Ninja Camp
I know what you’re saying: Is it not the job of the Ninja to, like, not be seen? And my answer to that is . . . touche.
Let’s talk about monsters.
And I don’t mean the kind of monsters that stalk the earth searching for a village of innocents or the collective felling of said beasts.
No, I mean the kind of monster that comes from within.
Not too long ago I stumbled from my apartment, fingers uncoiling, pupils shrinking to pinpoints, and some gray, unsavory thing stuck between my teeth . . . The city was a blinding perplexity. I’d locked myself away to build worlds. Mezmerized by the firefly glow of the computer screen and the pretty clak clak clak of the keys, I went out for little else than food and occupational obligation. In the light of civilization, the creature inside wanted to crawl back into the embracing dark, cultivate its pot belly and pasty skin, and stay eternal in the place of its godliness. But I pushed myself into the light and felt the demon shrivel away.
I could have just as easily gone back inside.
Monsterdom creeps up on you slow-like and I’m preparing for future hostile takeovers. Not just from the swirling Lovecraftian writer’s vortex, but the other many forms meticulously detailed in M&C’s Monsternomicon of the Human Psyche (Murky Press, 1974). The horrifying thing about these monsters, is they are only slayable through self-realization. So, I’m fixing a mirror, the most effective of real world monster slayers, above my bed, and maybe I’ll be of mind to recognize the hideous form in the glass as myself; recognize my own poison laden voice, or notice the mounting pile of bones in the corner of the room. And, Golum-like, cast myself back into the fire, my screams sickening-sweet in the night, the unsettling pleasure of defeating a beloved monster. I will crawl from the flames, charred, broken, and filled with humility and hope someone is there to extend a hand.
-Christian
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