"Inside Your Shadow" (C) 2025 edits in progress.
She had salon styled, type on magazine covers, hair. And a
body that you could bounce a quarter off of-was so tight. Surely this could be
the one. The one that can save me. I walk up to her and say that classic line,
“If I wrote the alphabet, I’d put you and I together.” She starts giggling in
that giddy way. “hey my name’s John and uh what’s a pretty goddess like you
doing here?” We kick it off immediately. We find out we like the same things.
Being with her. Being with me is like it is a better piece of me, a better
piece of her. We get married, it was a dream like wedding. Then she goes with
this guy who actually approached her…
I look at the blackbirds on the wire. Some of the birds I
think are crows. The others, I’m not sure about. I remember I was supposed to
meet you at around noon. And it really bothered me when you never showed up. I
waited thirty minutes. My father raised me to always be on time and to always
do what I say. I was nervous, anxious, and angry. Then when you finally did
showup, everything was okay. I let it go. I changed what my father had taught
me to be with you. Well, to not be alone. Because when you’re alone for too
long you; I compromised my goodness. You said you were watching the blackbirds
at your father’s house. I was rude to you, and wrong. Like when I told you
something, “Don’t lean on me or you’ll fall. But if you fall, fall into my
arms. I also referred to you as ‘Stray.’ I was jealous. At first you thought me
being jealous was cute. Until those moments, I remember, when you called
friends around our apartment. Dude from high school, that I hardly even talked
to. All these people came out like flies attracted to feces. And then those
so-called friends came around when I wasn’t there. An in my insane mind it
happened more and more.
“…you gotta help me out. I’ll give you something. “The nerve
of this haggardly skinny man,” he thought to himself, as he closed his guitar
case. He had been busking all day long (playing his beat-up Murphy acoustic
guitar on the sidewalk with Touch Down Jesus at Saint Elizabeth Church behind
him). He had made twenty dollars in five hours.
When I removed the Peruvian Prayer beads from the energy
point, there was a special guitar string that I got from Drew’s Guitar Shop.
When I was talked into buying it for five dollars because he told me that it
would never break. Instead of using it I placed it into the energy point. The
powerful energy attached to the string went to a New Orleans side walk that was
in front of Touch Down Jesus.
He was told never to make eye contact, but he did anyway.
“Get Away From Me!” he screamed to the haggard thin man with long blondish grey
dirty mop looking hair. Then a crowd walked by from a Haunted History tour and
the seemingly beggar disappeared as they walked by, “Good,” he mumbled.
Well, I knew this time would come…
Or do I just want this to happen because
I’d rather it happen, than live my life to the fullest.
Afraid of People and Afraid of Rejection, I’m becoming
I Am becoming to think that people are just born a certain
way. If I have The Chance At Life Again, I’d like to be the
lady’s
man. I’d like to be stronger. I’d like to be more creative.
I think of my
hypocritical ways. Such as thinking vocally condemning those
who live
fast ways: fast women, fast food, while I drink energy
drinks and coffee like
water. I too have taken short cuts. One of the biggest was
consuming many protein
powder mixed with whole milk drinks. Wanted to look a
certain way. While I damaged my
body. Of course there was also the cigarettes that damaged
my body. I also think about the probability of conjuring and allowing spell
casting in my mind/but the shrinks say it’s nothing but ‘magical thinking.’
What sort of things have I brought into this world ‘My World.’ Would I have
done such things if I wasn’t high from the drinking and drugging? And later,
the caffeine.
Years ago, I walked up the sidewalk. I looked at the
weathered worn guitar mounted to the
outside wall. I thought it was such a waste of a guitar. Then I remembered a
picture of me in Memphis of me by a statue of Elvis. Elvis holding a guitar and
in that moment I said out loud an affirmation, “One day I’mma come back here
and take that guitar from Elvis.” I chuckle at that cocky grandiose statement
as I walked in the door of the Guitar town store in Clarksdale Mississippi. There
were unique amps on the floor and there was a two-foot-tall bundle of cotton
that was comfortable enough to sit on. There were nice guitars set in such a
way that the inside wasn’t cluttered. Some types were Dobro, Big Rich.
Epiphone, and acoustic Taylor guitars. Also had vintage amps, like Reverb
masters. Had vinyl album covers on the wall. Pictures taken with famous
musicians. Pictures of Drew with his band, “What you need?” his silver hair was
pristine on his head. He sat behind a glass case. Inside the case were tiny
amps that fit inside your hand. There was also guitar pics, guitar parts, and
guitar strings. “Man, I was at Ground Zero jamming. Would have been great if my
string hadn’t popped. I need a good string. Like one made from adamantium. Like
the stuff from Wolverine’s claws.” I replied. “Huh,” He took a long pull from
his Papst Blue Ribbon beer then set it down by his small wooden box that contained
guitar slides. Most of the slides that he made out of copper pipes, glass wine
bottles.
“This String Will Never Break. It’s woven from a wiseman’s
lock of hair. Like the wise man on the cover of Led Zeppelin IV. You know like
the wiseman in the Tarot cards,” he continued as he teasingly waved it in front
of me as it was a golden ticket. “Here you go dood,” he placed it in my hand.
“Thanks Mister Drew.” “Yea, man. That’ll be five dollars.”
“Is there nothing I can pay to be right again?” Maddie cried
as she pleaded. It was the most anguished cry she could ever remember. Like
morning sun rays piercing through the cracks of walls, his face reemerged from
the blackness of the hood. He looked down on her. He looked down on her. She
remembered that look. Had she remembered it before? Her mother had long dirty
blonde hair. Had many wrinkles in her once silky smooth face-For the way time
had its way with people was catching up to her. She looked at him and he looked
down on ‘Baby Maddie.’ “We got the good life now, Joe. It was a nice home. A
bit aged outside but still attractive with the ionic columns on the sides of
the entrance to the front door. Had beautiful marble floors and cypress wood on
the walls. There was a new couch, ugly now a days, that was orange leather.
Even had a large state of the art new colored Zenith television and vinyl,
eight track player combo. The fridge was always full of food.
Maddie had traveled through seemingly traveled through time.
Now she had the same mind set in an infant’s body. “All we have to do now is be
responsible…” She continued talking; as her father, Joe just stared down at
‘Baby Mary.’ Joe would wait until they all fell asleep to leave and never come
back. Even with an older mind, she couldn’t make him stay.
“Here’s what you do,” The raggedy old man strangely said.
He looked around the walls of the fraternity house. There
were pictures of every fraternity group. Dating back to the 1800’s. There were
also autographed photos of celebrities who were alumni members. There were also
paddles mounted to the walls. They were all set at a huge circular maroon
mahogany colored table. There were thirteen custom made chairs. These were for
the treasurer, secretary, vice president, and president. The rest of the chairs
were for members that did exceptional things. There were even special fancy
brass labels. “You are in the presence of greatness,” one of them said to him.
Roads dug through his book bag.
…and in that moment. They say it’ll be quit, be quick, be
quit. “Be quit. Be quiet,” as I am thinking in my mind-subconscious to the
conscious, I’ve dedicated years now…and they still doubt, but I doubt myself.
Am I projecting it? As I look over the crowd of a handful as I strum the
strings of my guitar. I still must write a bio for my blog. Been thinking, I’ll
write it like being in school, as an awkward teenager, child not fitting in,
begging for approval, “Can I sit with the cool kids?” “No,”-therefore: I’ll
always be ‘The Underdog.’ …and in that moment when it happens, like the time it
takes to alter a life forever. They say it’s like a single grain of sand on a beach:
and that is only the beginning of eternity.
As the water hits the sand, someone might wonder, “What is
the water? Is it God? Is it life?” Surely, it isn’t any coincidence that
spirits migrate to water …and in that moment. They say when that moment comes
you won’t see it coming. That time when the Loh’Rd makes presence, present
felt. What will I be doing? Will I give up? Give up all the things that keep me
in bondage to this world.
“It’s okay. It’s great. Complacency is lazy. I’ll do it
later. To practice the right way requires steps. First, stand when you
practice. Have your own microphone. Pretend you are performing for a large
crowd. Don’t look at the fretboard as you play. For quicker results practice
blind folded. If you are learning a new song
write the lyrics down first then write in the chords above the words.
Don’t count writing as practice nor performing as practice. Practice with the
sheet till it’s memorized. Play new songs you plan to perform at least twenty
times. Make sure to record yourself. Know exactly how you sound and look.
Listen to yourself in a good sound system. I use my car stereo.” He listened
intently.
Long ago, he’d tell his friends how he heard voices in his
head. Through saying that was such a kool thang. The norm was crazy was cool.
Later on he would wonder did he really hear voices, or did he convince himself
he was. He heard the voices mostly during his come down periods between
different buzzes and blackouts. Seemed as if the voices of his conscious mind
morphed during the highness. These voices would give him instructions to tasks.
Tasks that were unknown to him.
"If many do it-It becomes The Norm"
THE UPPER MIDDLE CLASS ENTITLED ENABLED YOUNG MAN WHO NEVER CHOSE HIS OWN WAY. Yet chose the way of his richer friends and peers-is full of psychological, by mostly self-created Spiritual convictions galore. Thus, came applying sacred Biblical concepts to justify his plight.
He deduced that his surroundings were against him. Just like God imposed hard times on his disciple Job. It had to be true because the word Job was spelled the same as 'job'. He furtherly deduced that his life would only get better if God allowed it. Afterall, why should he work at all-for jobs that he viewed as beneath him.
One Eye Closes and Another One Opens
“Here’s what you do,” The raggedy old man strangely said. He
had the biggest grin. These types have a conniving smile quite often. “Follow
me!” Out of curiosity, the street musician followed the old scraggly man.
Live music seems to always float in the air, combined with
the aroma of food, cigarette and other kinds of smoke. The streets only take a
nap round two in the morning. Two in the morning is the time when the veil
separating this world from the other worlds is loosened.
The haggardly man stood at the door of a bar that had a live
band aiding in karaoke. The crowd was shouting every line to “Ache Breaky
Heart.” The street musician watched a huge security guard come and talk to him.
He hoped the scraggly old man would go in the bar so he could be rid of him. He
thought about turning around, but yet, he walked up to the live Karaoke
entrance. “Not this one,” the old man said. “You know I never got your name,”
he inquired as they walked side by side. “My name is Tom Troubadour,” the
scraggly old man. Tom grinned deviously, as he took out a Marlboro Red and
stuck it in between his lips. He quickly remembered that he only had two left.
He was thinking of how to ask Tom for his last one. “…and what’s your name?”
“Ricky White, I keep telling you that you are more than just
a number,” Thomas Moon told Ricky as he handed him a New Port menthol
cigarette. It’s a ploy he used to try to get his patients (patience) to be open
to speaking to him. The new jailer looked at Tom sideways. Tom was working over
time without pay. They were outside the doors of the jailhouse chapel for the
Tuesday night AA meeting. That most of the time was not attended because the
inmates were on free time. Therefore the meeting only had two or three
attending most of the time. The ones that did come had high hopes that they
could look good for the judge in this life. And when they took time to think
about it, to look good for the judge in the next life.
“Just cause I’m Black you think I like New Ports,” Ricky
angrily said. Then took one from Thomas anyway. “Well, how much time we got
before we go to the execution rifle thang?” One of the inmates asked. He was
short, Bout five foot two his ploy was oblivious. He wanted a cigarette too. So
Thomas gave him one. There’s an intimate bond among smokers. The time it takes
to smoke a cigarette is around five minutes. Many times it’s the only time they
have to escape their chaotic world. That chaos maybe the job where the patrons
and coworkers are being honoree. The job where you keep looking at the clock
anticipating time off. It may be a break from the chaos of the nagging spouse
or obnoxious kids. In the institutional setting it’s a break from time that is
so long it never seems to end. Time where the inmate hears constant screaming
from the guards, constant screaming from other inmates, psychotic fights
physical and mental to establish the alphas. Then the following chaotic
screaming from the pain and dying.
So when a cigarette is given it’s a gift from someone that
gives them a respite for a peace of mind.
The chairman of tonight’s meeting was a recovering
addict/alcoholic with barely a year of being clean and sober. He was sent from
the outside. Was very reluctant. Didn’t want to go to jail. He watches the
inmates come in. He looks around the chapel that’s also known as ‘Paradise’ by
the inmates. With it’s donated marble Jesus mounted crucifix on the front
center wall, the mahogany pews, the stained-glass windows, room is big enough
to hold two hundred.
Outside, Moon is in his mind searching for the perfect thing
to say to Ricky White. He had a special interest, unlike any inmate that he had
helped before. He didn’t question it, believed it was a ‘God’s will’ thing.
“Well, I guess it’s time for the rifles,” Ricky took a few
last drags that burned the cigarette all the way down to the cotton filter.
“Uh whitey,” Ricky said using a hateful look to Thomas.
“Well Tom Troubadour!” Tom heard the scraggly musician
scream as if he saw some superstar and wanted the whole city of New Orleans to
know. Tom wanted to hide. Thought he had lost the bum twenty minutes ago.
Thought that when he told him, “I don’t have any left after I give you one,”
would’ve made him leave. The bum said, “Thanks, I’ll pay you back.” “Yea right.”
“Hey Tom,” now he was acting like they were best buds and that he hadn’t seen him in years. “You can give a bum or a gypsy something you can never ever get rid of them,” Tom thought to himself; as the bum walked side by side with him. From seemingly nowhere, the bum pulled out an unopened box of Marlboro Reds. "This is for you Tom," the bum said to him smiling as he quickly removed the cellophane, pulled one out and handed it to Tom. "Okay he probably stole these. and the cops will come and take this annoying bum away," Tom thought to himself. he took one out of his new pack and lit it. Then he watched the bum take out another pack for himself.
They walked down the streets on and near Bourbon Street as the bum said, "This is the joint," as they passed another bar. But the seventh bar they passed was special. The bum would go in the bar and tell Tom to wait to see if the place was cool. Then they'd go in together and "have uhelluhofuhtime." They stopped in front of The Checkpoint. The bum went inside. It seemed strange to Tom that he wasn't known by any of the other street people. He seemed to be pretending to not know something; or at least that was what Tom was telling himself. He had a full pack of smokes, and was being entertained. Yet Tom knew soon that it would end because he needed money. "Here you go," the bum said cheerfully-and it only took him less than five minutes to come out of The Checkpoint with a twenty dollar bill in his hand. "Okay, who you rip off now?" He asked the bum as he let his cigarette butt fall to the ground. Then he stomped out the flame. "Good to see you. Please come back." A couple dressed fancy came to the bar entrance, "What did you do?" Tom asked the bum. "Here, I need to make this worth your time." Then the bum handed Tom two twenty-dollar bills. "Okay, you got anything to drink?" Tom asked joking. "Liquid courage uh," the bum's reply for some reason prompted Tom to stop walking. Then the bum and Tom said at the same time, "You know something that I don't know?" But the Bum said it in such a way to make it a mocking joke to imply that he was in control of the situation. Was in control of Tom.
The inevitable truth might be that even with her present mind might be that even with her present mind in her infant body was unable to make her fate different. Yet she had to try. Every parent has that pondering moment of wondering how their child is doing. Mary was able to climb out of her crib. Then she crawled on the floor. It was challenging to crawl because she was getting rug burns on her elbows and knees. She could not speak but she thought if Joe would see her he wouldn't leave. Yet as she crawled on the floor something was strange. She didn't recognize her surroundings. The carpet was stiff from unknown stains. The walls had no wall paper. The walls were of wood fire finishing that even with the moonlight shining through, one could see the layers of dust, and cob webs in the corners of the ceiling. There were toys on the floor: teddy bears, and large play telephones with large numbers were among the toys. There were boxes stacked, that in the reflections of night, looked like apparitions. One of them had on a hood. She was frightened until she heard the door open and hoped her father was there. Then she feared for her life as she saw the hooded one moving toward her. She tried to crawl away. The pain got worse. Now the carpet felt like needles. She turned around. She could not escape as now the figure was over her. The figure came closer to Maddie. Maddie was inside the infant's body. Was there only a never-ending darkness inside the hood? The figure picked her up close enough for her to see her own face inside of the hood.
