Tue. 9/18/73
Dear Olonso,
...I am 13 years old now and my friendships are getting better and better. Such is the case with Tom D'Arcy. He's kind of strange, but so am I...
So long!
Farewell!
Goodbye!
Monday, August 23, 2010
Excerpts from my seventh grade journal (soon to be called "Olonso").
Thurs. 9/13/73 Do not read.
Dear Journal,
I think it's about time I gave you a name - like Olonso. Yes, that's a good name...
My best friend is Tom D'Arcy and he might - no! He won't move! We've been friends, but it has become more. Yes, we're on the search for the meaning of life. I don't care what people think anymore, we'll find it. If only Tom doesn't move...
J.W.N. Virgo
(Author's note:
Here I drew the symbol for our club "Brothers in Search." It's a drop of water with a circle inside and fire inside the circle...)
Dear Journal,
I think it's about time I gave you a name - like Olonso. Yes, that's a good name...
My best friend is Tom D'Arcy and he might - no! He won't move! We've been friends, but it has become more. Yes, we're on the search for the meaning of life. I don't care what people think anymore, we'll find it. If only Tom doesn't move...
J.W.N. Virgo
(Author's note:
Here I drew the symbol for our club "Brothers in Search." It's a drop of water with a circle inside and fire inside the circle...)
Excerpts from my seventh grade journal (soon to be called "Olonso").
Wed. 9/12/73 Do not read.
Dear Journal,
I think the teachers are getting out of hand, criticizing us and calling people names...
Well, I'd better go. I might get to do something fun today. (I doubt it.)
Goodbye.
J.W.N.
(Author's note:
I think the top line of this entry caught Mr.C's eye, because I saw him reading it as I walked past his desk. I went to my seat terrified. He called me back to his desk and he discussed the whole thing with me calmly. I began to admire him.)
Dear Journal,
I think the teachers are getting out of hand, criticizing us and calling people names...
Well, I'd better go. I might get to do something fun today. (I doubt it.)
Goodbye.
J.W.N.
(Author's note:
I think the top line of this entry caught Mr.C's eye, because I saw him reading it as I walked past his desk. I went to my seat terrified. He called me back to his desk and he discussed the whole thing with me calmly. I began to admire him.)
Excerpts from my seventh grade journal (soon to be called "Olonso").
Wed. 8/29/73
Dear Journal,
...I love to get into conversations with Tom D'Arcy because I feel like I'm exercising my mind...
J.W.N., himself!
Dear Journal,
...I love to get into conversations with Tom D'Arcy because I feel like I'm exercising my mind...
J.W.N., himself!
Excerpts from my seventh grade journal (soon to be called "Olonso").
Tuesday 8/28/73 Do not read.
Dear Journal,
I wish school would hurry up and end. Next year will have to be better. It can't get any worse. I know exactly what the teachers are trying to do. They are giving us strict rules because they had a bunch of mean dudes last year and they expect us to be that way.
...I would rather know Mr. C as a friend, not a teacher.
J.W.N.
Dear Journal,
I wish school would hurry up and end. Next year will have to be better. It can't get any worse. I know exactly what the teachers are trying to do. They are giving us strict rules because they had a bunch of mean dudes last year and they expect us to be that way.
...I would rather know Mr. C as a friend, not a teacher.
J.W.N.
Excerpts from my seventh grade journal (Soon to be called "Olonso").
(First day of journal.)
Mon. 8/27/73 Do not read.
Dear Journal,
I think school is almost prison. The 7th grade teachers are really over-doing it. All of these rules are ridiculous. I know the students shouldn't be running around driving the teachers crazy, but the teachers shouldn't be driving us crazy either.
I'm going to try to do something about these rules. I'm not going to throw rocks through windows or anything like that, but I do plan to lighten some of these rules...
That's all for now.
J.W.N.
Mon. 8/27/73 Do not read.
Dear Journal,
I think school is almost prison. The 7th grade teachers are really over-doing it. All of these rules are ridiculous. I know the students shouldn't be running around driving the teachers crazy, but the teachers shouldn't be driving us crazy either.
I'm going to try to do something about these rules. I'm not going to throw rocks through windows or anything like that, but I do plan to lighten some of these rules...
That's all for now.
J.W.N.
Olonso (preface)
I'm about to begin transcribing excerpts of a journal I kept in the 7th grade. Bear in mind that I was an awkward social misfit and that I was obsessed with the occult. I wanted, desperately, to believe in something beyond the day to day realities of our existence.
I had a teacher, that year, whom I greatly admired. He was young, hip and very good looking. Charismatic. Not long ago, almost 35 years after these writings, I saw him again, in a somewhat less than flattering light. I'd tell you the circumstances, but you probably wouldn't believe me. At any rate, after all these years, he was still a good looking man.
While writing this journal, I used zodiac symbols, appropriate to each person, as code names. As I cannot type these symbols, I will just use the words, as in "Libra" or "Aries."
My teacher, Mr.C, said something like this to the class: "I want you to get a composition book and begin writing a journal. At least a page a day. You can write anything you like. Now if there's something personal or anything negative or 'bad' you want to say, put 'Do not read' at the top of the page, and I promise I won't read it. But, I want to read at least 2 entries a week."
I have many wonderful memories of the 7th grade - and some very bad ones. It was a turbulent year for me - a shy kid in a little town full of rednecks. Maybe that's why I wanted to believe in Magick.
I had a teacher, that year, whom I greatly admired. He was young, hip and very good looking. Charismatic. Not long ago, almost 35 years after these writings, I saw him again, in a somewhat less than flattering light. I'd tell you the circumstances, but you probably wouldn't believe me. At any rate, after all these years, he was still a good looking man.
While writing this journal, I used zodiac symbols, appropriate to each person, as code names. As I cannot type these symbols, I will just use the words, as in "Libra" or "Aries."
My teacher, Mr.C, said something like this to the class: "I want you to get a composition book and begin writing a journal. At least a page a day. You can write anything you like. Now if there's something personal or anything negative or 'bad' you want to say, put 'Do not read' at the top of the page, and I promise I won't read it. But, I want to read at least 2 entries a week."
I have many wonderful memories of the 7th grade - and some very bad ones. It was a turbulent year for me - a shy kid in a little town full of rednecks. Maybe that's why I wanted to believe in Magick.
Friday, August 20, 2010
The trip to Fayetteville to see Rush. Pt.2 (Around '77?)
D'Arcy and Kim got into an argument over who was going to drive her mother's car. D'Arcy was pretty drunk already and starting to get a little physical. They finally agreed that Kim should drive up and, if he was in good enough condition after the show, he would drive back.
D'Arcy was in a bad mood, at that point. He turned the vodka bottle up and drank about half of it! Then he went to sleep. A long and deep sleep. He slept all the way up to Fayetteville, all through the concert, all the way back home (Kim had to help me drag him into my bedroom), the rest of the night and half of the next day.
The next morning was Sunday. I had left a note on the kitchen table telling my mom, basically, what had happened. To say that she woke me in a rage is a great understatement. She told me she knew D'Arcy was in my room "sleeping off a drunk." Then she told me to look out the window. It was snowing. Hard. I was going to have to get her wrecked car home in the snow!
I was mad at all of my pseudo-friends, mad at D'Arcy for being an inconsiderate drunk and not worrying about shit - and mad at myself for letting everyone put everything off on me, like they always do. Fuck them!
Pam, I later found out, had been a regular whore that night (I should've known). She messed around with me all night, but when I wasn't with her, she tried to mess around with Eddie. Eddie was cool as hell about it. He feels the same about her as I do now.
I had to wake my brother up, early Sunday morning, to help me tow the car home, in the snow. Therein lies a whole 'nother story. The car was sliding around on the icy roads and nearly slid into a ditch, at one point. When we finally got it home, it was covered in icy mud and filled with snow and liquor. It was a nasty mess!
Meanwhile, D'Arcy was sleeping. He started out in the bed, but during the night, he had rolled off onto the floor, without even waking. Boom. I let him stay there. He was spitting in his sleep and he even pissed himself. Lovely.
The radiator had to be taken out of my mom's car and repaired. Who paid for it? Me, of course.
D'Arcy was in a bad mood, at that point. He turned the vodka bottle up and drank about half of it! Then he went to sleep. A long and deep sleep. He slept all the way up to Fayetteville, all through the concert, all the way back home (Kim had to help me drag him into my bedroom), the rest of the night and half of the next day.
The next morning was Sunday. I had left a note on the kitchen table telling my mom, basically, what had happened. To say that she woke me in a rage is a great understatement. She told me she knew D'Arcy was in my room "sleeping off a drunk." Then she told me to look out the window. It was snowing. Hard. I was going to have to get her wrecked car home in the snow!
I was mad at all of my pseudo-friends, mad at D'Arcy for being an inconsiderate drunk and not worrying about shit - and mad at myself for letting everyone put everything off on me, like they always do. Fuck them!
Pam, I later found out, had been a regular whore that night (I should've known). She messed around with me all night, but when I wasn't with her, she tried to mess around with Eddie. Eddie was cool as hell about it. He feels the same about her as I do now.
I had to wake my brother up, early Sunday morning, to help me tow the car home, in the snow. Therein lies a whole 'nother story. The car was sliding around on the icy roads and nearly slid into a ditch, at one point. When we finally got it home, it was covered in icy mud and filled with snow and liquor. It was a nasty mess!
Meanwhile, D'Arcy was sleeping. He started out in the bed, but during the night, he had rolled off onto the floor, without even waking. Boom. I let him stay there. He was spitting in his sleep and he even pissed himself. Lovely.
The radiator had to be taken out of my mom's car and repaired. Who paid for it? Me, of course.
Thursday, August 19, 2010
The trip to Fayetteville to see Rush. Pt.1 (Around '77?)
The trip to Fayetteville, to see Rush and Head East, was on. Eddie and I went to pick up Pam. After waiting forever for her to get ready, she finally appeared. We then headed off to pick up D'Arcy and Kim.
D'arcy and Kim wanted to go to the liquor store. Pam was elected to attempt the purchase, but the guy wouldn't sell it to her (we were all under-age). We noticed this black dude that was hanging around outside and we made a deal with him to buy it for us. He said he just wanted a pint for his efforts. He came back outside with a fifth of vodka and a fifth of tequila. I think he ripped us off on the change, but what the heck.
Next, we were off to the grocery store to buy Pina Colada and Daiquiri mixes. Eddie, of course, was drinking Mad Dog 20/20.
By the time we reached Riegelwood, we were all feeling good. Everybody had the munchies, so they wanted to stop at a convenience store. I had a bad feeling about it, for some reason. As we pulled up to the front of the store, Pam, who was sitting next to me (I was driving), knocked over a big speaker I had stuffed between the console and the dash. It fell on the brake pedal and prevented me from stopping the car. There was an ice machine in front of the store. We smashed it flat.
Everyone panicked. I threw the car into reverse and hauled ass out of there! The front fender was scraping the tire as we pulled down a back road and parked the car.
This is how things stood: There was liquor all over the car (the girls had been mixing drinks, you see). The right front fender was mashed up. The radiator was pouring. And here we were with all of this money tied up in the evening - alcohol, concert tickets, gas, weed, etc. - and no ride.
The 5 of us walked back down the road to a gas station (right across the street from the smashed ice machine) to use the phone. After some debate, we decided to see if Kim could get her mom to bring a car up and have someone follow her so that we could continue to the show and she would have a way home. After a long and freezing wait (it was one of the coldest nights of the year), Kim's mom came through. We stopped by the wrecked car to pick up the alcohol and, once again, we were on our way.
D'arcy and Kim wanted to go to the liquor store. Pam was elected to attempt the purchase, but the guy wouldn't sell it to her (we were all under-age). We noticed this black dude that was hanging around outside and we made a deal with him to buy it for us. He said he just wanted a pint for his efforts. He came back outside with a fifth of vodka and a fifth of tequila. I think he ripped us off on the change, but what the heck.
Next, we were off to the grocery store to buy Pina Colada and Daiquiri mixes. Eddie, of course, was drinking Mad Dog 20/20.
By the time we reached Riegelwood, we were all feeling good. Everybody had the munchies, so they wanted to stop at a convenience store. I had a bad feeling about it, for some reason. As we pulled up to the front of the store, Pam, who was sitting next to me (I was driving), knocked over a big speaker I had stuffed between the console and the dash. It fell on the brake pedal and prevented me from stopping the car. There was an ice machine in front of the store. We smashed it flat.
Everyone panicked. I threw the car into reverse and hauled ass out of there! The front fender was scraping the tire as we pulled down a back road and parked the car.
This is how things stood: There was liquor all over the car (the girls had been mixing drinks, you see). The right front fender was mashed up. The radiator was pouring. And here we were with all of this money tied up in the evening - alcohol, concert tickets, gas, weed, etc. - and no ride.
The 5 of us walked back down the road to a gas station (right across the street from the smashed ice machine) to use the phone. After some debate, we decided to see if Kim could get her mom to bring a car up and have someone follow her so that we could continue to the show and she would have a way home. After a long and freezing wait (it was one of the coldest nights of the year), Kim's mom came through. We stopped by the wrecked car to pick up the alcohol and, once again, we were on our way.
My heart (update).
What a drag! What a drag! What a drag these health issues are!!
I'm tired of talking about it. I tired of answering questions. I'm tired of trying to describe symptoms. I'm tired of obsessing. I'm tired of being tired. (I can't sleep.) Medications. Doctors. Hospitals. Fear.
The ICD technician suggested that since the device didn't register my last episode (Tuesday), maybe I just IMAGINED IT! She suggested that I see a shrink to be treated for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. She said I seemed like a nervous person anyway.
If I imagined that last episode, then I must really be nuts.
The cardiologist allowed that it could be one of two things: either I IMAGINED the whole thing in a panicked state - or - the device didn't pick it up, for some reason. Before he could finish his sentence I said, "The device didn't pick it up. There is NO WAY I imagined that."
Anyway, they adjusted my ICD to read instances of "slower tachycardia" and I'm to start an additional medication that will help the current one I'm "loading." Then I'm to see the cardiologist again, at the end of September.
He said no driving for 6 months!
But you know what? I can't continue with my life on hold. I have to get back to work. I'm going to give it another week or so and see how I feel. If I feel ok, I'm driving my ass to work.
That's what I decided.
Period.
I'm tired of talking about it. I tired of answering questions. I'm tired of trying to describe symptoms. I'm tired of obsessing. I'm tired of being tired. (I can't sleep.) Medications. Doctors. Hospitals. Fear.
The ICD technician suggested that since the device didn't register my last episode (Tuesday), maybe I just IMAGINED IT! She suggested that I see a shrink to be treated for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. She said I seemed like a nervous person anyway.
If I imagined that last episode, then I must really be nuts.
The cardiologist allowed that it could be one of two things: either I IMAGINED the whole thing in a panicked state - or - the device didn't pick it up, for some reason. Before he could finish his sentence I said, "The device didn't pick it up. There is NO WAY I imagined that."
Anyway, they adjusted my ICD to read instances of "slower tachycardia" and I'm to start an additional medication that will help the current one I'm "loading." Then I'm to see the cardiologist again, at the end of September.
