“Fight Club Redux” --aka “it’s your own damn fault if it’s spoiled; the movie’s been out for ages” in the darkness, the grass glitters with crystallized condensation when i walk outside to let my dog make her mark, as though the stars vaguely luminescent in their spheres had fallen to earth frozen, their heat lost to predawn chill later i watch Fight Club for the n-th time, catch myself thinking how very very nice it would be to have a friend like Tyler to hang around with on shitty nights in a shitty house, or sharing drinks in a shitty bar, but without the assault --gut punched by metaphor alone imagine a friend, even imaginary, that’s always there through thick, through thin- ning nights and thinning hair, trading jokes and insults and guttural laughter no matter how many times they’ve heard each clever wordplay, each dumb pun someone who listens--does not simply wait for your part of each conversation to end, someone like Bob to hug you with his big-ass bitch tits, or Tyler with his right hook to greet you. 3D Virtual Reality’s got nothing on the brain. We can make ourselves believe, we make ourselves believe anything - - - - even that the stars glistening in the darkened blades of grass are beautiful despite my canine’s warmly flowing contribution melting them before their time, readying them for a sun they will never see just beyond that horizon. # *I recently rewatched Fight Club, and though it’s not exactly a Halloween-themed movie, I thought it was close enough for today’s post. Happy Halloween! If you’d like to read about my progress and plans for this year, as well as craft tips, you can subscribe to my Patreon and support my work for just $1 a month! Until next time, stay safe and well, and read often!
Cat Russell 