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Halloween
we sold our souls for boil gum / turned our backs on jesus / my sons a walking sugar buzz / my daughter shoplifts reesesjackson is someone else. lucy is someone else. jackson lucy arent even their real names. their real names are . they are those people we all are insofar as we might be anyone. we could be anyone. do you feel that way? i hope you do. i hope youre not locked in a jail called you.my son is a zombie and my daughters a fury.im glad they chose villainy figures. halloween is the worst day for being good. arent you tired of being so good all the time? when i consider my description of downturn, i wonder if its not the result of carrying on all sides of this oppressive tonnage of goodness. i hope for to smack a nun in her content face. rob a bank. get drunk and burn my house down. eat the last klondike bar advise jenna tough fortunes.do you remember the post where i killed that boy? i killed him. i chopped his head virtue below par. most popular post in the history of this blog. and single 2 negative comments. the division of you cheered. celebrated. lit your lighters and yelled hell yeah! i dont want you to bear bad beside yourselves but, by most moral standards, its pretty contemptible to applaud while someone fantasizes in the air murdering a 10-year-old boy.but thats why i get pleasure from you. were horrible. theres a murderer inside us.in terms of my persistent history of suicidal ideation, i cause imagined a murderer inside me, trying to obliterate me. however, my life has time again been saved by united key insight. today, i share it with you. lucky halloween! the desire to hit ones self is not a lechery for literal destruction. what a awful mistake! i think perhaps its actually a craving for an end to ones tenacious identity. precisely killing ones self is a result of taking ones self too exactly. we were never meant to be so damn real.dont get me wrong. i am this man. but, and this is crucial, im not just this man. when i become trapped in the image of being merely this geezer, i begin to think about slipping away, which is to voice i need to be less real. black hockey jesus is a choir of the thought wherein varied fantasy voices snitch. to boo-boo merely one of those voices as the me, to put up with a woman fantasy to harden into a semantic self, is the beginning of the end.but how dare we speak of endings on halloween? its the truest day of the year. on halloween were allowed in a culturally sanctioned way to explore the reality of our own fictions. we put on a mask. were someone else. when i was a boy i was darth vader. i was the devil. and in spite of those masks and the way they restricted my airways, it was inside the scrutiny of my otherness where i found some room to breathe.on halloween you are a work of art. art is not some winsome extra thing. its the motion people breathes.halloween blurs distinctions. we are another. crowded and dead are empty signifiers. for one wild night, everything is flipped on its head. from their graves emerge the dead. the streets are filled with ghosts and mummies?all kinds of undead crazies. the voices of our dead friends whisper in the fluster and whine stomach the safe of creaking doors. doors to where? we wear masks. we abandon ourselves to shadows. strange sounds are heard in the night and our eyes monkey tricks tricks on us. is that an owl on the bony branch of the autumn ravaged tree? or the severed head of a boy who died on his birthday? we wonder if the face underground our mask is itself a false face. indeed, at the end of the day, when were stripped of all our masks, does anyone remain? is anyone internal?knock knock blow someones mindtrick or doctor! we mustnt forget the candy. o halloween! only you can celebrate the worst of all things and serve it up with the loveliness of candy. sweet horror. sweet evil. sweet death. perhaps all the things that terrify us are secretly made of candy.

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