He said no driving for 6 months!
But you know what? I can't continue with my life on hold. I have to get back to work. I'm going to give it another week or so and see how I feel. If I feel ok, I'm driving my ass to work.
That's what I decided.
Period.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
My heart (update).
I had another one of my episodes today. I'm just now starting to feel a little better. It wasn't small, but it obviously wasn't like the one I had in New Bern. I guess I panicked a bit when it happened, thinking "Oh no, here we go again." I did manage to call my sister, who came right over.
We don't have much in common, but I don't know what I would do without the help of my family. I owe them a lot.
After days of phone calls to various numbers, I've finally managed to wrangle a new appointment with my cardiologist in Chapel Hill. Instead of a month and a half away, I'll see him in 2 days. God, I hope he has some positive news for me. I hope he wants to do the procedure I've been told about.
We'll see.
We don't have much in common, but I don't know what I would do without the help of my family. I owe them a lot.
After days of phone calls to various numbers, I've finally managed to wrangle a new appointment with my cardiologist in Chapel Hill. Instead of a month and a half away, I'll see him in 2 days. God, I hope he has some positive news for me. I hope he wants to do the procedure I've been told about.
We'll see.
"(Worlds)" (Written when I was 13.)
Rotating circles
Spinning balls
The temptation of evil
The lure of love
The kindness of a friend
The emancipated hawk
The acrimonious call
The motivated watcher
The simple abundance of joy
The freedom of the wind
The view from a mountain
The momentarily made path
Made by the step of purity which is the youth
The look beyond:
The speed of the trout in his watery world
Then the contemplation:
Each drop of water an individual
Each a world within
Then the thought of other worlds
Worlds beyond the worlds within
The thought demolished in fear of complicating simplicities
Back to the world
My world of worlds
The breeze softly touches the flowers below me
And I feel it too
Not only with my body, but with my mind
Now, the wonder I feel:
The breeze - unseen, but felt
untamable, but heard
I go back to the youth
Finding his way into other worlds:
Life, love, manhood
The point is stressed in my mind:
Everyone has each a world
And, if this is true, where and what is mine
To search the dusty corridors of my soul
Finding my inner personalities
Chained to the walls of the dungeon of my thoughts
This I do in my world of the unknown
Is this the world in which I should live?
Learning of this while I live in another?
But which?
Taking part in each world?
But how?
There are worlds indiscoverable
The clouds fill in around me
Blinding me carefully
I am on my mind's tower
Looking out, I see
Fearfully, holding back
The sight frightens me
The indescribable must be discussed
I can't!
I jump off of the tower
I fall
I fly!
I pass the lark!
I stop
I have hit an immovable force
I must leave
The fire consumes me
I am in the valley of the youth
Am I him?
I am!
I walk, wearing a kimono
It reminds me of the wisdom of the Orient
I must not have attained it, for I am the youth
Or, have I, for I AM the youth?
Shining suns
Darkened hearts
The roar of the ocean.
Spinning balls
The temptation of evil
The lure of love
The kindness of a friend
The emancipated hawk
The acrimonious call
The motivated watcher
The simple abundance of joy
The freedom of the wind
The view from a mountain
The momentarily made path
Made by the step of purity which is the youth
The look beyond:
The speed of the trout in his watery world
Then the contemplation:
Each drop of water an individual
Each a world within
Then the thought of other worlds
Worlds beyond the worlds within
The thought demolished in fear of complicating simplicities
Back to the world
My world of worlds
The breeze softly touches the flowers below me
And I feel it too
Not only with my body, but with my mind
Now, the wonder I feel:
The breeze - unseen, but felt
untamable, but heard
I go back to the youth
Finding his way into other worlds:
Life, love, manhood
The point is stressed in my mind:
Everyone has each a world
And, if this is true, where and what is mine
To search the dusty corridors of my soul
Finding my inner personalities
Chained to the walls of the dungeon of my thoughts
This I do in my world of the unknown
Is this the world in which I should live?
Learning of this while I live in another?
But which?
Taking part in each world?
But how?
There are worlds indiscoverable
The clouds fill in around me
Blinding me carefully
I am on my mind's tower
Looking out, I see
Fearfully, holding back
The sight frightens me
The indescribable must be discussed
I can't!
I jump off of the tower
I fall
I fly!
I pass the lark!
I stop
I have hit an immovable force
I must leave
The fire consumes me
I am in the valley of the youth
Am I him?
I am!
I walk, wearing a kimono
It reminds me of the wisdom of the Orient
I must not have attained it, for I am the youth
Or, have I, for I AM the youth?
Shining suns
Darkened hearts
The roar of the ocean.
Sunday, August 15, 2010
Zed Zed Omen doodle
The poem "Zed Zed Omen" was written at work, sometime in 1995, on a torn piece of cardboard. I was writing a lot of stuff at work, in those days.
Zed Zed Omen
Old Mr. Smith
He floats across the flag
He drags his leather bag
He pisses in the open
Then climbs into his coffin.
Although, it's not him I'm thinking of
But a computerized worm
A veritable bug
A hole within a pretty whole
A superman with a plastic soul.
If you have to shoot me down
Stand me up on even ground
And please look me in the eye
Then, if you must, make me die.
(Jim-Jim cried "COMPASSION!"
Full of rage and action
But Jimmi Blue just needs for you
To know he's through and through.)
Old Mr. Smith climbs out of his coffin
Greets the new day, begins his walkin'
"Every day is good," he says
But the consensus is he's soft in the head.
He floats across the flag
He drags his leather bag
He pisses in the open
Then climbs into his coffin.
Although, it's not him I'm thinking of
But a computerized worm
A veritable bug
A hole within a pretty whole
A superman with a plastic soul.
If you have to shoot me down
Stand me up on even ground
And please look me in the eye
Then, if you must, make me die.
(Jim-Jim cried "COMPASSION!"
Full of rage and action
But Jimmi Blue just needs for you
To know he's through and through.)
Old Mr. Smith climbs out of his coffin
Greets the new day, begins his walkin'
"Every day is good," he says
But the consensus is he's soft in the head.
Friday, August 13, 2010
My heart (update).
I had a hard time waking up this morning. I feel like I took a sleeping pill. Also, I have some body aches. Both of these things are in the long list of side-affects my new meds came with. Hopefully, after I adjust to the drug, I'll feel better.
I can't let myself dwell on the possible problems I may be facing. They're not pretty.
I can't let myself dwell on the possible problems I may be facing. They're not pretty.
Thursday, August 12, 2010
My heart (update).
I'll get over this. Well, not the heart problem - it'll just get worse - but this mood I'm in. Even the way I feel physically. Hopefully, the new meds will settle in and make life bearable. At least until they, too, stop being effective. But I'll cross that bridge yada yada yada...
I need a really good night's sleep.
When I see my cardiologist, he may suggest that I undergo a procedure I've been told about. I like the sound of it. I'll take the risk, if he thinks it's what I need to do.
I want my life back, such as it was.
I'm trying to stay POSITIVE.
I need a really good night's sleep.
When I see my cardiologist, he may suggest that I undergo a procedure I've been told about. I like the sound of it. I'll take the risk, if he thinks it's what I need to do.
I want my life back, such as it was.
I'm trying to stay POSITIVE.
World's worst best man.
I was supposed to have been best man in my best friend's wedding last Saturday. That didn't happen.
Friday, I took the day off from work and drove to his house in Greenville, NC. From there we went to New Bern, NC for the wedding rehearsal dinner. The wedding was to take place in New Bern. The plan was for he and I to go back to Greenville that night, then back to New Bern on Saturday.
Right after the dinner Friday, as we were walking to the door of the restaurant, I felt one of my "episodes" occurring. My dad used to say, his "spells." It was so quick and overwhelming that the next thing I knew I was in the emergency room in New Bern.
I ruined the rehearsal dinner and I missed the wedding. I'm so sorry.
I was supposed to give a toast at the wedding reception. I wasn't there. Here is what I was going to say:
Lennon and McCartney said it best: "All you need is love / All you need is love / All you need is love, love / Love is all you need." I wish Chuck and Melanie much love, good health and a long, happy, beautiful life together. To Chuck and Melanie!
I was going to get the gathering to sing the lines of the song with me. I'm sappy like that.
Friday, I took the day off from work and drove to his house in Greenville, NC. From there we went to New Bern, NC for the wedding rehearsal dinner. The wedding was to take place in New Bern. The plan was for he and I to go back to Greenville that night, then back to New Bern on Saturday.
Right after the dinner Friday, as we were walking to the door of the restaurant, I felt one of my "episodes" occurring. My dad used to say, his "spells." It was so quick and overwhelming that the next thing I knew I was in the emergency room in New Bern.
I ruined the rehearsal dinner and I missed the wedding. I'm so sorry.
I was supposed to give a toast at the wedding reception. I wasn't there. Here is what I was going to say:
Lennon and McCartney said it best: "All you need is love / All you need is love / All you need is love, love / Love is all you need." I wish Chuck and Melanie much love, good health and a long, happy, beautiful life together. To Chuck and Melanie!
I was going to get the gathering to sing the lines of the song with me. I'm sappy like that.
Wednesday, August 11, 2010
Scooter.
This is my dog Scooter. He weighs about 3 lbs. Can you see why I might be worried about him and long to go home and see him?
My heart (update).
Yes, my heart.
I'm on a modest mission. I've got things to say.
I've been typing today, trying to finish up "Brie Fly," even though I just got out of the hospital last night and am unhealthy and exhausted.
I have an ICD device in my chest. And I guess I'm lucky that I do. It literally saved my life last Friday evening. Literally. I would be dead right now, if it had never been implanted.
I've been in the hospital, out of town, for about 5 days. All alone. I can't begin to tell you the thoughts that have gone through my head. I didn't have a good night's sleep the whole time. Even last night, in my own bed, I lay awake thinking about dying, hoping that I would at least make it through the night. I feel like I have unfinished business that needs wrapping up. And I know, in a way I have never known before, that life is fleeting and your next breath is unpromised. You can go in the blink of an eye.
I re-read one of my favorite books last night, for about the 4th time. "Timequake" by Kurt Vonnegut. I read the whole thing, straight through. I felt it more deeply than I ever have. Kurt says that the purpose of writing is to make someone feel like they are not alone. That someone else shares your thoughts and concerns. He did (does) that for me. I love Kurt.
I had an idea, last night, for a book about a blog someone writes. Someone without long to live. And he has a friend, his one reader, who writes a shadow blog through his comments. In the end, the blogger dies and his friend has the last word via a comment to the last post.
I had a lot of crazy notions running through my head last night.
I'm scared. I'm scared to stand up too fast. I'm scared of being alone. I'm scared of sleeping. I'm scared of eating. Drinking. Loud noises. Bumps in cars. Electrical devices. Crowds...
I'm scared of being scared. (Panic is a killer.)
When I was in the hospital, I just wanted to go home. I worried about my dog and cat. I thought to myself, I don't care if I die, as long as I'm home.
I'm on new medication now that has all kinds of interesting side effects. Like turning my skin gray. And the doctor told me that until my body adjusts to this medication, I can't drive. Maybe for as long as 6 months! You see, I may very well have another episode and kill myself and/or someone else on the highway.
I don't know what the future is going to bring. I have no self confidence left. I'm a broken man.
I have plans for 8 or 10 pictures to paint. I have several of the best songs I have ever written (I think) in my head. When I go, they go.
I feel like I want to visit everything that I hold dear and beautiful. All of the music and film and books and paintings. Everything. One last time, maybe.
There's more to come on this subject. I think I'm going to lie down for a bit.
I feel a hollowness inside. I'm not just speaking metaphorically - it's an actual physical sensation.
I'm on a modest mission. I've got things to say.
I've been typing today, trying to finish up "Brie Fly," even though I just got out of the hospital last night and am unhealthy and exhausted.
I have an ICD device in my chest. And I guess I'm lucky that I do. It literally saved my life last Friday evening. Literally. I would be dead right now, if it had never been implanted.
I've been in the hospital, out of town, for about 5 days. All alone. I can't begin to tell you the thoughts that have gone through my head. I didn't have a good night's sleep the whole time. Even last night, in my own bed, I lay awake thinking about dying, hoping that I would at least make it through the night. I feel like I have unfinished business that needs wrapping up. And I know, in a way I have never known before, that life is fleeting and your next breath is unpromised. You can go in the blink of an eye.
I re-read one of my favorite books last night, for about the 4th time. "Timequake" by Kurt Vonnegut. I read the whole thing, straight through. I felt it more deeply than I ever have. Kurt says that the purpose of writing is to make someone feel like they are not alone. That someone else shares your thoughts and concerns. He did (does) that for me. I love Kurt.
I had an idea, last night, for a book about a blog someone writes. Someone without long to live. And he has a friend, his one reader, who writes a shadow blog through his comments. In the end, the blogger dies and his friend has the last word via a comment to the last post.
I had a lot of crazy notions running through my head last night.
I'm scared. I'm scared to stand up too fast. I'm scared of being alone. I'm scared of sleeping. I'm scared of eating. Drinking. Loud noises. Bumps in cars. Electrical devices. Crowds...
I'm scared of being scared. (Panic is a killer.)
When I was in the hospital, I just wanted to go home. I worried about my dog and cat. I thought to myself, I don't care if I die, as long as I'm home.
I'm on new medication now that has all kinds of interesting side effects. Like turning my skin gray. And the doctor told me that until my body adjusts to this medication, I can't drive. Maybe for as long as 6 months! You see, I may very well have another episode and kill myself and/or someone else on the highway.
I don't know what the future is going to bring. I have no self confidence left. I'm a broken man.
I have plans for 8 or 10 pictures to paint. I have several of the best songs I have ever written (I think) in my head. When I go, they go.
I feel like I want to visit everything that I hold dear and beautiful. All of the music and film and books and paintings. Everything. One last time, maybe.
There's more to come on this subject. I think I'm going to lie down for a bit.
I feel a hollowness inside. I'm not just speaking metaphorically - it's an actual physical sensation.
I'm still not sure about this.
Thus ends "Brie Fly," the journal of one Arthur J. Stanley.
It's a mess, I know. And there was some sexual content, not excessively graphic (in my mind), that may have made some readers uneasy.
Hey, you were warned...
It's a mess, I know. And there was some sexual content, not excessively graphic (in my mind), that may have made some readers uneasy.
Hey, you were warned...
Brie Fly (pt. 10)
ONE.
We are The Extremists. "Excess is best" - that's our motto.
Somewhere there are girls who love us.
We've been tossed into a perpetual spin cycle. Going in all directions, hoping we don't spread it too thin. That's a lie. We don't think about it - do we?
We are Maseratis in a traffic jam. Heads spinning. Power burning - exiting through our fidgeting fingers, our stomping feet, our wild, flaming eyes.
Excess is best. We deal in extremes.
We're sexual to the max - or not at all. Crazed, actually. Heterosexual, bisexual - it all gets you off. But some of it leaves you unfulfilled. That's ok. We leave that behind. We move too fast to have memories.
But, we do, sometimes.
TWO.
