venuselectrificata:

alright, iv'e seen all these posts about southern gothic (sexy, sweaty, voodoo and devils at crossroads) and new england gothic (deep dark forests and lake monsters and colonial ghosts) and southwest gothic (basically night vale)

but guys

what about long island gothic

your velour tracksuit glows like a velvet void in the watery sunlight.

your flat iron not only fries your hair, it fries the air around you, everything it touches it. leaves hot and flat and split and feathered. your hairspray leaves a trail of tangible dark that invades the nostrils of all who pass

there’s a diner at the edge of the void-marina called the east bay or the apollo or something, where the burgers are mediocre but the moussaka is delicious. dont try the coffee. your waitress has served lou reed, the jersey devil that one time he was on vacation, at least two middle eastern dictators, and probably poseidon. she was equally rude to all of them.

billy joel wants you to put actual bread in his jar for some reason. man, what are you doing here?

your aunts asks you endless streams of questions about what your major is, what you’re going to do after college, who you should be sacrificing raccoons to in the light of the half moon for good luck, who your grandfather thinks it should be and why he’s wrong, then return to gossiping about who your middle school english teacher touched inappropriately last summer.

everything smells a little like the sea, even when youre miles from the shore, even when you sleep.

i can’t tell if i’m joking or not.