The hooded figure was her. And the baby was Capernicus. Told herself that she would change her ways. She'd be the best mother she could be. She looked down at Capernicus. Held him tight, "It's just you and me." Then her eyes rolled into her head for a couple seconds. She couldn't remember where she was or how she got there. Her heartbeat increased. Then she remembered giving the twenty dollars.
"So how's Lil Nicky doing?" He asked. He was wearing a long sleeve black shirt that had an eyeball on the chest part. "He's fine. Just got him in daycare. Can't stay long, got him in his crib. Hopefully, he won't climb out of it." She replied. Then he got up and walked down the hallway to a small fridge about two feet high and a foot wide. He kept it at a temperature of about 45 to keep the batch fresh. Had a padlock on the door-he kept it there thinking that if he ever got raided the cops wouldn't be able to get in it. She heard the key go into the lock. Heard it twist and unlock. And this was her moment of happiness for the day. She was calculating the time the whole high event. She'd have a conversation for no longer than ten minutes. Then maybe two hours in the backroom, "The Waiting Room," is what he called it. She could never remember his name. He was super nice. Told herself he actually cared about her with the questions he asked. Questions about her childhood. Questions about school days. Questions about her job. She told herself that was the reason she kept coming back. He was her intimate friend. One of the only ones in this world who actually cared about her. They were having the usual talk about how to get money from her abusive husband. She had the most convincing story. She had said it so much she had it memorized. While he was telling her again for the countless time, "You know you can go to the police station. Tell them he assaulted you. But you better have some bruises or something as evidence of his abuse." Then he threw the bag filled with an off-white powder. She dug in her pocket. Pulled out a crumpled twenty dollar. "We gonna need more than that," he replied as he took the bag off of the glass table. He stood up, walked into the kitchen. She heard the sink water faucet run into the small pot. Heard him take a spoon out of the drawer. Heard him take out the portable stove eye. She didn't know that he laced it with fentanyl. And she dug in her pockets mumbling, "Damn it," She knew she had no more money. Hoped she did though. She'd probably have to do him a favor. She watched him set the small pot on the stove eye. Stared at the water till it came to a boil. He was talking about something. But the words seemed muffled. She smelled the joint he lit. Passed it to her. Seemed unconsciously-how she could grab it. She took a long pull. Heard the fiery crackle of the stems and seeds. She pulled out a pack of Marlboro menthol. They saw that she had only smoked two out of the pack. A pack that cost about four dollars, She placed the crumpled twenty on the table.
"Baby, you got to relax," he said. He didn't even look at the twenty-dollar bill on the table. She finished smoking one. Took another one out. But her hands shook so bad she was almost unable to light it. "It had to be something in the weed," she thought to herself. She had a dreadful premonition that she was about to face a fear she had never faced before.
His hand seemed freakishly large when he put the syringe over the liquid and drew it in. He held her right arm firm. She wanted him to stop until she felt the sting. then she felt the warmth, then she felt numbness, "Baby we gotta get you comfortable." She remembered she told Nicky the same thing, as she set him back in his crib and left for the Narcotics Anonymous meeting. She could barely walk. He guided her into 'the waiting room.' He set her down on the bare mattress. She looked up at the ceiling fan. Thought about that peculiar eye on his t-shirt. The eye seemed to open and close on its own. Here eyes felt dry. It felt like she couldn't close her eyes: One Night of Many.
It depends on what direction you see the light to casts the shadows you want to see. The melted candle wax molded together and stuck to the candle holder.
The hooded figure and the handheld bottle of filled with holy water projected a large, hooded apparition by a temple; as the Los Santa Muerte glass with candle inside shined strange faces on the wall. Making it look like clouds with faces around large, hooded apparition by a temple.
The sage is used to cleanse the area of wickedness. However, the cleansing power maybe, unfortunately contained by the Peruvian prayer beads around the objects (The Energy Point). The beads are made of lamb bones and carved into small skulls, the size of half of a fingernail. The beads are connected by a string- a string that is strong because it is meticulously woven from hair. The number of beads are, at times, a measurement of time-there are fifty beaded skulls. This could represent fifty breaths, fifty heartbeats, fifty thoughts, fifty seconds, fifty minutes, fifty hours. Therefore, the knowledge to know what the casting is, is beyond knowing. Maybe the beads are used as measurement.
"So." "So." "Zoso." "Hey, watch your steps Be weary of what you say?" The Dealer replied to one of his business associates, aka, the employee, aka dealer below him. The Dealer walked to the corner of the large den to his vintage 1970 vinyl record player. Pressed a couple buttons and Led Zeppelin's "Dazed and Confused" played loud enough to be heard outside of the trailer. "You know Jake Holmes actually wrote this song," The Dealer said. The instrumental of the song is always so gloomy, so supernatural and mysterious was fitting. Her heart was beating fast, but her chest hardly raised for breath. "Am I about to die?" She asked ever so hoping. At the same time, she could hear Robert Plant singing on the vinyl player, "Babee, babee, babee!" she was looking into the dark face of the hood. Her father's face appeared again, "Well Maddie Mare. Maybe?" Her father replied. Now the hood was gone. her father was wearing the same stained t-shirt he wore that night when he left her and her mother. "She feels hot," the employee said, "Dude what the hell are you doing?" The Dealer said. He was in the doorway of the waiting room. "I think she is dead." "Dude, let her be. She'll be fine." Then they both walked back into the den. Mary looked up at the Sun. The sky went black. She was so hot that her tear drops immediately dried on her face.
The sky was like looking through a long tunnel, "Come on Mary!" She thought she heard The Dealer say. The The Dealer took a long pull from a bong that he called "Alice" because it looked like the same bong that was in the movie Alice In Wonderland. She'll come around in about an hour.
Tom Troubadour looked at a clock on the Record store building on Esplanade. It was the time for him to busk again. Now he had three packs of Marlboro Reds and a good six pack buzz. The bum stopped in front of Checkpoint Charlies. Outside the bar, the street people hang out. "Hey what's up?" They cheerfully greeted Tom Troubadour with all their hugs and joints. They wore thrift store bought clothes. Most of them haven't showered or bathed in a long while. There were sleeping bags on the sidewalks. A couple of them had dogs on leaches. And as he gave out cigarettes, one at a time. When he noticed the bum wasn't around, he suddenly appeared and shouted, "Let Freedom Ring! Let Freedom Ring! Let Freedom Ring!" With that the bum started throwing twenty-dollar bills through the air.
Tom stood in the entrance of Checkpoint Charlies. He barely remembered the last time he played in there because he was drunk and high out of his mind. He remembered looking at the television behind the bar and was trying and stopped playing as the last five of the thirty of the audience left. Tom started cussing on the mic, "Well %$#* ya'll!" Shortly after that he was escorted out of the bar by New Orleans' finest. Tom ever so wanted, longed to have a second chance to redeem himself. Afterall, he had that good buzz. That not going beyond the buzz kind of buzz that made him loose, yet not too loose. Checkpoint Charlies had about thirty tables with stools. Has dimly red glow around everything; except on the barely big enough stage. Barely has room enough to fit a four-piece band. There's a poster of Hank among the past promo performer flyers posted on the walls. The bar was connected to a flat steel stove. There was a large refrigerator beside the stove. There are about ten bar stools in front of the bar slash stove. Tom looked at all the bottles on the stands behind the bar tender. There are all sorts of writing-drunk, high, and Loh'Rd knows whatever else inspired prose are on the bathroom walls. Behind the stage there's a laundry mat that has an Elvis pinball machine on a back wall of the laundry mat. There were only four in the audience. The musician playing his acoustic guitar was good. But by his sound was off his game. "Guitar Joe," Tom muttered to himself. They had played together on the sidewalk in front of 'Touchdown Jesus.'
He remembered how instantly he drew the crowd with his fingers going majestically up and down the guitar neck. People came and threw their bills down. That was a couple years ago. He thought about returning the favor as he gulped down the last drops of his beer. Yet he was more curious about where the bum went. Perhaps the night's adventure was over. He walked back into the streets. "They probably won't let me in there anyway," Tom whispered to himself.
"Hey, Tom you want this?" A street person asked him. He went by the name Leather Lee. They, and he uses that name because year around he's wearing some sort of leather vest, black leather pants. His upper body looked like it was chiseled out of stone. Sometimes for fun he assists either helping a bouncer or being a bouncer himself. "Sure man," Troubadour Tom took a long toc. Leather Lee wouldn't normally let someone take such a long hit.
Tom would get the 'let loose' feeling to get the gumption to go inside Checkpoint Charlie's and help Joe gain more confidence. Tom pictured it in his head of going unnoticed by the scrutinizing bar tender.
I been obsessing as I usually do. Seldom are my performances good enough. Thinking that I should have followed the advice of my shrink. She told me years ago that I should practice a lot before I go on that stage. My ego got in the way. As it will do. When I got up there and performed on Wednesdays at Martins, I went full Metal. Oh, I'm imagining someone reading these words in this book years from now. Probably be my niece. Not my nephews. When I finished my set no one cheered-that hurt. But the true blessing today is that I'm not obsessing of death that I witnessed at The Pentagon.
I call it "The Haunted Highway"-seems so majestic with Dylan's song. I mean even God did stuff on that highway. God told Abraham to kill his son. As well as the ole Robert Johnson tale of selling his soul where Levon Helm (supposedly) said Highway 61 and Highway 49 cross (crossroads) in Clarksdale. Highway 49 starts in Gulfport's beach. It is said that spirits are around, and come to the water, any water. Highway 49 takes around 360 miles from the beach to Clarksdale. Three hundred and sixty degrees is also a circle. A circle can give us the opportunity to do something right that we got wrong the first time.
"My name is Don," he said putting his best impression forward. Best impression fueled by what he thought that was driven by his twenty-minute beer mixed with the hard stuff binge. He had on his newest Polo shirt that matched his corduroy pants and his top sider shoes. He had created three big shot stories, in his head to impress her. The guy she was talking to went to the bathroom. That was his opportunity to approach her, "My name is Don," he said. "What?" she replied. "My name is Don," he said again.
"The payoff is big," he thought over and over again. ...then he remembered Roads at the party. "What you got that can improve me?" the jock asked. "Improve you?" Roads asked. "You know, for when I am on the field," the jock replied.
Coming back. Coming to from the void. The walls seemed to breathe. What was he to do? He heard, flet his heartbeat quicker.
"How many people are there?"
"Well there's no escaping God," Thomas Moon said as he looked at his wrist watch. Then he took a few steps. Opened the door to the chapel. Then nodded his head. Motioning them to come in. Ricky was the last to enter, "You and your damned white god," he said in a humorous tone. It was begrudgingly to Moon that there was one guard there. Moon preferred no guards because it made the inmates nervous. It stopped them from being honest.
"Well, I need some readers," the chairman said. You could tell he was nervous. "I'll help," Thomas got up and took the readings and passed them out to four of the five. Ricky gave Thomas an angry look as he handed him "The Promises," making sure the guard didn't see him. Then he acted like he was going to get up out of the chair and attack. Thomas just sighed and shook his hood. Then they did the Serenity Prayer. The chairman read from the AA Daily Reflections book for the topic and then got only silence when he asked, "Who wants to share?"
Thomas was the first to reply, "My name is Thomas, I'm an alcoholic. Rather than seeing my own errors. Tak accountability, quit drinking. I always had that story about how everyone was trying to keep me down. Was it any wonder that I would drink at them..."
Suddenly two of the inmates became enthused about sharing, They remembered that it would help them when they went and had a judge in front of them. "My name is R'John. I'm an alcoholic. An I'm proud to say that I have a week sober and clean." Yea right, I saw you smoke a spliff last night," Ricky interrupted. "You can't prove it. Well temptations great. An' there's a lot more drugs in prison. It seems like you're an outcast if you don't do what everybody else is doing..." an R'John rattled on saying all that he thought he should say for the next thirty minutes. The nervous chairman was relieved that the meeting was almost over. Then there was an uncomfortable silence for the next five minutes. Then he kept looking at his watch.
Moon looked at Ricky. Ricky tried to play it cool. But for some reason he thought he could find peace, learn some sort of redemption. Moon nodded his head. "Alright fine, I'll share. They're saying that you can find God in church. But from what I see God's present in hardships. Not only in a place like this. He's in places where there is a battle field of the mind."
‘’YOU WERE AFRAID OF THE NEW SO YOU STUCK WITH THE OLD-AIN’T
NUTHIN’ WRONG-
BUT
EVERYTHING…”
"Really would have made a great rap album cover. Right away he thought of promoting his "Gun Show" song and his ebook Going Educational. But all of that went to the back of his mind as he recieved a photo from "I don't even know what to call him." His son's grandfather sent him a picture of his son in his rotc uniform. But all he could fixate on was his son not having his last name. Then he was in the mode to self-destruct as he looked on his facebook and saw that one of the town's music promotoers was promoting another musician and not him. Was he not good enough? He had a backing band when he got on stage. This was someone who never came to the promoters club. he had been going there for over a decade.
Life After The Boos
...and a voice emerges. It is a voice of reason. "You expect these musicians to check you out when you don't check out their stuff. When was the last time you listened to someone else and not tried to be an attention whore?" "Yea but some of those people I have continued to like and follow their stuff on social media. and they never ever correspond with me." "Why are you so focused on those that don't support you?" "You know that you should focus on the positives not the negatives." They were given thirty minutes to perform when he was given five minutes. he remembered the first few times he came there the promoter supported his works. But that time had long since passed. Then the lights went dim. The backing band had a saxophone player leading them. He was well known throughout Jackson. The band rumbled from high to low volume, and slowed their tempo. She walked on stage. The stage light centered on her. She did her usual welcoming speech. Then she started talking about the featured artist. Then she, "...I'm doing it for all of you. You don't want bad entertainment. You want to get the most."
...and i felt about two feet tall. Unnoticed, unwanted. Then I felt that everyone in there was staring at me. I felt betrayed. Then predictably the angst became, came back to me. Wanted to leave. I had already been there for thirty minutes. I made the commitment to practice my piece every day a week prior to that moment. He knew he wasn't great all the time. But he was better than some of the passed featured artist. He had the stats of likes and loves on his social media proving that he was worth being heard. The piece he would perform tonight "ONE MORE JUST AIN'T ENOUGH FOR ME."
"Artist do it for themselves. Performers do it for their audience," he remembered hearing that phrase. He was still trying to convince himself that others didn't base their liking of him on the pieces he created.
Likeness of his astrological sign Aries; he had characteristics of wanting war. He looks for a reason for the day to go horrid. Creating reasons by warped perceptions, "They're all against me." "I'll show them how great I am." Thus he was led by his fury and his fear. It took about three months for him to burn out. The fury of what he thought of others reversed onto him. He started years ago. Yes, like this time, 2009, it involved...He thought something was wrong.
She said, "You seem so distant." Thus it began again. "We go out and you just seem so spaced out. I'm not sure if you even love me." He thought that she would have been considerate enough to let him finish his meal. had she fixed this great meal so carefully just to lay it thick on him? He could smell the tomatoes sauce really strong with Parsley. The meatballs and noodles so crafted and tasty. It had been a while since she had cooked something this good. He remembered too many times he wondered what am I doing with my life? The last time something tasted this great was on their first date.
“There’s just one way to come back, but you have to work for
us.” He realized it was strange. Things were set in place like a dream.
He was driving a car. A 1970’s Cadillac. He’d look at the
road. And when he looked away from the road he was in a small room. He looked
up to one of the walls and noticed flowers on the wall. He remembered he had
been in that room before.
“You know how to set us free. You know how to help us escape
hell,” After he heard those words, he realized he was in a mausoleum.
…and one day he let his entities go. Entities that were
stored inside a circle of Peruvian prayer beads. The prayer beads are cow bones
that are carved into skulls. Skulls that are attached by a middle hole where a
string woven out of sheep’s hair. One can count the number of beads. The number
can stand for the number of breaths, number of minutes, number of hours, number
of days, even the number of years. One can concentrate on the amount of time
he/she wants something to happen. The number of items inside the beads that he
picked up have emotional attachments. There is also money within the boundary.