It's all unfulfilling. Every last course of action. Every friendship. Every concept.
I am unfulfilled. There is no hope for me. This is reality. I see reality. There is no fulfillment and I know it.
A few beers and a couple of joints and an old flame hanging on your arm, telling you how she's always liked you. She's drunk, on ludes and a user.
So, you hang around. So many mixed vibes and no place special to go. And no one special to be with. You think to yourself that you would gladly do your steady wrong tonight (she's away), but somehow, you can't let yourself go further than a "Hi. What's your name? Having a good time? Can I buy you a beer?"
You have friends in one bar or another. A few in a parking lot. Standing on the streets. Cruising.
At least it's not raining.
THREE.
Menial labor slices in and out of the overall flow. "Flow" is such a nice, soothing sort of word. Maybe it's a little less than "flow." It has a thicker feel to it.
I once had a dream. And, in that dream, I lay upon a bed - or, more accurately, half of me was on the bed, face down. My feet were on the floor.
I was naked. And so was my girl, who was completely on the bed, lying on her back. She stared down her body at me, wanting me to fuck her. And I wanted to, but I couldn't reach her in time - and I came on the bed, my dick rubbing on the sheets.
When I awoke, I realized that I had had a nocturnal emission. It was the only one I have ever been aware of.
FOUR.
My disposition changes with much regulation - up, down sideways. Sometimes, it floats in the gray middle. I call this "blah-ness." Real original, huh?
Creative forces come and go. Never very strong or clear. I have to pick through them and salvage what I can. And I have to do this fast, because once they come, they're on their way out. Like life: once you're born, you're on your way to death. Except, we don't return for another round. Or do we?
Atoms...Oh! Shut up! I'm no scientist! (But, I know what I like...)
Goethe said, "One ought, every day at least, to hear a little song, read a good poem, see a fine picture, and, if it were possible, to speak a few reasonable words."
God knows I try.
We are The Extremists. "Excess is best" - that's our motto.
Somewhere there are girls who love us.
We've been tossed into a perpetual spin cycle. Going in all directions, hoping we don't spread it too thin. That's a lie. We don't think about it - do we?
We are Maseratis in a traffic jam. Heads spinning. Power burning - exiting through our fidgeting fingers, our stomping feet, our wild, flaming eyes.
Excess is best. We deal in extremes.
We're sexual to the max - or not at all. Crazed, actually. Heterosexual, bisexual - it all gets you off. But some of it leaves you unfulfilled. That's ok. We leave that behind. We move too fast to have memories.
But, we do, sometimes.
TWO.
It's all unfulfilling. Every last course of action. Every friendship. Every concept.
I am unfulfilled. There is no hope for me. This is reality. I see reality. There is no fulfillment and I know it.
A few beers and a couple of joints and an old flame hanging on your arm, telling you how she's always liked you. She's drunk, on ludes and a user.
So, you hang around. So many mixed vibes and no place special to go. And no one special to be with. You think to yourself that you would gladly do your steady wrong tonight (she's away), but somehow, you can't let yourself go further than a "Hi. What's your name? Having a good time? Can I buy you a beer?"
You have friends in one bar or another. A few in a parking lot. Standing on the streets. Cruising.
At least it's not raining.
THREE.
Menial labor slices in and out of the overall flow. "Flow" is such a nice, soothing sort of word. Maybe it's a little less than "flow." It has a thicker feel to it.
I once had a dream. And, in that dream, I lay upon a bed - or, more accurately, half of me was on the bed, face down. My feet were on the floor.
I was naked. And so was my girl, who was completely on the bed, lying on her back. She stared down her body at me, wanting me to fuck her. And I wanted to, but I couldn't reach her in time - and I came on the bed, my dick rubbing on the sheets.
When I awoke, I realized that I had had a nocturnal emission. It was the only one I have ever been aware of.
FOUR.
My disposition changes with much regulation - up, down sideways. Sometimes, it floats in the gray middle. I call this "blah-ness." Real original, huh?
Creative forces come and go. Never very strong or clear. I have to pick through them and salvage what I can. And I have to do this fast, because once they come, they're on their way out. Like life: once you're born, you're on your way to death. Except, we don't return for another round. Or do we?
Atoms...Oh! Shut up! I'm no scientist! (But, I know what I like...)
Goethe said, "One ought, every day at least, to hear a little song, read a good poem, see a fine picture, and, if it were possible, to speak a few reasonable words."
God knows I try.
Brie Fly (pt.9)
I remember my mother screaming at me, when I was 13 or 14. I was cringing in a rocking chair. She was standing over me, a menacing tower. "You leave all of this psychedelic/schmychedelic/ESP/witchcraft stuff alone! It's the devil's work! You hear me?! The devil!"
I felt both ashamed and sorry for her ignorance. But, my actions would not be dictated. It's just that from then on I kept my notes, letters, books and notebooks hidden. My mother was satisfied. It kept the peace, but I hated the deception.
I went to a school that was so backward that when I brought a piece of incense to class one day, it excited everyone so much it became a fad. And Jameson and I, being the only ones who knew what it was and where to buy it, made a killing selling sticks. Everyone wanted it.
But, we were always starting something.
We used to protest the price of school supplies, when they went up. And the soaring price of lunches (up a nickel!). And the demolition of the old gymnasium. The workers were simply piling the remains of it - broken cement blocks and old boards spiked with nails - on the outskirts of the playground. We went to the principal's office with a broken piece of block and asked if he knew that this potentially dangerous refuse was being piled on our playground. He told us that he ran the school and that that was none of our business - and then he impatiently motioned for us to get out of his office. We stormed out, ready to lie in front of the bulldozers. But, our teachers talked us into a different course of action.
"Hey! Meditation man!" the screams would ring out. It was the loud-mouthed, low-class girl in the purple mini dress and white vinyl boots. We would be coming in from recess. "I saw you out there actin' like some kind of witch or something. Ha! Ha! Sayin' some kinda mumbo-jumbo. You putting a spell on me or somethin'?!"
Under my breath: "I tried to change you from a red-neck whore, but I see it didn't work..."
"What?! What did you say, meditation man?!"
I felt both ashamed and sorry for her ignorance. But, my actions would not be dictated. It's just that from then on I kept my notes, letters, books and notebooks hidden. My mother was satisfied. It kept the peace, but I hated the deception.
I went to a school that was so backward that when I brought a piece of incense to class one day, it excited everyone so much it became a fad. And Jameson and I, being the only ones who knew what it was and where to buy it, made a killing selling sticks. Everyone wanted it.
But, we were always starting something.
We used to protest the price of school supplies, when they went up. And the soaring price of lunches (up a nickel!). And the demolition of the old gymnasium. The workers were simply piling the remains of it - broken cement blocks and old boards spiked with nails - on the outskirts of the playground. We went to the principal's office with a broken piece of block and asked if he knew that this potentially dangerous refuse was being piled on our playground. He told us that he ran the school and that that was none of our business - and then he impatiently motioned for us to get out of his office. We stormed out, ready to lie in front of the bulldozers. But, our teachers talked us into a different course of action.
"Hey! Meditation man!" the screams would ring out. It was the loud-mouthed, low-class girl in the purple mini dress and white vinyl boots. We would be coming in from recess. "I saw you out there actin' like some kind of witch or something. Ha! Ha! Sayin' some kinda mumbo-jumbo. You putting a spell on me or somethin'?!"
Under my breath: "I tried to change you from a red-neck whore, but I see it didn't work..."
"What?! What did you say, meditation man?!"
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Brie Fly (pt. 8)
I remember a come-on line: "Hey man, did you like that joint I gave you?" "Joint" being the key word.
"You must have me confused with someone else."
"Oh, man, you look like someone I met the other day."
"Oh."
"So, what's happening?"
"Not much."
"My name's Don."
"My name's Arthur."
"I'm just messing around. Not much to do. Do you want to ride around some?"
"Yeah. Why not."
We met in front of an adult bookstore, late one night in the sleazy part of the port city. Down near the river. Coast Guardsmen on shore leave, hookers and gays were out. It was extremely cold and everyone moved a bit swifter than usual - bundled up to protect themselves from the frigid wind blowing off of the water.
I was wearing a trench coat. He was wearing something fuzzy, I think. Or maybe it was his beard that left that impression on me. He looked a bit like a rejected Muppet. As it turned out, he was in show business. He was an actor.
I had to get into his beat up old car from the driver's side. The passenger's door was crunched in and the window was covered with a sheet of plastic. Cold air poured in through the cracks, where the tape wasn't very secure.
I was nervous.
We drove down some back streets. He had a destination. He asked "Would you like to get into something?"
"That depends" I shivered - my teeth actually chattering. "Like what?"
"Sex" he said, looking me in the eyes.
"Sure" I said.
He drove on, turning up and down streets, in his '69 Chevy.
"How big is your dick?" he asked.
"It's adequate."
"I have a big dick." He spoke clearly.
We pulled into a vacant lot and began. He offered me some Rush. I hit it several times. He did have a big dick. He told me mine was very nice - that he liked it. Then he asked me if his was the biggest dick I'd ever seen.
"No." He'd asked and I'd told him the truth.
My answer seemed to set him back a bit. But, then he smiled and I felt better.
Any other conversation went like this:
"Well, Don, what do you get into?"
"Sucking" he groaned.
"Besides that" I smiled.
"Fucking" he answered quickly.
I laughed. "No, besides that."
"Oh, the theater."
"Are you an actor?" I was interested, but he only wanted sex from me.
"I act and direct."
"I've always wanted to get into theater...acting... even behind the scenes...but I've never really..."
"Oh no..." he thought, as he drove me back to my car.
"You must have me confused with someone else."
"Oh, man, you look like someone I met the other day."
"Oh."
"So, what's happening?"
"Not much."
"My name's Don."
"My name's Arthur."
"I'm just messing around. Not much to do. Do you want to ride around some?"
"Yeah. Why not."
We met in front of an adult bookstore, late one night in the sleazy part of the port city. Down near the river. Coast Guardsmen on shore leave, hookers and gays were out. It was extremely cold and everyone moved a bit swifter than usual - bundled up to protect themselves from the frigid wind blowing off of the water.
I was wearing a trench coat. He was wearing something fuzzy, I think. Or maybe it was his beard that left that impression on me. He looked a bit like a rejected Muppet. As it turned out, he was in show business. He was an actor.
I had to get into his beat up old car from the driver's side. The passenger's door was crunched in and the window was covered with a sheet of plastic. Cold air poured in through the cracks, where the tape wasn't very secure.
I was nervous.
We drove down some back streets. He had a destination. He asked "Would you like to get into something?"
"That depends" I shivered - my teeth actually chattering. "Like what?"
"Sex" he said, looking me in the eyes.
"Sure" I said.
He drove on, turning up and down streets, in his '69 Chevy.
"How big is your dick?" he asked.
"It's adequate."
"I have a big dick." He spoke clearly.
We pulled into a vacant lot and began. He offered me some Rush. I hit it several times. He did have a big dick. He told me mine was very nice - that he liked it. Then he asked me if his was the biggest dick I'd ever seen.
"No." He'd asked and I'd told him the truth.
My answer seemed to set him back a bit. But, then he smiled and I felt better.
Any other conversation went like this:
"Well, Don, what do you get into?"
"Sucking" he groaned.
"Besides that" I smiled.
"Fucking" he answered quickly.
I laughed. "No, besides that."
"Oh, the theater."
"Are you an actor?" I was interested, but he only wanted sex from me.
"I act and direct."
"I've always wanted to get into theater...acting... even behind the scenes...but I've never really..."
"Oh no..." he thought, as he drove me back to my car.
Brie Fly (pt. 7)
October.
"Good-byes" are hard to say and deal with, yet all things come to an end. I once said this to an older friend. Although he felt the total impact of what I'd said, he tried to explain that things did not always have to end so suddenly. I felt like this was just a muffled cry of unacceptance. Unacceptance doesn't stop the process - life goes on no matter who sticks his fingers in the gears. This foolish person is insignificant to the machinery. To the perpetual motion.
Life goes on.
I just have to remind myself sometimes.
I wrote that "good-bye" for my best friend. We were slipping further and further apart, and at that point, we were not even talking to one another. There had been no argument. We disagreed on nothing. We just weren't talking.
Jameson would stand there, peering nervously out the window, waiting for class to start. It was as if he had drank a tall glass of "uneasiness" and it had flooded his being. There was also the stagnant aura of pride.
I stank of it, too.
His thin form, his unruly hair, his long fingers poking through the blinds. Bending them to suit him - the voyeur. He was somewhat immersed in the spectacle of the ordinary.
"Good-byes" are hard to say and deal with, yet all things come to an end. I once said this to an older friend. Although he felt the total impact of what I'd said, he tried to explain that things did not always have to end so suddenly. I felt like this was just a muffled cry of unacceptance. Unacceptance doesn't stop the process - life goes on no matter who sticks his fingers in the gears. This foolish person is insignificant to the machinery. To the perpetual motion.
Life goes on.
I just have to remind myself sometimes.
I wrote that "good-bye" for my best friend. We were slipping further and further apart, and at that point, we were not even talking to one another. There had been no argument. We disagreed on nothing. We just weren't talking.
Jameson would stand there, peering nervously out the window, waiting for class to start. It was as if he had drank a tall glass of "uneasiness" and it had flooded his being. There was also the stagnant aura of pride.
I stank of it, too.
His thin form, his unruly hair, his long fingers poking through the blinds. Bending them to suit him - the voyeur. He was somewhat immersed in the spectacle of the ordinary.
Tuesday, August 3, 2010
Brie Fly (pt.6)
Dave half awoke when the soft music of his alarm clock invaded his dreams. He somehow knew that he dreamed a lot, but he could never remember any of them. It was another Monday morning in the big city and in the large modern apartment Dave called home. When he finally did get out of bed, he would probably want to shoot himself, like he did every Monday morning.
Dave rolled over from his usual sleeping position: semi-fetal, on his left side, facing the large window on the west wall. (Even though he had been single for some time, he still slept on "his" side of the bed.) And as he shifted, his left hand fell to rest on the soft, yet firm, round ass of the naked girl lying next to him. He was slightly startled at first - raising his head so that his chin touched his chest. But, as he dropped his head back onto his pillow, he thought that he couldn't imagine a nicer way to wake up. He carefully lifted his hand, afraid that he might wake her before he could think of her name.
Dave looked at his clock. It said 6:00. This puzzled him. He usually set it to alarm at 7:00. Oh well, he was awake now. He decided he might as well get up. He threw back the sheets and stood up - nude. He looked down at his feet. He stretched and yawned, smoothing his thighs down to his knees with the palms of his hands.
Dave walked groggily to the foot of his bed, where he stopped and stared at the sleeping girl. She had a perfect body, he thought. Maybe 38-24-36? She was lying on her stomach and her black hair cascaded about her shoulders and pillow. Her smooth tanned legs were apart just enough to allow Dave to see a tuft of her pubic hair. Also black. He stood there with a somewhat renewed fascination of the female anatomy. Softness and smooth curves: these were the concepts flooding his mind. He felt high. He tried to imagine how many times they had fucked last night. How many times did he get her off, he wondered?
