The Monster's Speech

“Rwar, rah, raaarg-ha, graa-org,” shouted

the Monster at the crowd.

They pelted him with rocks and

poked at him with flaming torches

and pitchforks.

“Naarragh, gree praa Haarrgrahag,”

said the monster as he covered his

hideous, malformed face from

the onslaught of projectiles and vicious

slander.

“Kill it, Kill it,” screamed the frothing

crowd as they bore into the monster,

“Smash it’s ugly face,” they yelled and

chanted, stepping ever closer to the

monster’s corner refuge.

“Wha, wharrrgha, kraagahall-gah,” pled

the monster through his scaly lips and

twisted yellow fangs, his forked tongue

frantically whipping about, searching for

a place to breathe.

He tried to climb up the stony walls of the

castle’s exterior, hoping his long lizard/eagle

like talons would help him flee, but they could

find no purchase on the stones due to the rain and

slick stone faces.

“It’s trying to get away,” shouted Reverend Stall,

“don’t let it escape!” He threw a rock that hit

the monster square in the head. The monster was dazed

and stumbled forward and then was spun backwards

by another large rock.

“Narrh, narrrh,” grumbled the monster as he fell to the

cobblestone street.  His arms up in a last effort to protect

himself.  The world aglow from torch light started to

dim and the monster found himself in a long tunnel,

the echoes of the mob growing more faint.

The monster felt himself lifted by many hands

and drift toward the few stars visible in the

night sky. They twinkled in and out of his view

as he seemed to tumble endlessly towards them.

He wanted to reach out, but he could not.

“Eht es arr frar bwhetter rast Eye gho trooo,”

mumbled the monster as he finally vanished into

the darkness.  He was wrapped in burlap, chained,

bound, weighted with cement and dumped into

the Bay.

The townsfolk forgot their own viciousness,

but they stay out of the Bay. It’s become a

dark place, thick with fog all year round,

with the sounds of sobbing floating on

the salty breeze.

Halloween Dance

Edgar Allen Poe and H. P. Lovecraft

were caught smoking in the parlor

and Edgar kept yelling, “Nevermore”

as he was escorted from the floor.

H. P. vanished into thin air,

reciting an incantation from

his pocket Necronomicon,

leaving more smoke on Edgar to blame.

The Chaperones were diligent

in keeping this rowdy bunch

away from the spiked punch,

which of course had a real spike in it.

Mary Shelley was telling tales again

with Bram Stoker  as they danced

in the high school gym.  They swayed

and swooned in a spot light dance of gloom.

Stephen King and Dean Koontz stared

at each other, devising each others

untimely, yet mildly entertaining demise,

through gore and subtle social commentary.

The Proctor separated them to keep

the calm but Neil Gaiman couldn’t resist

poking the bear and arrived with a bucket

of pig’s blood to share.

“Out, out, out! Damn spot”, shouted the

Proctor, “We’ll have none of that Neil!”

A quick fist bump between Stephen and

Neil, before they were shown the exit.

“No Carrie re-enactments, it was posted on the

door,” said the Proctor. “Now outside with you

both, leave poor Dean alone.”

They were hustled out into the night. 

They ran into Edgar, still crying, “Nevermore”,

in the parking lot, on the hood a hearse.

Ann Rice spoke from the car, “He won’t move,

the sad sack, keeps pining for his date, Annabel Lee.”

“This Halloween party blows,” said Edgar,

wiping the snot from his nose,

“Let’s go to my place, Sheridan Le Fanu,

and Daphne du Maurier will be there.”

The band in the gym played a

cover of The Monster Mash

and the writer's agreed, going to Edgar’s

was better than this.

“Where’s your place,” asked Ann

as they drove.

“Sepulchre Drive, there by the sea,” said Edgar.

“Of course it is,” said Stephen, “of course.”

