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Monday, May 17, 2010

Monsters and Ghosts: Poisoned Words

(Another soul passes…)

Left alone on a cold Indianapolis night, staring at a blinking cursor in the window and drinking soda pop, I’m trying to feel some of its sweetness absorbed and feel the cool seep into my hot heart and brain- to cool this temper of mine.  I know that the reality is that the cold air can’t get nearly cold enough tonight to distract me from the anxiousness I’m feeling.  I know that the reality is that the soda pop’s acidic nature is seeping into the lining of my throat and stomach slowly deteriorating its constitution.  It’s a good reflection of my overall constitution tonight.

While I haven’t read anything by him recently, Stephen King is quoted to have said “...Monsters are real, and ghosts are real too. They live inside us, and sometimes, they win.”

I am the monster tonight.  That poisoned pill that everyone steers clear of- they should.  They should run before the monster gets them too.  It’s a cycle.  Like werewolves or vampires.  Once one sinks her teeth in, either it’s over or you’re caught.  Having witnessed this event or experiencing the event, a person is changed.  You see things just a little bit differently- as if everything were moved slightly to the left while you weren’t looking.

I feel the teeth sink in.

I don’t have an outlet like I used to.  I don’t have the music anymore.  I don’t have a passion for it like I once had.  I don’t sketch the monsters as I see them in my mind’s eye or feel them as I morph.  Maybe I should- the sketch pad was a mirror I could capture the poisonous monster inside of and never let him out.

Something captures me by the shoulders- it pulls my attention towards it.  How can such a cowardly thing be so bold?  I’m caught in its grasp.  I’m the mirror now.


I sink my teeth in.

The ghost is a different creature.  She’s been present since memories formed.  I feel like she’s older than I am.  She can be both poison and soda- deadly or reassuring.  She’s that pulsating sound you hear in your ears when it’s too quiet.  She’s the one who whispers sickly nothings into those same ears when things aren’t quite right in the real world, and sometimes when they are.  I couldn’t capture her reflection in anything.  I couldn’t find her by sight.  But she’s there, never quite making her presence fully known when she comes about.  She’s loneliness.  Her mask is solitude.  She’s self-degradation, parading around as self-reflection.  She’s hell, and her stage act is perfection in balance. Watch her go.

She works with the monster- bosom buddies.  She likes to bring it out to play.  She is an emotional vampire, and once she gets what she needs from my soul, she seeks it elsewhere.

She rarely finds a bottom to my soul, however.  She and the monster and I, we occupy ourselves plenty without bringing anyone else in.  Not this night.
I hear a ringing in my ears.  They are at bay.  They’ve backed off now that I’ve spoken of them.  I’m tattle-telling.  I’ll get beat up in the playground later by friends, family, the monster, and the ghost.

I opened my trap tonight and spoke on all their behalves.

I take full responsibility.

(I’m sorry- what was that name again?)

…Resuscitation failed. Call it.
Next, please?

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