Full Moon Blues
The night started quietly enough as the most �Silent� of nights should. Family time with obligatory giving and receiving of gifts and the tumultuous task of four people jockeying for position in a kitchen too small to accommodate them all at once gave the semi-festive atmosphere a personal touch I rather enjoyed. I relished in my normal holiday themed task of playing with fire and lighting the luminaries and managed a perfect score; all candles lit and no bags caught fire this year. We all laughed, even my mother, when she received her �surprise� gift that was an anniversary ring from pop wrapped up inside multiple boxes to celebrate 35 years of Christmases past.
I made the ultimate sacrifice this year, but the bullet and whipped out what passes for my Sunday�s best and went to church. By no means a stellar experience, anything with large gatherings of people was not without its highlights. we sat in the back (of course) lest god somehow figured out that my parents had brought their agnostic son into his house and hopefully giving me the best chance to make it out the door if the deity decided to strike me down. I noted with increasing amusement that this spot placed us behind a family with a Downs Syndrome son and a quartet of old folks that smelled of fresh urine. While I was a good boy and didn�t crack any number of my normal set of morbid jokes that sprang to mind, I was touched at the little guy�s attempts at bleating out religious Christmas carols and the utter stares of contempt that came from the pee smelling old folks as they glared his direction every time he sang. The evening in heaven inspired personal hell ended with a candlelight vigil outside where my fire stick melted upon my fingers. The first three words out of my mouth were �son of a�� before catching myself and then choking down numerous retorts when my mother declared, �see that�s what happens when you mock god.� All in all, mom was very appreciative of my attendance and the fact that I could still remember the lord�s prayer from memory. I believe this made up for my �Santa is Satan spelled differently and Jesus is nothing but martyr� comment that she didn�t find even slight amusing over dinner. After pie was consumed back at the homestead, I put the old folks to bed (staying up past their normal 930pm bed times sure was rough for �em), I quickly dashed up nearly empty freeways to an establishment a bit more comforting for my weary soul.
this place has become my obsession as of late. An addiction that I let wash over me in menagerie of industrial themed waves flanked by dark corners that support leather clad gargoyles and tantalizing glimpses of things you don�t see in the light of day. The regular set of hand-picked colleagues greeted my arrival and as I sat and instinctively watched the faces that were becoming all too familiar to me, I sucked in a deep breath of smoke filled air and unleashed the torrent building up in my mind�
Visions of roses, faces of lovers, flashes of morbid images from the year past�Idealisms, compromised beliefs and tortured souls leapt to me. I suckled rum in this house of ill repute and danced with a devil sporting a pastel necktie until my visions became clear once again. Much later at times when small children were beginning to stir in their beds and long after the fat man in the red suit had made his rounds, I fell asleep in the arms of an angel. But before I did, I raced along empty streets under the watchful eye of a nearly full moon and I smiled the smile of true contentment.
The last full moon blues of the year is upon me and a new book waits just around the corner to be opened and filled with verbal tirades that I can scarcely wait to tackle. With a grimace of accomplishment I double tap to the head of this twisted year, finally lay it down in an appropriated final resting spot and smirk like madman as I eagerly hammer home the last proverbial nail into the coffin of 2004.
The itch of restlessness is tickling my soul and I am chomping at my figurative bit in a bid to run screaming into the night; whomever may tell you that the effect of the full moon is nothing more than hearsay and an urban legend hasn�t spent a night in sin with the likes of one that embraces the lycanthrope change to his soul with reckless abandon that a full moon truly deserves.
Film at 11.
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