something, something mayonnaise…

“What’s a Dullahan?’
‘He’s a headless horseman, in the service of the banshee.’
‘Headless?’
‘Yes.’
‘Seriously?’
‘Yes.’
‘So he has no head?’
‘That’s usually what headless means.’
‘No head at all?’
‘You’re really getting hung up on this headless thing, aren’t you?’
‘It’s just kind of silly, even for us.’
‘Yet you spend your days with a living skeleton.’
‘But at least he has a head.’
‘True.’
‘He even has a spare.”

Conversation: Mortal Coil, Derek Landy
Drawing: Jolly Rotten @ Deviant Art

Doing?  waiting on a candle lit front porch for all those little vampires, witches, princesses, hulks, spidermans, batmans, soldiers and bumblebees who wanna get the Snickers, Kit Kats, Milky Ways, and Rollos –  I have in a huge carved Jack-o-lantern sitting beside me…..

to plumb abysses…

The little poets sing of little things:
Hope, cheer, and faith, small queens and puppet kings;
Lovers who kissed and then were made as one,
And modest flowers waving in the sun.

The mighty poets write in blood and tears
And agony that, flame-like, bites and sears.
They reach their mad blind hands into the night,
To plumb abysses dead to human sight;
To drag from gulfs where lunacy lies curled,
Mad, monstrous nightmare shapes to blast the world.

Poem: Musings, Robert Howard
Image: favim

Doing?  carving a pumpkin….

there are far, far worse things…

 

“Oh,” the girl said, shaking her head. “Don’t be so simple. People adore monsters. They fill their songs and stories with them. They define themselves in relation to them. You know what a monster is, young shade? Power. Power and choice. Monsters make choices. Monsters shape the world. Monsters force us to become stronger, smarter, better. They sift the weak from the strong and provide a forge for the steeling of souls. Even as we curse monsters, we admire them. Seek to become them, in some ways.” Her eyes became distant. “There are far, far worse things to be than a monster.”

Excerpt: Ghost Story, Jim Butcher
Image: as noted – Dr Jack & Curtis

Doing? Getting out the monster’s sound tape…

four times around the house…

Nobody moved.

Everybody sat in the dark cellar, suspended in the suddenly frozen task of this October game; the wind blew outside, banging the house, the smell of pumpkins and apples filled the room with smell of the objects in their fingers while one boy cried, “I’ll go upstairs and look!” and he ran upstairs hopefully and out around the house, four times around the house, calling, “Marion, Marion, Marion!” over and over and at last coming slowly down the stairs into the waiting breathing cellar and saying to the darkness, “I can’t find her.”

Then… some idiot turned on the lights.

Excerpt: Long After Midnight, Ray Bradbury
Image: bigbackground.com

Doing?  stashing candy in the freezer…

I will not drink it in a house…

 

“I am your sire. I am to guide you through your first days as a vampire. Your first feeding is a rite of passage, a sacrament. It will not be wasted on some hormone-driven frenzy. This is why I wanted you to feed from me.”

“I will not drink it in a house, I will not drink it with a mouse. I will not drink it here or there, I will not drink it anywhere,” I wheezed, hoping I was able to communicate adequate sarcasm through the crippling belly cramps.

“Did you just quote Green Eggs and Ham?”

Excerpt: Nice Girls Don’t Have Fangs, Molly Harper
Image: jojolovesamelia @ deviantart.com…..

sure you did…

“It’s sarcasm, Josh.”

“Sarcasm?”

“It’s from the Greek, sarkasmos. To bite the lips. It means that you aren’t really saying what you mean, but people will get your point. I invented it, Bartholomew named it.”

“Well, if the village idiot named it, I’m sure it’s a good thing.”

“There you go, you got it.”

“Got what?”

“Sarcasm.”

“No, I meant it.”

“Sure you did.”

“Is that sarcasm?”

“Irony, I think.”

“What’s the difference?”

“I haven’t the slightest idea.”

“So you’re being ironic now, right?”

“No, I really don’t know.”

“Maybe you should ask the idiot.”

“Now you’ve got it.”

“What?”

“Sarcasm.”

Conversation: Christopher Moore, The Gospel According to Biff
Image: Cracked.com

just two lost souls…

So, so you think you can tell
Heaven from Hell,
Blue skys from pain.
Can you tell a green field
From a cold steel rail?
A smile from a veil?
Do you think you can tell?

And did they get you to trade
Your heros for ghosts?
Hot ashes for trees?0
Hot air for a cool breeze?
Cold comfort for change?
And did you exchange
A walk on part in the war
For a lead role in a cage?

How I wish, how I wish you were here.
We’re just two lost souls
Swimming in a fish bowl,
Year after year,
Running over the same old ground.
What have we found?
The same old fears.
Wish you were here.

Lyrics: Roger Waters
Image: Daniel Priego

we are free to change…

We are not trapped or locked up in these bones. No, no. We are free to change.

Quote: Walter Mosley
Image: found at flickr.com

 

it’s like starting a stone…

You start a question, and it’s like starting a stone. You sit quietly on the top of a hill; and away the stone goes, starting others; and presently some bland old bird (the last you would have thought of) is knocked on the head in his own back garden and the family have to change their name. No sir, I make it a rule of mine: the more it looks like Queer Street, the less I ask.

Excerpt: Robert Louis Stevenson, The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde
Image: mrpilgrim.co.uk

Doing?  It’s Saturday, I’ve been outside cleaning out my flower pots, mulching and bedding them down for the winter to come.  Only problem, it’s 75 degrees and the roses are still blooming and it’s almost November…

a million pieces…

The Young Man came to the Old Man seeking counsel. ‘I broke something, Old Man.’

‘How badly is it broken?’

‘It’s in a million little pieces.’

‘I’m afraid I can’t help you.’

‘Why?’

‘There’s nothing you can do.’

‘Why?’

‘It can’t be fixed.’

‘Why?’

‘It’s broken beyond repair. It’s in a million little pieces.’

Conversation: A Million Little Pieces, James Frey
Image:found at pinterest.com

Inky: Consequence is an enormous thing.   Regret is immortal.  All it takes is a moment, an action, a mixture of words to make something irreparable.  Be sure, be very sure – that is your intent.

It can’t be unlived, undone, or unspoken.  Ever.