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jack_babalonSo i'm taking my trash out to the dumpster in the back, barefoot, bare chested and the smoke curling up from a cigarette stuck in the right corner of my mouth has forced me to give a Popeye one eyed wince.
It's pure Jackal Lantern weather out here. The wind whispering secrets through the trees weeping leaves. A fat, but not quite full, moon floats low on a bank of silver clouds. The air's almost crisp enough now for the sleeping jackets that have been hibernating all summer long in our closets. The first Halloween decorations have been scotchtaped to the windows I pass along the narrow alley between the two houses and... well... apparently a Coven of Cats have gathered in my backyard almost two hours shy of midnight.
There's thirteen total sitting in a wide circle. All of them purring so it sounds as if there's a lion waiting out there in the darkness behind them. The leader (or so I gather) is the little black lady cat that prowls through the jungles of my front lawn occasionally. She sits on an overturned TV set wearing, impossibly enough, a small satin red cape connected to her collar with the attached hood up framing her face. In the center a minature barbecue grill sits, the flames crackling embers that float up to the skeleton branches above and lighting up their empty eyes with a flickering ghost green glow.
To the side, where the parking lot meets the dumpster, is my downstairs neighbor The Colonel. He is standing there at what seems to be perfect attention except for the curious fact that his head is slumped over, his eyes are closed while drool drips from the angle of his lips into a stain on his shoulder. He's in his bathrobe and wearing a single flip-flop.
The little black lady cat wails out a demand. The Colonel, without lifting his head or opening his eyes walks over around the side of the dumpster, gathers up some branches off the ground and walks back over to the grill where he dumps them into the fire unceremoniously. The lady cat gives a shorter wail and the Colonel stumbles back to his original posistion. The sole flip-flop slapping the pavement loudly.
The lead cat gives another wail.
Nothing happens at first but then there is a light strumming of a familiar sounding acustic guitar. I follow the notes and see my other neighbors, the neo-hippy couple, sitting crosslegged just outside the flames of the grill. The woman plays her guitar mechanically, her chin resting on her breastless chest and a cascade of long hair veiling her face.
The other twelve cats, respond to the music by somehow managing to rise up on their hind legs. They seem to have some trouble at first, a couple of the bigger ones staggering back then forth in an attempt to adjust their balance to standing upright, their front legs sticking straight out, until finally having found their footing, each begin a kind of Frankenstein march around the fire in a kind of sleepwalkers gait (a sight that will haunt me for the rest of my days).
The black lady cat begins chanting, a kind of high pitched chirping noise punctuated by sudden bursts of meowing. The others join in with a growling refrain: howling, hissing, spitting and screaming up into the night as the guitar strums faster and faster!
The lead cat nods with approval, gives another wail and the Jesus bearded boyfriend of the guitarist grunts incoherently, his head thrown back with chin pointing up, reaches into his lap, lifts a hand held tape recorder and hits the play button releasing a treble distorted Salsa drum beat.
The Cats stop walking now and are full out dancing!
Each one dances different except the couple that have partnered up to do a sweeping waltz around the circle. The others have settled on a cowboy stomp, a punk rock skank, a Lindsey (or is that the Charleston), the famous goth bow-dip-and-lift, the Mash potato, a rough approximation of the Cabbage Patch, a Moonwalk and the others I don't recognize.
The sumnubalist humans begin chanting now along with the feline masters. I'm no expert but i've been around long enough to spot the Enochian flavored latin their grunting.
There is another sound now growing over the ceremonial din before me. A rustling through the kudzu and parting of bushes behind them. Heavy steps crunching the dead leaves beneath it. A purr, vaguely more engine than animal but sounding definetly hungry, grows closer. I have that unique feeling of being watched by something that cannot be seen.
There is a loud roar that rips through the air with a blast so strong it almost snuff out the flames and manages sends a flock of bats bursting out of the trees above me.
Well that'll do!
I spit my cigarette out to the side, turn around and as quietly as humanly possible, make my way across the street to throw my trash out in the neighbors bin.
From there, heading back to the house I catch out of the corner of my eye something crawling out of the shadows behind the dancing cats. I make out a body twice the size of a bull mastiff, a smooth black coat catching the light in a sheen, it has either a very long tail or a flailing tentacle coming out of its side and a human head (a mans head!) sitting on the end of its neck. The eyes are bugged out wide, darting around in a confused state of terror that finally hones in on me crossing the road back to the house.
"He-he-help me..." the human face shouts from the backyard.
