hell is just another rich uncle
Halloween is fucked. It is fucking crap, it is false, it is everything wrong.
The Celts used to celebrate Samhain, being both a season and a name of the dark lord, on October 31st. Samhain visited the homes of the worshipful. Animals and humans were sacrificed. Wishes were made, hopes were called out from breasts beaten with bloody hands. Marriages, health, money, revenge, self-gratification - it was all on the table. It was like a free pass for transgressors - getting the forces of entropy to set in motion something that would undoubtedly be mortally grave for someone, but good for you.
No wonder it's turned into an apocalyptic vanity parade. It used to be a holiday for kids. Now it is a lot closer in spirit to how it was when it started out.
I'm sitting here listening to the Swans. I'm delicate. I walked home from a party where I knew noone at all, in face paint, binoculars dangling from my neck (part of the costume), somehow diminished. I feel as though some entropy has been set loose upon me. I feel close to noone. I thought of hucking the binoculars from the High Level or some other dramas, but none of them felt real in my hand. Things were getting lost from the conception to the execution.
My girlfriend is still there now, gay and pretty, chumming with a girl who has slept with a man she had also, upon a time, slept with. He hurt them both. I guess. I don't know how you really hurt a woman. They have always seemed pretty impermeable to me.
Note: I wrote this when I was in the middle of the dark bottom. Not drunk - I hadn't brought enough liquor, which was part of it all, I think - but defeated, beaten by myself, lost in a room full of strangers. You know how that kind of thing can go. I let myself get mean and small, and this is what came out. I don't mean it now. I meant it then. The world opens up like a creaking sarcophagus and you either crawl in or grab a stake.
The Celts used to celebrate Samhain, being both a season and a name of the dark lord, on October 31st. Samhain visited the homes of the worshipful. Animals and humans were sacrificed. Wishes were made, hopes were called out from breasts beaten with bloody hands. Marriages, health, money, revenge, self-gratification - it was all on the table. It was like a free pass for transgressors - getting the forces of entropy to set in motion something that would undoubtedly be mortally grave for someone, but good for you.
No wonder it's turned into an apocalyptic vanity parade. It used to be a holiday for kids. Now it is a lot closer in spirit to how it was when it started out.
I'm sitting here listening to the Swans. I'm delicate. I walked home from a party where I knew noone at all, in face paint, binoculars dangling from my neck (part of the costume), somehow diminished. I feel as though some entropy has been set loose upon me. I feel close to noone. I thought of hucking the binoculars from the High Level or some other dramas, but none of them felt real in my hand. Things were getting lost from the conception to the execution.
My girlfriend is still there now, gay and pretty, chumming with a girl who has slept with a man she had also, upon a time, slept with. He hurt them both. I guess. I don't know how you really hurt a woman. They have always seemed pretty impermeable to me.
Note: I wrote this when I was in the middle of the dark bottom. Not drunk - I hadn't brought enough liquor, which was part of it all, I think - but defeated, beaten by myself, lost in a room full of strangers. You know how that kind of thing can go. I let myself get mean and small, and this is what came out. I don't mean it now. I meant it then. The world opens up like a creaking sarcophagus and you either crawl in or grab a stake.
posted by gibletquesterrs at 1:20 AM
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