Creature of the Night

I don’t know this kid’s name yet, but yeah, he was there, and I decided on dubbing him “Creature of the Night.” So we will refer to COTN, or Cotton, as just that, from this point on. I half promised I would bring him back into the LJ fold once again, so I will make good on it, for what it’s worth. Cotton, a Yoda to all goth kids worldwide.

I cannot say it was an hour well spent, but I got a good laugh out of it myself, because he was feeling sooooo deep around 9pm, what with the new devil lock and sad dying devil clown make up, trench coat, and Nirvana t-shirt (the one with the cartoon smiley face with it’s lights punched out, tongue hanging out sideways looking all stupid, a shirt that says, “You’re losing all kinds of credits”).

Here is a half story from a half promise, sparing everyone from the terrible and moving right along to the fabulously terrible—brought to you by Cotton, meditative, sullen, one bad motherfucker (not).

Make way, Cotton’s taking the “stage.” Whisper, whisper.

Deep
do I feel
and think
and be!
Do
I
be!

Instructive
and ready

“I’m going to pass around this flower. You can feel free to say something, or if you don’t have anything you feel like saying, pass it along to the next person.”

He handed it first to me, and to me it was like a hot potato; I quickly passed it on. It went on down the row of people, and for a bit there, it sort of stalled, out of my sight. I was whispered, “What’s going on with that flower? What is this, a seminar?” Cotton sort of hovered over whoever held this ominous foliage as if to say, “That’s it. That’s it. Take your time with it.” I said to this girl, “Is this guided meditation? Is this a queue for a smoke break?” Did some feel a need to hold onto it and develop a relationship? Did they feel pressured?

We are so hippy, yet dark.

Finally it made it’s way back to him. He held it up before everyone, and then rather theatrically smashed it on the ground, stomped on it, stomped it into little bits, and said,

That’s my poem,” and sat down.

Worst
poem ever.

Entirely lame.

This belongs on… I just can’t think…

I could not help myself from saying, “I’m glad I didn’t invest that much time into it.” “I should’ve stomped it into the ground myself; then what would he have done, light it on fire?” Whoa, what a show stopper. Someone should put this kid on a plane to England where he can try out his accent on them and see if they buy it. This kid got his hair cut from Spencers and his bondage gear from Hot Topic. You cannot deter Cotton. Tie him to a tree and he will just howl at you deep into the night, because that’s just what he does, because it’s just what you need to be hearing at this point in your life right now.

What have you learned from this experience? What have you learned?

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