Voices on the Wind Comical Voices
The humor of horror by Mark Vogel Soothes only in retrospect when the wriggles are honed, pared into surface pattern—crafted into laughing stories designed for those loved, as gentled myths when a wound no longer pains/ but is a scar becoming permanent—when dirt/ stench/blood can be held at arms-length/ enhanced into fable not quite real. In the beginning rules state the innocent saga starts with a hint of color and cold and wind, then builds horror solid, with a landscape that melds into fat perspective. The telling is a relief and a shock/the monotone voice a deliberate weapon. The audience hears the deer’s pant and snort/just before the hanging carcass in the tree is revealed. The breath caught in the throat/waiting for the slow removal of the eyes. Other unconnected scenes follow, like the 3rd grade long fall from the jungle gym, when gravity demanded the head-first plunge to the asphalt—the wry expression after the plunge. The beauty of bravado savors fleshy wounds tattooed into scars/ when an anecdote is deadpan as poem— say a fishing lure immersed in the thumb— when the arc of story throbs, the aura cringing as horror provides focus like an approaching leering dog. Or a crude private joke that wounds with obscene hyperbole and second grade pointing. The fear a drowning is eminent. The strange and dirtied need to share putrid detail until the sense of survival and relief lingers— with joy alive in the knowledge we face down all that can possibly come.