I nod matter of factly at him... and proceed to take the three flights up my stairs in a single leap. Chain the front lock, head into my room, push the bookcase in front of one door and the TV stand in front of the other.
I spend the rest of the night locked in, constructing crude magickal circles in my bedroom between downing the last of my Evan Williams and chain smoking through the night until i'm lighting butts straight from the ashtray!
I pass out a little past three in the morning with a large kitchen knive acting as my teddy bear and wake up to hear a blood curdling scream just before dawn.
I wait.
I listen.
Nothing.
I pass back out dreaming about being chased by things that live under the bed. I wake up to the cell phones built in alarm clock.
Exhausted. Hung over. Scared shitless and reeking of Weird I get ready for work.
Fucking cats!
It's pure Jackal Lantern weather out here. The wind whispering secrets through the trees weeping leaves. A fat, but not quite full, moon floats low on a bank of silver clouds. The air's almost crisp enough now for the sleeping jackets that have been hibernating all summer long in our closets. The first Halloween decorations have been scotchtaped to the windows I pass along the narrow alley between the two houses and... well... apparently a Coven of Cats have gathered in my backyard almost two hours shy of midnight.
There's thirteen total sitting in a wide circle. All of them purring so it sounds as if there's a lion waiting out there in the darkness behind them. The leader (or so I gather) is the little black lady cat that prowls through the jungles of my front lawn occasionally. She sits on an overturned TV set wearing, impossibly enough, a small satin red cape connected to her collar with the attached hood up framing her face. In the center a minature barbecue grill sits, the flames crackling embers that float up to the skeleton branches above and lighting up their empty eyes with a flickering ghost green glow.
To the side, where the parking lot meets the dumpster, is my downstairs neighbor The Colonel. He is standing there at what seems to be perfect attention except for the curious fact that his head is slumped over, his eyes are closed while drool drips from the angle of his lips into a stain on his shoulder. He's in his bathrobe and wearing a single flip-flop.
The little black lady cat wails out a demand. The Colonel, without lifting his head or opening his eyes walks over around the side of the dumpster, gathers up some branches off the ground and walks back over to the grill where he dumps them into the fire unceremoniously. The lady cat gives a shorter wail and the Colonel stumbles back to his original posistion. The sole flip-flop slapping the pavement loudly.
The lead cat gives another wail.
Nothing happens at first but then there is a light strumming of a familiar sounding acustic guitar. I follow the notes and see my other neighbors, the neo-hippy couple, sitting crosslegged just outside the flames of the grill. The woman plays her guitar mechanically, her chin resting on her breastless chest and a cascade of long hair veiling her face.
The other twelve cats, respond to the music by somehow managing to rise up on their hind legs. They seem to have some trouble at first, a couple of the bigger ones staggering back then forth in an attempt to adjust their balance to standing upright, their front legs sticking straight out, until finally having found their footing, each begin a kind of Frankenstein march around the fire in a kind of sleepwalkers gait (a sight that will haunt me for the rest of my days).
The black lady cat begins chanting, a kind of high pitched chirping noise punctuated by sudden bursts of meowing. The others join in with a growling refrain: howling, hissing, spitting and screaming up into the night as the guitar strums faster and faster!
The lead cat nods with approval, gives another wail and the Jesus bearded boyfriend of the guitarist grunts incoherently, his head thrown back with chin pointing up, reaches into his lap, lifts a hand held tape recorder and hits the play button releasing a treble distorted Salsa drum beat.
The Cats stop walking now and are full out dancing!
Each one dances different except the couple that have partnered up to do a sweeping waltz around the circle. The others have settled on a cowboy stomp, a punk rock skank, a Lindsey (or is that the Charleston), the famous goth bow-dip-and-lift, the Mash potato, a rough approximation of the Cabbage Patch, a Moonwalk and the others I don't recognize.
The sumnubalist humans begin chanting now along with the feline masters. I'm no expert but i've been around long enough to spot the Enochian flavored latin their grunting.
There is another sound now growing over the ceremonial din before me. A rustling through the kudzu and parting of bushes behind them. Heavy steps crunching the dead leaves beneath it. A purr, vaguely more engine than animal but sounding definetly hungry, grows closer. I have that unique feeling of being watched by something that cannot be seen.
There is a loud roar that rips through the air with a blast so strong it almost snuff out the flames and manages sends a flock of bats bursting out of the trees above me.
Well that'll do!
I spit my cigarette out to the side, turn around and as quietly as humanly possible, make my way across the street to throw my trash out in the neighbors bin.
