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Who Is Osie Turner?

Who knows? I certainly don’t. Of course, I know the “About” section of these types of websites usually say something to the effect of “Osie Turner is a writer and photographer living in Las Vegas,” but that is rather bland. Besides, you don’t really want to know who I am—you’re likely more interested in figuring out what it is that I do, exactly. I consider myself an artist; it is tempting to say that writing, both fiction and non-fiction, is my primary passion but photography is essentially a part of my daily life and so closely related to my writing that the two are essentially inseparable. Every professional article I’ve had published has included photos I’ve taken of or at whatever it is the article is about. Likewise, many of the photo shoots I’ve gone on have ended up inspiring fiction. Although born in Las Vegas, Nevada, I grew up in a small mining town known as Sandy Valley—about 60 miles southwest of Las Vegas in the heart of the vast Southern Nevada desert. I believe grow
Recent posts

The Fate of The Lake Mead Lodge

What was once a luxurious retreat for the rich and famous is now forlorn and forgotten, a decaying husk of what it used to be. To anyone that drives by, this crumbling old building probably wouldn't seem like anything special. Just another closed down something or other. None would guess this was once one of the most desirable places to stay while vacationing at Lake Mead? Construction of the Lake Mead Lodge began in the late 1930s, shortly after Lake Mead itself came into being with the construction of the Hoover Dam. The hotel officially opened in October, 1941 as the Hualapai Lodge; it was the first hotel built along the shores of the new lake and instantly became a very popular tourist destination. Lake Mead was the first National Recreation Area in the United States, and the novelty of seeing one of the largest man-made lakes in the country as well as the dam that created it caused a massive influx of visitors to the area. For instance, there were 844,733 visitors to Lak

The Bhagavad-gita Museum

The second diorama, "Setting the Stage" Who would have thought a quiet and unassuming neighborhood just off of Venice Boulevard in Culver City, California was hiding one of the most unique museums in Los Angeles? The Diorama-museum of Bhagavad-gita, or simply the Bhagavad-gita Museum as it is commonly known, is one of those off the beaten path locations that even many locals are unaware of, despite it having been there for nearly forty years. But what is it, exactly? The museum is more of an immersive spiritual experience than a traditional museum. Visitors proceed through a series of unlit rooms, demanding you give your full attention to each of the eleven dioramas. These dioramas are not just three dimensional displays; each one is accompanied by a narration and light show to enhance the effect of each scene. Each of these dioramas portray either a scene from the Bhagavad-gita or explains a concept of the belief system that has sprung it. The Bhagavad-gita is a r

The Astopards

The swarm materialized suddenly as I walked along the forlorn path. A light emitted from the agglomerate, seemingly generated by their swift, graithly movements. As they descended from the black ether a buzzing became discernible that, as they approached, slowly revealed itself to be more of a cacophony of electric voices. The entity—for the glowing orbs commingled into a near solid mass—blocked my path yet simultaneously appeared unaware of my presence. The strange old woman I encountered when passing through Felgin warned me not to walk this road tonight; she muttered in her tittering way of speaking something about moving stars and the Astopards but I chalked her ramblings up to a warped mind. The sun gets to people out here in the remote corners of the Mojave. “They hunt on these nights,” she had croaked. “Minds is what they hunt for, you hear? They don’t eat like other things because they aren’t from here. The dark nights when the moon hides is when they get through.” I t

The Call of Njord

One day, standing on the shore of a fitful sea, I felt the presence of an old forgotten god. The rough waters invoked the latent memory of those primal, violent gods; the gods who made their anger known. The rise and fall of each wave and the ebb and flow of the salty water proved a testament of their everlasting power. If you listened closely to the breeze and the subtle voice hidden within the sound of the splashing waves, the call of old Njord could be heard— the call to set aside all trepidation and set sail out into the cold unknown.

Dinner With A Ghost: Return To Gold Point

(The Post Office building where the evening began and later concluded with a bang; Photo by Osie Turner) I first learned of Dinner With A Ghost two years ago when I was invited to attend their annual event in Gold Point, Nevada. An opportunity to work with them again didn’t present itself until last May, when I was invited to take part in the dinner and investigation around Gold Point once more. Dinner With A Ghost is exactly what it sounds like—a gourmet dinner hosted by professional paranormal investigators followed by a formal investigation with the team. For a little more background, my first experience with the team can be found on . Upon arrival, I met up with John Cushman, the founder of Dinner With A Ghost, and Justin Cimock, the Vice President of Operations. They filled me in on the plans for the evening; namely that dinner would be held in the old Post Office turned museum and the investigation would take place in a few of the original buildings

The Tale of Old Man Feather

Cemeteries are interesting places; I love to explore them whenever possible and see what turns up. One day during one such walk in the Woodlawn Cemetery of Santa Monica, California one lone tomb stood out among the headstones and caught my attention. So, naturally, I took a closer look and found much more than just an old tomb. The exterior was painted and maintained but when I peered through the rusted gate it quickly become apparent that the inside of the tomb was in a bad state of neglect. The padlock was rusted and a faint cobweb linked it to the gate; it was obvious no one entered the tomb in many decades. The plaque identified the inhabitants as Markus D. Feather (12/18/1837-10/30/1910) and his wife, Susan J. Johnson (11/29/1854-5/26/1904). The masonic symbol indicated that Markus was a freemason and the star meant that Susan was a member of the Order of the Eastern Star (a co-ed masonic organization for Master Masons and their close female family members.) The ceme

The Battleship In The Mountain: Real or Fake?

The photo in question. Original photographer unknown . A strange photo making its rounds about the internet shows a battleship protruding from the stony face of a cliff, flag raised and usually with the cryptic caption "Murmansk, Russia." It looks photoshopped, and many of the more critical views likely have chalked it up to such. I became intrigued by it and decided to do some research. The marking on the bow indicate it was a Soviet ship, and the flag is definitely red but too pixelated to see clearly. Logically, there is no way this ship could have crashed through a solid rock without suffering severe damage. There had to be more to the story… It turns out that this is not a real ship’s bow sticking out of the rock face, but rather a memorial. It commemorates a World War II battle known as the Liinakhamari Landing, and is dedicated to the Soviet sailors that lost their lives during the siege. The memorial was opened on the 30th anniversary of the battle, on Octobe