maroon is the words "Future Station Retail Mall.

A photograph of a long corridor. On the left, the walls are finished with dark blue tile. On the right, the wall is painted white and much more cursory in its finishing. It features that same maroon and teal stripe of the previous picture. The floor tiles are arranged in circular motifs extending down the length of the corridor. A possible hint of stairs can be seen in the far distance. Harsh fluorescent lighting glares in stripes off of the floor. A yellow and white sign over the door has a blue arrow indicating that this way will take you to Canadian Western Bank Place, and to Jasper Avenue Eastbound buses at 103 Street.

THE MIRROR DIMENSION
A textbook liminal space. A place of transition, empty and strangely quiet. The water reflection makes the room look infinite, almost dreamlike. Do you get a weirdly comforting feeling from these abandoned places too?
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PIXEL 9 PRO XL
f/1,7 • 1/52 • 6,90 mm • IS029
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#pixelfed #photography #liminalspaces #urbex #industrial #brutalism #reflection #symmetry #underground #moody #architektur #pixelfedgermany

Symmetrische Aufnahme einer gefluteten Tiefgarage mit Rohren an der Decke, grünen Streifen an den Säulen und perfekter Spiegelung im Wasser, Cyberpunk Stil.

Day 7
#365project

#cinema #theatre #theatre #liminal #liminalspace #liminality #liminalspaces

Shaving: A Greenland Diaries Flash Fiction

Nigel couldn’t believe his beard had gotten this long.

It was down to his chest, tangled and frizzy. It was black, but almost brown at its feathery edges. He could hear his father yelling at him to trim it, his high, almost husky voice echoing in his head. His father was ex military. He loved the clean shaven look and forced Nigel to follow that hairless motif, even though Nigel hadn’t picked up a weapon until the Drum started. Now, he always had one with him. The ravaged green world demanded it, even with the Drum destroyed and the Unnamed no longer hunting him at night.

Nigel wondered if his father was still alive in the nursing home in Saint Louis Park. He had barely been alive before the Drum. It wouldn’t make any sense for him to be spared.

Nigel had been lucky to hide in his Golden Valley home for most of the apocalypse. He had left for a few weeks to join survivors fighting an Unnamed by a lake that kept attacking them. It had been a hard fought battle. Only Nigel and a few others survived. None of them had the appetite for further confrontations with the Unnamed, and they all retreated to their former hiding spots. Those had been the last people he’d spoken to, except for a band of soldiers passing through who told him the Drum was destroyed, and the Unnamed were nonviolent unless attacked.

Nigel felt his dark, reflectionless face. His features were gaunt, weathered by a lack of nutritious food. His cheeks were flat, his nose large, his forehead dry. His lips were cracked and bloody in places. The weather had been fine. It was the fear eroding his flesh. The constant worry of the Unnamed returning, or a crazed Reanimated storming through the neighborhood.

Slowly, above his white bathroom sink, he began to trim his beard. There was no electricity for his razor, so he resorted to a pair of orange handled scissors he kept in his office for trimming documents. They were sharp, but loud as they crushed the fibers between its blades. In minutes, most of his beard was reduced to a prickly edge beneath his fingers. He sighed.

“I guess it’s time. They said it was safe.”

Ahead of him hung a wool blanket, yellow and brown, duct taped to the wall in miscellaneous streaks of silver adhesive. It dangled just above the sink.

It blocked the mirror.

He’d put it up during the first week, when he noticed the shadows watching him. Now, with the Drum destroyed, survivors passing through told him mirrors and reflections were back to normal. They no longer held phantoms.

He slowly reached for the fabric, then stopped.

“I can’t do it.”

He walked out of the bathroom with a shrug.

“I can’t believe it’s okay.”

I really enjoy writing about these quieter moments in the Greenland Diaries, where characters are learning to live again after a horrifying ordeal that shook the foundations of humanity. These bits of flash fiction give me ample opportunity for it. You can learn more about the mainline series right here. Thank you for reading!

#author #blogging #bodyHorror #books #cosmicHorror #darkFantasy #darkFiction #decay #fantasy #fiction #flashFiction #grief #hauntedLandscapes #horror #horrorWriting #identity #isolation #liminalSpaces #machines #memory #monsters #obsession #patrickWMarsh #poeticProse #prosePoetry #psychologicalHorror #shortStories #speculativeFiction #survival #teraryHorror #theGreenlandDiaries #transformation #trauma #weirdFiction #writing

The city at night... 😌
"forever 3am." - Odd Behavior
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=EWsh4cvSIGY
#portland #oregon #pdx #pnw #shotoniphone #liit #noerasetool #noai #city #liminal #liminalspaces

Trimmed hedges flank one side of a city hotel's covered entryway extending from the sidewalk out front, the exterior floor tiles and wooden back wall lit from above by recessed lighting on an otherwise dim pre-twilight morning.

I Can’t Leave: A Greenland Diaries Flash Fiction

Rob had memorized the pattern of abandoned cars in the parking lot outside the building. A red van, a blue truck, a few white sedans, silent and sun faded, lay scattered across the velvet sheet of greenery in the basin around the office tower he’d been hiding in. He’d been fixing a boiler in the basement when the Drum began. Most of the building was empty that first night. Everyone had already left for the day. Only a handful were torn apart beneath the Unnamed’s obscene claws.

And then the office was empty.

Except for Rob.

He had always imagined himself different at the end of the world. At six foot five, all elbows and height, with an unkempt beard dropping to his chest and a perpetually worn Minnesota Twins cap, he’d figured he’d look the part. He had thought of himself as stereotypically male, chew, flannels, and a quiet, lumbering confidence. But when the monsters arrived and stalked the hallways, he learned quickly how fragile that image was. Back on his grandfather’s farm, he and his friends in their local anti government militia had joked that if the world ever collapsed, they’d be ready.

But once the Unnamed descended and began mutilating and resurrecting their victims, the only thing Rob grew adept at was hiding.

For someone so tall and broad, sneaking through the office should have been impossible, yet he’d shaped himself to its shadows. He learned to bend beneath desks, wedge between bookshelves, flatten against cubicles. Even when the Reanimated drifted through, he found ways to slip past them, though other survivors told him not to fear them. Those survivors were nothing like him. They weren’t afraid of the shadows. They fought them day and night. He’d heard their skirmishes echoing through the Drum. Even now, with it finally over, the night outside carried only wind, insects, and the soft groan of the building settling.

How were they so brave?

A few survivors had passed through recently and told him he could go home, or even find work with the Reestablishment. But he couldn’t force himself to leave the gray block of the office. Every time he packed his few supplies, slung the rifle he’d taken off a dead soldier, and started toward home, he barely made it a few blocks. A shadow, a rattle of debris, a shift in the wind, anything could spook him, and he’d sprint back to the familiar corners of the office floor.

Day or night didn’t matter.

He just couldn’t leave.

Thank you for reading my flash fiction from the Greenland Diaries. In this story, I wanted to show a character you might expect to be strong because of how they postured their identity, but when the apocalypse appeared they realized it was all an image without integrity. They weren’t actually built for the conflict they thought they were seeking. Monsters are an excellent mirror.

#author #blogging #bodyHorror #books #cosmicHorror #darkFantasy #darkFiction #decay #fantasy #fiction #flashFiction #grief #hauntedLandscapes #horror #horrorWriting #identity #isolation #liminalSpaces #literaryHorror #machines #memory #monsters #obsession #patrickWMarsh #poeticProse #prosePoetry #psychologicalHorror #shortStories #speculativeFiction #survival #theGreenlandDiaries #transformation #trauma #weirdFiction #writing