Oh, if only all misunderstandings were so comically sweet.

Once again I’m at a complete loss for words. Maybe it’s because I’m not the blogging type. I usually think guys who blog are kind of descendants of douchery who believe their words are the golden threads of enlightenment that will sew wandering web hogs to the otherwise ephemeral truth.  I prefer screaming from rooftops myself.

So why do I come here week after week and pour words together? Maybe it’s because when I write in my journal, I sound like a madman. When I know it’s going to be read en masse it forces a coherency into my words that will be appreciated and cried over by a man with ancient hands and a bandana like mummy wrap.

Or maybe it’s because this isn’t actually me.   I am writing through a facade, a cartoon freak mask, stoic and unwavering, boldness for the masked dance with mirrors.

It’s probably my addiction to the ash of the Phoenix.  That sounds a little like a seventies pop sci-fi drug . . . let me clarify. I die a little every time I create something.  My soul is sucked through my fingertips. My words are bloodstained and ragged. Rebirth is distant and uncertain.

Ring in October 1^st on bronze bells, scatter shadows into the crisp night. Although the eve has fallen prey to kids with eye liner and lunch boxes, it doesn’t mean the spires of evil don’t rise in me on the month of the dead. Come, shed your skins, start your howling.

Let the feast begin,

-Christian

This entry was posted on Monday, September 29th, 2008 at 12:00 am and is filed under All Comics, Incompletes. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.