The sound of water running is what nudged Dave back to the reality of daily routine. He shook his head and walked to the bathroom door, but he stopped short - perplexed! He hadn't even gone into the bathroom, yet steam was seeping from under the door. Before he could make heads or tails of this, something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye: there were two more beautiful naked girls sleeping together on the floor on the other side of his bed! Now he was in a state of shock, but he didn't have time to figure it all out, as one of these strange women had left the hot water running. The bathtub was going to overflow and flood the place!
Just as he put his hand on the bathroom door knob, the door to the hallway opened and in walked the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life. Like the others, she was completely nude. In her left hand she held a ridiculously large double headed dildo. In her right hand, she held a cup of black coffee.
"Here you go," she said, as she handed Dave the coffee. He looked from her to the bathroom door. "Oh, that's Anna in the shower. She'll be out in a minute and we can get started..."
Dave rolled over from his usual sleeping position: semi-fetal, on his left side, facing the large window on the west wall. (Even though he had been single for some time, he still slept on "his" side of the bed.) And as he shifted, his left hand fell to rest on the soft, yet firm, round ass of the naked girl lying next to him. He was slightly startled at first - raising his head so that his chin touched his chest. But, as he dropped his head back onto his pillow, he thought that he couldn't imagine a nicer way to wake up. He carefully lifted his hand, afraid that he might wake her before he could think of her name.
Dave looked at his clock. It said 6:00. This puzzled him. He usually set it to alarm at 7:00. Oh well, he was awake now. He decided he might as well get up. He threw back the sheets and stood up - nude. He looked down at his feet. He stretched and yawned, smoothing his thighs down to his knees with the palms of his hands.
Dave walked groggily to the foot of his bed, where he stopped and stared at the sleeping girl. She had a perfect body, he thought. Maybe 38-24-36? She was lying on her stomach and her black hair cascaded about her shoulders and pillow. Her smooth tanned legs were apart just enough to allow Dave to see a tuft of her pubic hair. Also black. He stood there with a somewhat renewed fascination of the female anatomy. Softness and smooth curves: these were the concepts flooding his mind. He felt high. He tried to imagine how many times they had fucked last night. How many times did he get her off, he wondered?
The sound of water running is what nudged Dave back to the reality of daily routine. He shook his head and walked to the bathroom door, but he stopped short - perplexed! He hadn't even gone into the bathroom, yet steam was seeping from under the door. Before he could make heads or tails of this, something caught his attention out of the corner of his eye: there were two more beautiful naked girls sleeping together on the floor on the other side of his bed! Now he was in a state of shock, but he didn't have time to figure it all out, as one of these strange women had left the hot water running. The bathtub was going to overflow and flood the place!
Just as he put his hand on the bathroom door knob, the door to the hallway opened and in walked the most beautiful woman he had ever seen in his life. Like the others, she was completely nude. In her left hand she held a ridiculously large double headed dildo. In her right hand, she held a cup of black coffee.
"Here you go," she said, as she handed Dave the coffee. He looked from her to the bathroom door. "Oh, that's Anna in the shower. She'll be out in a minute and we can get started..."
Monday, August 2, 2010
Brie Fly (pt.5)
The stench was unbearable and the sensation was indescribable as the creature's misshapened, battle scarred limbs wrapped around Evad and pinned him to the ground, with the strength of steel. Its deformed, blackened body rested upon Evad and all about him, blocking the sun from his sight. All he could see, and all he could sense, for that matter, was the dark shape that was his captor.
Thick, hot, foaming saliva dripped onto Evad's face, as the creature rammed a rough, hard appendage between Evad's legs and proceeded with a lewd mockery of the sex act - the lubrication being Evad's own blood. He screamed in agony while the hideous monster moaned and growled in ecstasy.
Evad knew he had only one chance of escape: the blade he had fashioned into the toe of his boot. He'd considered himself quite ingenious to have conceived and engineered the idea. Actually, it was inspired by two fighting tom cats - and just like a cat's claws, he could project the blade and draw it back in, by using his toes. The only problem now was he could not move his leg. It was underneath the main weight of the creature and, as he had no feeling in it, it could very well have been broken.
As the thing tried to kiss him, Evad turned his head and the burning kiss landed on his cheek. The creature, at this point, with horrible laughter, crude talk and putrid breath escaping its mouth, repositioned itself, seemingly to allow it better access to Evad's lips. This movement led to the freedom of Evad's right leg. The blood, once again, began flowing through his veins and the leg slowly came back to life. With his toes, he locked the blade into position - protruding from the tip of his boot. This was his chance. With all the power he could muster, Evad kicked the creature between its legs, driving the blade about six inches into its flesh.
The monster emitted a gasping scream and reeled back, falling, thunderously, against the rocky entrance to its cave. It shook and spasmed and roared, as thick red blood oozed from the gash, forming a puddle on the ground.
Evad tried to regain his breath. He was soaked with sweat and his heart pounded violently. He weakly raised himself upon his hands and knees and began his laborious escape. He feared it was all in vain. It seemed as if death was easing down his throat as he fought for air.
He tried to stand and walk. A stumbling exodus ensued for a few miles, at which point he began to feel safer in the knowledge, that being injured, the creature would not likely leave its den. After a brief rest, Evad began traveling again, long before the sunrise, leaving the creature in its cave, nursing its wound. Hopefully, it was a fatal wound...
Rubbish. It's all rubbish. It's very much the same old sword and sorcery shit that fills the sci-fi sections of bookstores and libraries. The type of unimaginative and out-and-out exploitative "literature" of writers who continue to publish trilogy after trilogy to the delight of their readers: pseudo-intellectual students and "hip" housewives. But, lying here, contemplating my problem, I realize that even the bastard children of Tolkien or Robert E. Howard are more creative - and their works more alive - than this thing will ever be.
What if the fantasy was different? What if I changed the station? Flipped to another dream network...
Thick, hot, foaming saliva dripped onto Evad's face, as the creature rammed a rough, hard appendage between Evad's legs and proceeded with a lewd mockery of the sex act - the lubrication being Evad's own blood. He screamed in agony while the hideous monster moaned and growled in ecstasy.
Evad knew he had only one chance of escape: the blade he had fashioned into the toe of his boot. He'd considered himself quite ingenious to have conceived and engineered the idea. Actually, it was inspired by two fighting tom cats - and just like a cat's claws, he could project the blade and draw it back in, by using his toes. The only problem now was he could not move his leg. It was underneath the main weight of the creature and, as he had no feeling in it, it could very well have been broken.
As the thing tried to kiss him, Evad turned his head and the burning kiss landed on his cheek. The creature, at this point, with horrible laughter, crude talk and putrid breath escaping its mouth, repositioned itself, seemingly to allow it better access to Evad's lips. This movement led to the freedom of Evad's right leg. The blood, once again, began flowing through his veins and the leg slowly came back to life. With his toes, he locked the blade into position - protruding from the tip of his boot. This was his chance. With all the power he could muster, Evad kicked the creature between its legs, driving the blade about six inches into its flesh.
The monster emitted a gasping scream and reeled back, falling, thunderously, against the rocky entrance to its cave. It shook and spasmed and roared, as thick red blood oozed from the gash, forming a puddle on the ground.
Evad tried to regain his breath. He was soaked with sweat and his heart pounded violently. He weakly raised himself upon his hands and knees and began his laborious escape. He feared it was all in vain. It seemed as if death was easing down his throat as he fought for air.
He tried to stand and walk. A stumbling exodus ensued for a few miles, at which point he began to feel safer in the knowledge, that being injured, the creature would not likely leave its den. After a brief rest, Evad began traveling again, long before the sunrise, leaving the creature in its cave, nursing its wound. Hopefully, it was a fatal wound...
Rubbish. It's all rubbish. It's very much the same old sword and sorcery shit that fills the sci-fi sections of bookstores and libraries. The type of unimaginative and out-and-out exploitative "literature" of writers who continue to publish trilogy after trilogy to the delight of their readers: pseudo-intellectual students and "hip" housewives. But, lying here, contemplating my problem, I realize that even the bastard children of Tolkien or Robert E. Howard are more creative - and their works more alive - than this thing will ever be.
What if the fantasy was different? What if I changed the station? Flipped to another dream network...
Sunday, August 1, 2010
Brie Fly (pt. 4)
Jameson and I had a preoccupation, grades 6th through 8th, or so, with witchcraft, esp, the supernatural, the occult. We read everything and conversed with anyone knowledgeable or interested. We felt that we were intelligent enough not to get pulled in by anyone talking bullshit. For instance, there was a local male "witch" who would invite young, impressionable guys over for dance lessons. He referred to his home town of Winston Salem as "Salem". Get it? He maintained that he was a reincarnation of Cleopatra. It's funny how it's always a notable historical figure.
Right on the spot, we began telling him of our "secretive coven" and our own reincarnations (Pope Leo I, Napoleon Bonaparte, Rembrandt, Jimi Hendrix...), taking cues from each other. It was a sort of spontaneous mesmerization.
But, who am I to talk about the witch and his dance lessons for boys. But, to be honest, I don't feel "gay." I think of myself as a normal guy and I'm debating with my emotions as to whether a few homosexual experiences makes one a homosexual. I mean, I still like girls. Bi-sexual? I dunno...
Looking through some papers, I just found some lyrics I wrote, years ago, to an imagined song. Well, if you really want to know...
"Stupid and Dumb and Fun"
So what? Huh? So what? I don't care! Huh?
Stupid and dumb and fun.
I'm ambitious, if you call that ambition.
I wanna do something
stupid and dumb and fun.
Who really cares? I don't! Huh?
You don't care that I don't? Huh? Shut up!
Stupid and dumb and fun.
I'm my own creation.
My girlfriend is stupid and dumb and fun.
Who really wants to hear it? I mean, REALLY?
Huh? You're a fool! Huh? Wow, man.
Stupid and dumb and fun.
It's me only revelation!
I wanna do something stupid and dumb and fun.
You don't like Rock-n-Roll? Huh?
You don't understand it? You don't know what it's like to be young?
Huh? Dead beat!
Stupid and dumb and fun.
Tell them you're no relation to the brat who likes things
stupid and dumb and fun!
I'm thinking that this is so very confusing. But, wait. It gets worse...
Right on the spot, we began telling him of our "secretive coven" and our own reincarnations (Pope Leo I, Napoleon Bonaparte, Rembrandt, Jimi Hendrix...), taking cues from each other. It was a sort of spontaneous mesmerization.
But, who am I to talk about the witch and his dance lessons for boys. But, to be honest, I don't feel "gay." I think of myself as a normal guy and I'm debating with my emotions as to whether a few homosexual experiences makes one a homosexual. I mean, I still like girls. Bi-sexual? I dunno...
Looking through some papers, I just found some lyrics I wrote, years ago, to an imagined song. Well, if you really want to know...
"Stupid and Dumb and Fun"
So what? Huh? So what? I don't care! Huh?
Stupid and dumb and fun.
I'm ambitious, if you call that ambition.
I wanna do something
stupid and dumb and fun.
Who really cares? I don't! Huh?
You don't care that I don't? Huh? Shut up!
Stupid and dumb and fun.
I'm my own creation.
My girlfriend is stupid and dumb and fun.
Who really wants to hear it? I mean, REALLY?
Huh? You're a fool! Huh? Wow, man.
Stupid and dumb and fun.
It's me only revelation!
I wanna do something stupid and dumb and fun.
You don't like Rock-n-Roll? Huh?
You don't understand it? You don't know what it's like to be young?
Huh? Dead beat!
Stupid and dumb and fun.
Tell them you're no relation to the brat who likes things
stupid and dumb and fun!
I'm thinking that this is so very confusing. But, wait. It gets worse...
Brie Fly (pt. 3)
As I sit here writing, I'm listening to The Mahavishnu Orchestra, an Eastern influenced, progressive, jazz fusion unit, backed by the London Symphony Orchestra. At any rate, it's not exactly top 40.
Another hangout for us, other than the cemetery, was a decaying 4 story brick structure, down in the woods, by the river, called the Packing House or the Slaughter House. It was a huge abandoned building, built around 1910, that was supposed to be a slaughter house, where cattle would be brought to be killed and packaged. I don't think it was ever completed. I shiver when I think of all of the nights we climbed those crumbling steps in drunken stupors. Sometimes, we would skip school and smoke pot from the top floor, with our feet dangling off the sides, where the walls had either never been constructed, crumbled or had been knocked down, over the years. One could see for miles in all directions.
As time went by, I began getting stoned more often, and attending classes. Although I was one of the 2 smartest kids in my school (Jameson being the other), I had failed once in the lower grades and again in high school. I was really a couple of grades behind, but the classes were mixed grades, so it didn't matter much.
I once laid out of my first 2 classes and got stoned with a friend. When I got to 3rd period, there was a lecturer. These are the notes I took:
"Do you take the newspar?"
"HBO makes it double."
She wrote on the board and her handwriting looked like Jameson's.
"Dope pays (sails) for itself."
"There goes that (schn-)fun!"
"I expect that's close. Can you come (any) closer?"
"Electricity is expensive."
Elmer spoke.
"I buy a lot of junk foods. I buy quick foods."
"People do use disposable diapers."
"A father, a son and 2 children."
"I was hard pressed that I..."
"All your cleaning things. Your paper goods."
"Zoo is not a if all you buy is food price."
"Back sliding."
"Lighk a snowball..."
Byy Johnny Shews."
"That makes the booyaowlll all evfen bigger!"
"I said, I didn't say."
"Most people are going to get married."
"Too late, right..."
Everybody can learn about a parent, but you don't learn anything about it at school."
"Little wrino!"
"Nmnomjonie read it, she knows!"
I'm remembering the aftermath of my first gay experience. I had to work that night. At work I felt light-headed and a terrible guilt flooded me. I began chain smoking. That's something I only do when I'm nervous. I couldn't believe what I had done. I felt I was perverted. Sick. Deranged. I was a queer. A faggot.
Another hangout for us, other than the cemetery, was a decaying 4 story brick structure, down in the woods, by the river, called the Packing House or the Slaughter House. It was a huge abandoned building, built around 1910, that was supposed to be a slaughter house, where cattle would be brought to be killed and packaged. I don't think it was ever completed. I shiver when I think of all of the nights we climbed those crumbling steps in drunken stupors. Sometimes, we would skip school and smoke pot from the top floor, with our feet dangling off the sides, where the walls had either never been constructed, crumbled or had been knocked down, over the years. One could see for miles in all directions.
As time went by, I began getting stoned more often, and attending classes. Although I was one of the 2 smartest kids in my school (Jameson being the other), I had failed once in the lower grades and again in high school. I was really a couple of grades behind, but the classes were mixed grades, so it didn't matter much.
I once laid out of my first 2 classes and got stoned with a friend. When I got to 3rd period, there was a lecturer. These are the notes I took:
"Do you take the newspar?"
"HBO makes it double."
She wrote on the board and her handwriting looked like Jameson's.
"Dope pays (sails) for itself."
"There goes that (schn-)fun!"
"I expect that's close. Can you come (any) closer?"
"Electricity is expensive."