In the middle of these items is a candle that burns. What candles should one
use? It depends on what you want to manifest. The colors: green and brown fertility,
purple for creativity, pink for love. You have the items in the circle for the
purpose of concentrating to manifest what you want-although some would say it’s
sorcery -or witch craft.
Although he calls it an altar, he goes on to say it’s an
energy point or it’s a way to concentrate.
Let the candle burn from beginning to end. Start the ritual
by breathing patterns (missing text)… During certain times of year, moon cycles
grant more power. The items casts shadows on the wall by candle light in the
dark. Majickal thinking guided him-told him what to do. One day he decided to
let it all go-he removed the beads-removed the circle-and the energy that was
stored roamed free. The things on the items caused different events to happen.
One of the things with in the energy circle was a bag that was small enough to
fit in your palm, that contained grave yard dirt. The dirt was from a grave of
his best friend. The friend always told him that ghost of the buried don’t
haunt us. It’s the energy from the living that come to the graveyards that
haunt us.
The roads looked brand new, and there were no streetlights
to help see the path. There were large bushes that looked like giant green
leaves that swayed in the wind. Winds that howled. It scared him a little, but
thankfully she played the Anthrax album ‘Persistence of Time’ loud in the car’s
cassette tape deck. The chain smoking of Marlboro Reds and the Budweiser forty
ounce he sipped also helped his nervous apprehension, “Time time ticking in my
head,” Anthrax singer Scot Ian sang. She sings along with him. The car she was
driving was her father’s nineteen eighty-eight Toyota Corolla. As a good stoner
story, she would always describe how she lost his prior car. “Damn,” he
muttered as he realized the wind were howling even louder. “Relax baby we’re
almost there,” she said. Around the time of five more songs, she parked the car
in the front yard of a trailer home. There were rust spots, and off-white spots
on the outside. It seemed like it was a cheap molding job. There was a walkway
to the front door that he learned later was acquired from an airport. Before
she turned off the car, an old man quickly came out of the door with an old
pistol in his hand.
The man had on a ragged pair of blue jeans, a tight fitted
ragged leather black jacket that had spots of brown and dingy tan with his bare
hairy chest exposed. Had on a white cow boy hat that had a shiny silver star on
the front. He had silver stubble on his chin and face.
Summer 2012: Driving through Central Arizona the ground goes
flat for a long stretch and the new asphalt roads turn into white roads with
cracks, then it goes to dirt as you see the hills ahead of the Navajo you’ll
find the chosen people, The Hopi.
The world was suspect
to end because The Mayan Callender ended in 2012.
The spirit attached to the Kachina doll escaped the circle.
It looked for a host. Somewhere in the night, in the city. A city which may not
be the biggest city-it was big enough to open it’s mouth a swallow up anyone or
anything. The mouth of the city are the acts that residents do. The acts could
be the thievery, the drug deal, the crooked law.
It’s two am in the morning. Two to three in the morning
spirits have their utmost power, “Cuzz there’s nothing good that happens at two
in the morning,” is untrue-Angels also have their power during that hour of two
to three in the morning. It is a matter of fact, that God’s time is not like
man’s time.
-and all those criticisms I hear in my mind. I used to think
that my father was being mean. Now I see that he was holding me to a higher
standard. What if I have listened, then really applied what he told me?
After Wednesday night; oh my goodness, it’s not healthy to
keep a hold of this one. If I wouldn’t have played on that Ground Zero Blues
Club stage at all. Ground Zero. I wonder if it was opened up after the Pentagon
attacks.
I am pretty sure that he had the best intentions in his
purpose- “Good intentions pave the road to hell,” Ozzy Osbourne.
Cut
of the money
The spirit of the Kachina doll finds its host in a dog
walking toward the boy. In the time it takes for a mother’s tear to hit the
floor, the Kachina possessed dog runs towards the boy barking. Of course the
boy runs away from the violent dog.
There was also a strange gust of wind that followed the dog.
Had its way with the leaves. As if someone was being pulled across. Followed by
screeching sirens and the red, white, and blue lights of the police cars that
lit up the dark blocks with more houses boarded up and unlivable than livable
houses.
It seemed like a good idea to place the shaker skull in the
middle of two feathers. One feather he found outside his back door. The other
feather he found on the side walk entrance, of the front door of his job. He
bought the shaker skull at a music store. He put the skull in between the
feathers on his dashboard, minutes before arriving in the Yazoo City town
cemetery. Didn’t take him long to find the witch’s grave.
Take the perfect film from the cell phone. Then do the app
to create pictures from the films.
There was a granite marker that that had bold black engraved
letters, “Witch’s grave” with an arrow pointing to it. The grave itself had big
black engraved letters explaining the story. The grave has a square of a broken
chain, with one link missing. That’s missing when the witch broke her chains
she was buried that bound her. He started by standing on the marker, sucked his
gut in, flexed his upper body to look the best he could in the dry fit athletic
shirt. The top hat he wore reminded him of one of his heroes ‘Billy Jack.’ Then
he took his Stella guitar out of his trunk dated from 1940’s. Had a guitar
slide on his pinky. He set the camera up at the perfect angle, so he thought.
He didn’t realize he was recording himself upside down. Standing on the witch’s
grave, he strummed the guitar-believing that something, an entity, “From the
Other Side.” “You mean those who have died? Like uh ‘DEAD TIME.’” “You need to
heed. To those as you say in , ‘Dead Time.’ A decade is like ten minutes. You
really angered someone. More specifically you’ve angered an entity.”
She was on the run in the swamp. The voices were getting
closer Wouldn’t make sense, to most, that no matter how far she got the voices
were closer.
Ten cop cars to the front, sides, and the back of the
building. The boy quickly climbed up a ten foot fence to an old basketball
court that only had back boards. The sound of gun fire followed after the boy
completed his prayer with more intent than ever before for God to save him.
The dealer inside Hotel Hell, didn’t say a word as the law,
‘On the Other Side’ of the door. “Now remember, we taking him in!” the sergeant
in charge yelled. He had a personal grudge against the dealer. His son met the
dealer at the town’s gang hang out.
“I took whatever would take me,” but then I stuttered. I
can’t write that in. That’ll make it seem like she could have been anyone.
Anyone that would love me. Well, it doesn’t have to be complicated like I
always make it. You see that attractive one you want. You take action to
establish a relationship. If they vibe back then you proceed to make beautiful
moments together. If not, you move on to the next one. “…and I tried after we
separated. I kept trying to treat them better than I treated you during our ruff
spots. It never seemed to worked. They took advantage of me. An’ I played the
victim. Took years of work, a lot of tears, a lot of mental/emotional/spiritual
anguish for me to realize that I put myself in situations to be hurt.
The son was one of those rich white boys who heard, “Cuzz
I’m tha type of nigga that’s built to last. F#ck with me, I’ll put a foot up ur
ass…yo what the f#ck is they yelling,” blared out of the dealer’s brand-new
Benz. “That’s NWA’s old school. What’s you know about old school,” the dealer
said to the boy.
The world winds (whirlwinds) were brisk from the beaches of
the shore, and sounded like that sound when you put a sea shell to your ear,
and from the cars traveling on Highway 90. On the service drive of 90, kids
congregated by the cars with the loudest car stereos that boomed. The
gangbangers and wanna be gangsters waited for anyone who didn’t belong.
The cults of enlightenment brought self-discoveries, and the
promises of reaching a point of bliss. Yet in actuality, they were gathering
high hopes with little action. They were followers. “He is irresponsible,
immature. Maybe you should call him. Give him some guidance.”
Was seven years old at the Blow Fly Inn. The Blowfly Inn was
spacious with enough room to set thirty tables. Had a large screen in porch
that set twenty people, and an outside porch that overlooked brick yard bayou.
Boats pulled up on its deck to come have dinners. Families created memories
that would last a lifetime.
It went from normal handwriting to scribbles. An as his
tolerance increased his wit became what polite people would call ‘aloof.’ The
spacing of the words began to obviously form shapes. The text he was reading of
various accounts and memoirs of The Dead, had looked like affirmations at
first, “He sat across the table from his mother at the favorite restaurant
since he…”
It was a day when some would say “Darkness made a pact with
light” a solar eclipse. During such events there is a belief that the veil
between worlds is thin. He was starting his weekend early. A four day holiday
listening to his favorite Gangsta Rap group N.W.A. “One less bitch you gotta
worry about.” His flow started mimicking the lyrics, writing a fantasy that he
was a bad guy, stealing, robbing, and drug dealing. An hour later, Roads
knocked on his dorm room door.
…later she would be killed-a sacrifice and stealing, along
with the strange figurines he wrote was enough (to give the entity an escape
from another realm. The room was liquid all around. The water from the ceiling
slowly drips on the floor. It ripples creating a big circle within (our)
smaller ones; a smaller circle surrounded by bigger circles. It swirls
never-ending. It is a vortex that is sucking us in, spitting us out. Another
drop falls. I realize it is a tear from my eye to the ground. I’m scared, I look
up at the ceiling-it is just a room. Then I realized I’m looking at a cube. Am
I going into or out of?
Certain things that seem like ‘Good Ideas’ at the time. A
shaker (percussion) in the shape of a skull. A couple ten-inch feathers just so
happen to be in plain sight. I place the skull in the center of two feathers. I
mount it to my dashboard by a piece of nicotine gum that I took out of my
mouth. Then I stepped out of my car with my guitar in hand. Walked slowly to
the witch’s grave. I sit in the center of the chains. I strum deliberately with
my right. Figuring the frets with my left hand’s fingers. I close my eyes
waiting for a vision.
“Dude you have to change things up. Let me have a chance
with her.” He heard them saying as if he was in the special room. That’s the
meeting room. Roads fired it up and started taking long slow pulls.
I can still remember the dream. Most of it so vivid. Can’t
remember all of the specific descriptions.
I was completely without clothes in this small area. My
surrounding were tin and burnt tin. I referenced it in my mind as being Celtic
witchcraft. I was staring at my guitar case. Time moved forward…then this guy
with curly dark hair. He took the guitar out of his case. Time moved
forward…then this guy with curly dark hair took the guitar out of the case. I
thought to myself that it was unlike anything that I had seen before. All I
remember was that there was a small compartment on the back of it. Big enough
to fit a couple rifle magazines. Time moved forward, I was walking to an upper
floor.
…this man explained to me that inside this structure were
spells never sent out. I woke up knowing that I needed to get closer to Jesus
and still remembering that the insides looked huge. Seemed to be bigger inside
than outside.
“It’s not an alter to a god or gods, as I say it is. More
like a containment of energies. Every item, inside of the barrier of the
Peruvian prayer beads comes from the energy of someone or some event that was
significant to me. Their energy and that energy is still on it and maintains
and increases its power. When I light the candle in the center of the
energy-the energies attach themselves to the flame-and thus are exposed through
the flame…”
“But you are adding money, giving a god or gods your money…”“No,”
he interrupted, “I am feeding the energy.” “What about the smoke from the
incense? You burn it from being incased in that hooded figurine. God will not
allow sorcery into his kingdom.” He knew there was no productivity surmised in
the argument.
“The smoke is the energy breathing.” “Energy breathing.
Energy breathing-utmost ridiculous. How does energy breathe?”
…sometimes the phantoms can only be seen by altering the
mechanical perception. Use a different filter. Adjust the lighting, adjust the
contrast, zoom in and out-you’ll see it eventually. You will see ‘The Energy
Breathing.’ Why do this? Why search so much? You are wasting time on flashy
effects.
…to pounce on. But usually initiations took place on what
they called “their sacred ground”- a statement that was antidisestablishment.
Whatever they assumed that the man owned, they would take.
The initiation were for someone who wanted to join their
gang or gain rank or to answer for violations. Usually, violations were usually
the same. One on one for a minute or two, then they would change gang members.
The number of fighters depend on the gang leader’s decision.
“You ready Vanilla Boy,” the dealer asked the boy. And the
boy of course said yes. Even though he was noticeably trembling with fear. This
was his lifetime dream, he thought. He’d have street cred like the rappers he
listened to. And so amidst the laughter and mockery, that he knew were about
him, he began to walk toward the crowd on the edge of the circle, “But hey
Vanilla Boy,” the dealer grabbed his shoulder, “Yea.” “Take this,” the dealer
handed him the skinny hand rolled cigarette containing weed and crack-more
crack than weed.
Of course they let him finish the pinner before Big T. came
from behind wrapped his hands around his torso, picked him up and walked him to
the circle. Then threw him into the first one’s fist. Vanilla Boy fell to the
ground. He heard something crack in his face. But strangely he noticed he
didn’t feel the pain. “GET UP!” He got up. Saw him run up. Closed his eyes and
swung his arms wildly. Got in a lucky one. The first on the fall back. Then
another one came. They took turns beating him. Then they passed him one of the
malt liquor cans, and told him he was part of them now. And the dealer even
gave him a couple laced joints. Didn’t him but a year and a half for the boy to
become a hopeless drug addict.
Somethings that happened: the coming in late: “Where have
you been?
Cop Father waiting in the dark. And once
he turned the lights on it was obvious that Vanilla Boy was high out of his
mind. The ridicule at work of his mom, “There she is. They must call her
something like sweet an’ low,” her students would mock her at the high school.
As her peers, “Poor thing.”
To the boy being found cold and dead in an abandoned house,
therefore Officer Mac would have been relieved when the dealer had his weapon
drawn, that would give him the legality.
“I knew I should have gone with him that night,” she would
say over the years.
In the beginning it was just a joking thing. Then midway
through and toward the end of them she used that phrase as a weapon, “Well go
head then. I could replace you in a couple hours clubbing.”
He also joked a lot
over the years. It was a defense that he used. But that was way back then
before his six pack abs had changed into a bowling ball. “Yoga ball,” their kid
called it.
He fluctuates from construction to construction job. Today
was the big pay day. Took their boy to the animatronics occupied family pizza
restaurant. “Damn it. They don’t even sell beer here. What type of bullsh#t it
this?” She used to tell him to lower his voice. But she learned if she told him
to be quiet that would just make it worse. Instead she just took extended
bathroom breaks. While in the bathroom, she’d take her trusty sedative that
would give her further emotional respite.
I wonder if they still have those ‘choose your own
adventure’ books around. Kids believe they can create so many things. An’ as we
grow into adults, most of us learn that the sky is not the limit. We learn our
place in the world. Or what we interpret as our place in the world. Oh okay let
me personalize “Limiting beliefs” that I have. Pages without a bio. Meant to
write one. Want to get it right, because I figured I could either gain or lose
views by having a lack luster bio. Seems that it has been utmost recently that
I have had this urge to do one. When
promoting any art, I think that it is like a popularity contest, the gift of
gab. It’s like being in high school, I was far from being popularity contest. I
was the kid sitting alone wanting for someone to walk up and let me be part of
their group. Thinking that something must have been wrong with me I was raised
upper class, my childhood friends were the cool kids, but were a grade behind.
Also having to be in those special education classes left me feeling that I
just didn’t belong. Inferiority-The only thing I stayed steady at doing were
writing and working out. I remember I watched a peer in first grade write a
book and put it in the library so I followed his example. All I remember of the
context was something along the format of the book series ‘Choose Your Own
Adventure.’ I’m also remembering books that my parents got me that had pictures
with spaces below the pictures. The instructions were to write a story about
what you interpreted from the picture.
“No matter what…it’s just not gonna work out for me.” I was
so resentful, when someone shared in a meeting that she felt, ‘Lost, sad’ and a
few more stages of angst. I shared that self-pity, my self-pity, has no logic
and no solution. I was thinking that I may have done more harm than good. Like
I was talking down to her. Like I was trying to make myself into a big shot.
Also I went on to explain that I had to keep moving-and not get locked in my
thoughts.
Sure enough, like that inevitable thought of drinking comes
(not as much anymore) sure enough my mental angst returned.
