#minnesota gothic

[asfdhgsdkjhgb]

there should be some sort of northern gothic around the way that when it snows at night it never truly gets dark and instead the whole world becomes bathed in hauntingly even light that turns the whole world monochrome grays

#this morning the whole world looks so beautiful tho #very blue sky and the snow layered on everything looks so pretty #northern gothic #minnesota gothic

[herecomesyourghostagain]

midwest summertime

#midwest gothic #midwest summer #rural summer #summer gothic #abandoned midwest #minnesota #minnesota gothic #minnesota summer #hot summer nights

[oneshipress]

Peter Taylor on the Power of Sharing

Peter Taylor (he/him) is a 5ft 10inch ape descendant who, forty years ago, had a dream of making a comic book and selling one copy to a stranger. Since realising this dream (just a short thirty-seven years later), he is now writing and ‘arting’ full time. His alternate history series, “Wren,” garnered positive reviews and his current series, “Pioneers: Blood & Stars,” just published its second…

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#cohorts #minnesota gothic #peter taylor

[highways-are-liminal-spaces]

Gray skies over the Bog, Sax-Zim, Minnesota

Taken February 2024

#minnesota #bogs #rough-legged hawk #hawks #owls #northern hawk owl #frost #winter #churches #north woods gothic #my photos #my places #ntnav

[pamietniko]

walking along the Mississippi River

Minneapolis, Minnesota

#film photography #35mm #analogue #photographers on tumblr #original photography #minneapolis #minnesota #mississippi river #midwestern gothic #grain belt #heartland #frozen river #twin cities #Minneapolis Riverfront

[daughterofcainnnn]

my photo

#minnesota #midwest gothic #american gothic #farmcore #ethelcain #midwestern gothic #winter #photography #southern gothic #southern gothic aesthetic #abandoned #abandoned house #abandoned buildings

[ellieswr1d]

taken on Canon PowerShot SD850 IS

photos taken by me

#minnesota #midwest #american gothic #farmcore #ethel cain #winter #midwest emo #midwest winter #barn photography #photography

[midwestgothicofruralamerica]

4/11/24

#midwest #photography #midwestgothicofruralamerica #keepin it rural #midwest gothic #rural #abandonedhousesofruralamerica #photographers on tumblr #abandoned #minnesota

[caniscryptid]

The Pigeon River's High Falls on the Minnesota-Ontario border, 1960

#photography #american gothic #vintage #western #canadian gothic #minnesota #ontario

[suddenly-in-the-span-of-eternity]

The horror of the Midwest is the isolation. Your community will shun you for deviance. There is no social support, no infrastructure that will save you if you don't have family to rely on. If you don't have a home the elements will and deeply want to kill you. Change is risk and stagnation is morphine. It's endless and dead and yet you're still alive trying rebuild your life over and over again. There is no old money here. You want to leave but who else will take you.

You are alone

#midwest gothic #rural gothic #folk horror #horror #minnesota #rural culture

[abandonedhousesofruralamerica]

#abandoned #abandoned farmhouse #abandoned for years #abandonedhousesofruralamerica #midwest #minnesota #photography #aesthetic #weird core #weirdcore #vintage #60s #50s #creepy #north dakota #vintage cars #iowa #oddcore #odd core #farm #rural #midwest gothic #rural gothic #photographers on tumblr

[mother-lee]

summer in minnesota by alex kittoe

#alex kittoe #photography #summer in minnesota #original photographers #summertime #vintage retro #interior #hazy #cabin aesthetic #folk aesthetic #northwoods #minnesota #forest #summer gothic #middle of the woods #lost in the woods #lost places #childhood #nostalgiacore #golden aesthetic #sunlight #rural aesthetic #regional gothic

[highways-are-liminal-spaces]

Sunrise, just west of Hibbing, MN

#this is completely unedited iphone photography #absolutely insane color for the world to have been #sunrises #north woods gothic #minnesota #highways #snow #winter #my photos #ntnav

[desolatus]

Sleeping by the Mississippi, C. 2002

Alec Soth

#Alec Soth #Minnesota #Wisconsin #photography #scenery #Americana #midwestern gothic #homes #exterior #houseboats #landscape

[escapingpurgatory]

@rebel-grrrl444

#mine #photography #midwestern gothic #midwest #minnesota #gloomy

[ominouspositivity-or-else]

midwestern gothic

It's snowing again. It snowed yesterday. It snowed the day before. It's supposed to snow tomorrow. The weather man's hair is gray. He says that it has always been February. You must have counted the days wrong. Your calendar says it's June.

The basement of the Catholic church has a Stephen King book on the lending shelf. It's a beaten up copy, and some old church lady has gone through and blacked out parts in thick sharpie. There are pages with only one word visible. The pages are yellow. The name in the cover is accompanied with a funeral card. "Rest in peace" it reads. You do not think that someone who took Stephen King's most offensive scenes to the grave with her will be able to rest peacefully.

The basement of the Lutheran church smells like coffee. "It smells like coffee," your uncle says, "Church basement coffee." "I know," you say, because you're in the church basement. "It smells like death." He smiles at you, and raises his styrofoam cup towards you. The coffee smells stronger on his breath.

Jerry's is never open past ten on the weekends. One time, driving past at midnight on Saturday, the windows were full of light. There were no cars in the parking lot. You are struck with the memory of all the taxidermied animals on the walls.

"That's how we made it in the great depression," you say, when your friend asks why you made such a brown looking food. "We're not in the great depression now," they answer, as though they can't see the eyes of your dead great grandmother in the window, looking at you with a friendly and menacing look, "Why do you make it like that?"

