Posts
We ain't strangers in the night no more, 'cause we had an encounter last fall. I know. I know. I know. It ain't fall yet, but creatures of the ether, like me, can feel it. Tiny little tendrils ooze up from the mud.... ghosts of spiders...ghosts of garden slugs... ghosts of beings yet unnamed. They swirl through the dark like mist. You can see them on your windshield. Wipers won't do no good. Can't get rid of 'em. Squeaky rubber sound...Squeaky rubber sound... Squeaky rubber sound.... That's all you'll get. It's autumn folks (or about to be) and nightmares are in season.
I haunt the seashore. Earthbound spirits love the seashore... quiet little towns.... neat cozy houses.... empty streets....at least now. Everybody left. Sure, some come back on weekends. But the weeknights belong to us. Listen, you can hear the surf. Ain't no traffic lights no more. Well, they're there, but they just blink. Maybe every ten minutes or so a car goes by. Maybe some old bastid walkin' a dog. But they know.... They know.... Got room in the ghost brigade for them too. Nobody leaves here, not the full timers anyway.
Summer flowers lay down and die. Still moist. Still green ( a little), but dead. Marigolds and Asters peek out now. Oh, they were there a few weeks ago, only nobody sees 'em. Too much white. Too much red. Too much pink. Too much blue. But they were there, like small, ratty mammals runnin' from the dinosaurs. Well, they ain't runnin' anymore. Now we got the season a fire.... the season a smoke. Deep orange pom-poms stand guard along walkways, sheltered in thick, dark leaves. I like when the pun'kins come out, being headless and all. Back when folks were more observant, weren't no pun'kins, just a whole lot a fresh killed severed heads. But then when ladies started wearin' corsets and brassieres and all, didn't want no severed heads.... Too gross.... Too old fashioned. Jack-O-Lanterns were better. 'Sides, you could scoop out the guts and make pie. Most people never cottoned to human brain pie, so it really weren't no contest.
They wrap corn stalks 'round streetlights, 'specially the ones at the corner..... 'atmosphere' for weekend shoppers and visitors. Luncheonette starts makin' soup.... maybe some stew.... bread pudding. The La-Dee-Dah (that's our ladies' shop) puts all them harvest motif sweaters in the window. Chimney sweep gets busy.
Old Man Pig Jowls (not his name. just what I call him) likes to sit out on his dark, little porch late at night. I know he can see me, 'cause sometimes he nods a little. He been 'round here a long time. Remembers me from before the accident, when I was alive...when I had a head. Ester the dead waitress tells him stories. Nothin' special, just gossip she hears from ghosts and from them soon to be ghosts. She stands in the shadows, smokin' her ghost cigarettes, crackin' her ghost chewin' gum and whisperin' stuff. Old Man Pig Jowls makes with a little laugh every once in a while. He likes it. Think they used to mush up back in the day, 'fore some bastid threw her out an attic window. Didn't land on grass. smashed down on concrete. Blood stain's still there, although I think most of it is actually the result of seeped in bile and partially done shit.
Got two new ghosts this year. One's like this 'thing.' Like a dense, dark cloud. I guess it's a guy. I try to be friendly, but it runs away (skitters or floats, would be more like it)and hides in parked cars, or down basements. The other one might be a dog. I ain't sure. Dog ghosts make me cry. Not that I got eyes, but you know what I mean. Prolly got 'O.D'ed' on drugs layin' on top a some ice cold, metal table at the vets. Everybody pettin' it. Everybody all teary-eyed. Everybody thinkin' 'bout that new, deluxe puppy they gonna get.
Some a the live folks is scared a ghosts. They stay in at night watchin' TV and playin' cards. Once a week they got bingo. Wednesdays is book discussion night at the library, but I think most go for the homemade cookies and all. 'Cause if you ask me, some of 'em can't even read.
I'm an imaginary friend to a kid over on Ocean Avenue. Ain't never seen me minus my cranium. Don't wanna scare him. But he knows I'm there. Keep him company when he can't sleep at night. Tell him stories....mostly 'bout pirates. He likes pirates.
Some ghosts scare folks...step out from behind say a bush on a windy, cold night. Peek in the kitchen window. Stand out in the upstairs hallway. don't do nothin', just stand there...maybe sway back and forth a little...... Some dead folks is nuts.
They got ginger snaps at the food market. And the dollar store got a whole aisle filled with Halloween stuff. For the next eight weeks we is 'it.' But then they forget. Then they want pilgrims and Santa Claus and dreidyls.