There were three at the table at the openmic. “Such a saving
concept to be a superstar,” they say, and know it to be true now, hopefully I
didn’t learn too quick/too late that when they make it look so easy-that means
they have practiced for a long time. Personally, it prtakes about thirty
minutes a day for seven days to have a decent fifteen-minute jam. To learn one
song I figure, in high hopes (most of the time) it takes about twenty five
times to have it sound descent. I digress, to an easily influenced early to mid
teens, the idea of being a rock star seems appeasing and easy. All you gotta
do, all I thought that I had to do was write a song, find a good beat, put the
words to the beat and instantly they’ll hear it and give you money and love.
So he went walking through the new neighborhood. Utmost
certain that he had arrived, it had been about six months prior that he had ran
away from home, and his momma followed. From watching MTV Raps, listening
to rap music all the time, and other influences, that he can’t remember,
he surmised that rich people were evil and the poor really knew what salvation
was. He noticed things were different in the new neighborhoods he ventured
down. Where he was raised everyone drove the latest Cadillac, BMW, or Mercedese.
Where he was raised, most of the houses
were two stories, all the lawns were pristine. There was a yardman who
made his career very lucrative from yard work. Not him though, his father made
him cut their lawn.
The voice of the televangelist Holy Man was strong; full of
compassion. These types always have that accent. The savvy producers make sure
to direct the camera man to focus on the surrounding congregation while the
televangelist Holy Man says certain cues like “OurrahGaghwd,”
“YouraghSalahvasheun.” Yep this is the best reality show ever. When I’m going
through the channels at around two am. Two AM is the hour that all kind of
spirit roam, the world possessing. Possessing? No let us use term inspire. Two
AM is the hour that all kinds of spirits, roam the world, to inspire people to
do all sorts of things.
“Intention without surrender is a path to delusion,”-AA
…”andagh thatttah muzesick iz ah ovagh witchaghkraftthere
forah izah demonnick,” he says. Reminding me that all those things the
responsible ones: teachers, maybe parents, and yes Holy Men weren’t being mean
trying to warn and protect me from doing bad things that too many to count do
that cause them to lose their way.
I keep coming back home for some sense of comfort-some sense
of security. Something that seems to keep me stagnated from making an effort.
“Making an effort,” to me is the reminders of not being good enough to get that
job closer to somewhere that I call, “Home.”
That great feeling of going to my Ma’s house cuzz it’s so
big and I eat the food that I normally don’t eat. The serious world that I’m
only in for the job. The job should have gotten that house. Shouldah gotten
that wife and kids. But I feel exempt from that for being lesser than.
“…and I just knew that God was there for me in that moment,”
and he was toward the end of his story at The Crossroad’s Baptist Church. The
crowd was small. It was built out of two shotgun houses, one behind the other.
Had enough pews to fit two hundred. Had a built up stage. Perfect acoustics,
didn’t
Not sure when this started. I’m sure that it’s annotated,
Gifts were given-bout four journals-And I was like, “Gotta start writing in
em.” So I’ll write a one page prompt at the ‘in person’ AA meeting. Takes about
ten minutes to write a page. At first I was adding on to a bio-story. Then it
morphed into a slice of life. I really wanted to express demonic possession
through the use of drugs and alcohol. Using the premise spiritual and
possessive episodes have different time than the living (manmade time). For
instance, decades are only a few seconds to entities on the other side. Yea, my
slice of life stuff, self-help topics were fairly popular on my honeabyrne.com
blog.
even
need a PA system. Behind the church
part, in the second shot gun house was a kitchen and dining area. In the very
back were some wooden stairs that led to an above ground miniature pool for
Baptisms.
I knew just by looking at him. That we had some sort of
connection someplace. I’ve heard about strange coincidences that religious
folks would call “God Winks.”
To be here now was my spiritual evolution.
The energies I had given to the objects-took their energies
back. It came in the form of losing money. I spent the fifty dollars that I put
in the circle. And the energies in the circle collected back three-fold.
Started less than twenty-four hours later when a freakish
tornado came through and knocked out the electricity. Ruined around a hundred
and fifty dollar’s worth of food in my refrigerator. After the storm subsided,
I assessed the damage outside. Trees landed on cars. Trees in the streets. Yet
there was a small path, just big enough for me to maneuver my car through. I decided to go driving.
I remembered what it looked like
“When The Sky had its Way with The Earth.”
Dark Clouds loomed low
Blanketing all light
The Winds Whirled (World Wind)
violently bending street light lamps, electric poles, shaking traffic lights, tall billboards. Then I
watched the electric cables rendered to the ground and twirl wildly like
serpents.
In the time desperation takes a
prayer, I knew the plastic black cloak on the base of a molded raft surrounded
by thirteen skulls. Yes the storm will last by a divination of thirteen. Could
it be thirteen seconds? Thirteen minutes, or thirteen hours? Or, and as
measured in other dimensions- could be thirteen years, thirteen lives, or
thirteen generations-The Energy of that way of roaming free from my energy
circle.
I purchased both items from a
mall store. The store had-
Times countless, to me, that I
watched my lit candle flicker among the smoke of my lit incense that caused
smoke to at first be still forming a smoke face inside the cowl hood from the
cloak. Next, the smoke gathered around the base, light fog settling on the
lands, especially near water, water where spirits gathered. Then the smoke rose
around the flame. I’m remembering, “The Now Of The Then.” As the smoke around
the flame-The Moon among the dark clouds. Did I cause such destruction? To
ponder that one is unfortunately opening his/herself to be their own god: A
symptom of what modern day magicians (psychologists, counselors, and such)
would call a psychosis.
When the Night’s Eye shows itself-all
sorts of things happen. The Moon eclipsing The Harvest Moon, The Blue Moon, or
a Solstice Moon.
O n this particular Christmas
night, the moon was blood red. The black void of the cloak came during the 13th
hour. She’s a wild one.
“I have something that scares me.
Or I have something I’m looking forward to.
I’ll pick up the chips as a
reminder that I’ll be okay.”
Went to her court appointed
Narcotics Anonymous meeting at the eleventh hour. She had just enough money to
get that nod. The meeting had twelve other addicts there.
Many would say that God is
present in those twelve step rooms. Perhaps it’s unfortunate to open oneself to
the idea that the devil is present in those rooms as well, “My name is Sarah,
and I’m an addict.” “Hello Sarah.”
…thus it’s miraculous when God
speaks through others in the rooms.
“I’m always obsessed. If it’s not
about getting high, it’s about how everyone is doing better than me. Or it’s
about how others treat me bad…” Sarah had long hair. Had it braided so that it
hung to the center of her back. A little over a year ago, she was skin and
bones with yellow greenish pale skin. Now she has a figure to her that’s
healthy and she wears clothes that she looks good in.
“My name is Lori Ann and I’m an
addict. I finally learned and did get out of my Higher Power’s way…” Lori Ann
got a job at the same rehab that she attended. She’s been clean and serene for
years.
“My name is Martha and I’m an
addict. In the other program they talk about Promises that come true. I thought
something was wrong with me that I didn’t see these coming true in my life. In
Narcotics Anonymous the only promise is freedom from active addiction. And I
realized that when I’m humble that that freedom gives me so much more. It gives
me a life I have never dreamed of…” In her using days, Martha stole money from
her home group. Six months after that when she paid it back, she was sponsored
by a financial consultant, Martha became a pillar of the community. Has been
clean and sober for seven years. Eight more shared.
And she continued to hear more
things about herself as the sharing (God Talk) continued. She had gained weight
back too. Didn’t look like skin and bones. She heard an addict share the joy
that she got clean and sober before her daughter could remember her using. But
she kept telling herself like countless times before, “I’ll just do it one more
time. After that I’ll get right and be a good mother. I’ll never be that good
off. It’s just not meant for me.” …and she imagined the high-tried to block it
out, “The wisdom to know the difference. She got in her dented up cracked
windowed, missing headlight car.
There’s a river that passes
through hell. To get across that river one must pay the ferryman (Charon). One
of the items energies set free was from an AA coin.
When one leaves the Earth he/she
must pay the Charon a coin.
In other worlds (God’s Time is
different from manmade time.
The energies of the chip went to
father’s wake. He remembered hearing his father talk to his stepmom, “I just
don’t understand why he came to Thanksgiving high out of his mind again. I’ve
done everything O could do to help him.”
The son remembered being drunk
and high when he called his father on the telephone, “It’s your fault that I
don’t have anything. It’s your fault my girlfriends leave me. It’s your fault
because you treated mom so bad. It doesn’t matter how much money you have. You
failed at life. That new wife you got will leave you too. How dare you treat
your wife’s kids better than you treat me.” He called his father a lot with
those type of sentiments. But this time, he actually remembered. He did
remember hearing his father cry many times when he did that.
The son remembered being
resentful at his grandmother, father’s side for treating him lesser than
human-so he thought. The son had yellow skin and was underweight. Clothes that
once fit him didn’t because he was strung out from the drugs and the alcohol.
She passed him on the street while driving her car. Then turned her head away
in disgust. He remembered having a restraining from attending her funeral.
He remembered coming to his
father’s office using emotional blackmail. Explaining how he was ruined and
needed money to get nice clothes for a job interview. And the father was
manipulated again out of a hundred and fifty dollars.
BLANK SLATE AND BLANK STARES
Came out of that huge room packed
with folks, hundred and fifty at least. Dim lights with shades of red beaming
down the lime light, or of course-in this instance, ‘The Red Light.’ The house
band led by the sexy sax had a keyboardist, bass and drums. The interference
continues, like so many times before, while I’m up on that stage. Fortunately,
I have rhymes that I have memorized as my thoughts work against me, “You suck.”
“They all hate you.” “Everyone knows that you are a fool.” I want to cry. Got
the sunglasses on in the dark in case I do. Can’t see the faces that mock me. I
finish-they roar in approval and clap. “Yay.” Outside the room I look up and
see that there’s a moisture and stain on the window. It looks like a skull.
The son looked around the funeral
home at his relatives on his father’s
side. All of them distanced themselves from him. Or was that in his own mind.
He thought he heard them whispering, “He’s actually got the nerve to show up.”
“I bet he’s strung out again. ” He also heard, “No I heard he’s doing well now.
He’s got a job as a counselor now.” Most of those talking negatively about him
hadn’t seen him in years. The program taught him to let all the negativity go.
His eyes were clouded by his unfallen tears. He indeed was smart to wear the
sunglasses. He opened the door of the large area where his father was.
He entered the room with his head
down.
Minutes after the feast. He was
compelled to tell me he had liver cancer.
One of the best things he did for
me was making me study two hours a night. This groomed me to practice the
guitar every day.
And Now. Now, five years later
when I have practiced and have a good performance-I AM REWARDED.
I’m sick, and they kindly say,
“I’ll Pray for you.” …I assume they mean “Pray for me to be Healthy Again.”
What if it’s God’s Will For Me To Die?
I had developed a sickness before
I had learned about my father’s. It was Thanksgiving. My stepmom, my father, my
niece and nephew were in the kitchen. There were platters, bowls, and plates
with the regulars on the marble center table, potatoes, gravy, turkey,
cranberries, and dressing. The interior designer came in, seemingly from
nowhere. Wearing blue jeans and a black shirt to get his pay. He asked my
stepmom, while my father was in the kitchen, “How’s he taking the news?” and my
father then entered the room.
The casket was open. He was
surrounded by his stepmom and his step siblings. The ugly voices came again-the
same ugly voices he heard often before taking the fix. When the voices came
before he used it as an excuse to use. And the voices would continue. It’s the
same voice we all hear that gives us self-doubt, self-hatred, “You’re an
embarrassment.” “You’re a failure.” “He could never love you.” Fortunately,
there is another voice, “Keep going. You’re a better person now. You’ve made
your amends. God loves you.” And of course The Sayings In The Rooms That Save
Lives, “Acceptance is the Answer.” “Let Go. Let God.” and the affirmations his
counselor told him, “Everyday, I’m getting better in every way.” These were
enough if he chose to deal with his emotional state as well as possible.
His relatives stepped away from
the open casket. He looked around to make sure that he and his father were the
only ones in the room. He noticed the nice furniture, the pretty pictures on
the walls, the fancy framed mirrors: Everything so pristine and proper. He
remembered being angry that his father didn’t buy him houses and cars. It took
some work for the son to realize his foolish ways; and change. Then he
remembered his father saying, “Son as long as you take care of yourself as best
you can, I will be there for you when you’re in need.” And he was grateful that
his father knew him after he got clean and sober. He remembered the fun they
had on fishing trips, the billiard games. He remembered his father having that
tear in his eye when he graduated from college. He remembered being told in one
of those meetings that he should give more than take.
Thus the lines he could remember
of the Saint Francess Prayer came to his thoughts. Next he remembered that he
had a small book in his jacket pocket. He turned to page 101. The he wrote down
the prayer on a napkin. The son wept as he read the prayer over and over again.
It had to be anything other than
communication and being a conduit to the evil entities of the other side. It
was guilt for living wrong. For his upper-class upbringing taught him never to
do the things he did now. But ‘now’ was a ‘back then.’ “’The Back Then’ always
effects ‘The Now,” he mumbled to himself as he drew the picture of a figure
exhaling smoke. In his smoke were evil figurines. As well as…The smoke consumed
all. In the consuming smoke he drew police cars and dilapidated homes.
“There is more to do,” The all
too familiar voice commanded him as he drew the scary face in the smoke. Of
course, he thought it was all the fun part of being high. Then the compromising
thought, “Have I done everything to succeed?” Most of the time, “Sigh” all of
the time. The Answer is “No.”
The effect is the thought “The
Affirmation that tells me, “That no matter what I do it is not going to work
out for me.”
…and the voice I perceive as
logic. The criticism for the overbearing father.
The logical friend that didn’t
want me to make a fool of myself. All old school-playing songs they don’t know.
Therefore the only solution is to Rock.
I think therefor I am? The only
key to beat is … Is to be of service.
When I get the chance to play the
guitar. It’s service “To Rock.” It’s of service to do a cover everyone likes,
well, at least do one that most people like.
I remember, her ass is a six of
ten, maybe a seven, anyway perversion pause. I remember the emotion with
certain songs. Like hearing how Rock N it was to hear the riff of ‘Bad to the
Bone.” By George Thorogood. Or the emotion of “Like A Hurricane” by Neil Young.
I want to get the crowd like that. They are, the goal is to get my listener and
me to have the emotion together. The Rub, I’ve lost them because I’m…
The Cloak-
She had to use her cell phone as
a computer, to send her desperation on Messenger. Next, she remembered laying
flat. As she stared at the ceiling light the Moon passed over the Sun, “An eye
closed.
The clouds then cloaked The
Night’s Eye. Lightning fingers touched the land with just enough authority to
turn off anything that lit the land.
A few that knew of the entities
coming through an open barrier dared not to tell.
She saw nothing in the darkness
of the cloak. It was a comfort she so adored until the whispering came. She
could’ve been approached by anyone. Actually the whispering words became clear.
Clearer than any voice she had heard before. Yet it began to frighten her
because she couldn’t understand who or what they were talking about. Then she
saw the bright light.
The emergency technicians were
opening her eyelids, checking her pupils with that special light, while talking
all that medical talk. Placing the defibrillator pads on her chest.
She did know though, somehow,
more than she had known anything ever before, that she was going to another
place. She thought the blinding light had to be heaven. Then she saw a hand
come from the light. Instinctively, she placed her hands in stronger hands.
Well, I switch points of view.
When I’m saying the ‘I.’ I stagger with the narrative because most of the time,
I’m too attached to the scene by the emotion I felt at the time. Or the emotion
I feel while examining the emotion I felt at the time. That’s a lot of feelings;
a lot of emotions.
I found this work I did a while
back. It was a zine. I thought it would be a great treasure. Maybe a piece of a
great American Story. But no, it was mostly garbage. Yet, on the other hand it
was a treasure to know that I am better now.
Squiggly lines that overtime made
a more formulaic pattern. Distorted figures, robed figures. Eyes all staring at
him.
“It’s the holidays. Come on,”
Roads didn’t have to say anything though, for him to follow his directions.
“Hang on, I’m doing my thing,” he
said with his the best accent he could muster to sound like what he imagined,
‘a tuff black dude’ would sound like.
