The Sock-Monkey As Alone

  The jack-o lantern's smile flickers into my eyes. We have lit something in my soul I hope to never forget. The navy grey of our front porch, with its peeling paint, darkening with the setting sun. I was a Devil (at least for tonight). Mischievous mustache painted on my upper lip with a rough triangle on my chin. I carried a pitchfork my spiked tail dragging behind me. A Casper the friendly ghost candy bucket in my hand.   My mom walked me from door to door. Most lit up for the spectacle of the season. Skeletons, gravestones, and cotton spread on the bricks like some spider's nest. Children dressed as witches and your favorite slasher film villain. The smell of latex and the taste of candy corn. I celebrated this moment. It was freedom from the fear... I was the masked marauder. I was the scary one, the fear was mine and I embraced it.   My mom gave me a grocery bag and asked me to ask for candy for my baby brother, (who was still in a stroller). Anxiously I would sa

Dear Mr. Freak (an open letter to myself)   You can't sing and you don't enjoy it. Let the music die.   You keep telling me you want to be a writer? So stop starting books you don't finish. Do you know how tired I am of you and your shit? I would rather read shitty self-deprecating diatribes like this than your shitty attempt at webcomics (Which truly my dear sir can suck my balls.)   What are you trying to prove? You don't want to be famous... You don't want to be happy... So what is stopping you? Why can't you turn this car around and beat my fat delusional ass into shape?   Get yourself in fighting form or at least quit airing your dirty laundry on this blog. None of us (and I do include me!) want to see this mediocre shit forced into the fragile peace we are trying to cultivate in our life.   You have never done anything we were proud of. You romanticize ignorance and cultivate depravity. Shame on you for your pathetic gothic dada BS. C

  In the courtyard, there they are. Henry the VIII, His wife Jane, and their son Edward. The boy, innocent and distracted looked at the flowers while pulling the wings off a dragonfly.   The weight of the dragonfly seemed to increase once the wings were gone (despite how fragile they were). The shiny translucent things lay here and there, like some lover pulling petals from a flower.   The dragonfly is now crawling (having been laid on the path) trying its flightless escape. Edward loves these games. Now he is pulling off a leg or two both on the same side, so now it is kicking in circles. The rubber of his boots crushes a satisfied if cheap thrill. Foot grinding there is a thin glass-like sound. Such a happy boy.   A swarm of birds is swarming off in the distance maybe a thousand. they come flying (all sorts) hawks, Sparrows, and crows. They are at first black-winged silhouettes and squawks and whoops.   Edward sees them first and points with a finger, mouth clos