Monster Fight Instructions

Zombie

(Punch)

Frankenstein’s Monster

(Fire)

Vampire

(Punch)

Sparkly Vampire

(Punch & Stake)

Creature from The Black Lagoon

(Fishing Lure & punch)

The Mummy

(Punch)

The Wolfman

(Punch)

Witch

(Punch)

Ghost

(Punch the air)

Skeleton

(Punch)

The Devil

(Punch & Jesus)

Finding a strong, mutually beneficial,

stable relationship with a partner willing

to accept you for who you are and sexual

compatiability

(Um….. punch?)

New Autumns

Each year of life presents us with

new Autumns.

For every minute we live,

it is inevitable that change will

come, like leaves falling, after their

burst of Fall color and dormancy.

For some, there is only a final

Autumn, a last change into dormancy,

before a revival of color though whichever

faith, culture or belief allows, adheres or

expounds.  In which we find solace until

the Spring.

The mingled Autumns that persist with

the living and paused Autumns of the dead,

rapt in each other in a seasonal cycle,

driven by nature’s desires to replenish, renew,

remake and re-spark. To make a mark in

the mind, in the heart and soul.

Autumns are quickly forgotten in the

brisk Winter winds, the snow drifts up to

your knees, the Spring melt and rains,

and the long hot days of Summer. Fall

is all about  change and we have a hard time

remembering or even liking change.

The steady Summer sun, the refreshing Spring scents,

the dastardly depressions of Winter, burn brightly

in our minds, yet Autumn is glossed over since it

reminds us too much of endings. We don’t want to see

these endings as beginnings of a new stage, a new life.

We don’t like the visual, visceral, passage of time.

Yet, each Autumn comes and it takes from us. It

hides the dead in promises of life renewed, and we,

mistrustful of those promises, we scowl, we cry and

we mourn. We fear the rebirth because of our

pessimisms, and terror of our own final Autumn.

Yet it will come, death and life, budding and blooming. 

October Impact

The impact of October

should be chilling, thrilling,

and terrifying.

Reds, yellows, mixed with

graying skies is the backdrop

to a most haunting time of year.  

The October setting sun;

blistering the landscape with

Autumnal hues.

The long, Fall shadows

should give us pause to wonder

what was that noise in the hall.

Was it coming to get me?

How did it get in here?

It’s just a cat. I don’t have a cat.

It’s the toothless murderer,

the one on the news. He broke in here

looking to satisfy his blood lust.

Another creaking floorboard,

I’m doomed. Doomed!

There’s no escape!

The wind rattles the windows,

the house shivers,

and every noise is a death knell.

That’s the impact of October,

the growing abyss of Autumn,

and the powerful fear it stirs.  

Thanks for Seven Years!

Today marks the Seven Year Anniversary of A Minute With Michael. Thanks to everyone for their support and continued enjoyment of my passion project. I swear there's another book coming out, really. I mean it. Thanks again!

Do I Have to Say It Again?

                                           Dodge City - 1879

                The Wild West wasn’t the Wild West. Most “Wild West” towns had very strict gun laws. So strict, in fact, that you couldn’t even walk into town with a gun on your person.  As such, some of these towns, like Tombstone, Deadwood, and Dodge, had surprisingly low murder rates, two murders a year perhaps. Of course one has to remember that the populations of these towns were fairly small, but the idea of gun control was still heavily enforced.  While people were allowed to have guns at home for self-protection, frontier towns usually barred anyone but law enforcement from carrying guns in public.[1]

                The image of the firearm being the trusty tool of the American west is a false one, created by Hollywood and purveyors of “the image of the Wild West” for profit through tourism and less than creative screen writing.  The lone American Cowboy bravely defending the honor of a fair maiden in the dusty streets is complete bunk and as likely as Knights of old fighting dragons with lances and magic swords. Yet, somehow, this image persists and some Americans believe that carrying a pistol on their hip as they order a chicken sandwich at a fast food restaurant is their “right”.  The pistol, six guns, what have you, was indeed a tool of necessity, but its use and how they were displayed was strictly controlled. Toting a gun around for “safety” is an antiquated, and mostly imagined, notion of a bygone era.

