Unquiet
Things

I am up to Halloween: H20 in my Halloween marathoning and oooof. I just did not recall how bad, I mean really REALLY bad, 4, 5, and 6 are. That business with the cult (and the cloning? Is that right?) was really, really dumb. Halloween H20 wasn’t great, but at least we get Jamie Lee Curtis, and maybe it was a little scary? That could be just me though, rewatching it alone in the house, at 1am in the morning.

Anyway, I have no further thoughts on any of these films, however, a particular scene in Halloween 6: The Curse of Michael Myers, did inspire the following poem…

Reflections after a death scene in Halloween: The Curse of Michael Myers

Sometimes I remind myself that
in a basement sequence
during Halloween 6,
Michael Myers demonstrates
that apparently he knows something
about how to operate a washing machine.
It’s not like those bloody linens sloshing
around during the rinse cycle
were placed there by
the dead woman, lying still,
glasses cracked and broken,
chest split by the blade of an axe.
And sure, the load was
massively unbalanced.
And Michael probably didn’t
use any pre-soak or stain remover.
It’s funny, you know, he drives?
Where did he learn that?
What else is this murderous tulpa man-child
doing when we’re not looking?
Contributing to his Roth IRA,
and hot yoga, and meditation,
and 12-step skincare?
Is Michael Myers a more capable
and competent adult
than I am?
I mean, if even the bogeyman
can get his shit together
and start a load of wash,
then what’s my problem?