“Well, I got this man,” Roads
said as he took a beer out of the dorm refrigerator. He was about to scorn him,
but he saw that bag of clumped up buds that had reddish color.
Scene: Describe so well that the
audience (reader) knows what is going on.
“You can help us escape hell.”
…a character who goes to correct
the spells he cast while high-with the squiggly lines.”
Scene: Drunk shooting ur dawg.
Start (any discipline to use as measure of your efforts.
Adjust as Necessary
…as of will
Grave Walker
Has no idea. So delusional to be
convinced that he was gifted. His pride separated him from seeing a potential
truth.
He entered the graveyard. First
time he felt it was many years ago when he was manipulated by the acid. In any
graveyard there’s some sort of energy that waits. An energy, more than likely,
left there by the mourning. The ‘misplaced will’ told him that he could
communicate with the dead. Gain some power, insight of a forbidden knowledge.
The result was him being able to have a sect of those around him, who also
thought that they had ‘gifts’ of power on a supernatural level.
Then he took a twelve-step chip
from his wallet. Placed it inside of his father’s suit pocket…
“I
judge myself by my intentions. The world judges me by my actions.”-AA
He then looked at his father’s
face and kissed him on his forehead.
She once heard during high talk,
that there was this thing called astral projection. High talk are those
conversations you have when you’re in those awkward situations when you don’t
know the company your around, or you know the person, or persons you’re around
but you really wish you didn’t have to be around them. The only thing you have
in common is getting high.
She saw a man holding a tiny baby
very reluctantly. “Well baby, you better get used to it,” a teen-age girl said
as she lit her cigarette. The father, holding the baby, stared back at her with
anger. “I been pulling Mommy duty for hours waiting on your sorry ass.”
“She named you Mary Madaline
because she figured it would straighten me out. Out of spite I called you
‘Maddi,’” The man turned his head to her. All of the peeling wall paper of the
room fell off of the walls. She was in darkness again. “Daddy?” After she asked
she was walking side by side with the man. She looked around and saw stones and
flowers.
“I knew that you would remember
Maddi,” the man replied. “We are in the cemetery where your mom is buried
here,” he added.
“Lost In The Found!”
He waited and waited in that
line. He had no food nor drink. He could fall asleep; but when he wakes, he
would definitely lose his place in line. There’s only so much you can say when
you’re waiting for so long. One day, he roamed away from the line. Saw a
mountain in the distance. The temperature was hot and the ground was of fiery
embers. The ground was so hot that it melted the soles and fabric of his shoes
to his feet. The sky was orange and yellow. His clothing was also melted to his
skin. Strange looking half beast and half human beings chased him. And he wept
as he ran. One day, he thought about the last house he lived in-and it appeared
on the path to the mountain.
He walked inside. Saw the small
sunroom. Then walked into the kitchen, the den, and then into the small two
bedrooms. He took notice of all the nice furniture. The leather couches, the
mahogany dressers. He looked at the huge black and white television, the huge
bed.
He felt the warmth of the whiskey
in his throat and stomach. Suddenly, he had his favorite whiskey bottle in his
hand. He looked around. Now the house was completely empty. He remembered that
he sold everything inside the house the day before. Used the money to keep his
drunk going. Really didn’t matter what he told his wife. He was going to
replace it all anyway. He looked out the window and saw five bodies hanging
from a large oak tree. He was in his childhood home. That was the first time he
saw blacks killed.
A neighborhood coming out to
gather around the lifeless bodies hanging from the large oak tree.
He was around twenty-five when he
killed his first. And he bragged at the poker games, as if it were prize game.
He killed around twenty black men in his life. The last one he killed was
lodged in his memory. He was drunk driving through the country roads chasing
one down and screaming “Run ____ run!” The fellow ran into his driveway. He
shot him in the leg. The man fell in front of his son. But he didn’t see the
man’s son until he walked up and shot the man in the head. He remembered the
son crying. It was such an awful haunting sound for him to hear-was his last
memory as he died years later.
The first thing that had to be
done was make him willing and able to do things he normally wouldn’t do. Really
wasn’t difficult to do at all because so many were getting high together.
Different types were there. It
seemed like most of em’ were there to get high or drunk for a brief while then
go back to being productive. …and no matter how much he tried to live in the
memories of joy he knew there was no escape. No escape, until he was at a lake
fishing on the shore with his father. “You can do it boy,” his father was so
patient. His father kept catching fish with ease. He was an eight year old,
“I’m not good enough.” He felt endless self-hatred that he carried much of the
time.
The waters of the lake turned
into fire.
But every once in a while he
remembered his father saying, “Boy let it go,” as he gently wiped the boy’s
tears away. He remembered feeling the rough, like sand paper on his cheeks. He
felt peace. Caught his first fish. Felt joy as the fires turned into a thick
fog.
He saw the moon so brightly
shining on the figure in a robe and cloak. Had to be the Grim Reaper rowing the
ship, with one passenger on board.
When he was consumed by his
hatred and fear. He was on the fiery road running from the strange beings
chasing him.
One day though,
He sincerely prayed to God while
running. The fiery sky became black and he was on the lake’s shore. The moon
was a silver color. It was so far away that he could cover it, but not its
shine, with his hand. He gripped it as if it were in his hand. Then he felt
something cold and metal in his palm. He untightened his fingers. He had the
recovery coin in the palm of his hand.
Sometimes a person will do or say
things and when looking at that situation later, he/she think “Why did I do
that?” Or, “Why did I say that?”-For better or worse.
The office is small. Only has
cold steel folding chair behind an old folding table he used as a desk. A small
table that he and others joked was even older than the jail he worked in. he
had the oldest desk top computer monitor. Underneath the table was the cpu of
the compact brand desk top. Sometimes it took several minutes to turn on. The
fan inside the computer made a terrible hissing sound. It made it difficult to
hear what his patients were saying. He prayed to God to grant him the patience.
He started writing his own lyrics
and stories. Fell in love with his self-loathing. With the process of being
creative the use of alcohol and drugs rid him of his inhibitions. His creative
writing instructor helped him until he dropped out. When he first started the
use his letters looked normal. As he progressed the letters were by squiggly
lines. Then his writing just became squiggly lines. “Connect the Dots.”
“It’s all just a matter of
connecting the dots.” That’s how his creative writing teacher put it. The
class, all twenty-five came at night to Perk Beach. Lured up you’ll see the
brightest star in the sky over there,” he then pointed his finger toward what
he wanted them to see in the sky, “That’s Aldebaran.” “That one?” One of his
female classmates asked. “No that’s a satellite,” he corrected her. “How do I
see the animal things in the sky?” Another one of the classmates asked. He was
charmed because he was wondering the same thing. Thus brought the thought “When
we look up at the sky to pray to God, or we actually praying to satellites?”
“All you have to do is connect all of the dots.”
He prayed to God to grant him the
patience. Then he laughed when thinking that’s why he was placed in the job as
a prison counselor. The hissing of the fan taught him to listen more intently
to his patients. He put a nicer chair: a thirty-year-old small leather black
office seat-That’s what the patients called “The best chair in the jail.”
As he uncurled his fingers he
realized in an instant that the almost skeletal hand uncurled of the Ferryman.
He placed the coin in the Ferryman’s hand. Then the Ferryman motioned his robed
arm for him to get on the ferry. “Thomas Moon,” the patient read from the name
tag.
He already knew from the
patient’s voice that this would be an interesting session. He had learned from
the streets, as an addict, that different tones mean different things in the
con (convincing). “What you got to tell me white boy?” Then the patient continued.
Explaining how the system was built to keep black people down. Told Moon how he
barely missed the law busting through his connection’s door. How the leading
policeman was using extra force because he was a racist. Every few seconds the
patient paused to read his expression. Thomas Moon was sure to try to remain
stoic as he replied, “Yea, but what’s that got to do with you?” That question
made the patient angry. As he explained even more how the system failed him.
Seemingly unconsciously, a
sadness and regret overwhelmed Thomas and he didn’t know why tears filled his
eyes-effecting his vision as he whispered-and it echoed in his thoughts-it
wasn’t the “I’m sorry” that penetrated his rage. “Damn,” Thomas said ashamed
“One of those types of chicks
who seem to purposefully attract the weak guy. The obsessive/possessive guy.
The guy who makes her approval the total purpose of his life. An when he
doesn’t get the attention, he beyond hopelessly whines and gets depressed. He
may even harm himself, or even commit suicide. She keeps such guys around so
that she can get free things. It really builds her ego. An when she’s done she
cuts him out entirely.”
Maybe that’s why It had been a
while since he dated what he considered was a beautiful pretty girl. He had
absolved himself to a very mundane lifestyle of going to work, returning home.
At home he would watch some silly shows on television eat and go to sleep. Wake
up and repeat the cycle.
There were pictures on the wall
that displayed frat boys who once lived in the house. He was a bit amused in
the 80’s because many of them had mullets. In the 1970’s, they had afros and
lamb chops. In the 1940’s and 1950’s they dressed very conservatively. “Who is
that?” he heard one of them say. He ignored him at first. Then he started to
worry. He looked around the den some more: the tables with food and beer. The
wallpaper was definitely outdated. Had stairs in the middle of the house. He
looked upstairs at the banister. People were talking. “Hey you!” He couldn’t
avoid it now. There would be some kind of conflict. He looked around for a
weapon. Then he started picturing in his head getting ganged up on. He’d have
to have a good fight in him or else it would spread around to the school that
he was weak. Two seconds later; “Hey Franky,” he heard Roads say, “It’s Frank.
I ain’t no fag,” the same voice. Then saw them embrace in a strong hug.
The jock held Maddie tighter, whispered in her
ear. Then he said after seeing Roads downstairs, “I have a frat meeting. You
better be around when I’m done.” Then he peered into her eyes and slowly
loosened the embrace. She stood up on her tip toes. They kissed. Years later,
she would wonder where that passion went. “Yo Joe! Come on man,” Frank ordered.
“Joe the Jock,” Roads’ side kick of the night said too loudly. And before any
of the frat boys got mad Roads quipped, “Cause learning is half the battle.” “’G.I.
Joe’ man I loved that show,” one of the frat house leaders said.
Thomas wiped the tears from his
eyes. Then tried vainly to be stoic again. He looked at the patient’s folder.
Usually he would have read his patient’s folder, and be better prepared. His
name was “Ricky White,” he chuckled at the irony. Said to him “Ricky White,
you’re more than just a number. You’re more than a statistic to me.”
“Am I dead?” She asked with a
whining crack voice. She had remembered many times, “I’d be better off dead. I
wish I were dead. Little Nik would me.” Yet now when faced with the seemingly
inevitable fate; she wished to be alive.
“Copernicus, what a name.” He
said. Yea, she was dating her college professor. She had that debate for a
while to give him that name. “I can’t do this anymore,” he said that one last
time.
She remembered the first date.
How she stayed after class that one day to learn the basics. He stood at his
board explaining things she didn’t understand. She had been out of rehab for
less than a month. Was embarrassed that he was a couple of years older than
her. She wondered if her mind would be capable of learning again. She
remembered how he sat next to her. Made her feel calm, made her feel hopeful.
She remembered the look he gave her. “It was like you both knew.” She
remembered being drunk again in that same bar days later. She was too wasted to
drive. He drove her home. She wanted him. But he kept his distance. She
remembered staying after class more and more for tutoring. He motivated her.
Year and a half later she graduated from college.
He encouraged her. But then
later, “I can’t do this anymore!” . Her husband’s veins in his forehead were
crudely poking out.
The inside of the house was big.
Had marble floors, brick fire place. The house had a large kitchen. Larger than
any room that she had lived in before. It was her dream house. The yard was
pristinely manicured. They had block parties.
And his friend Don yelled, and
that hot girl, called him out of the blue. It had to be a sign.
Lightbulb thoughts (hopefully)
“You know. You know when you have
a really great idea. You’ve prepared.” Spent hours-well, to be honest-an hour
and a half over two days. Figured I normally practice for thirty minutes a day.
Had five days to prepare for jam day (the openmic day on Wednesday. Figured an
hour and a half on Saturday-would make the three times as good as covering
through Monday. Then Sunday’s hour and a half would cover Monday and Tuesday.
And of course, I’d continue the thirty minutes of practice on Monday, Tuesday,
and Wednesday. In theory-yes I am prepared. In my den, got the guitar pedals,
chords, amps, mic stand, and the papers, with the hand scribed simplified
tablature letter on the hard wood floor.
…and so I sit on my worn place on
the couch practicing Moon Light Sonata at six twenty AM on the Monday morning
before work. Got my guitar running through the Orange Amp to the volume pedal
to the Metal Zone to the Cry Baby. Then I played Stand By Me, finished with my
original song Haunted River. I recorded the whole jam session. Did it standing
up. That’ll make me better fast. Listened to it in my car with a scrutinizing
brutally honest ear. But damn it still sucks. Repeat whole thirty minute
morning practice every week. Tuesday comes, and its at least sounding-(took out
the Cry Baby pedal, adjust the Heavy Metal Distortion. Now it’s at least up to
standard. Wednesday, round nine fifteen pm, hell yea I got a drummer and a bass
player, but I’m not keeping it together, the bassist tells me during the set,
“Dude you sound out of tune. So I tune up-they are still with me, but I have
nothing left-go to the memorized songs. Then the bassist and drummer leave. I
listen the performance in the car, from recording it on the phone. “OH NO!” It
sucks! When will I ever be at least sounding descent? Most of the time I suck.
Heard once, that the inventor of the lightbulb, Edison failed but he called it, “I have not failed 10,000 times. I
have not failed once. I have succeeded in proving that those 10,000 ways will
not work.”
The Mistake?
“Spend the next years trying to
figure out how to correct it all-If you are privileged enough to be that wise
through your introspection. This life-it always comes back around to grant a
chance at correcting it.”-at least that’s what I was told.
But sometimes, when it eats away
at ya. Ya gotta go after it. I’m about seven hours away from Yankee Land. Ya
know, Michigan Land. Replaying in my mind about how it all went down. As the
reference-to remember I’m playing that soundtrack of songs from the late
nineties, in order to inspire me.
To remember
When she had done this before,
she used to laugh at that too. She was fine for the first year or two. She was
a stay-at-home mom. He was everything she thought she wanted. It was a
beautiful life that she thought she wanted. He was a tenured college professor
of Science.
“You left our child to do…” his
voice was fading. She was on the nod. He walked to her, leaned down. Was face
to face. She feared the chair would break. His eyes were full of tears. He
definitely didn’t want to, “I want you out by the time I get back from work,”
She knew it was for real this time. “The law will com to escort you out.” Then
he dug into his pockets. Took out a roll of cash and threw it in her lap. He
walked away quickly. Stomped his way upstairs and cried. She hated to fall
asleep in that chair to the sound of his crying. She woke up about two am. She
knew where he hid his wallet. Took out his black American Express card, took
their seven month old son, Copernicus, and the new BMW suv that he bought her
six months prior.
“I didn’t want to leave,” She was haunted by the memory, as though it had happened now as she walked beside her father in a field of stones.
“I had to do something! Look At Me! Damn you!” She screamed as she stopped walking. Then she looked up at the face of her father. His face was pale. His eyes were green, “Sometimes it is easier to remember what wasn’t than what really was,” he said. Then he vanished.
She now saw a darkness inside of the hood.
After she left her husband, she went back to her hometown. She went to see Sally, her high school best friend. Sally lived off and with, “My Man,” Sally told everyone. Her man made meth in the same trailer home that they lived in. the trailer was deep in the woods of Saucier Mississippi.
“I had to do something he was threatening to take my son away. It was waiting on me?” Lil Nick kept crying in the backroom, “Damn I wish he’d shut up,” Maddie said. “He’s probably hungry. Where’s his bottle?” Sally replied. “See that’s why I love you. You’ve always kept me together,” with that Maddie got up and walked cautiously around the dirty piles of laundry, milk crates and boxes filled with things that Sally acquired from the side of the road. Sally puffed her long cigarette. With each inhale and exhale it looked like her face was going to fall off of her skull. “Yep yep,” she replied. Then she pulled a glass tray from underneath the rocking chair.