                Responsible gun control is our right, as evidenced by the “wild” West towns that encouraged and mandated strict gun controls. They knew that a civilized society had no need to be armed to the teeth to accomplish their daily tasks. The laws of the Wild West towns showed their practicality and respect for public safety.  It’s amazing to me that those lawmakers of the past had more respect for their constituents than the lawmakers of today.  Really? Go ahead and get a silencer? What…? Who wants that? What segment of the American population was petitioning Congress to loosen silencer restrictions? Or were clamoring to let Mentally Ill persons purchase firearms? Was that a thing I missed?

                The Wild West towns certainly never had access to the fire power we have today; but no one was toting a Gatling gun through the streets, or pulling cannon around in a wagon, it wouldn’t have made any sense to those Old Western folks for a common person to have access to such high powered weapons of warfare.  I don’t believe they would have stood up for that “right” because it’s dumb, and they were far more practical than we seem to be. Somehow, having access to military style weaponry, ammunition and accoutrements today is totally fine and is in the perceived interest of public safety.  

                I’m with the Wild West on this one. You’re a jackass if you think you need an AR-15, M-16, or other high powered weapon for “home protection” or, “hunting”.  The Zombie Apocalypse, yeah, that’s TV and not going to happen. The likelihood of the fabric of society falling apart to such an extent that we’re shooting each other in the streets over water rights is incredibly mind-boggling slim.  Crime is a reality, there’s no denying that, but maybe with some common sense gun controls, like they had in the Wild West, crime can be better handled or contained to create confidence in public safety.

                I’m disgusted by the Americans who trot out the 2^nd Amendment to hide behind and say they will not accept any limitations on their “right” to bear arms. If Wyatt Earp was here, he’d tell you to turn those guns in at the Sheriff’s office and then have a good time in town, but if you kept any weapons on your person, he’d bash your damn head in and throw your dumb ass in the town jail. He was interested in the safety of the townspeople in general over your perceived threats to your personal safety.     

                Yet, we as a people have decided imagined threats to our personal safety somehow overrode the general safety of the public. Somehow, an individual’s right to obtain as many high powered military style weapons is totally cool, in case of the Apocalypse of course, or to hunt those vicious, blood thirsty deer with their shoulder mounted .50 caliber machine guns.  We’ve let the “gun nuts” intimidate legislation and the calmer, practical approaches to gun control.  That has to stop.

                I don’t much care for guns. I never really have. I’ve written to my representatives over and over again about common sense gun control. I have watched as efforts to do anything, even talk about gun control, slowly fizzle into the backdrop of “politics as usual” and I’m tired of it. I suggest we as the people follow the example of our “Wild West” forbearers and tell the NRA and whomever they support that we no longer give a shit about their influence nor are we afraid of them or their alleged lobbying power. We don’t want your guns in town.

 If you as a member of Congress have received donations from the NRA or voted to loosen the restrictions on assault weapons, you’re out. We’re done with you because America has no need for your slippery conscience or indiscriminate pandering to a group of gun toting jack holes. The consciences of America will eventually get you. We will no longer tolerate your allegiance to a gun lobby over your constitutional duty to protect the citizenry from public safety threats.

I’m tired of writing the same thing after every tragedy this country has to bear. It’s simply time to have the conversation, to come up with a plan to protect the people from these tragedies. It is the time damn it. Don’t you dare change the subject into hotel safety requirements. That’s cowardice.  Deal with the real issue, gun control.  If it was good enough for Tombstone, it’s good enough for Chicago, Las Vegas, Miami, Washington D.C., Los Angeles, and every city in between.  Do the just thing.

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[1] http://www.huffingtonpost.com/adam-winkler/did-the-wild-west-have-mo_b_956035.html Adam Winkler Professor of Law UCLA