The sun is hot. The sun is burning. Your skin is cooking, your flesh is sizzling. You were not made for these temperatures. The world took too long in training you to survive the cold. It never taught you how to brave the heat. You set foot on the sand. You feel your skin begin to melt. You run.

The last berry is sitting in the bowl. No one will touch it. No one will look at it. It is invisible to every eye. Your littlest sister reaches for it. You slap her hand like she's reaching for a hot coal. That berry does not exist. No one will touch it. No one will look at it. It is invisible.

You're sitting on the boat in the sunshine. The water laps lazily against the side. You look down into the water, and you see a shark. You pull back, staring up at the clear blue sky. You look down towards the water again. There are no teeth. The shark is gone. It's a freshwater lake.

There are twinkies in the glove box of your car. There is a shovel in the trunk. There is an ice scraper in the pocket of the door. There is a pair of thick, warm mittens in your bag. They have been there since winter. It's October.

Your grandfather is telling you about the fish he caught in his ice house. No one was around to see it, and he threw it back. It sounds like the shark you saw last summer. Everyone laughs. You do too.

You go out to visit the ice house. The sun is starting to set. You'll have to drive back in your grandfather's truck. It's been on the ice all day. You open the door, and the black and white fish-camera screen shows you the relics of frozen plants, and a northern swims right by the camera. It's tail swooshes. It has an almost human look in its eye. You think it knows who you are. It probably wants to eat you.

Hockey is on in the background. Your grandmother is drinking a beer. She's talking about her parents. They have been dead for 20 years. She's cursing about them. She shouldn't speak ill of the dead. No one tells her to stop. You don't want to listen. You sit there. The only alternative is to watch the hockey game.

There are forty-five dear in your front yard. They see you. Their glowing eyes blink in the darkness. They stare. You shake your fist at them through the glass of your window. Their eyes glow red. Something horrifying lives within them. You don't want to know what it is. There are forty five deer. They continue to eat your flower garden.

You do not smile for three days. You make seven people cry uncontrollably in front of you. The other three you interact with call you names behind your back. Your parents give you a talking to about your attitude. The lady at church tells you, "Some of us have been thinking about how we need to maintain a really welcoming and upbeat attitude for newcomers to our parish! Being rude and impolite really won't attract anyone to our parish, and I have seen some people just be generally downhearted when they come to church. It's an issue. I think I'll go bring it up with the pastor. He'll get it out to everyone." You plaster a smile on your face. No one says anything. You're supposed to be polite.

It takes you seven hours to get to your grandma's house. There are no hills for the entire drive. In the winter, the stretch of highway is the only thing that keeps you sane. People went mad on prairies like this, your mom says, to a car full of quiet people. Nothing but the sky and the grass and the wind and their one-room houses. You believe her. You can see the images of buildings on the horizon, always the same distance away.

There is a cemetery in the center of a farmer's field. A church used to be there, someone once said to you. They tore it down, but kept the cemetery. You wonder why they have respect for creation but not the creator. You wonder what made them tear the church down. You wonder if anyone visits. You drive past that lonely cemetery at night. You think you see someone staring at you from behind the chicken-wire fence. You look away.

There is a sign on the side of the highway, written in ominous letters. It comes into focus as you drive by. Best place to buy knitting supplies in the whole state! You don't believe them. You see the sign five more times. Then they get worse. Come to our store. We need you at our store. We know who you are. We have yarn for you. We know where you live. Each one gets more threatening. Stop at our store. The last one reads, and so you pull over at the correct intersection. You buy five bags of yarn. The lady behind the desk is smiling. You smile back. You cannot feel your lips.

All the kids at school hate you. You'll never tell them. They cannot know.

The Kwik Trip has a nasty bathroom. Theirs are usually so clean. You feel sick. You walk out and tell your mom you need to go to the identical gas station across the street. Her eyes flash. She buys her soda, and you drive across the road. The gas station is identical in every way. The displays are the same. The candy is in the exact same spots. They have the same magazines. The man working at the desk is the exact same one. This bathroom is clean, though. You buy another soda and leave. The bell rings to announce your departure.

The city is different now. The lights are too bright. The smell hangs low. The crime is higher. You don't feel safe walking outside at night. You think about the wolves that used to live here. You hope they haunt the streets. They deserve to.

Someone shot up the big city Walmart yesterday. They're closing down. You hear a disappointed church lady tell her friend that she doesn't know where to get her radium, anymore. All the good places are going out of business. "It's those stupid kids," she says, "And all the theft. I wish I lived in Kewaunee." You are too caught up on the "radium" thing to question the name of that town.

Your boss is angry. You can feel it in the air. It vibrates around you like a jelly, stifling and crushing you, pushing your lungs into your chest. She smiles at you as you clock out. "You're fired" she says, her eyes trying to commit a crime. Her lips do not move as she speaks. They are frozen in her "customer service" smile.

You dump things into a pot. You do not read the labels. Everything sounds the same. Everything tastes the same. You have not touched your spice rack in three years. You have not ever smelled cardamom in your life. You do not know what chili is supposed to taste like. It's all the same. Everything is the same. It all tastes like hotdish. You eat it like it's the last food on earth and you're starving.

#midwestern gothic #my writing #horrors within my comprehension #quite literally #i wrote it #midwestern #minnesota #wisconsin #north dakota #south dakota #iowa #united states #gothic #gothic aesthetic #goth aesthetic #midwesterners #for bethany