The blood is blue on the inside
red when its outside blue is the sky during the day red is the sky when the
setting sun shines at dusk.
One of those situations where you
don’t know where you don’t know where to go.
Less than a second, traveling at the speed of thought. Maybe they told
me not to say “you” because I don’t want to sound like I’m preaching. Now I
think that I am saying “you” so I don’t feel alone. Or is it because I want to
see the truth from another person’s point of view. One of those situations when
you don’t know what to do. Well, that’s a good place to start. I said it many
times that “Sometimes when you are crazy u are not alone.” As I think that I
also think that I also had to be told, “When you’re with the Loh’Rd You Are
Never Alone.” “When I remember that I’m never alone because I am with God (My
LohRd).”
Did I learn things too late? Well
it’s never too late to learn. Now the years have gotten me. And all my ‘If only
I would have,’ because now it’s too late. Thus the Serenity prayer haunts me
again-That’s a choice within itself…
Title: That was
the first step in creating the curse.
Is the devil’s way one of
patience? The concept of time is different for those things on The Other Side.
Seconds can be decades. In the time that it takes a few seconds to pray or a
few seconds to curse is enough time for the devil to take hold. The three
seconds were, the jock’s whispering ear… then told her to stay. Later, there
was the wedding, all the jocks were his grooms. All the sorority girls were her
bridesmaids. The soon to be father-in-law, told everyone his daughter was
marrying a sports star. The jock’s family said she was the perfect fit. They
were supposed to be the envy of the town.
“It’s the dizzies,” he told
himself. He remembered the first time of dizziness was in junior college. It
was from the Milwaukee Beast beer. He was calm then because he had arrived
because he had felt better about his life. He squeezed his eyelids hoping, ever
so hoping, the darkness of the void would comfort him. But now he knew
inherently that something from the void was there. Something that would make
itself known. Then he opened his eyes again. The box was the room he was
trapped in. The room breathed. Somewhere in his logics, he heard an unknown
voice, “You are either trapped or leaving the box. You are either trapped or
leaving the spiral.”
Mr. Sullivan was on his acting
persona, that Southern Rebel thang. Even had the thick deep southern redneck
hick thick accent. Sullivan was really into his role. Today is The Civil War.
He was dressed as a Confederate Soldier. He started off his lecture by
emphasizing that the war was offensive to some when it was called ‘The Civil
War.’ These persons saw it as ‘The War for Southern Independence.’ He gave the
description of that first battle between The North and The South. I imagined
the scene of a preseason football game. One of those types when the quarterback
is unguarded. “Predictably, ‘The South’ won the first battle!” The room looked
like half of a mini stadium. About fifty were present. I sat by Roads at the
top. One of the football team helpers, Trembly Calhoun, and Roads passed notes
back and forth. “Party this Friday.” “Oh yea.” I noticed from my peripheral.
The house was crowded. Bout
thirty college kids. It looked like a huge cabin. Many called it ‘cabin house.’
On the outside there was the Greek lettering of the fraternity. Behind the
front door was the huge den. There were tables that had chips, cute cheese
crackers, cut up carrots, there were a couple kegs, sofas were moved to the
sides of the room. The radio was playing loud. As I thought to myself, “This is
how B rated horror movies start.” Roads interrupted me, “Dude you come here
now,” he ordered. So I followed him outside and watched him turn the house
horse shoe that was on the front door, up-side-down (facing down). “Well, you
have to leave your mark here uh?” I asked noticing that I forgot my cool black
guy tone. “Something like that,” he replied. “Look man, just be a yourself,” he added as he
looked into my eyes. He had been invited by the frat boys because he always
seemed to have the best drugs. And as I looked at the big fields of Perkinston
Mississippi, I notice parts dead, some parts thriving in the green. Being high
it was easier to let my imagination do what it does. And I imagined great
battles. The type in which someone dies and becomes one with the land. Thus I
thought, knew I could sense such things-it was more than just high thinking-I
convinced myself.
“God, please get into my mind
before I do.”
Was it the deeds of evil or
goodmen to be condemned to be one with the dead and green fields.? I thought of
what I learned in Sullivan’s class. He said something like, “A man only owns
the ground he died on.” Far enough from home. High enough to be inspired, like
a dog breaking his leash and running endlessly. Not knowing where to run, just
running. In the library of the college it felt like I was guided to books of
the occult. Forbidden books of knowledge. The first book I found was on tarot
cards. I learned of the 0 card is The Fool. The Fool with a bag of his
belongings on a stick. He hangs from his back. He looking down at the doG barking at his ankle. He about to walk off of
a cliff. Did doG distract him from stepping off the cliff?
Then I studied The Egyptian
Book of The Dead. I studied it as good as a beginning stoner could. The
part that lodged in my mind was the Nile being the sperm of Osiris. As well as,
the strangeness of all the gods and goddesses being related.
I was too concerned with
occultist matters rather than studying. I remember I had this dream, about
satan having a pistol in his mouth. Thought I was so special, so kewl,
especially when I was high. The Christian God just didn’t seem to have enough
allure to capture my imagination.
Carlton was into The Celestine
Prophecy. The thought of being in
sync with unseen powerful forces that would
give us enlightenment-that was How We Wanted To Think The Way Things
Worked.
I look at the blackbirds on the
wire. Some of the birds I think are crows. The others, I’m not sure about, I
remember I was supposed to meet you at noon. And it really upset me when you
never showed up. My
Pretending I’m talking to you
again.
Professing my love,
“It’s been so long.”
“I think she’s dead?” He asked trying to sound comical-had
that nervous laugh. Had that type of buzz when everything’s funny or at least
he hoped for that. Tom noticed that he hadn’t even thought of him. Until he
heard him “Let it rain. Let Freedom reign!” Somehow the bum materialized in the
center of all the street folk and was throwing money in the air. Tom closed his
eyes, “Man that’s the best high that I’ve had in a while.” Then Tom opened his
eyes. All the street folk were scurrying to grab all the money they possibly
could. Passer biers joined in the all you can grab festivities. Many of them
pulled out their cellphones. Pushed buttons to record live.
…and it was strange, Tom took notice, no one fought over the
money, “Follow me inside!” The bum yelled. Tom took long drags-hot boxing the
Marlboro. Couldn’t remember the last time that he had smoked a cigarette so
fast, as the bum stepped inside Checkpoints with many people following him.
Then he whispered to Tom, “This is it.”
She meant everything to me. Even though I didn’t know her
for long. “You know Zeppline stole a lot of songs,” the employer said.
“Dude, there’s only so many riffs, melodies, and rhythms
that a musician can play.” The dealer said. Then took another pull off of the
‘Alice in Wonderland’ bong. “’Nobodies fault but mine’ was originally by Blind
Willie Johson. ‘When the Levey Breaks’ was by Memphis Mimi and Kansas City Joe.
They were Mississippi Delta musicians. The employee insisted,”’Queeze my
Lemon,” The dealer said. Then he started singing with Plant’s vocals from the
loud vinyl player.
I know it’s been said many times, and sometimes said untrue;
but there’s nothing I wouldn’t give to see her again.
Mary could smell the thick marijuana smoke lingering in the
air. It seemed to fill up the whole trailer home. Her heart felt like it was
being stabbed. Then she thought that maybe she could…Then she willed that maybe
to sit up in her bed. Placed her feet on the floor. She stood up feeling that
she was about to fall. “Hey!” At the same time of her unheard yell there was a
strange hiss that played from the record player. The lights of lamps and
ceiling lights blinked three times.
“Yes,” he answered. ,,,and the musician, Guitar Joe nodded
his head gratefully to the bum. Then he spoke louder, “Hey yall ready to rock n
roll!” The now standing only crowd roared back in approval. Then he hit the
scales and bends. His e string busted and then his guitar amp shorted out. The
last note echoed throughout the bar.
She feared to look back at the bare mattress. She looked
closer at her father’s face. Looked so close that she could see the reflection
of her face in his eyes. She saw herself getting older. She focused on her
father’s face. He was the same young age and she was getting older. She looked
at the smoke in the air was not moving. “Happens all the time.”
The crowd made a path for the bum to walk to the stage.
“This is your chance.”
She looked at the mattress. Her body was still on the
mattress.”
“Is it possible to live in two different worlds at the same
time?”
Tom wondered how did he just know to go behind the curtain
where there was another guitar and a vintage Fender Reverb amp. “One and a two
and a three!” The bum screamed as he played so smooth. Guitar Joe looked up as
he played so smooth. Guitar Joe looked up as he played, “Disappointed?” He
whispered in Joe’s ear with his left hand bending, hammering, and pulling off
the notes. With his right hand he went into his pocket and handed Joe a string.
Took Joe about twenty seconds to put the string on his car. Tom was amazed. The
bum leaned over and turned Joe’s amp on. “So you ready to rock!” The crowd
yelled back,
“Yea!”
I remember her smell. I remember the expressions on her
face.
“Answer me!” She screamed.
“Dude, I think I heard something,” the employee said. Then
he stood up and walked back to ‘the waiting room.’ The dealer followed him. The
employee kneeled by the mattress. Had his head on Mary’s chest, “What are you
doing?” The dealer asked. She ain’t breathing. She ain’t got no heart beat
either,” the employee replied.
“The answer ugh?” Her father said to her. Then laughed She
knew he knew something that she didn’t know. Would she ever know? The sun-the
light in the middle of dark clouds didn’t move.
“It’s really no big deal,” the dealer said as he broke up
finger sized buds on the table. The employee’s hand trembled so much that
Mary’s keys sounded like a percussion.
Twenty minutes later, the employee was driving her car. The
dealer and the employee covered her body up with all the trash and clothes in
the back seat. He was chain smoking cigarettes, and his hands kept trembling.
The dealer gave him a hundred dollars. “Hundred dollars for thirty minutes of
work is pretty damn good,” he tried to justify to himself. Sometimes he was the
middle man. He sold to a couple lawyers. Even the worse ones made at least two
hundred a hour. He kept looking out of his rear view for cops. What if they
recognized the car? He could justify that he was her boyfriend and he was going
to pick her up. Maybe he could sit her up in the passenger seat, tell the cops
she was wasted. But what if they decided to check the car? He should have
checked the car for drugs. She was at the dealer’s house, so she probably
didn’t have any drugs in the car. But what if there were syringes, papers, or
pipes? A couple of the cops had to know she was trouble. People like her were
always tangled up in the law. What if the cops knew him? “Where is he?” he
looked at the dashboard clock. It’s two am in the morning. Nothing good ever
happens at two am in the morning. Then he felt guilty. Maybe he should call the
cops. Tell them some lie. Maybe he should rat out his dealer. Then red, blue,
and white shined brightly. Almost blinding him hitting the rear-view mirror.
By now Tom had been playing guitar with both guitar Joe and
the bum. It was the biggest crowd that he had ever seen. May have been the
biggest crowd that Checkpoint Charlie’s had ever seen. Now he was brave enough
to look at the bar tender. The bar tender nodded his head and smiled.
Guitar Joe was leading the song with an awesome solo. The
bum walked up to Tom and said, “We leave now.” “What? How?” Tom replied.
“This is the plan. We drive the car on ninety. We park it in
a spot across from the hospital. Then we put her on the beach. And we going to
wear gloves so that there will be no finger prints,” the dealer instructed.
“We? But how are we going to get back here?” The employee
asked.
“Oh yea. Good thinking. You’re going to drive her car. Put
gloves on. Then you gonna drag her body to the beach. Somebody will find her
and we won’t get blamed,” the dealer said. Then he took out a huge fold of
money wrapped by a huge rubber band. Unwrapped it and handed the employee a
hundred dollar bill.
“May I see your license,” the police man asked. Well this
one was polite. May work in his favor. Handed him his license then kept his
hands low so that the policeman couldn’t see his trembling. “What are you doing
out so late?” The employee thought about all of the scenarios. What would be
the best and worst. It may not be what it looks like.
“What do you mean?” Tom replied to the bum saying, “I am not
who you think I am. Follow me.” The bum insisted on as he pointed down an alley
that Tom had not seen before. There were some lit white candles in front of the
building. That was well lit. Had a sign that read “The House of Bachuss.” The
bum lit a joint. Then pulled out an old looking labeled beer. Tom pulled a
cigarette out, lit it. Slowly puffed.
“Well, you see that moon?” the bum asked. Tom looked up at
the moon. During certain times of the year, I am able to walk the earth again
and I am granted all sorts of tricks to do. Tom opened his beer. Took a long
gulp. Took a hit off of the joint.
“My name is Johnny Thunder. You can call me ‘The Majician. I
give you a gift for accompanying me tonight,” the bum said.
“Well John. My name is really Tom Troubadour,” he admitted.
Then Tom blinked his eyes and The Majician was gone. Tom checked his pockets to
see if he still had the thousand dollars He had that and had five hundred more.
He continued smoking the joint until it was gone. On the ground where Johnny
Thunder was there was a Rider Waite’s Tarot Card. Yet instead of Magician it
read “The Musician.” On top of the card was a guitar string, “The gift,” he
muttered to himself. A gust of wind howled blowing the string in the wind, and
put the candle out. Then he read the sign in front of the Building, “The House
of Bachuss.”
I remember the cute adorable way she used to say things.
“Why you got those gloves?” “Oh, I just got off of work.
They don’t let me handle food.” “Whose car is this?” “It’s my girlfriends.”
“What do you have in the back seat?”
“Man, who knows. My lady is such a pack rat.” Then the reader read the
employee’s license. “You got anything on your record?” “Funny you should say
that sir. I was jamming to Led Zeppelin earlier.” “Have you been drinking
tonight?” Then the officer chuckled. The scenarios were racing through his
mind. The policeman was going to take him out of the car. Then dig through the
back and find her dead. The policeman would call for back up. He’d be in jail.
Then he thought that possibly the dealer set him up. Probably called the
police. But the dealer paid him with a hundred dollar bill. But the dealer
would pay for more if he himself got caught, Then the employee thought about
how he would be held responsible for the girl dying. How many drugs had he delt
that killed people. He had destroyed lives. He remembered her name was Mary. Or
was it Maggy? She had a son. Probably would never see her son again. Maybe he
could turn this around and not get the full wrath of the law.
“Maggy Mary, her father said her full name. “Everything is
getting hot now. Why?” She asked him.
A loud sound came over the policeman’s radio. Sounds of
panic. The employee was too stoned to decipher the sounds. “Well be safe, son,”
the policeman said. Handed the employee his license back. Then he got in his patrol
car and sped off.
She was afraid to look at her father’s face. She looked at
the sun in the sky instead. The sun seemed to be lowering. Or was it a light?
Or was it the Other Side coming?
“Well thank God,” he sighed and slowly puffed a cigarette.
“Naw this ain’t got nothing to do with God. Yet Maybe it did. Afterall, nothing
happens in God’s world by mistake.” He wondered where that voice came from.
Then he remembered that he accidentally hit the am radio while he was digging
in his pocket for his license. “Maybe there was a moment when divine
intervention came. Think of that memory. And you’ll find that moment where ‘A
Power Greater than yourself saved you,”
“Those words haunted you, Ricky?” Ricky replied by rolling
his eyes. Yet now Thomas Moon noticed those body language expressions less and
less. Was it because Thomas knew it was a defense mechanism. “Ricky, I
understand that you’re working with the Chaplain more now.” “Well, I wouldn’t
do it if it were a white chaplain.” “Is it important to you really?” “Of course
it is.” “Why?” “My grandfather was killed by a cracker.” “You ever seen that
movie, ‘Malcolm X?’ The one by Spike Lee?” “You actually going to tell me about
it?!” Ricky screamed. Then Thomas turned his head to the guard. “It’s about
time for me to leave anyway.” “Well, in one of the final scenes a white lady
was telling him about Jesus. And even before that it showed Malcom going to
Mecca and all races worshiped ‘a God of their own understanding. God loves you
Ricky. And he’s always got a good plan for you.
I remember the way she used to look when she was very tired.
