This is Spinal Tap

Happy Halloween weekend everyone!

First off, a big thank you to the new subscribers! Knowing that some people are offended interested enough to click that magic button makes me a very camper and keeps me oh-so-motivated!

Anyways, I’m supposed to go out in, oh a few hours and still I have no idea what I’m going to dress up as. Never fear. I work well under pressure. Like origami or Milton from ‘Office Space’. “My swingline stapler…..I could burn the building down.”

In honor of this, the most fashionable and slutty holiday, I bring you some fun eye-candy. Most of youa re getting your fill of the real deal anyways. Apparently, twizzlers are the highest in sugar by the way.

My Mom used to always wear this holiday sweater of dancing skeletons that said ‘Spinal Tap’ on Halloween. X-rays are just so funny. I think this looks like an x-ray of something usually far more beautiful- which just makes it more interesting.

This is a photo by artist Pamela Ellis Hawkins that I found via ‘Abbey Goes Design Scouting’. How ghostly and beautiful!

2. More Bones on display:

These are from Philly-based artist, Matthew Cox. X-rays with humor and embroidery. Daddy like.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

On the left, we have ‘Wading Knees’ (Is it just me, or does that sound like some kind of stereotypical Native American cheif name?) The right, ‘Banana‘.  (It’s BANANAS how cool this is! …and how uncool I am for saying things like that) . You can see more of his wonderful work on his site-

www.matthewcoxartist.com  

And now I wish you a safe, special, and sugary evening as I retire to rifle through my closet and piece together some kind

of disguise.

  But before I go, a poem:

Unconditional Day

 

Julie Lechevsky

 

At 13 they brought me on television
to tell of my first love
under the bleachers.
I thought it was the real thing.
And the country shared it the way
they share candy on Halloween,
when I could dress up in anything as anyone,
and strangers would open their doors,
bending kindly to ask, Who are you?

 

Sometimes I’d say,
I am a Dallas Cheerleader!
or The Wicked Witch of the West!
I was myself one evening every year
from six to eight o’clock,
as the orange lanterns gleamed
on my claws, my beak, my fangs,
or my star, my wand, my slippers.

 

Halloween was the perfect holiday.
No songs about snow and families,
no creamed onions or long, fantastic graces,
no football games I had to watch in the yard,
just a night of flowing capes and almond eye slits,
of makeup without quarrels,
and sheets without memories.
Mother would slave over my costume
as though I was a turkey dinner for my uncles.
After a while, only my dog could recognize me.

 

Even now, nineteen, I go out,
gaudy with ugliness and streaming with beauty.
the doors are opened and I feel
I could not have turned out better.

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