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One of the tanuki's most famous characteristics is its gargantuan scrotum, which it employs for all sorts of creative shape-shifting—numerous woodblock prints and other images illustrate the powers of this magnificent paraphernalia.

Kitsune are connected with the worship of Inari, the kami of the rice fields.

The kappa is associated with water, usually rivers, ponds, and swamps. It is one of the most famous of all yōkai in Japan. Different legends and beliefs about it are distributed throughout the country, but generally speaking, the kappa is thought of as scaly or slimy, greenish in color, with webbed feet and hands, and a carapace on its back.

Often characterized as a "mountain goblin," tengu tend to have birdlike characteristics and superlative martial arts skills and are often associated with Buddhism and mountain ascetic practices.

The word tsuchigumo, literally "earth spider," seems to have been used as a derogatory and demonizing label for the indigenous inhabitants of Japan. That is, the people writing the texts used the term negatively to describe the natives they were conquering; they portrayed them as having short bodies and long arms and legs, and as living in holes in the ground.

Strictly speaking, setsubun refers to a "joint" in the year when one season changes into another [...], much like New Year's Eve, a dividing point between the old year and the new and therefore a ritually meaningful moment of transition. This is a crack in the flow of time, a potentially dangerous bridge between one period and another, during which both good and bad spirits might enter.

It is said that when a tree reaches the age of one hundred, it has a kami that will show its form.

Part II: Yōkai Codex

They were on the news again —
the objects in the sky.
There was footage of 2 hovering
above a cornfield in New Jersey,
then a reporter was interviewing
2 guys on the street.

No one likes finger paints after midnight,
especially the law and order crowd.

“what’s a matter”
you said
“you worried you’re gay
or something?
doesn’t this feel good?”

and it did feel good,
but I couldn’t get over
how your mustache
felt like sandpaper
and your beard
felt like more sandpaper
and your eyes
drilled into me
with a lust
I could not possibly replicate

Drinking wine from a teacup
in the cheapest room in town,
like one you'd kill yourself
or die alone in

Someone’s out there
crossing train tracks
and roads
kissing the night hello
someone’s quiet
with their ear to my heart

we think in chromium and arsenic
cutting up and folding in
the acid trips
of heavy metal parking lots

we smoke
slam nuclei into each other
exist for a fraction
then disappear into other elements

Casey Renee Kiser
Non-body Count

Saw a stranger today by the blood pool
He had that sunkissed-moontwist-killer kool
Bats surrounded; desire swings upside down
Day and night would surely fingerpaint the town
Yeah-No, no, I didn’t dare follow this time-
Paper thin soles only run on rebel rhyme
‘Cuz I’ve got my own kink of killer kool too
Don’t need another ghost talkin’ bout bitch boo

One question often asked about yōkai is whether people actually believe in them. [...] Implicit in a question like this, however, is the assumption that there are only two possibilities—belief or doubt. One thing yōkai teach us is that between belief and doubt, between the literal and the metaphorical, lies a zone of ambiguity that is fertile ground for the imagination.

Yōkai begin where language ends.

Alex S. Johnson at Horror Sleaze Trash

Judge Santiago Burdon at Horror Sleaze Trash

Krystoffer Beej Plutin knocked back another shot of rye and tried to focus his swimming brain on the subject at hand: writing.

"OH MY GOD," he screamed, "FUCKING ZOMBIES!!!"

Face to facefuck with the awful remnants of the head of German Expressionist filmmaker F.W. Murnau after first the Zeena Shreck treatment and then Alex S. Johnson arriving a few years later with "Bring Me the Shrunken Head of Some Motherfucker," not published in Horror Sleaze Trash due to prior copyright claim.

His soul dragged at the rim of his flesh. Joey wished he could speak, but his mouth had been sealed over. He struggled to move but found himself frozen. Even his inner voice had been smeared across the inside of his skull and silenced forever.

"Your suffering will be legen—" began the one known as the Hellpriest.

"Let's hear that again, mate."

Tony Iommi looked up from his guitar. Ozzy had that frenzied expression again, which the guitarist knew from many a bleary-eyed night watching his own face melt in the mirror. The expression was prelude to many a bad decision—hotel rooms smashed beyond recognition, questionable acts performed on groupies, the rapid inhalation of many an item never meant for ingestion of any kind.

The rain had the sour, bloody taste of regretted dental procedures, splattering against the rainbow- slicked streets of Milan. Another night, another giallo brewing, though this one with a distinct...flavor. Not the usual spice of psychosexual deviancy, but something far more...unsettling.

Reynaldo, the World's Smolest Circus Bear, dropped through the ceiling in a shower of plaster flakes and sound-buffering tiles. Seated astride a unicycle, he was juggling five chainsaws and already growling heavily.

As they crossed the event horizon, reality shifted. The laws of physics twisted like a knife, and suddenly they were surrounded by an infinite expanse of pie—cherry, apple, blueberry— stretching as far as their instruments could detect. Entire galaxies made of custard swirled around newborn stars of molten caramel. Nebulae of whipped cream dotted the cosmic landscape.

"Oh it's nothin', just a little bit of fun and play with the puddin' pops doncha know."

Special Agent Kandy Fontaine shook her head with vehemence. "I just can't believe it. I grew up with Dr. Huxtable. He's an icon of my childhood. Showed us all that a..."