The employee looked out of his rear view. Was getting anxious, hoping the
dealer would pull up soon. Maybe he wasn’t coming. He had to do something. If
that same cop came it would definitely be suspicious. He smoked another
cigarette and decided that after he smoked he would move the body himself.
When I removed the barrier, the God of …traveled through the
air. Took notice of air breathed in. Air breathed out. Words spoken in the air.
Looking for its Mayan followers to protect. Traveled back to the roots of
Honduras, and close sites like it. Sighed at seeing how things had changed for
the worse.
“Damn,” then he flicked his cigarette butt out of the opened
window. At First he held her body in his arms, thinking that it would look like
she was his bride and they were on their wedding night about to consummate
their love for each other on the beaches shore, “Yes baby I love you more and
more every day. It’s like my love grows when we are apart for so long. Made me
learn to make myself into a better man. For once you’re quiet babe,” and he
went on and on. Set her body on the edge of the shore. Looked at her face, and
the guilt came back. He tried to reason with himself that it wasn’t really his
fault. Then he thought about the addicts in the newspaper article. Yea the
‘high cost’ rumor mill.
That’s one thing about addicts. They love to spread rumors
about the most tragic events. There was a group of them. A couple that insisted
to try the cocaine, “there to make sure it was a legit”-the real purpose was to
get as much of a free high as they could. “Hey man you hear about Reggie? He
took a bad batch. Ended up thinking he could fly. Waited till the morning,
climbed up the old Seers building and jumped off. Suffered two broken legs.”
“Well, that didn’t come from me,” the dealer was quick to say. “It really could
not have been the Seers building. That place has been abandoned for years,” the
girl said. “Yea that’s uh bad neighborhood. That’s where the gangs are. Dudes
so bad. You never dare say their names. Probably got thrown off of the building
for some gang shit.”
That night the same couple died. They say it was a murder
suicide.
When you left me I blamed myself. I should have said or done
something different. Should have done something better. With that distance of
time, I have learned to love the right way. I can love you the best I
can-That’s the difference in ‘The Serenity Prayer.’
A thought occurred to the employee. There’s a pay phone
about a block away. He could tell the dealer he was calling to see where he
was. By the time it took to chain smoke two Marlboros, he was on that gas
station payphone calling 911.
“What does that mean?” She asked as the sun seemed to be
coming closer to her. She felt the heat on her face. One of the EMTs shined a
flashlight in Maddie's’ eyes. “We got a pulse.”
I remember when you left. I’d look for any clue of you
everywhere I went.
The boy was scared. Really didn’t belong there. Does anyone
really belong there? Ricky’s eyes were following him. He felt pity. Why should
he even care? The yard of the jail was big. The iron of the free weight plates,
the bench, dip rack; everything was rusty. The lost boy was a walking teardrop.
His head was down. He looked at his feet with every footstep. Ricky watched as
he shook with fear of the loudness of the iron bumping and the yelling of the
inmates. Something that the Silly Man Moon (Thomas Moon) said was haunting
Ricky. Haunting him to do the right thing. Ricky didn’t even notice that long
minute until he was a few feet away and mumbled to himself, “Weak white boy.”
There was a group of inmates playing cards. One of them yelled, “Hey white boy,
come here!” A couple others said, “Watch this.” “This is the time in life that
someone loses their innocence,” Ricky thought to himself. The boy pretended not
to hear them. Ricky knew the play because he had seen it in jail many times.
The one yelling ‘white boy’ was going to give him some dope to give to someone
else. “I’ll be your friend,” he added. While his friends continued, “Watch
this.” Silly Man Moon told him that part in the St. Francess of The Sissi
prayer, “It is by forgetting that one finds.” Ricky put a comforting hand on
the shoulder of Tear Drop, “Come with me.”
She gave me something like a coin. Said it was one of the
Seals of Soloman.
I released the power in that coin to find a couple and
influence them to truly love.
I wanted to use the power myself. But…Sigh “I let you go a
long time ago,”-a lie I tell myself. Will this be another of ‘The Hundred Love
Letters I’ll Never Send?’ My love, I remember that first date. You were
supposed to meet me at the playground. Seemed like an odd place. I went through
half a pack of Kamel Kool waiting on you. Pathetic me, eighteen
years old, and never had a date.
…and the black and white television was difficult to watch.
Time was running out. Donald Trump, “America Great Again.” Streets back home
seemed that thing called ‘Crime’ was in everything. The sound of the inhalation
is screaming and crying. The sound of the exhalation are houses boarded up and
dilapidated buildings. Gangs took everything. Her father was supposed to come
back. She dared not to sleep because she knew they would come.
When you finally came, most beautiful creature I had ever
seen. It bothered me that you came late. Undoubtably-Were you high when you
said that you were talking to the crows? You had your post office scale so that
you could measure the weed accurately. Lived with your mother on a street
called Hemlock. I remember asking you in your bedroom, “Can I kiss you?” Had
what appeared to be tie-dyed curtains over your window. Had posters of The
Beatles and The Ramones on your bedroom wall. You replied by turning on a large
boom box, pressing the play button. Four Non Blonds played “What’s going on?” Every
time I hear that song it takes me there and when they sang that line “Trying to
get back some kind of hope” you put your hands on my cheeks and kissed me. Can
you believe that song has over thirty million views on youtube? I remember
riding in the passenger seat. I mean you had skills driving and rolling a joint
at the same time. I remember Ace of Base in your cassette player. You’d sing
with the song, “I saw the sign.” Wanted to hold your hand so much. Me the timid
child too shy. Feared the rejection. You reached over and held my hand. “You
always knew how to make me feel better. I realize now that I never showed you
how to feel better.” I pressed the stop button. That’s over twenty hours I’ve
recorded on cds for the road trip.
Her eyes were dry. Didn’t want to close her eyes. Yet she
knew it wouldn’t make a difference when they came. She could hear her mother
through the thin uninsulated walls cradling her baby sister, while she sang
those timeless lullabies. She heard the roar of a big truck. A particular
roaring she had not heard before. She heard a heavy door opening. Feet heavily stomp
on the ground. The door closes, A key goes into the lock. Tears stream down her
cheeks. The door swung open. Then a large imposing man stood in the doorway,
“We have to go now!”
Thought I knew what love was before I knew what work was.
At one point and time I figured if I delivered pizza full
time, I could make enough to get by. Felt so good, so right. I was convinced
I’d be famous in no time. And I stayed drunk enough to truly believe it.
“YOU ARE A HERECTIC!” My father screamed as he came forward
aggressively. I had enough of him and I reckon that he had enough of me as I
ran out the front door. I took a long look at all the houses. Seemed like there
were requirements to live there. Brick houses, wooden houses with pristine lawn
and new cars.
Away from the strong Christian threshold that required you
to take your kids to Sunday school and church all weekend-I noticed my friends
in their yards. I looked at them and they turned away. Figured they didn’t care
because they didn’t beg me to stay.
She walked passed her oldest daughter with her baby daughter
cradled in her arms “Tell Govan,” then she looked at her oldest daughter,
nodded her head in that special way. Daughter went into the closet and grabbed
that one suitcase. The suitcase had enough in it to last twenty four hours:
cans of tuna, noodles, and diapers. She didn’t want to leave without her
father.
My father didn’t come out the door to beg me to come back.
I would learn more about her on that second date. Remember
when we walked into that mirror illusion room, “Do I look fat?” And I replied
with laughter. You leaned back and looked up. We stared into each other’s eyes.
Thinking about now, it was at that moment that you wanted us to have a family.
Tears slowly streamed down your cheeks. It seemed instinct for me to wipe your
tears away. Couple years later, in that two hundred dollar a month apartment,
that you paid for. I remember having an image in my mind of looking and feeling
stronger. It was a rainy night. The electricity was out. I also had a vision of
you. We were not together. You lit that cigarette nervously, and you looked so
disappointed as I told you. “But I pictured our future as together,” you replied.
“My father died almost a month ago,” you confided while we watched a married
couple playing with their kids. They helped them put balls into a huge plastic
bunny’s mouth.
Full of blind faith. Better than no faith at all. Mr. Govan
road through the broken town. She noticed that her sister wasn’t crying. Maybe
that meant that a better life was closer. The huge Ford truck, smelled of body
odor, cigarette smoke, and carburetor fumes. Govan turned on the radio. A news
report of Donald Trump vowing to stop immigrants from going into the country.
Govan looked over at the oldest daughter. She had a frightened look. So he
changed the channel to Neil Diamond singing “They’re Coming To America.”
“Sometimes you just have to let something you don’t
see guide you,”
Moon said that like the things he said so many times before.
Yet this time Ricky was openminded, “Yea, I saw my mom the other day. She told
me that she was still praying for me,” Ricky said. Moon just smiled, then lowered his head down
and continued reading Ricky’s file. Moon followed with the repeated question
that he asked often at their sessions, “What happened that night outside the
hotel?” Ricky sighed, then explained again. Ricky’s pants pockets were heavier
than usual. He felt something was going to happen, He thought about just
staying at home. His boss would probably find out. That definitely would not be
good. He remembered the last guy that was made an example. “Come on man, I’m
good for it,” Lil Key said with two of his bosses boys on him side by side. Yea
they go Key when he was on his front porch at midnight smoking a cigarette.
They came from all sides, “You have it?” The boss asked. “Well, I ugh,” Key
replied. The boss nodded his head. His hench men forced Key to put his hands on
the table, “Ricky,” the boss commanded as he looked over at a hammer on the
floor. Ricky picked up the hammer. Walked to the table, picked it up and
slammed the hammer on Key’s hand, “Two days. Next time, I cut your hand off.” I
was walking up the street. Going to this hotel. Police cars squealed down the
street. Nothing strange about that. Then I heard that dog coming. Strange how I
was hearing more than usual among all the hood sounds. Like a dog barking. The
dog was black. You know Blacks and dogs don’t mix. Damn thing was…” “Damn thing
was more like a blessing thing,” Moon interrupted him. “Right. Blessed thing
was toying with me. Stayed at a steady pace behind me for just enough time for
me to hear the cops pull up to the hotel. I looked back and it was like that
black dog was smiling at me. Then I heard some gunshots. And the black dog
disappeared. Went back to my mother’s house. She was crying. She said she had
been praying for me. If it weren’t for that dog…” “A Power Greater than
yourself,” Moon interrupted him again.
“Well ‘doG’ spelled backwards is ‘God.’”
You’ll never see anything anymore, like this again,” Mr.
Govan told the older daughter. The drive was long.
When I. When we were together nothing but us mattered in
whatever was happening in the world. I remember that time, one of many, we were
on the beach. Wanted the traffic to stop. Traffic made me nervous while we were
smoking that joint. You were wearing that hippy dress. You pushed me down. I
laid flat in the sand. Could feel the grit underneath that large black blanket.
You placed your knees on the sides of me. I felt so. Something about looking
into your eyes frightened me. Was it fear?
“The rain,” her mother said and paused. “I heard once. That
it is good to cry during the rain. Maybe the last time you cry.” Govan added.
The moon was your halo, then became your crown. And I think
of it now. I think. No, I know you are My Queen. And now I can treat you like
one. “Baby I can truly love you.” On that beach. I was looking at your face.
Recorded that that song to the cd today, “There’s a bad moon on the rise,” for
the road trip, remembering when the clouds covered the moon. “Close your eyes,”
you whispered. With eyes closed, I heard you inhale the smoke. Then I heard the
traffic, many feet away get so loud. When you exhaled, I felt the heat of your
breath, smelled the sweetness and the weed smoke. Heard loud thunder clap
loudly. “Open your eyes,” you instructed. I opened my eyes and all was silent.
The clouds moved fast across the bright moon. The traffic was gone.
“I love you.:
“Here,” her mother handed her a can of tuna. Govan pulled
into a gas station. The oldest daughter feared the worst, regardless. He smiled
as he put the car in park near Rio. Her mother reached from the seat and
comforted her with a pat, “Don’t worry they’ve all been paid.” It was well
known about their relatives and friends that didn’t have enough. There was a
girl named Melissa. Who fell in love with all the things she saw of the US
through the reality television shows and the talk shows.
“You going on a road trip uh?” “Yea, it’s coming close,” I
replied to Miss Enid at the front desk. Yea, you probably couldn’t imagine the
way I am now. Been at this job for over a decade now at Morningside
Investments. I’m one of their best financial consultants. “Yea remember those
days.”
Of course, he was sure not to tell her about the stint of
morning side firing and placing him in the mail room. Didn’t tell her about the
year and a half that it took to rebuild his affluences. It was his and her
twenties. Living in that former eight room hotel in Wiggins Mississippi. “I
have no regrets of how I was then because it made me into the man I am now. You
give me a chance and I’ll make it right with us.” He remembered visiting her
after a busy evening of delivering pizza. Her mother answered the door, “Who is
it?” He answered. “It’s okay, its you.” He would learn later that a few weeks
prior she had broken up with her would be fiancé. I work in one of the tallest
and biggest buildings in town. It’s quite a sight to see looking out the window
on the top floor. Even more so on the roof. It’s like you can see the whole
city below. Imagine that. I look forward to bringing you here. We could have a
picnic on the roof. I got a big house too. He dared not tell her that he had
just bought the house about four days prior. He had set everything in what he
thought would be its proper place. Had just moved in the furniture. The
refrigerator was silver, with two large doors. Each door was bigger than their
bedroom doors in Wiggins. Had expensive China dishes in the kitchen, in the
perfect spot, so that would be the first thing she saw. He thought he was
making up for the time when they lived together years ago. They were in a
Goodwill thrift store. Her mother bought the second hand eating utensils. He
was so oblivious to everything. Didn’t even say thank you. One day they were
walking through the mall playing the ’Baby Imagine that” game. Inside Gayfers
they saw expensive bed sheets, “We’ll use those for my mom’s bed, when she’s in
town,” she said. “Yea, that sounds cool,” he replied and then looked over his
shoulder at the sales person following them, “Excuse me, how much are these?”
“Five hundred and seventy and thirty three cents.” You’ll absolutely love the
floors. Floors look like marble-but cheaper and more durable. The den has a
table in the center. A table big enough to sit twenty of our relatives and
friends. Even have a large picture of a flamingo. I also hung a couple of
framed pictures by Walter Anderson. You’ll love the one of cats. Every time I
look at it, I remember how much those two cats loved you. They lived in The
Palmetto Apartment. Bricked, and two stories high. So many apartments were
probably converted from rinky dink hotel rooms. Palmetto looked like it could
have been a hotel many years ago. Even had a swimming pool gated by an iron
fence. Was a couple blocks away from the beach. Couple weeks prior to moving in
she told him, “My mom is moving to Michigan. I’m going with her,” she nervously
said, pulling on her Marlboro. “I don’t want you to leave. We can live
together.” You played that Ace of Base. I saw the sign for the countless times,
as you drove us through dirt roads in Saucier. Parked at a lake, where a new
house was being built. I followed you to the shoreline. Her mom and his
divorced parents gave them dressers, a couch and a huge bed.
“Here ya’ go,” Govan came back with two dozen boxes of
donuts. “See, we’re going to be all right,” Her mother replied. She knew the
price must have been expensive for them to make their exodus. She stayed awake
as long as she could. Not enough sugar or soda pop could keep her awake. The
setting sun looked like it was being pulled into the land between the
mountains.
He kept that old furniture. Used it for many years. Even
when the knobs of one of the dressers were missing to pull the drawers open. He
even kept that old dresser that had warped drawers that made it hard to open.
“Well baby I kept it. I kept that old couch that I took from my mom. It’s that
same couch when she came in from work and saw us embracing. Had the most
frightened look on her face. Or was it anger?” he didn’t dare write in his
letter about hearing her cry on the phone, telling someone she was losing her
son. Then he thought for a moment and decided to scratch out that line, “Had
the most frightened look on her face. Or was it anger?”
“Boy you gotta be strong!”
“Push till you can’t push anymore,” Ricky told the scared
white boy, as he spotted him on the bench press. By now Ricky had enough clout
to be a part of the ____________ gang. Yet Ricky was suspicious that a new God
of his own understanding made a way for ‘Lil Burn the whiteboy,’ Bernard to
join their gang. Ricky’s word was enough for Bernard to be part of the gang.