Elmer spoke.
"I buy a lot of junk foods. I buy quick foods."
"People do use disposable diapers."
"A father, a son and 2 children."
"I was hard pressed that I..."
"All your cleaning things. Your paper goods."
"Zoo is not a if all you buy is food price."
"Back sliding."
"Lighk a snowball..."
Byy Johnny Shews."
"That makes the booyaowlll all evfen bigger!"
"I said, I didn't say."
"Most people are going to get married."
"Too late, right..."
Everybody can learn about a parent, but you don't learn anything about it at school."
"Little wrino!"
"Nmnomjonie read it, she knows!"
I'm remembering the aftermath of my first gay experience. I had to work that night. At work I felt light-headed and a terrible guilt flooded me. I began chain smoking. That's something I only do when I'm nervous. I couldn't believe what I had done. I felt I was perverted. Sick. Deranged. I was a queer. A faggot.
Brie Fly (pt. 2)
My friends call me Arty, mostly. Sometimes, though, it's Arthur. Or just Stanley.
At the ripe old age of 13, I was nearly accused of raping a girl at school. We were only kissing, in a class room that was occupied by about 4 kids. The rest were on the playgrounds. She got embarrassed, I guess, and the story started circulating around the school, until it got completely blown out of proportion. The principal took me home and had a talk with my dad. He said that he didn't think anything serious had happened and he confided to my dad that the girl in question, while only 13, looked like a sexy 18 year old. He suggested I not speak of the incident with anyone and let it blow over. The girl later apologized to me.
Around that same time, I was nearly shot by an older ex-con that was dating a girl in my class. This happened late one night, in a cemetery that was a hangout for us. The rumour was that he had actually shot someone before.
The summer of that same year, my best friend, Jameson, and I, began smoking pot. We both smoked our first joint with the same mutual friend, though we didn't tell each other. The friend told me about Jameson and, I guess, he told Jameson about me.
In the beginning, we had a tremendous fear, that if caught, we would be arrested, drawn and quartered, decapitated and have our heads hung from the London bridge. Later, we outgrew our fears and eventually, we were toking at school - in the bathrooms and behind the building.
Of course, we had our confrontations with the law. We were often hassled and the flashing blue light in the rear view mirror became a sickeningly familiar sight. We would often be fucked up on speed, beer, liquor, acid, wine, pot or Valium - in various combinations. But that was after we got our driver's license.
We were extremely lucky that we were never arrested (except once...) and we never got seriously hurt. Or hurt anyone else.
I began questioning the bible around the age of 13 and by the time I was 14, I was a confirmed atheist. Jameson said he was a leftist agnostic...
The bible, to me, was a jumbled collection of writings, thousands of years old, translated and re-translated and printed in god only knows how many editions. Even if there was anything to it in the beginning, I could hardly see how it could have survived. An amazing thing to me was how all of those Jews and Romans spoke the Old English language!
Talk about miracles.
At the ripe old age of 13, I was nearly accused of raping a girl at school. We were only kissing, in a class room that was occupied by about 4 kids. The rest were on the playgrounds. She got embarrassed, I guess, and the story started circulating around the school, until it got completely blown out of proportion. The principal took me home and had a talk with my dad. He said that he didn't think anything serious had happened and he confided to my dad that the girl in question, while only 13, looked like a sexy 18 year old. He suggested I not speak of the incident with anyone and let it blow over. The girl later apologized to me.
Around that same time, I was nearly shot by an older ex-con that was dating a girl in my class. This happened late one night, in a cemetery that was a hangout for us. The rumour was that he had actually shot someone before.
The summer of that same year, my best friend, Jameson, and I, began smoking pot. We both smoked our first joint with the same mutual friend, though we didn't tell each other. The friend told me about Jameson and, I guess, he told Jameson about me.
In the beginning, we had a tremendous fear, that if caught, we would be arrested, drawn and quartered, decapitated and have our heads hung from the London bridge. Later, we outgrew our fears and eventually, we were toking at school - in the bathrooms and behind the building.
Of course, we had our confrontations with the law. We were often hassled and the flashing blue light in the rear view mirror became a sickeningly familiar sight. We would often be fucked up on speed, beer, liquor, acid, wine, pot or Valium - in various combinations. But that was after we got our driver's license.
We were extremely lucky that we were never arrested (except once...) and we never got seriously hurt. Or hurt anyone else.
I began questioning the bible around the age of 13 and by the time I was 14, I was a confirmed atheist. Jameson said he was a leftist agnostic...
The bible, to me, was a jumbled collection of writings, thousands of years old, translated and re-translated and printed in god only knows how many editions. Even if there was anything to it in the beginning, I could hardly see how it could have survived. An amazing thing to me was how all of those Jews and Romans spoke the Old English language!
Talk about miracles.
Brie Fly (pt. 1)
I became an actualized bi-sexual the day I stopped patronizing one downtown adult book store, which had a sign on the wall that read "No gay activities in the movie stalls!," and stepped into another, that actually had gay films showing in 2 of their maybe 10 or 12 stalls. And these 2 stalls were upstairs, away from the others. The concept was exciting and the excitement created a turmoil in my stomach. I was nervous and jittery as I stood there inspecting the current attractions on the small billboard. I could hardly imagine what it would be like to see 2 hot, muscular men have sex with each other. I went upstairs.
Once inside the stall, I immediately noticed a hole in the wall - my first glory hole - and when I bent down, I could see into the other stall. I watched a man pull out his dick and masturbate. It was a little hard to believe.
Later, as I waited for the adjoining stall to be vacated, so that I might realize the demented pleasures it held for me, by way of film, a young man stepped out, cautiously, and said "Hi. Was your movie any good?" I told him it was pretty good. I was so nervous. We traded stalls. After a few minutes of viewing, he stepped out and knocked on my door. I knew what he wanted and let him in.
I kissed the young man with the short hair and mustache. He had liquor on his breath. And as passion overtook us, he unzipped his pants and took out his rather large dick. I was scared stiff (no pun intended), but I wanted it to happen.
I said something idiotic like "I'm not gay...I don't usually do stuff like this." He whispered "I'm not saying you're gay." And, with that ridiculous exchange, we got down to business. I must say, it all felt very natural to me.
Just remembering my bi-sexual "cherry popping" excited me to the point of masturbation - which excited me to the point of ejaculation.
By the way, my name is Arthur. Arthur J. Stanley.
Once inside the stall, I immediately noticed a hole in the wall - my first glory hole - and when I bent down, I could see into the other stall. I watched a man pull out his dick and masturbate. It was a little hard to believe.
Later, as I waited for the adjoining stall to be vacated, so that I might realize the demented pleasures it held for me, by way of film, a young man stepped out, cautiously, and said "Hi. Was your movie any good?" I told him it was pretty good. I was so nervous. We traded stalls. After a few minutes of viewing, he stepped out and knocked on my door. I knew what he wanted and let him in.
I kissed the young man with the short hair and mustache. He had liquor on his breath. And as passion overtook us, he unzipped his pants and took out his rather large dick. I was scared stiff (no pun intended), but I wanted it to happen.
I said something idiotic like "I'm not gay...I don't usually do stuff like this." He whispered "I'm not saying you're gay." And, with that ridiculous exchange, we got down to business. I must say, it all felt very natural to me.
Just remembering my bi-sexual "cherry popping" excited me to the point of masturbation - which excited me to the point of ejaculation.
By the way, my name is Arthur. Arthur J. Stanley.
I'm not sure about this...
I want to post something I wrote around 1979 or 1980, but I'm uneasy about the content. There are a few sexual references that are a bit graphic. I've been putting off writing this for some time now because of those references.
What should I do?
I'm worried that the inclusion of these posts will alter the feel of this blog. It does have a feel, right? Or is it a big rambling mess anyway? I thought about editing it, but that would either mean cutting out big chunks of meat, or watering it down until it lacks any relevance.
I often worry about being an artistic coward.
I've lived a huge part of my life on the edge and in the dark, dank dungeon. These couple of tidbits seem innocent to me now, having experienced a multitude of extreme incidents over the course of my life.
The character, Arty, who is relating these events, was about 20 years old at that time.
I'm going to just dive in, I think. Let's just see what happens.
Here goes... Ladies and gentlemen, "Brie Fly."
Warning: some sexual content.
What should I do?
I'm worried that the inclusion of these posts will alter the feel of this blog. It does have a feel, right? Or is it a big rambling mess anyway? I thought about editing it, but that would either mean cutting out big chunks of meat, or watering it down until it lacks any relevance.
I often worry about being an artistic coward.
I've lived a huge part of my life on the edge and in the dark, dank dungeon. These couple of tidbits seem innocent to me now, having experienced a multitude of extreme incidents over the course of my life.
The character, Arty, who is relating these events, was about 20 years old at that time.
I'm going to just dive in, I think. Let's just see what happens.
Here goes... Ladies and gentlemen, "Brie Fly."
Warning: some sexual content.
Friday, July 23, 2010
Jake, me and the classy girl, whose name I've long forgotten. I tried to retouch this ruined photo, but decided to publish it as is. These are artifacts of a wonderful time in my life, so I'm grateful to even have these awful shots. (All pics taken from behind the bar by my then girlfriend, the bar tender. Life was good.)
From the Weary to the Innocent
The harsh light of sunrise
through the window pours
and melting in it's glory
mystic - battle scared
Does love always surrender?
Or does it sometimes fight?
Or, in fear of being captured,
run screaming through the night?
In dreams, the tears of the lonely
run streaming down my face
Searching for the Only
Washed from place to place
In prayers that are never answered
I only call your name
Pleading, repeating the mantras
Broken, tossed away
The hollow praise and glory
fades into the grey
Just slam the door and close your eyes
and quickly turn the page
I dreamed I was an angel
and I watched for days and days
but, the vision brought me anger
and I shook my fist in rage
(I never thought I'd feel these things
I never thought the day
would come when I'd express myself
in broken down cliches
[The symbols are connecting in a strange, but fluid way])
From the weary to the innocent
whose life is fresh and pure
I offer you no wisdom
I offer you no cure
but, I feel I should leave something
for the journey, sad and long
I offer no salvation
I only have a song.
through the window pours
and melting in it's glory
mystic - battle scared
Does love always surrender?
Or does it sometimes fight?
Or, in fear of being captured,
run screaming through the night?
In dreams, the tears of the lonely
run streaming down my face
Searching for the Only
Washed from place to place
In prayers that are never answered
I only call your name
Pleading, repeating the mantras
Broken, tossed away
The hollow praise and glory
fades into the grey
Just slam the door and close your eyes
and quickly turn the page
I dreamed I was an angel
and I watched for days and days
but, the vision brought me anger
and I shook my fist in rage
(I never thought I'd feel these things
I never thought the day
would come when I'd express myself
in broken down cliches
[The symbols are connecting in a strange, but fluid way])
From the weary to the innocent
whose life is fresh and pure
I offer you no wisdom
I offer you no cure
but, I feel I should leave something
for the journey, sad and long
I offer no salvation
I only have a song.
Letter from an ex
Jimmi,
Never doubt your strengths, for you are the strongest person I know. You hold me every night and it tells me I am yours. If we ever do have problems, the good will always outweigh the bad. I would not change a single thing about you because, you and everything that makes you up are my reasons for loving you. I never thought that there was someone out there that every step they took would take me into a greater care for them. I hope to never see you cry, but if you do, I'll be there for you. I hope to never see you sick, but if it happens, I'll be there for you. I hope you never have to suffer, but if you do, I will be right by your side.
So as I close this, close your eyes and remember I now love without doubt.
J.
Never doubt your strengths, for you are the strongest person I know. You hold me every night and it tells me I am yours. If we ever do have problems, the good will always outweigh the bad. I would not change a single thing about you because, you and everything that makes you up are my reasons for loving you. I never thought that there was someone out there that every step they took would take me into a greater care for them. I hope to never see you cry, but if you do, I'll be there for you. I hope to never see you sick, but if it happens, I'll be there for you. I hope you never have to suffer, but if you do, I will be right by your side.
So as I close this, close your eyes and remember I now love without doubt.
J.
From "Peoms (sic)."
I heard this music and, at first, I thought it was Wagner's "Flight of the Valkyrie." Turned out to be the theme from "Dynasty."
Die Nasty.
God, this is strange for me to be scribbling now. I came home, ate and looked for paper and pen.
Sure was hot today. It's still warm at 7:30. I like it, though. Goddamn the cold.
I envy you and your incredible potential. But, in a good way. I'm glad you're on my side. (I wish I could print in italics...) I'm too helter skelter. And, I'm just barely hanging on, you know. I've resigned myself to this fact. It's been that way most of my life. I've accepted it as the best it's gonna get. I'm not being negative, you understand. I'm trying my best to be positive about my fate. Such as it is.
Die Nasty.
God, this is strange for me to be scribbling now. I came home, ate and looked for paper and pen.
Sure was hot today. It's still warm at 7:30. I like it, though. Goddamn the cold.
I envy you and your incredible potential. But, in a good way. I'm glad you're on my side. (I wish I could print in italics...) I'm too helter skelter. And, I'm just barely hanging on, you know. I've resigned myself to this fact. It's been that way most of my life. I've accepted it as the best it's gonna get. I'm not being negative, you understand. I'm trying my best to be positive about my fate. Such as it is.
January Morning
"Grabber."
"What?"
"Grabber. My name is Grabber."
"Oh. My name is Jan. Thanks for the ride."
"No prob, Bob...ah, no prob, Jan. Hey, I thought Jan was a girl's name."
"It's either. Mine's short for January."
"January? Jeez, I'd go with Jan, too."
'Where'd you get a name like Grabber?"
"I'm into Grabbers. This here car is a Grabber."
"I thought it was a Maverick."
"Yeah, it is. A Maverick Grabber. It's a special edition. Came with a V8 and cool colors and stripes and stuff. I've rebuilt 3 of'em, but this one's the best. It's a keeper. Check this out."
At this point, Grabber stomps the gas pedal and my head snaps back. In the dark of the night, on this lonely highway, I feel as if I'm flying.
"Hey! Hold onto the wheel!" I say, as he shifts gears - somehow frantically, yet smoothly.
"A man's only got one arm. Hey, you've got 2!"
I hadn't noticed, but my driver is missing his left arm.
"Yeah," I say, "it's a birth defect. I was born with 2. I'm a freak. It hasn't been an easy life..."
He takes this good-naturedly, giving me a look of comic suspicion. I decide to ask.
"So, how did you lose your arm?"
"Wellll, I got really drunk one night and went home with some chick I'd just met. I guess I pooched her and passed out. I woke up early the next morning and looked around to see where I was and...here was this big, fat, ugly chick, asleep, with her big, fat, ugly head on my arm. So, instead of waking her up, I opted to gnaw my arm off and split the scene. You know what I mean?"
Here, he gives me the biggest shit eating grin.
Varoooooooom. Into the night.
"What?"
"Grabber. My name is Grabber."
"Oh. My name is Jan. Thanks for the ride."
"No prob, Bob...ah, no prob, Jan. Hey, I thought Jan was a girl's name."
"It's either. Mine's short for January."
