The next page in my book of 300 Drawing Prompts is a companion piece to yesterday's post's image. If you were to purchase them as a set for four hundred thousand dollars, you could display them on your wall, one over the other (think: vertical integration); ideally, this present masterpiece would be situated directly beneath that previous masterpiece. The prompt for this one was "Tooth fairy".
Dear diary,
Nothing new is on my mind today. I woke early and began mulling over my usual obsessions: Childbirth, time, society, government, religion, food, loneliness, intelligence, animals, space, being, money, and truth.
And we got this holiday called Halloween, which strikes tomorrow. It’s been two full decades since I’ve had to deal with this festival; because, till now, I was living in an apartment in the slightly bad part of town; so all I had to do is leave my outdoor lights off, and no persons would dare approach my blood-smeared door. Not even the persons of an holy trinity.
And they shall take of the blood, and strike it on the two side posts and on the upper door post of the houses, wherein they shall eat the sacrifice. And the blood shall be to you for a token upon the houses where ye are. And when I see the blood, I will pass over you, and the plague shall not be upon you to destroy you, when I smite the land. (Exodus 12:7, 13)
What happens on Halloween is that children dress themselves up to resemble resurrected Christians, and they come and approach your house and ring your doorbell; then, when you answer, these mock-deceased strangers demand…
Never mind; I was going to make a joke about legal contracts (which is to say: religious covenants) since paying your mortgage faithfully is like giving the banks an individually wrapped piece of candy (the standard Hallows-Even bribe), whereas defaulting on your mortgage allows the banksters to legally sabotage your existence (that is: evict you from your abode). “If TREAT, then salvation; OR else TRICK.”
But, as I was saying, it’s been twenty years or more since I’ve had to engage in this ordeal, this holy day; because, until just one month ago, I’d been living on Lincoln Street, in the apartment of Dorothy Vallens from the film Blue Velvet (1986), where no innocents ever ventured near my door. My only visitors were vile criminals and one insect exterminator. But now I’ve moved to a new house in a quiet pleasant neighborhood where everyone hangs gauze ghosts in the trees of their yard; and one house down the street has, expanding from its front windows down to the lawn, a giant “spider’s web” made of thick white ropes from a whaling vessel (a whaler is a ship with a harpoon gun mounted at its bow), and crouching there at the center right of this enormous web is a hairy spider the size of an human infant.
So my point is that it looks like I’m going to have to participate in the holiday this year. There’s no escaping it. If I shut off all my lights and hide in my basement, I’ll only anger the locals, and they’ll throw cage-free organic eggs at my house. (Aborted chicken embryos.) Then I’ll awake the next morning and have to hose down the siding, to clean off the gross yellow splatter from all the yolks, and also the clear sticky mess that the whites have accomplished. And all of this eggy residue will wash down the house’s siding panels and come to rest in the dirt (my house doesn’t really have much grass around its base, cuz, like I explained in an earlier entry, the place gets no sun—it’s a vampire’s dream-home—that’s why I say dirt or soil rather than grass), and the scent of this egg-based aftermath will attract hungry creatures like bison and falcons from out of the forest of the night. So then I’ll have all these musty bison rubbing against my abode, & I’ll have to shoo them away whenever I need to touch up the paint along the trim lines. And I’ll have to wave the falcons off as well.
And when the fowls came down upon the sacrifice, Abram drove them away. (Genesis 15:11)
So my sweetheart stocked up on name-brand candy this year, so that we’ll have payments to offer to any banksters who threaten us. So the market wins again.
But I’m worried that the holes in the ground, right in front of our door, which were left from the fence posts that we recently removed, will present a hazard for youngsters. Peradventure a revenant babe falls into one of these cavities and dreams she’s been cast down into a well.
And Joseph dreamed yet another dream, and bragged about it to his brethren, saying, “I have dreamed a whole nother dream more; and, behold, the sun and the moon and the eleventeen stars in heaven made obeisance to me.”
And his brethren stript Joseph & cast him into the pit. (Genesis 37:9, 23)
So I should maybe shuffle out yard-ward & fill those fence-post holes with quick-drying concrete, before the mobs arrive. OR I could go to each shaft & plant ever-burning flames within it, and hollow it till it’s bottomless; then hire hosts of angels to force everyone down there, as I recline with a megaphone in my lawn chair and berate them:
The depths have covered them! they sank into the bottom as a stone! —Now I say unto them: “Where are your gods, your rock in whom you trusted? let THEM rise up & help you and be your protection!” (Exodus 15:5; Deuteronomy 32:37-38)
Then, after laboring up out of my lawn chair (just like Officer Duke labors up off the couch, in the 2013 film Wrong Cops, when he gets the phone call about his “client emergency”), I’ll lift my head upward and aim my megaphone at the stormy sky and shout:
Who is like unto thee, O LORD, among the gods!? who is like thee! glorious in holiness, fearful in praises, doing wonders!! Thou stretchedst out thy right hand, the earth swallowed them. (Exodus 15:11-12)
Yeah, that’s what I’d do for Halloween, if I could. All Saints’ Eve. The night preceding the commemoration of all those who have attained the beatific vision in Heaven. I’d cast everyone to Hell. But casting everyone to Hell is illegal. Unless you’re God; in which case, everything is permitted. Except for lying:
God is not a man, that he should lie; neither is God the son of man, that he should repent. (Numbers 23:19)
God cannot lie, I tell you – God CANNOT lie!!! (Titus 1:2)
...it used to be impossible for God to lie... (Hebrews 6:18)
The LORD will not lie nor repent: for he is not a man, that he should repent. (1 Samuel 15:28-29)
And the LORD repented that he had made Donald king of America. (1 Samuel 15:35)
I just added that last verse in memory of my still-living mother. I’m not really a big Trump hater; I mean, I loathe him about as much as all the previous presidents – to be clear: I love the North American people YET dislove their leaders – but I think it’s a little ridiculous to claim, as my mom does, that the LORD God chose Mr. T. to be the U.S.A.’s C.E.O. She really believes that. Or so she says. My mom’s a self-styled Christian, so I pray unto her: “But mom, didn’t Jesus say that, just as a sick tree won’t produce healthy fruit, we can know whether a person is good or bad by observing their actions? yet your beloved Donald’s actions prove that he’s rather against Jesus than for him.”
Jesus said: Beware of false prophets, which come to you in sheep’s clothing, but inwardly they are ravening wolves. Ye shall know them by their fruits. Do men gather grapes of thorns, or figs of thistles? A good tree cannot bring forth evil fruit, neither can a corrupt tree bring forth good fruit. (Matthew 7:15-20)
Now, although my mom admits that Mr. T. has lived a less-than-perfect life, she assures me that “I truly believe the man has had a spiritual awakening, just like the Apostle Paul had on the road to Damascus – I believe that he [our prez] has changed his ways and converted to the True Faith, and now he worships Jesus, so the blood of Christ has washed away his sins.”
This always bothers me: the thot of using blood as a cleansing agent. You wouldn’t clean your carpets with blood; in fact, you’d do the opposite: you’d labor to wash that caked blood OUT OF your carpet. (Like the eggs in the example above.) For blood is not a substance that naturally sanctifies, but one that needs to be sanctified itself.
Actually, if I were you, I’d wash this whole mess up right now. Once the blood has dried, it’ll be hell to get clean.
That’s Officer Holmes’ advice to the man whose neighbor’s corpse was found in his living room (from the film Wrong Cops, written by Quentin Dupieux).
P.S.
I’m really in the mood for wontons, at the moment. I wish that my reader could bring me a serving of wontons.
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