Dandelions crowd the tall grass

 

 

"The most important point is to accept yourself and stand on your two feet.” ― Shunryu Suzuki

“An intellectual says a simple thing in a hard way. An artist says a hard thing in a simple way.” 

 ― Charles Bukowski 

A stream flowing through the pipe as a babbling brook under the road: is the belief we can not cause harm. That we can be only an observer and necessary information.

This child with a Beigoma in his hand (if only to feel the warmth of the cast iron). Dandelions crowd the tall grass surrounding him. He thinks he is the stupidest child in his elementary school. He has a long piece of hay hanging from the corner of his mouth.

"Today sucks," he mumbles not so much to himself so much as an ironic proclamation to the world.

Then he stands up squinting as if the sun was in his eyes, though he was comfortable in the shade.

He walks off down the stream making sure to stay in the shade (and to pretend the sun was in his eyes) with strength and darkness exceeding one of his age.

Laying down on the bank he falls asleep peacefully and quietly. A vacant field spread out before him covered with tall grass and dandelions.

Waking to the sound of what seemed to be the laughter of a seemingly delusional mind.

"what was that!" his eyes were wide and saucer-like. A slow mechanical rotation of his eyes toward the source. 

A laughing gold skull wearing a green and white fencing uniform. with cape red as clotting blood extending out behind him. Irrational shadows swallow life as he cuts holes in reality with a rapier. His laughter drives the universe temporarily insane and as long as he is laughing it can not resist his will.

There is kaiju he is removing from reality, maybe forty feet high.

His laughter echoes in itself. 

His gold skull reflects the sun's light.

A black hole with lighting compresses and swallows the kaiju somewhere further away than hell.

What a circus.

The child with the Beigoma watched from the shade (comfortable and excited) As the superhero flew off toward the horizon. 

"that is the Golden Bat!" Said the child excited and not aware he was running home to tell his father.

"Papa the golden bat is real!" Says the child.

He doesn't finish his statement his face is smashed sideways by his father's fist spinning and taking him off his feet sideways in a turn.

His "Papa" screams "What have I told you about telling lies!"

His father has not been sober in a decade.

His "Papa" is looking for his razor strap to wake the unconscious boy up.

The Beigoma spinning top is clenched in the little boy's hand a laughing skull etched into the battle top's surface. It will leave an impression as he clings to it through the "discipline" of his education through the razor strap.

It sharpens his mind as much as it bruises his body.

 

 When he writes about his childhood he will be scolded by a critic for his cliche violence cartoon caricature.

It sharpens his mind as much as it opens old wounds.

This started as an escapist's tribute to the first superhero The Golden Bat. Though I had a discussion about the hornet's nest and how you don't want to think about it when you have stepped in it... But sometimes you have to kick it off your feet and run screaming. Screaming towards life. If only to free yourself from the fear of the wounds you will have to carry.

We wouldn't need fictional superheroes if it wasn't for the real darkness.

What matters most is that you learn to walk through the fire.