"January? Jeez, I'd go with Jan, too."
'Where'd you get a name like Grabber?"
"I'm into Grabbers. This here car is a Grabber."
"I thought it was a Maverick."
"Yeah, it is. A Maverick Grabber. It's a special edition. Came with a V8 and cool colors and stripes and stuff. I've rebuilt 3 of'em, but this one's the best. It's a keeper. Check this out."
At this point, Grabber stomps the gas pedal and my head snaps back. In the dark of the night, on this lonely highway, I feel as if I'm flying.
"Hey! Hold onto the wheel!" I say, as he shifts gears - somehow frantically, yet smoothly.
"A man's only got one arm. Hey, you've got 2!"
I hadn't noticed, but my driver is missing his left arm.
"Yeah," I say, "it's a birth defect. I was born with 2. I'm a freak. It hasn't been an easy life..."
He takes this good-naturedly, giving me a look of comic suspicion. I decide to ask.
"So, how did you lose your arm?"
"Wellll, I got really drunk one night and went home with some chick I'd just met. I guess I pooched her and passed out. I woke up early the next morning and looked around to see where I was and...here was this big, fat, ugly chick, asleep, with her big, fat, ugly head on my arm. So, instead of waking her up, I opted to gnaw my arm off and split the scene. You know what I mean?"
Here, he gives me the biggest shit eating grin.
Varoooooooom. Into the night.
Sunday, July 11, 2010
George.
When I was a kid, things were a lot more rural in my hometown. There were fields of corn and soy beans everywhere.
My dad always planted a huge garden - in which I hated working. Every year he would say that he was thinking of down-sizing this year, but he would always end up planting every available space he could get. (Now-a-days, when I see other people's tiny little garden spots, I feel kind of like Crocodile Dundee: "That's not a garden...") Usually, we ended up with so much stuff we had to give it away. This used to particularly annoy me.
We also always had lots of animals around. Some pets, some livestock. We would have a couple of dogs and about a dozen cats. We had a black and white cat, named "Mama Cat," who had a slumped back and lived to be 17 years old. She produced 2 litters a year. I can still remember her kitten call: "Mert-meow. Mert-meow."
I had turtles, a bunch of rabbits, gold fish, and some pet mice.
And we had chickens, hogs and often, a cow.
It was hard not to get attached to the livestock, when you fed and took care of them every day. Sometimes it was very difficult for me when my dad slaughtered one of them.
Once, dad bought a pig from Mr. Johnny, who lived down the road. Mr. Johnny always had a pack of hound dogs around his house. I remember my mom saying that she didn't know how he could even stand looking at a dog, as he once had a baby that was mauled and killed by dogs. Well, this pig my dad bought was raised with hound dog puppies and thought he was one of them. I remember seeing him running through Mr. Johnny's yard, playing with the puppies. Mr. Johnny had named him George.
It's not a good idea to name an animal that will, eventually, end up on your table.
Even as he grew bigger and bigger, George would still follow me around like a puppy. He was so affectionate. I thought he was the greatest pig ever.
I'm so sorry, George.
My dad always planted a huge garden - in which I hated working. Every year he would say that he was thinking of down-sizing this year, but he would always end up planting every available space he could get. (Now-a-days, when I see other people's tiny little garden spots, I feel kind of like Crocodile Dundee: "That's not a garden...") Usually, we ended up with so much stuff we had to give it away. This used to particularly annoy me.
We also always had lots of animals around. Some pets, some livestock. We would have a couple of dogs and about a dozen cats. We had a black and white cat, named "Mama Cat," who had a slumped back and lived to be 17 years old. She produced 2 litters a year. I can still remember her kitten call: "Mert-meow. Mert-meow."
I had turtles, a bunch of rabbits, gold fish, and some pet mice.
And we had chickens, hogs and often, a cow.
It was hard not to get attached to the livestock, when you fed and took care of them every day. Sometimes it was very difficult for me when my dad slaughtered one of them.
Once, dad bought a pig from Mr. Johnny, who lived down the road. Mr. Johnny always had a pack of hound dogs around his house. I remember my mom saying that she didn't know how he could even stand looking at a dog, as he once had a baby that was mauled and killed by dogs. Well, this pig my dad bought was raised with hound dog puppies and thought he was one of them. I remember seeing him running through Mr. Johnny's yard, playing with the puppies. Mr. Johnny had named him George.
It's not a good idea to name an animal that will, eventually, end up on your table.
Even as he grew bigger and bigger, George would still follow me around like a puppy. He was so affectionate. I thought he was the greatest pig ever.
I'm so sorry, George.
Monday, July 5, 2010
The Packing House
When we were kids, we used to hang out at a mysteriously abandoned meat packing plant, down in the middle of the woods, by the river. Construction on this crazy building was supposedly begun around the turn of the last century. Apparently, they ran out of money and just stopped.
There were many stories associated with this place. Several people were rumored to have fallen to their deaths there. It was very dilapidated and scary. Once, Tommy and I found a freshly killed goat there. Its throat had been slashed and the blood had not even congealed - which led us to believe that the goat killers were nearby.
We used to take girls there and give them tours at night. We knew the place like the backs of our hands. There were large holes in the floors where you could fall straight down to the basement - 4 floors. The girls would hold on to you very tightly. That was the idea, I guess.
I once carried the pregnant girlfriend of an Indian dude we knew up to the top floor, where we built a fire and partied. He was too drunk on moonshine to carry her and she was too pregnant to make it on her own.
When I was about 13, me and Floyd, a friend of mine from the 6th and 7th grades, once went up to the top floor and dared each other to walk out to the ends of these 4 foot long beams that stuck out off of the side of the building. They were about a foot wide. The dare was that our toes had to hang off the end and we had to stand there, with our arms held out, for a count of ten. We were over the tops of trees. Next we both stood on the edge, holding on to each other. That was a trust thing. I have a terrible fear of heights. Sometimes, to this day, I will think about that and shiver.
The place was covered in graffiti. My favorite piece read "MARY POPPINS IS A JUNKIE."
There were many stories associated with this place. Several people were rumored to have fallen to their deaths there. It was very dilapidated and scary. Once, Tommy and I found a freshly killed goat there. Its throat had been slashed and the blood had not even congealed - which led us to believe that the goat killers were nearby.
We used to take girls there and give them tours at night. We knew the place like the backs of our hands. There were large holes in the floors where you could fall straight down to the basement - 4 floors. The girls would hold on to you very tightly. That was the idea, I guess.
I once carried the pregnant girlfriend of an Indian dude we knew up to the top floor, where we built a fire and partied. He was too drunk on moonshine to carry her and she was too pregnant to make it on her own.
When I was about 13, me and Floyd, a friend of mine from the 6th and 7th grades, once went up to the top floor and dared each other to walk out to the ends of these 4 foot long beams that stuck out off of the side of the building. They were about a foot wide. The dare was that our toes had to hang off the end and we had to stand there, with our arms held out, for a count of ten. We were over the tops of trees. Next we both stood on the edge, holding on to each other. That was a trust thing. I have a terrible fear of heights. Sometimes, to this day, I will think about that and shiver.
The place was covered in graffiti. My favorite piece read "MARY POPPINS IS A JUNKIE."
Sunday, July 4, 2010
The "So What?" dept. presents: BLAB! (1980)
Today is Sunday, March 23. Last night, Russell and I went to The Crest to see Sidewinder. We went in, began drinking and waited for the show to begin. When the band came on and the flash pods went off, Russell looked excited. This wasn't exactly his scene, but he seemed to really enjoy the heavy rock and roll.
At some point, last night, after drinking away most of our money, we saw a girl with straight blonde hair that went down past her ankles. No exaggeration! I told her that she had beautiful hair. I had to say something. It was so unusual.
Russell got bombed and couldn't leave the stairs. I left him sitting there and went and introduced myself to a girl. I sat down at her table and we talked. I then went to the bar and bought us each a beer. I had asked her what she was drinking, but I was pretty drunk (or I wouldn't have gone up to her to begin with) and the music was loud and I brought back the wrong kind. Her name was Debra. A friend of hers came and sat down. Debra introduced us. "Stephanie, this is Jimmi. Jimmi, this is Stephanie."
Debra had sort of short dirty blonde hair and, I think, green eyes. She wore a jean jacket. She had a kind of punky, rock and roll air about her - and it turned me on. Stephanie was more feminine. She had on a nice dress and had long, dark hair. I whispered things to Stephanie like, "Your friend is beautiful!" and she would smile. Then I said, "Oh! And you are, too!" She said "Thank you" - once again smiling, ever so nicely. Then I said, "I love her!" Stephanie laughed and said, "She's a nice girl."
At some point, last night, after drinking away most of our money, we saw a girl with straight blonde hair that went down past her ankles. No exaggeration! I told her that she had beautiful hair. I had to say something. It was so unusual.
Russell got bombed and couldn't leave the stairs. I left him sitting there and went and introduced myself to a girl. I sat down at her table and we talked. I then went to the bar and bought us each a beer. I had asked her what she was drinking, but I was pretty drunk (or I wouldn't have gone up to her to begin with) and the music was loud and I brought back the wrong kind. Her name was Debra. A friend of hers came and sat down. Debra introduced us. "Stephanie, this is Jimmi. Jimmi, this is Stephanie."
Debra had sort of short dirty blonde hair and, I think, green eyes. She wore a jean jacket. She had a kind of punky, rock and roll air about her - and it turned me on. Stephanie was more feminine. She had on a nice dress and had long, dark hair. I whispered things to Stephanie like, "Your friend is beautiful!" and she would smile. Then I said, "Oh! And you are, too!" She said "Thank you" - once again smiling, ever so nicely. Then I said, "I love her!" Stephanie laughed and said, "She's a nice girl."
Friday, July 2, 2010
The "So What?" dept. presents: BLAB! (1980)
It's about 4 am, on this 22nd day of March. I haven't been writing much in this "journal" lately because I've been conveying my thoughts and experiences to Katherine in letters. I'm missing her terribly. She means everything to me.
I haven't spoken to D'Arcy. He may be: home / in college / in the army or navy. I haven't the foggiest.
Tonight, or actually this morning, at work, my boss told me he was giving me a raise and I was not to mention it to anyone, because I was the only one getting it. It was a fifty cent raise. I now make $4.50 an hour. Now that Katherine is in the navy and I never see D'Arcy and we have a new car, I have no reason to mess up and miss work.
Yesterday was daddy's birthday. He would have been 59. Mom's is in 6 days.
The night before last, Eddie and I went to see Sidewinder at The Crest. We drank steadily. Some girl came over and asked if she could sit down. We said sure. Her name was Theresa and she was from Washington, NC. During the course of our conversation, Eddie told her we were musicians. She invited us to play at a party, but we declined... Whew! We went outside to smoke a joint and later, when the band started up again, she disappeared into the crowd.
The other day, mom's dog, Lollie, was lying in the driveway, not moving. I called to make sure she was alright. She didn't move a muscle. She looked kind of flat, like she had been run over. I went back into the house, thinking I was going to have to go get a shovel to bury her, but when I came back out, she was gone. I honestly believed that the dog was dead, because I had called her repeatedly and anxiously. The dog wasn't dead. She was just DUMB!
Early this morning, when I stopped at the all night Fast Fare, I pulled my car up to the side of the building. I guess the attendants didn't see me because, when I walked in, a lady, who was down behind the counter, jumped up and sort of gasped an "Oh!," as if I had surprised her. When I walked up to pay for my soda, I noticed a guy down behind the counter, putting things away. Or pretending to...
I think I might call Russell today.
I haven't spoken to D'Arcy. He may be: home / in college / in the army or navy. I haven't the foggiest.
Tonight, or actually this morning, at work, my boss told me he was giving me a raise and I was not to mention it to anyone, because I was the only one getting it. It was a fifty cent raise. I now make $4.50 an hour. Now that Katherine is in the navy and I never see D'Arcy and we have a new car, I have no reason to mess up and miss work.
Yesterday was daddy's birthday. He would have been 59. Mom's is in 6 days.
The night before last, Eddie and I went to see Sidewinder at The Crest. We drank steadily. Some girl came over and asked if she could sit down. We said sure. Her name was Theresa and she was from Washington, NC. During the course of our conversation, Eddie told her we were musicians. She invited us to play at a party, but we declined... Whew! We went outside to smoke a joint and later, when the band started up again, she disappeared into the crowd.
The other day, mom's dog, Lollie, was lying in the driveway, not moving. I called to make sure she was alright. She didn't move a muscle. She looked kind of flat, like she had been run over. I went back into the house, thinking I was going to have to go get a shovel to bury her, but when I came back out, she was gone. I honestly believed that the dog was dead, because I had called her repeatedly and anxiously. The dog wasn't dead. She was just DUMB!
Early this morning, when I stopped at the all night Fast Fare, I pulled my car up to the side of the building. I guess the attendants didn't see me because, when I walked in, a lady, who was down behind the counter, jumped up and sort of gasped an "Oh!," as if I had surprised her. When I walked up to pay for my soda, I noticed a guy down behind the counter, putting things away. Or pretending to...
I think I might call Russell today.
Monday, June 28, 2010
The "So What?" dept. presents: BLAB! (1980)
Mom got her tax refund check and payed me the hundred she borrowed.
It's about 9 pm now. I have to go to work at 12.
The post office closed before I could mail Katherine's letter.
I was just squeezing blood from a cut between my thumb and index finger on my left hand. The top half of a mike stand fell, pinching my hand. What an exciting life I lead!
Russell called the other day and got mad at me because I wouldn't go with him to look for a car. Just previous to this, he'd gotten mad at D'Arcy and Ronnie. I was thinking about calling him, but if D'Arcy has already called him, he would have already told Russell our story (see previous post) and made an all out effort to get Russell to side with him, after the way I "did him wrong." It's complicated. I'm not sure what to do.
I've decided some things, though. One is that D'Arcy is not a rational human being. He is beginning to scare me. I have this feeling that he is going to have revenge - and there's no telling what that could mean.
I payed my bank payment today, but still haven't payed my phone bill.
Today, while I was waiting for mom to come out of The Town Pharmacy and Mack's, a man stood in a phone booth, in front of my parking space, saying "Hello! Hello!", over and over again - becoming increasingly louder and more frustrated. Finally, he screamed "CAN ANYBODY HEAR ME?!" so loudly that everyone around looked at him. He slammed the phone down and walked out, disgusted.
Also, a woman's car horn hung up and blew for a long time.
It's a little past 11 pm now and I have to quit writing pretty soon, so I can take a shower and be ready to leave for work by 11:45.
In the letter that I wrote Katherine, I said that I was going to stop partying so much, and wasting money and time so foolishly. Time will tell if I can stick by this.
It's about 9 pm now. I have to go to work at 12.
The post office closed before I could mail Katherine's letter.
I was just squeezing blood from a cut between my thumb and index finger on my left hand. The top half of a mike stand fell, pinching my hand. What an exciting life I lead!
Russell called the other day and got mad at me because I wouldn't go with him to look for a car. Just previous to this, he'd gotten mad at D'Arcy and Ronnie. I was thinking about calling him, but if D'Arcy has already called him, he would have already told Russell our story (see previous post) and made an all out effort to get Russell to side with him, after the way I "did him wrong." It's complicated. I'm not sure what to do.