From there, heading back to the house I catch out of the corner of my eye something crawling out of the shadows behind the dancing cats. I make out a body twice the size of a bull mastiff, a smooth black coat catching the light in a sheen, it has either a very long tail or a flailing tentacle coming out of its side and a human head (a mans head!) sitting on the end of its neck. The eyes are bugged out wide, darting around in a confused state of terror that finally hones in on me crossing the road back to the house.
"He-he-help me..." the human face shouts from the backyard.
I nod matter of factly at him... and proceed to take the three flights up my stairs in a single leap. Chain the front lock, head into my room, push the bookcase in front of one door and the TV stand in front of the other.
I spend the rest of the night locked in, constructing crude magickal circles in my bedroom between downing the last of my Evan Williams and chain smoking through the night until i'm lighting butts straight from the ashtray!
I pass out a little past three in the morning with a large kitchen knive acting as my teddy bear and wake up to hear a blood curdling scream just before dawn.
I wait.
I listen.
Nothing.
I pass back out dreaming about being chased by things that live under the bed. I wake up to the cell phones built in alarm clock.
Exhausted. Hung over. Scared shitless and reeking of Weird I get ready for work.
Fucking cats!
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no subject
on 2007-09-25 06:35 pm (UTC)That is all.
xxx
no subject
on 2007-09-25 06:39 pm (UTC)Think of the bright side though, there's none of the "R" word running around!
no subject
on 2007-09-25 06:54 pm (UTC)*shivers... can't even go to that one*
... was the picture necessary???
xxx
no subject
on 2007-09-25 09:24 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2007-09-25 07:06 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2007-09-25 09:24 pm (UTC)MEOW!
on 2007-09-25 07:11 pm (UTC)Re: MEOW!
on 2007-09-25 07:14 pm (UTC)Re: MEOW!
on 2007-09-25 09:25 pm (UTC)Re: MEOW!
on 2007-09-25 09:25 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2007-09-25 07:16 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2007-09-25 09:26 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2007-09-25 09:28 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2007-09-25 07:33 pm (UTC)That'll teach me to answer my pages.
no subject
on 2007-09-25 09:27 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2007-09-26 03:30 am (UTC)And re-reading that I have Elvis' "It's Now Or Never" stuck in my head...I blame the moon (& Clay Pigeons).
no subject
on 2007-09-25 07:39 pm (UTC)Also: if you walk in my door, I will shoot you dead. I don't need the extra evil coming in my condo.
no subject
on 2007-09-25 09:41 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2007-09-25 08:08 pm (UTC)PS. Lindy hop
no subject
on 2007-09-25 09:29 pm (UTC)Duly noted, thank you.
no subject
on 2007-09-25 11:25 pm (UTC)"Jellicle Cats come out tonight,
Jellicle Cats come one come all:
The Jellicle Moon is shining bright--
Jellicles come to the Jellicle Ball.
Jellicle Cats are black and white,
Jellicle Cats are rather small;
Jellicle Cats are merry and bright,
And pleasant to hear when they caterwaul.
Jellicle Cats have cheerful faces,
Jellicle Cats have bright black eyes;
They like to practise their airs and graces
And wait for the Jellicle Moon to rise...."
Now, wouldn't you rather I go back to my old habit of quoting Yeats all day?
no subject
on 2007-09-25 11:30 pm (UTC)luvluvluvluvluv :-D
no subject
on 2007-09-26 02:25 pm (UTC)Not at all. In fact allow me to quote England's greatest crooner of the Thatcher 80's:
"Yeats and Keats are on your side but you lose
Be-cause Why-I-ilde is on mine" :)
no subject
on 2007-09-26 02:52 pm (UTC)"Well, the pleasure - the privilege is mine."
Picnic!
no subject
on 2007-09-25 10:06 pm (UTC)and honestly, when you can count 13 of anything
in any circle... you. don't. hang. around.
no subject
on 2007-09-26 02:29 pm (UTC)That is a sound philosophy but to be honest I have a rare psychological malfunction known as "Actaeon Syndrome"(named after the poor schmuck who got caught eyeballing the goddess Diana) where I suffer from involuntary voyeuristic paralysis whenever confronted with the strange, the absurd or the openly erotic.
no subject
on 2007-09-26 12:23 pm (UTC)no subject
on 2007-09-26 02:36 pm (UTC)But man, don't let them dress up in little robes... it's cute at first but the Warp Demons start coming...
no subject
on 2007-09-26 04:25 pm (UTC)