But the dead are still here, maybe a little more wispy and all, what with all the decorations and lights. But we're still here.
Don't forget us.....
<O><O> <O><O> <O><O> <O><O>
please hit the SHARE BAR. please leave a COMMENT. that's all. good night.
I haunt the seashore. Earthbound spirits love the seashore... quiet little towns.... neat cozy houses.... empty streets....at least now. Everybody left. Sure, some come back on weekends. But the weeknights belong to us. Listen, you can hear the surf. Ain't no traffic lights no more. Well, they're there, but they just blink. Maybe every ten minutes or so a car goes by. Maybe some old bastid walkin' a dog. But they know.... They know.... Got room in the ghost brigade for them too. Nobody leaves here, not the full timers anyway.
Summer flowers lay down and die. Still moist. Still green ( a little), but dead. Marigolds and Asters peek out now. Oh, they were there a few weeks ago, only nobody sees 'em. Too much white. Too much red. Too much pink. Too much blue. But they were there, like small, ratty mammals runnin' from the dinosaurs. Well, they ain't runnin' anymore. Now we got the season a fire.... the season a smoke. Deep orange pom-poms stand guard along walkways, sheltered in thick, dark leaves. I like when the pun'kins come out, being headless and all. Back when folks were more observant, weren't no pun'kins, just a whole lot a fresh killed severed heads. But then when ladies started wearin' corsets and brassieres and all, didn't want no severed heads.... Too gross.... Too old fashioned. Jack-O-Lanterns were better. 'Sides, you could scoop out the guts and make pie. Most people never cottoned to human brain pie, so it really weren't no contest.
They wrap corn stalks 'round streetlights, 'specially the ones at the corner..... 'atmosphere' for weekend shoppers and visitors. Luncheonette starts makin' soup.... maybe some stew.... bread pudding. The La-Dee-Dah (that's our ladies' shop) puts all them harvest motif sweaters in the window. Chimney sweep gets busy.
Old Man Pig Jowls (not his name. just what I call him) likes to sit out on his dark, little porch late at night. I know he can see me, 'cause sometimes he nods a little. He been 'round here a long time. Remembers me from before the accident, when I was alive...when I had a head. Ester the dead waitress tells him stories. Nothin' special, just gossip she hears from ghosts and from them soon to be ghosts. She stands in the shadows, smokin' her ghost cigarettes, crackin' her ghost chewin' gum and whisperin' stuff. Old Man Pig Jowls makes with a little laugh every once in a while. He likes it. Think they used to mush up back in the day, 'fore some bastid threw her out an attic window. Didn't land on grass. smashed down on concrete. Blood stain's still there, although I think most of it is actually the result of seeped in bile and partially done shit.
Got two new ghosts this year. One's like this 'thing.' Like a dense, dark cloud. I guess it's a guy. I try to be friendly, but it runs away (skitters or floats, would be more like it)and hides in parked cars, or down basements. The other one might be a dog. I ain't sure. Dog ghosts make me cry. Not that I got eyes, but you know what I mean. Prolly got 'O.D'ed' on drugs layin' on top a some ice cold, metal table at the vets. Everybody pettin' it. Everybody all teary-eyed. Everybody thinkin' 'bout that new, deluxe puppy they gonna get.
Some a the live folks is scared a ghosts. They stay in at night watchin' TV and playin' cards. Once a week they got bingo. Wednesdays is book discussion night at the library, but I think most go for the homemade cookies and all. 'Cause if you ask me, some of 'em can't even read.
I'm an imaginary friend to a kid over on Ocean Avenue. Ain't never seen me minus my cranium. Don't wanna scare him. But he knows I'm there. Keep him company when he can't sleep at night. Tell him stories....mostly 'bout pirates. He likes pirates.
Some ghosts scare folks...step out from behind say a bush on a windy, cold night. Peek in the kitchen window. Stand out in the upstairs hallway. don't do nothin', just stand there...maybe sway back and forth a little...... Some dead folks is nuts.
They got ginger snaps at the food market. And the dollar store got a whole aisle filled with Halloween stuff. For the next eight weeks we is 'it.' But then they forget. Then they want pilgrims and Santa Claus and dreidyls.
But the dead are still here, maybe a little more wispy and all, what with all the decorations and lights. But we're still here.
Don't forget us.....
<O><O> <O><O> <O><O> <O><O>
please hit the SHARE BAR. please leave a COMMENT. that's all. good night.
No comments:
Post a Comment