I've decided some things, though. One is that D'Arcy is not a rational human being. He is beginning to scare me. I have this feeling that he is going to have revenge - and there's no telling what that could mean.
I payed my bank payment today, but still haven't payed my phone bill.
Today, while I was waiting for mom to come out of The Town Pharmacy and Mack's, a man stood in a phone booth, in front of my parking space, saying "Hello! Hello!", over and over again - becoming increasingly louder and more frustrated. Finally, he screamed "CAN ANYBODY HEAR ME?!" so loudly that everyone around looked at him. He slammed the phone down and walked out, disgusted.
Also, a woman's car horn hung up and blew for a long time.
It's a little past 11 pm now and I have to quit writing pretty soon, so I can take a shower and be ready to leave for work by 11:45.
In the letter that I wrote Katherine, I said that I was going to stop partying so much, and wasting money and time so foolishly. Time will tell if I can stick by this.
Sunday, June 27, 2010
The "So What?" dept. presents: BLAB! (1980)
Today is March 12, 1980. It's 5:30 in the afternoon, but I've only been up for about 3 hours.
I was just interrupted, while writing this, by my nephew D___ - who brought over our mail. I opened the phone bill to check on my long distance calls. Forty-six dollars and fifty cents! No! Yes! That's more than I'll make next week, and I won't have any money saved from this week, either. I have a $42.00 bank payment due today, also. Mom's gonna freak when she sees a phone bill that, with regular charges, amounts to $55.OO! It's usually about $8.50.
It's raining. D'Arcy's thinking of joining the army. Eddie's working for his uncle's chemist firm. Ronnie no longer works at Parker's. He's drawing unemployment. And, I miss Katherine very much.
Today is March, 18. Yesterday, I went to uncle Johnny's funeral.
Last night I went skating with D'Arcy and my nephew B____. We got B____ a bottle of T.J. Swan and ourselves a quart of beer each. When we got to the rink, we smoked a joint. D'Arcy and I. B____ doesn't smoke. When we went in, we met Alan A., a black football star, his sister, some Pellom guy and a girl named Tammy. They all went to our school. Also, Donna H. was there, with her 2 sisters and 2 of her brothers.
I skated around with that Tammy girl only to find out that she was with Alan. I skated some with Donna. D'Arcy met some girl and skated with her a while. Later, when we left, she came running out past Alan and me yelling, "Tom D'Arcy!" to her friend.
We gave Alan a ride home and I had a feeling we shouldn't have. About half way between Leland and Maco, my car lights went out and we had to continue the trip in darkness. We made it there, smoked a bit and hung out. I told them that I had to leave in order to get my brother to look at my lights, so I could make it to work at 1:00 am. D'Arcy, as he's done many times before, when he's drunk or stoned, didn't respect my situation. He wouldn't leave - making it sound as if I were doing him filthy wrong. I finally got him in the car, but we had a terrible argument. I got so fed up with him, I told him to get out. He said if I was man enough to make him get out, to do it. So I did.
I didn't want to put him out, so far down the road, at night, in the rain, no less, but he insisted on running his mouth and cussing me for everything possible. In other words, he was being an inconsiderate bastard. An absolute lunatic. Today he probably went and had himself sworn into the army. We'll probably never speak to each other again.
I made it home in the dark. Some guy got behind me on the 4 lanes and shined his lights so I could see. He followed me all the way to Leland. That was cool of him.
I wrote Katherine last night and told her everything that happened.
I was just interrupted, while writing this, by my nephew D___ - who brought over our mail. I opened the phone bill to check on my long distance calls. Forty-six dollars and fifty cents! No! Yes! That's more than I'll make next week, and I won't have any money saved from this week, either. I have a $42.00 bank payment due today, also. Mom's gonna freak when she sees a phone bill that, with regular charges, amounts to $55.OO! It's usually about $8.50.
It's raining. D'Arcy's thinking of joining the army. Eddie's working for his uncle's chemist firm. Ronnie no longer works at Parker's. He's drawing unemployment. And, I miss Katherine very much.
Today is March, 18. Yesterday, I went to uncle Johnny's funeral.
Last night I went skating with D'Arcy and my nephew B____. We got B____ a bottle of T.J. Swan and ourselves a quart of beer each. When we got to the rink, we smoked a joint. D'Arcy and I. B____ doesn't smoke. When we went in, we met Alan A., a black football star, his sister, some Pellom guy and a girl named Tammy. They all went to our school. Also, Donna H. was there, with her 2 sisters and 2 of her brothers.
I skated around with that Tammy girl only to find out that she was with Alan. I skated some with Donna. D'Arcy met some girl and skated with her a while. Later, when we left, she came running out past Alan and me yelling, "Tom D'Arcy!" to her friend.
We gave Alan a ride home and I had a feeling we shouldn't have. About half way between Leland and Maco, my car lights went out and we had to continue the trip in darkness. We made it there, smoked a bit and hung out. I told them that I had to leave in order to get my brother to look at my lights, so I could make it to work at 1:00 am. D'Arcy, as he's done many times before, when he's drunk or stoned, didn't respect my situation. He wouldn't leave - making it sound as if I were doing him filthy wrong. I finally got him in the car, but we had a terrible argument. I got so fed up with him, I told him to get out. He said if I was man enough to make him get out, to do it. So I did.
I didn't want to put him out, so far down the road, at night, in the rain, no less, but he insisted on running his mouth and cussing me for everything possible. In other words, he was being an inconsiderate bastard. An absolute lunatic. Today he probably went and had himself sworn into the army. We'll probably never speak to each other again.
I made it home in the dark. Some guy got behind me on the 4 lanes and shined his lights so I could see. He followed me all the way to Leland. That was cool of him.
I wrote Katherine last night and told her everything that happened.
Thursday, June 24, 2010
The "So What?" dept. presents: BLAB! (1980)
Today is March 11, 1980. Katherine called me today from Raleigh. She said that she would be leaving on the 7:30 pm train for Florida (to start basic training for the Navy) and that she should arrive tomorrow, at about 8:30 am.
Yesterday was a day that I won't soon forget.
I took a shower and was getting ready to go to the bus station, when I noticed I was running kind of late. I ran out of the house, jumped in the car - and it wouldn't start. I asked my sister if she would give me a jump and she did. I then sped off to get gas. At the local country store, I ran into my cousin's wife and I talked to her for a minute. She said she saw us at The Dry Dock (a local seafood restaurant) the other day. Then I had to go in to get Mrs. Catherine, the old lady that owns the store, to start the pumps. She was on the phone. Finally I got some gas and raced off to try to get to the bus station before 4:00.
On the way over, I got into some very slow traffic - and it seemed as if I caught every red light. When I got downtown, I was so nervous I couldn't remember how to get to the bus station. I had to stop and ask someone.
Pulling into the parking lot of the Greyhound station felt wonderful, but I was soon panicking again, as I didn't recognize any of the cars in the parking lot. I burst into the waiting room and looked around wildly. Looking back on it, it was like a scene from a movie. Then I saw my niece and her husband, and then everyone else.
Everyone but Katherine!
"She's in the restroom, Jimmi!"
"Oh...whew! I almost didn't make it."
When Katherine came out, she didn't see me at first. But, when she did, she came over, crying, and sat next to me. I hugged her and starting crying, before I could tell her that I loved her. I mumbled it through my tears and she did the same. I don't know how many people were crying, because I didn't look up, but I heard others.
Katherine and I walked outside and I turned my car off. I had left it running because I was afraid it wouldn't start. But, now I knew there were people there to jump me, if needed. I held her and asked her to marry me. She said yes. I told her that I couldn't wait for her to complete basic training and school.
I kissed Katherine good-bye and stood there as she got on the bus. My niece put her arm around me - and I needed it. But, I just wasn't ready to let her go. I ran up on the bus and kissed her again and told her that I loved her - and tried to tell her to make sure she came back to me, but I was crying again.
The bus driver got on and closed the door. I almost went with her.
I remember the bus pulling out and Katherine waving. Then, when the bus was out of sight, we all walked off. All of a sudden, I felt all alone. I didn't say anything to anybody. I was really up-tight and crying. My niece put her hand on my shoulder and said "take care". Then, as I almost reached my car, Delores called me. I turned and she came up to me and hugged me tightly, and I cried, and she said that Katherine would be back soon, and I tried to say "I know". Ken said, "Now, don't forget where we live." And Delores said, "Come see us, Jimmi. Now, I mean that!"
I said, "OK".
I waved to everyone as they left and I cried all the way to my bedroom. I laid down on my bed and fell asleep.
Yesterday was a day that I won't soon forget.
I took a shower and was getting ready to go to the bus station, when I noticed I was running kind of late. I ran out of the house, jumped in the car - and it wouldn't start. I asked my sister if she would give me a jump and she did. I then sped off to get gas. At the local country store, I ran into my cousin's wife and I talked to her for a minute. She said she saw us at The Dry Dock (a local seafood restaurant) the other day. Then I had to go in to get Mrs. Catherine, the old lady that owns the store, to start the pumps. She was on the phone. Finally I got some gas and raced off to try to get to the bus station before 4:00.
On the way over, I got into some very slow traffic - and it seemed as if I caught every red light. When I got downtown, I was so nervous I couldn't remember how to get to the bus station. I had to stop and ask someone.
Pulling into the parking lot of the Greyhound station felt wonderful, but I was soon panicking again, as I didn't recognize any of the cars in the parking lot. I burst into the waiting room and looked around wildly. Looking back on it, it was like a scene from a movie. Then I saw my niece and her husband, and then everyone else.
Everyone but Katherine!
"She's in the restroom, Jimmi!"
"Oh...whew! I almost didn't make it."
When Katherine came out, she didn't see me at first. But, when she did, she came over, crying, and sat next to me. I hugged her and starting crying, before I could tell her that I loved her. I mumbled it through my tears and she did the same. I don't know how many people were crying, because I didn't look up, but I heard others.
Katherine and I walked outside and I turned my car off. I had left it running because I was afraid it wouldn't start. But, now I knew there were people there to jump me, if needed. I held her and asked her to marry me. She said yes. I told her that I couldn't wait for her to complete basic training and school.
I kissed Katherine good-bye and stood there as she got on the bus. My niece put her arm around me - and I needed it. But, I just wasn't ready to let her go. I ran up on the bus and kissed her again and told her that I loved her - and tried to tell her to make sure she came back to me, but I was crying again.
The bus driver got on and closed the door. I almost went with her.
I remember the bus pulling out and Katherine waving. Then, when the bus was out of sight, we all walked off. All of a sudden, I felt all alone. I didn't say anything to anybody. I was really up-tight and crying. My niece put her hand on my shoulder and said "take care". Then, as I almost reached my car, Delores called me. I turned and she came up to me and hugged me tightly, and I cried, and she said that Katherine would be back soon, and I tried to say "I know". Ken said, "Now, don't forget where we live." And Delores said, "Come see us, Jimmi. Now, I mean that!"
I said, "OK".
I waved to everyone as they left and I cried all the way to my bedroom. I laid down on my bed and fell asleep.
Wednesday, June 23, 2010
The "So What?" dept. presents: BLAB! (1980)
Today is March 10 and it's 11:30 am. Katherine is leaving on the 4:00 bus.
Yesterday, I took my mom to church and drove over to Katherine's parents' house for dinner. There were lots of people there: Mr. and Mrs. Weeks, Mr. and Mrs. Cebral, Roxy and Mike, Ralph was home from school, Raymond, Johnny and Louise, Rosemary and Mike, Ken and Delores, Anita and a friend of hers - Shelly, Little Johnny and Phillip. It was very confusing and very enjoyable. After dinner, we played basketball in the driveway. Luckily, I was on Johnnie's side (he's 6'9"). After basketball, the girls talked me and Mike into going skating. Neither one of us can skate, but we tried - and I must say it was fun.
A really nice thing happened yesterday. I felt close to Delores all day long. She was so nice to me - and when Katherine got all huffy about something dumb and I got up to put my shoes on, Delores came over and sat real close to me and told me that she knew exactly how I felt. She said, "Listen, Jimmi - this is the last whole day you'll have before she leaves. I know how you feel. Really. I feel like that myself sometimes. It's just that some people are overly protective and motherly. They worry over everybody. Katherine's that way. It's just like when she wanted to help you play your hand in Black Jack. She does it to me and she does it to Ken. Sometimes I almost tell her not to be so controlling and possessive - that it's not a good thing to be that way - and I would tell her right now if tomorrow wasn't her last day."
Needless to say, I almost cried. Delores understood fully because she understands Katherine.
Later on that night, we went to Ken and Delores'. Katherine wanted me to do a Quaalude. I did. I washed it down with a beer and then drank quite a bit of vodka. Then, Delores fired up the bong. All of a sudden, I felt the Quaalude kick in. Delores said that it would make me horny.
When we got really messed up, me and Delores started talking about things we wouldn't normally talk about. We delved into Ken's personality, among other things. Pretty soon, after Mike and Rosemary came and left, and after Ken was home for a while (he did half a Quaalude), Katherine and I went back to the bedroom to talk. Delores kept saying that if we wanted to "talk," we could use the bedroom. She went all around saying "have sex."
"This might be the last chance you'll get to talk."
I felt funny when Delores said, "If we're not up when you leave, lock the door."
Yesterday, I took my mom to church and drove over to Katherine's parents' house for dinner. There were lots of people there: Mr. and Mrs. Weeks, Mr. and Mrs. Cebral, Roxy and Mike, Ralph was home from school, Raymond, Johnny and Louise, Rosemary and Mike, Ken and Delores, Anita and a friend of hers - Shelly, Little Johnny and Phillip. It was very confusing and very enjoyable. After dinner, we played basketball in the driveway. Luckily, I was on Johnnie's side (he's 6'9"). After basketball, the girls talked me and Mike into going skating. Neither one of us can skate, but we tried - and I must say it was fun.
A really nice thing happened yesterday. I felt close to Delores all day long. She was so nice to me - and when Katherine got all huffy about something dumb and I got up to put my shoes on, Delores came over and sat real close to me and told me that she knew exactly how I felt. She said, "Listen, Jimmi - this is the last whole day you'll have before she leaves. I know how you feel. Really. I feel like that myself sometimes. It's just that some people are overly protective and motherly. They worry over everybody. Katherine's that way. It's just like when she wanted to help you play your hand in Black Jack. She does it to me and she does it to Ken. Sometimes I almost tell her not to be so controlling and possessive - that it's not a good thing to be that way - and I would tell her right now if tomorrow wasn't her last day."
Needless to say, I almost cried. Delores understood fully because she understands Katherine.
Later on that night, we went to Ken and Delores'. Katherine wanted me to do a Quaalude. I did. I washed it down with a beer and then drank quite a bit of vodka. Then, Delores fired up the bong. All of a sudden, I felt the Quaalude kick in. Delores said that it would make me horny.
