Chrisonomicon

Thursday, October 31, 2002

The smell is smoky and sweet, not unpleasant at all, unlike the initial whiff of innards that wafts from a freshly opened fruit. Once emptied and carved, candle in place, the aroma that fills the house conjures memories of cold, dark nights. First prize for the contest is one hundred dollars.

I spent the day in prison clothes, fake tattoos, and a cubicle dressed up like a cell with black ribbons of crepe paper, and INMATE emblazoned in large letters across my back, which could be read by anyone looking in while I surfed through Textism and Metafilter. Abstracted, the truth is often scarier than fiction, although I don't feel imprisoned exactly, just limited to what I have. And, in all honesty, that isn't so bad I suppose.

Truly scary this Halloween: the persecution of athiest boyscouts, the rise in syphilis, Focus on the Family, and learning there are not enough fish in the sea.