The monsters don't hide in the closet, or under the bed, or in your head all full of juice. They roost. It's not their fault, following through with some innate longing they're called to.
It's a simple, impish existence, these monsters, who might prefer to be doctors or lawyers or sound designers for Alice Cooper or Rob Zombie or Blondie; alas they burrow and nest inside my ***** laundry.
A wise person might have said, "Take care, kiddo, and guard your head against the evil that so easily nestles there." I reflect on this through the cloudy density of my beer an wonder, could he have been right? Might I fallen intrigued, ensnared, by the casual taunt of an apple's dare?
We climb the beanstalk for the giant only; the goose is second hand. The giant's defeat is the glory. It doesn't matter what the stakes contain, live or die, princess or mother or cow or land, as long as a marching band greets us at the end of the ride.
The monsters don't hide in the closet, or under the bed or in you head full of juice. They roost, and they can't help us themselves in a world full of books gathering dust on shelves overlooked where their hardcovers guard against stray shells unloosed.
It's ok to expose children to halloween-type scary fiction. The world is a scary place, and to give them some fantastic monster-type literature, like Mary Shelley's Frankenstein or Bam Stoker's Dracula is a fun and guidable way to explain the real horrors of the world and familiarize them with the fact that we live in a place that is beautiful but often misunderstood or dangerous. It's not always that way, though, and books and literature can help ignite a different kind of passion in them that may, despite the fantastic fear in these books, provide a different sort of outlook that instills tolerance and peace.
I also believe that this was inspired by the fact that I'm housesitting and the refrigerator literally sound like it is talking. Because oh my god. Look out, that's the next one.