When we got really messed up, me and Delores started talking about things we wouldn't normally talk about. We delved into Ken's personality, among other things. Pretty soon, after Mike and Rosemary came and left, and after Ken was home for a while (he did half a Quaalude), Katherine and I went back to the bedroom to talk. Delores kept saying that if we wanted to "talk," we could use the bedroom. She went all around saying "have sex."
"This might be the last chance you'll get to talk."
I felt funny when Delores said, "If we're not up when you leave, lock the door."
Tuesday, June 22, 2010
The "So What?" dept. presents: BLAB! (1980)
It is now Wednesday, about 6 pm. I worked last night, and on the way out of our snow covered dirt road, I got stuck a couple of times. My brother-in-law, my sister and my nephew helped to push me out.
Katherine called me last night and told me that those weren't the last words she wanted to say to me. She said that if she had to say last words, they would be "I love you." I would not have called her back, although I did entertain some fantasies about her breaking down and calling - but it was more than I could take when it actually happened.
"I'm sorry, Katherine. I don't know what's wrong with me! I guess I'm just argumentative. I don't know."
"I'm sorry too." She said this very quietly. She's not good at saying she's sorry - it's hard for her. But, she said it.
"I guess you just don't understand how I love Ken and Delores. I love you too, but the two are different kinds of love. I love them because they've done so much for me. It's not an obsession..."
Just because she used the word "obsession," I felt she had really given some thought to what I had said to her.
I left for work early and stopped by D'Arcy's. We smoked one joint and got very high. I left his house with 2 bags to take to Ken, when I went to see Katherine. He looked them over and picked one. We smoked several bong hits and I was stoned all night long. I'm going to leave for work early tonight and see D'Arcy. I'll give him back the other bag and the 35 bucks. He promises to get us messed up.
Katherine called and wanted me to come see her at her mother's house. I think I'll have to tell her I can't make it...
By the way, I got stuck again, coming home from work, after taking one of my co-workers home. I was driving my brother's truck and I had to leave it where it was. He woke me up on his way to work and we went and got it unstuck. That was at 7 am. I went back to bed.
Katherine called me last night and told me that those weren't the last words she wanted to say to me. She said that if she had to say last words, they would be "I love you." I would not have called her back, although I did entertain some fantasies about her breaking down and calling - but it was more than I could take when it actually happened.
"I'm sorry, Katherine. I don't know what's wrong with me! I guess I'm just argumentative. I don't know."
"I'm sorry too." She said this very quietly. She's not good at saying she's sorry - it's hard for her. But, she said it.
"I guess you just don't understand how I love Ken and Delores. I love you too, but the two are different kinds of love. I love them because they've done so much for me. It's not an obsession..."
Just because she used the word "obsession," I felt she had really given some thought to what I had said to her.
I left for work early and stopped by D'Arcy's. We smoked one joint and got very high. I left his house with 2 bags to take to Ken, when I went to see Katherine. He looked them over and picked one. We smoked several bong hits and I was stoned all night long. I'm going to leave for work early tonight and see D'Arcy. I'll give him back the other bag and the 35 bucks. He promises to get us messed up.
Katherine called and wanted me to come see her at her mother's house. I think I'll have to tell her I can't make it...
By the way, I got stuck again, coming home from work, after taking one of my co-workers home. I was driving my brother's truck and I had to leave it where it was. He woke me up on his way to work and we went and got it unstuck. That was at 7 am. I went back to bed.
The "So What?" dept. presents: BLAB! (1980)
It's about 4 pm now. I have talked to D'Arcy. It was after my mother and I had a fierce, draining argument. She finally said something very hurtful to me and I called her a bitch. She then threw the door, that I was working on, outside. We haven't said a word to each other since. D'Arcy and I talked about moving out. I told him I wanted to move out soon.
I talked to Eddie and he told me that he had finally gotten his drum set. It's quite a set and I'm very excited for him.
I called Katherine and Ken said she was visiting Gayle and that he would have her call when she came home. When she finally did call me, we argued. She said that I took nothing seriously in life, that it was all a big game and I was just out to have fun. She insisted that I start all of the arguments and that I always take what she says in any way I want, so long as it makes me look as if I have been done wrong. I told her that if she was sure that was the last thing she ever wanted to say to me, then she would never see me again. Ever. I was going to buy her a ring, but I'm not now. She doesn't care. She's a user and I guess I've always kind of known - but I wanted love.
One more thing: Katherine never apologizes.
Katherine hung up on me - playing a game. Getting me back for hanging up on our last conversation. I called back. Even if our relationship had primarily been a joke, I wanted to end it face to face - and I wanted to tell her that. Delores answered, saying that Katherine was upset and It might not be a good idea to talk to her now. She said that they liked me and that I knew how much they loved Katherine and that they felt like they were in the middle. I apologized to her for making them feel that way. I really was sorry.
I'm going to take a shower, now. I feel awfully grungy and greased-out. I think I'll shave my beard off and start my new life with this act. My new Spring life.
The snow is melting fast.
I talked to Eddie and he told me that he had finally gotten his drum set. It's quite a set and I'm very excited for him.
I called Katherine and Ken said she was visiting Gayle and that he would have her call when she came home. When she finally did call me, we argued. She said that I took nothing seriously in life, that it was all a big game and I was just out to have fun. She insisted that I start all of the arguments and that I always take what she says in any way I want, so long as it makes me look as if I have been done wrong. I told her that if she was sure that was the last thing she ever wanted to say to me, then she would never see me again. Ever. I was going to buy her a ring, but I'm not now. She doesn't care. She's a user and I guess I've always kind of known - but I wanted love.
One more thing: Katherine never apologizes.
Katherine hung up on me - playing a game. Getting me back for hanging up on our last conversation. I called back. Even if our relationship had primarily been a joke, I wanted to end it face to face - and I wanted to tell her that. Delores answered, saying that Katherine was upset and It might not be a good idea to talk to her now. She said that they liked me and that I knew how much they loved Katherine and that they felt like they were in the middle. I apologized to her for making them feel that way. I really was sorry.
I'm going to take a shower, now. I feel awfully grungy and greased-out. I think I'll shave my beard off and start my new life with this act. My new Spring life.
The snow is melting fast.
Monday, June 21, 2010
The "So What?" dept. presents: BLAB! (1980)
Time has lapsed. It is about 3 o'clock, Tuesday morning.
I talked to Katherine over the phone last night. She told me how much she wanted me. We began talking about how little time we have to see each other and I brought up the fact that she will be spending her last 2 days with Delores in Sanford. This line of conversation developed into an argument. She became very defensive and it finally came out that she would rather be with Delores than me those last few days. "Delores and Ken have done more for me than anybody. She's gotten me out of more trouble than you'll ever see in your life!"
I said "Good." and hung up. Ken and Delores are wonderful people, but Katherine has always had a sick relationship with them. She worships them - and it disgusts me. After our conversation today, I knew I could never marry her. Hell! She's already married - to Ken and Delores!
It all seems very unhealthy to me.
I talked again to D'Arcy today - or rather, last night. Not much going on there. Same here. Maybe I'll see him later on today. Or tomorrow.
It is now about 1 pm and the snow is beginning to melt. The weather has certainly been strange: it was thundering and lightening during the snowfall and now it's warm outside. We're expecting a high near 60 degrees while there is over a foot of snow on the ground.
I haven't talked to D'Arcy yet. I thought about calling Katherine, but dismissed the idea. After today, we'll only have 3 more days to be together.
I talked to Katherine over the phone last night. She told me how much she wanted me. We began talking about how little time we have to see each other and I brought up the fact that she will be spending her last 2 days with Delores in Sanford. This line of conversation developed into an argument. She became very defensive and it finally came out that she would rather be with Delores than me those last few days. "Delores and Ken have done more for me than anybody. She's gotten me out of more trouble than you'll ever see in your life!"
I said "Good." and hung up. Ken and Delores are wonderful people, but Katherine has always had a sick relationship with them. She worships them - and it disgusts me. After our conversation today, I knew I could never marry her. Hell! She's already married - to Ken and Delores!
It all seems very unhealthy to me.
I talked again to D'Arcy today - or rather, last night. Not much going on there. Same here. Maybe I'll see him later on today. Or tomorrow.
It is now about 1 pm and the snow is beginning to melt. The weather has certainly been strange: it was thundering and lightening during the snowfall and now it's warm outside. We're expecting a high near 60 degrees while there is over a foot of snow on the ground.
I haven't talked to D'Arcy yet. I thought about calling Katherine, but dismissed the idea. After today, we'll only have 3 more days to be together.
The "So What?" dept. presents: BLAB! (1980)
I purchased this notebook (with the Rolling Stones' lips and tongue logo on the cover) with the intention of recording my thoughts and/or creative writings. This is significant because being out of school, I no longer have an abundance of paper around.
Today is March 3, 1980. There has been a record amount of snow in the last 3 days. The storm has paralysed most of the state. Hardly anyone could get to work, so today, even more so than the past 2 days, has been a day of relaxation and play in the snow. And we have snow! More than anyone can remember: a covering of a foot and a half - with drifts up to 4 feet or more. Cars are stranded all over the highways.
It isn't snowing anymore. The skies have cleared. The kids are out today. But, 2 kids were out last night, in a virtual blizzard, building a snowman. It is the tallest snowman I have ever made: about five and a half feet! My brother, the other kid, used black spray paint to outline his pockets, sleeves, pants, etc.
Today is Monday. D'Arcy has been home from Chapel Hill since Friday, but I have only seen him once, because of the snow. Also, the last I saw of Katherine was Friday. I only talked to her for a little while, but I did experience her last moments at work. I was with her as she walked out the door for the last time. she will be leaving (for the Navy) a week from today.
Today is March 3, 1980. There has been a record amount of snow in the last 3 days. The storm has paralysed most of the state. Hardly anyone could get to work, so today, even more so than the past 2 days, has been a day of relaxation and play in the snow. And we have snow! More than anyone can remember: a covering of a foot and a half - with drifts up to 4 feet or more. Cars are stranded all over the highways.
It isn't snowing anymore. The skies have cleared. The kids are out today. But, 2 kids were out last night, in a virtual blizzard, building a snowman. It is the tallest snowman I have ever made: about five and a half feet! My brother, the other kid, used black spray paint to outline his pockets, sleeves, pants, etc.
Today is Monday. D'Arcy has been home from Chapel Hill since Friday, but I have only seen him once, because of the snow. Also, the last I saw of Katherine was Friday. I only talked to her for a little while, but I did experience her last moments at work. I was with her as she walked out the door for the last time. she will be leaving (for the Navy) a week from today.
Monday, June 14, 2010
Curmudgeons4Curmudgeons.com
I'm beginning to think I'm not going to meet anyone decent online. I know, I know, I'm slow.
Maybe I'm not ever going to be in a relationship again. Period.
I read an ad recently where a guy said he was looking for someone from 30 to 40 years old. He said that guys in their 20s were all about partying, getting wasted and having sex. He said they possess limited communication skills.
He went on to say that men over 40 tend to be curmudgeons, let themselves go and that they are bitter and set in their ways.
And I think he's right about everything. And that's sad.
Is there any hope for me? Not likely.
I'm starting to give serious consideration to the idea of being alone for the rest of my life. That may well be what happens.
Is there an web site for curmudgeon dating?
Maybe I'm not ever going to be in a relationship again. Period.
I read an ad recently where a guy said he was looking for someone from 30 to 40 years old. He said that guys in their 20s were all about partying, getting wasted and having sex. He said they possess limited communication skills.
He went on to say that men over 40 tend to be curmudgeons, let themselves go and that they are bitter and set in their ways.
And I think he's right about everything. And that's sad.
Is there any hope for me? Not likely.
I'm starting to give serious consideration to the idea of being alone for the rest of my life. That may well be what happens.
Is there an web site for curmudgeon dating?
Sunday, June 6, 2010
Feeling a good bit better. (Weekend Up-date.)
Well...not much to say. Actually, there's plenty(!), but I'm not divulging it.
It's been very summery lately. Hot. I am feeling better, though. I just have a sore throat, but it's a lot less sore than it was.
A friend of mine notified me that he had posted a pic of me on his facebook page. I'm standing in a store holding a large, stuffed monkey with a big, funny oval mouth. Kinda like a blow-up doll.
My friend Chuck came down this weekend and we went to the flea market, where I found a DVD copy of "Sordid Lives." I just finished watching that.
"Shoot him in the head, Wardell!"
My ex wife came by for a little while yesterday. She had her 3 step grand children in tow. I sometimes wonder what's going on in her mind. I'd kinda like a little peek...
It's been a busy weekend, but today was quiet. I did up my pill boxes (I'm good for another week), drove down to North Myrtle Beach, came home, went to the grocery store, washed some clothes (and the dog), cooked something good to eat, and watched that movie. At some point during the day, I realized that I'm not that unhappy being alone sometimes. I can do whatever I want and it's very peaceful.
I received a short email from this guy I met online. "How's your Sunday going." He says he's a professional writer. He seems to have a rather terse style. I answered back, "Ok. How's YOUR Sunday going." A little online tit for tat. Of course, most people don't pick up on these things.
I have to go put some clothes in the drier and close out the weekend by getting ready for Monday.
Thanks for hanging out with me, Chuck. Our relationship has changed (that's inevitable), but I still love talking to you. You know me about as well as anyone.
It's been very summery lately. Hot. I am feeling better, though. I just have a sore throat, but it's a lot less sore than it was.
A friend of mine notified me that he had posted a pic of me on his facebook page. I'm standing in a store holding a large, stuffed monkey with a big, funny oval mouth. Kinda like a blow-up doll.
My friend Chuck came down this weekend and we went to the flea market, where I found a DVD copy of "Sordid Lives." I just finished watching that.
"Shoot him in the head, Wardell!"
My ex wife came by for a little while yesterday. She had her 3 step grand children in tow. I sometimes wonder what's going on in her mind. I'd kinda like a little peek...
It's been a busy weekend, but today was quiet. I did up my pill boxes (I'm good for another week), drove down to North Myrtle Beach, came home, went to the grocery store, washed some clothes (and the dog), cooked something good to eat, and watched that movie. At some point during the day, I realized that I'm not that unhappy being alone sometimes. I can do whatever I want and it's very peaceful.
I received a short email from this guy I met online. "How's your Sunday going." He says he's a professional writer. He seems to have a rather terse style. I answered back, "Ok. How's YOUR Sunday going." A little online tit for tat. Of course, most people don't pick up on these things.
I have to go put some clothes in the drier and close out the weekend by getting ready for Monday.
Thanks for hanging out with me, Chuck. Our relationship has changed (that's inevitable), but I still love talking to you. You know me about as well as anyone.
Thursday, June 3, 2010
Springtime cold? More like THE FLU!
I haven't been posting lately because I'm STILL sick.
This has been one nasty bug! Fever, body aches, cough, congestion... I have horrible coughing fits that keep me awake at night and my throat is raw.
I went back to work today, but I sure didn't feel like it.
I'm going to dope myself up and go to bed early.
This has been one nasty bug! Fever, body aches, cough, congestion... I have horrible coughing fits that keep me awake at night and my throat is raw.
I went back to work today, but I sure didn't feel like it.
I'm going to dope myself up and go to bed early.
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