The whites had rejected, Lil Burn, him weeks back when Ricky stopped a
delivery. Ricky kept a cautious eye over the yard. “See Burn, you train your
body to train your mind.” Burn noticed Moon watching him from a distance.
Before the whiteboy was more fearful than he had ever been in his life. Ten of
the Peckerwoods surrounded him, “Boy we gonna have to teach you. You ain’t
supposed to betray your own race. They were in one of that blank walled faded
white and yellow cigarette stained walls. Had church pews in the jail
classrooms. The pews were heavy enough to not be moved because the warden took
note that the old school desk could be used as weapons. There was a ten minute
gap when the bribed jailers walked out. About ten minutes earlier Ricky had
left Moon’s office, “Don’t you understand, I just wanna do my time and get out
of here!” Ricky was so angry he lost the concept of time. As well as where he
was supposed to go next. He passed by the paid off jailer as he opened the door
to the classroom. Ricky heard the slap to the white boy’s face. The jailer
followed behind, “What are you convicts doing?” “Oh, he fell down. We were
doing the neighborly thing and helping him out. One of them explained while he
helped him back to his feet. The white boy stared at Ricky. Ricky sighed then
nodded his head. “Well, that’s great. I was just getting him to see Mr. Moon,”
Ricky said. Thus the walking tear drop walked away with him.
“Well you got anything to tell me?” Moon asked. Thomas Moon
had been working for enough time to know that a convicts demeaner of silence
can be good. This type of silence led to a break through.
“There’s two ways to get to the promise land,” she thought
it was strange that hearing those words woke her from sleeping. “Don’t worry by
this time tomorrow we’ll be home,” her mother said. “We either go under the
ground, or by water, above the ground.” Govan said. “What did my husband say?”
the mother asked. A few minutes later they followed Govan into an abandoned
warehourse that had spray spainted windows. One wouldn’t even guess that this
would be a collection point. They were waiting on a group of men that would
take them to another collection point near Texas. The inside of the warehouse
was half the size of a football field. Families and groups of people were
huddled together awaiting the dream.
You will love the view. Our upstairs bedroom and the
downstairs den has a perfect view of our outside lake. There’s a boat dock too
with a small boat house. We can lay together in the evening and watch the sun
go down. We can even wake up and watch the sun rise. We can have as many cats
as you want. That reminds me of…” and he remembered about the cats. She was
laying on the couch, “Baby don’t you worry I’ll cook tonight. I know you need a
break. Tonight was one of the only nights she had of from working at The Waffle
House, that was a couple blocks away from their apartment. “Add a little macaroni and some potatoes. Mix
around with some tuna.” “Sounds like a goulash.” He stopped stirring the pot. Left
the kitchen. Sat down on the couch beside her, “Well, babe it’s the thought
that counts,” he replied. Then held her hand. “What’s on television?” “The
Fresh Prince of Belaire.” Then she put a weed bud on the table and began to
break it up. Few seconds later they were
sharing a joint. “I smell something burning.” “Oh dang,” he replied. He quickly
went back in the kitchen, “Damn it.” Weed and burnt food smoke thickened the
air. She opened the door and a cat ran inside. “You named the cat ‘Bandit.’
Then a few days later you found that bobtail kitten in the A and P parking lot,
“You let me name her Omniscient. You called her ‘Omni.’ I remember when we were
at Three Rivers one day swimming. You
called our cats to join us in the water. I was amazed that they both swam in
the water to be with you. That was one of the most amazing things I had ever
seen. I think of it now as I add another song to the road trip music mix.
“Follow my directions. Do exactly what I say,” the captain
of the ship ordered. “We only have certain hours to get to the corner of Texas.
If we get stopped all of you have less than five minutes to hide in the cargo
area. And not even that is promising. As part of what Carlos paid, you only
have one day supply of food left so eat wisely.” Her mother begged for her
daughter to sit above, by the captain. In less than a minute, she vomited three
times. “Save some of your energy, we have a long trip.”
“’I don’t mean to be read as a creep,’ Naw I can’t write
that. Thus, he crumpled up that piece of paper and threw it away. And he
started again, “Baby, I know I left you in a bad way. But now I’m here to make
it all right.” He just assumed she lived at the same place as twenty years ago.
After all that’s her facebook profile, one of many indicated.
“I see you are starting to get how this whole God thing
works,” Thomas Moon said staring eye to eye with Ricky.
A few months ago:
He heard it at his work: The Morningside Investments, “How
long is he going to be full of doom and gloom?” “Man, that dude really needs to
get laid.” Everywhere he went …
”Your obsessive compulsive thoughts are telling you
what to see,”
His Spiritual Advisor sat across one of the tables from him,
an hour before the meeting. He had been through the rough times with him
before, with the last, ‘I’ll love you forever’ that inevitably became the ‘I’ll
love you forever but don’t call me again.’ He kept staring at the AA emblem
carved so meticulously carved on the floor. The advisor’s chair always seemed
to be higher than his, as if he were looking down on him. “So what do you
expect to happen? She’s gonna come through the front door and all of the sudden
it’s happily ever after.” He started to chain smoke. With each puff he
desperately tried to block out the truth his Spiritual Advisor was telling him.
He’d reply with that everso predictable, “You don’t understand.” For the past
few weeks: in the grocery store, the aroma of the fresh cut flowers lingered
through the air. Or was he thinking of what he thought the flowers should smell
like? The aroma, “You know babe I never bought you flowers.” He’d see the happy
family. The happy couples walking side by side holding hands, smiling. Nothing
in the entire world mattered. “Don’t Do This. You are not ready for this. You
are making fantasies in your head. You’re making her into your Higher Power.
And she ain’t even real.” his Spiritual Advisor warned.
She noticed the lightning blanketed across the sky for
hours. “There’s majick in the sky tonight. Connect the dots.”
He kept wandering painstakingly, “What’s wrong with me? Why can others have someone to love but not
me?” At work he noticed his peers with their happy photos of spouses on their
desk. They had pictures of family adventures, and vacations. He felt that he
had to have some type of trophy to show off. ‘God send me this’ prayers came
before one particular day. “I was driving to work. A dark tan 1990 Toyota
Corolla sped up behind me on highway 55. I looked up in my rear view and it was
you. The years have been good to you. Still had that long brown hair with
natural streaks of red, Then you zagged and I saw closer who I thought was you.
And I realized at that moment that God had sent me a sign. I mean what are the
chances of seeing that?
So, the oldest daughter connected the dots of the lightning
flashes. She saw Mayan warriors long forgotten. They were clothed by the skins
of panthers. Their bodies seemed chiseled from stone. “You see! Those are you
and your family’s protectors. She shut her eyes, then opened them again. Looked
in the water and saw a serpent, “That is Chaac.” She looked at the captain and
wondered if she had seen and said any of that. “Get your mom and sister. Your
freedom is beyond that gate. Then she heard a cell phone ring. The captain took
the phone out of his pocket. “Okay,” the he hung up and put the phone back in
his pocket. “We have ten minutes to get passed the gate.” The guards on duty
were on a fifteen-minute break.
When I got to work, I was listening to the radio and that
song came on. And I remembered we were on the bed. The bed that was supported
by your great grandmother’s bed frame. You were wearing that white nighty. You
leaned your head forward. We were touching foreheads, looking into each other’s
eyes while that Styx song, “Come sail away. Come sail away with me.”
She didn’t remember what happened after she was staring up
at the tall gate- “Come on! Come on! Come On!” A skinny mid twenty year old man
yelled motioning them to get into the back of what appeared to be a
construction company’s minivan on the outside. Her baby sister cried; until her
mother put the baby bottle to her lips. “Listen to everything I tell you! If we
get stopped hide yourself underneath the blankets. Lay down. Don’t move.
He typed her name into facebook search there were twenty
results, “Twenty, well damn.” One of the results was a journalist. “Nope
doesn’t look like you babe.” It took him hours until he narrowed the search to
five.
“Well, I must commend you. You made a change,” Thomas said.
“Change. You’re right,” Ricky replied without rolling his eyes. “The better
person was in you all along,” Thomas paused, curious of the type of response.
“Thanks,” Ricky replied. Thomas then read from Ricky’s file.
“Please don’t do this,” he remembered his sponsor’s warning.
The meeting that started with the crusty old miserable guy who lived through
everything, not even giving the chairman a chance to complete, “Does anyone
have something to share…” “Yea I was driving into that car crash everyone tried
to tell me that I shouldn’t. I just had to find out for myself. I thought I was
the exception to the rule…” he looked around him. He was just one of them in a
huge circle. After five more minutes of the crusty know it all, he lit that
Kamel cigarette. He looked at his spiritual advisor. His advisor nodded,
“Patronizing, condescending, son of a bitch,” he muttered to himself. “Yea they
told me to…” He already knew what the next one was gonna say, “They told me to
wait a year. Told me to buy a plant, then a fish, then a cat. The plant and
fish died and the cat ran away!” he screamed the last part of what he knew he
would say. Then he stood up and angrily left the meeting.
“The Meeting House” was about two hours from “The Wall.” It only had two bedrooms, a bathroom connected
to a den. The bathroom only seemed just to have enough room for a toilet, a
sink, and small shower. The house had forty immigrants crammed inside. There’s
a police scanner that’s being monitored 24-7 to ensure they’ll know when the authorities
come. The mother spoke on the cell phone. All the daughter could hear was, “Be
here in thirty minutes.” Seconds later, everyone seemed to be nervous. She
learned that the authorities were on their way. Where could they go?
“There you are,” he became so excited. The photo looked just
like her. He stood up. Put one of the soon to be road trip cd’s in his dollar
store bought cd folder. The cd’s were were simply called ‘To Her.’ Then he went
through the detailed information. She was from the same town and went to the
same schools. Best of all, she was single.
“Thank you God for this.”
“God please, God please,” she heard her mother say. Then she
looked at her mother, and tried vainly to not show her worry.
Sanchez was sitting passenger. Detective Smith was driving;
leading the five car convoy. Sanchez was on his first outing, Was very excited
about it. “How long?” “Bout ten minutes to Make America Great Again,” one of
the trainings there involved a burley man as the main instructor. He was very
aggressive because of his rumored steroid abuse.” The training module one
involved there were twenty detainees in a space about as big as a single
storage garage. “So always remember that you are never to assume any of them
will come quietly. You must be aggressive…”
“Well babe. I could have reached out to you via facebook.
Yet I knew it would be better to come and see you.” He saw the pictures of cats
on her page. “I remember what I said often. Particularly that selfish poem
‘Stray.’ ‘Don’t lean on me or you’ll fall. But if you fall. Fall into my arms
and I’ll carry you.” He thought about scratching that line out too. Then took a
closer look, zoomed the cats on his facebook screen. Told himself, convinced
himself that the cats looked just like the ones that lived with them so many
years ago.
She remembered
lightning flashing across the sky, ‘Connect the dots,’-and hoped the panther
skinned warriors would descend from the heavens and protect them. She heard her
mother continue to pray. She knew that because she kept hearing the word ‘God.’
Then the dots that connected and formed warrior morphed into a giant serpent
‘Chaac.’
The thunder was so powerful that it shook the papers on the
patrol cars dashboard. “Relax Sanchez, its just rain.” Sanchez replied by
rolling his eyes, “This ain’t nothing to me I was trained by Captain America,”
Sanchez added. “Oh you mean, Stan,” Smith replied.
“Well I guess that’s all I have to tell you for now.” Then
he looked at the picture of her, picked it up and kissed it. He wrote most of
his letters on the new mahogany desk. Before that he wrote on a wooden
television tray. “Dude, look at the way
you live. Like in a hovel,” his friend Carlton told him about a year ago. At
that time he was living in a two bedroom apartment. “That’s more like a
compartment. You really think you gonna
attract any kind of female in here,” Carlton often remarked. “What about you
living in that tin can?” Tin can is what he called Carlton’s two-bedroom
trailer home. Carlton always seemed to have the same answer, “I don’t really
care. You’re the one always talking bout how much you hate being alone.” On one
of those same nights, Carlton was drinking his beer. He had cleaned up a little
bit-that meant he just moved the biggest messes into the spare room. Carlton
always knew about the coolest movies to watch. There was just one picture on
his wall. It was a picture of James Dean’s face with a quote in all big
letters, “Dream as if you’ll live forever. Live as if you’ll die today.” They
were sitting on the couch that should have been thrown away years ago. “Check
this out,” Carlton said. They were watching Pulp Fiction, “It’s called a
McRoyal,” Carlton recited the line comically as he started again, “You ever get
lonely?” Carlton ignored him at first and kept reciting the movie.
He studied her facebook pictures one last time, for the day,
to be accurate of what she liked and what sort of jobs she had. From her
pictures it looked like she worked in a hospital, probably as a nurse, or a
doctor’s assistant. He also remembered and saw the pictures that she liked.
When she came back to her new home, he thought that hiking would be their first
date. He also saw and remembered that she liked Wildflowers.
“We’re almost there?” Sanchez asked as he felt on his cold
steel revolver. “Yep. You ready?” Smith replied. “Oh yes.” “We’re about five
minutes out.” Meanwhile in the safe house, her mother handed her younger sister
to her. Her sister rocked her slowly in her arms. As the mother did her best to
keep her composure. The radio alert system had them hear, “You know you’re five
minutes out.” “Copy.” Feedback came through the system. The feedback got
louder, as the daughter squeezed her eyes shut and prayed for her father to
join them before the police did. The feedback got louder and the daughter heard
someone say, “Do you think God cries?” She opened her eyes to see who said it.
“You look worried. Keep your faith.” An old Mexican man stood over her. She
looked up frightened, “It’s okay. I want you to have this. He extended his
right hand. Gave her a s statue of a figure with what appeared to be a large
basket on their head. As he extended his hand again to wipe away her tears she
saw a tattoo of a serpent. She saw the tattoo move as he wiped away her tears.
She closed her eyes again. Felt leathery on her face. “Just because we stopped
believing in God. Doesn’t mean that God stopped believing in us.” Another loud
clap of thunder came. The lights blinked three times. Smith’s car was fifty
feet away from the second street exit when the baseball sized hail began to hit
the roof of the patrol car. “What the ##%%%!”
He meticulously checked to make sure he had everything:
enough food in the ice chest, making sure the food and drinks didn’t crush the
bouquet of wildflowers. The trip would take three thousand miles, or at least
three days. After he packed up the car, he went back inside his newly bought
house and hung up the “WELCOME HOME” sign. He walked outside, then inside
several times to make sure. Rehearsed it too. He’d have her in his arms as they
entered the front door. She’d be so excited. He’d look at her face. He’d be
teary eyed as he said, “Welcome to our new life.” She’d smile. Then they’d
kiss.
Before Sanchez could finish, “What is happening?” it was
like buckets of water hitting the windshield. The driver of the car in front of
them hit their brakes. Ten feet away from the exit there was a ten car pile up.
The oldest daughter walked outside. It was sunny. But as she looked to the
south the darkest storm clouds formed. Then she looked up at the sun and
thanked God. She didn’t question why she felt everything was alright for now,
at least- and that was enough.
“Well this is the first meeting that I have ever chaired,”
Ricky said as he looked around the insides of the chapel. He had been in the
chapel countless times, yet he never noticed the stained class mural above the
entrance of a shepherd guiding sheep.
“Well, we will have a
moment of silence. Keep your eyes closed as we can’t see now what the God of
our understanding, has for us.”
Five minutes later, their father pulled up in a minivan,
“Come on.” She got in last, after her mother. Her mother still holding her baby
sister so close to her bosom. “We have a new home better than before.”
The Walking Tear Drop passed out the AA readings to the five
in attendance. In a darkened corner, Thomas Moon, watched and smiled. Over the
passed few months he had watched Ricky. He was an angry young man who hated
everyone. The one who blamed everyone except for himself for his plight.
Yelling, “You don’t understand what it’s like! It was the only way for me to
fit into my environment! My mother was gone most nights! I had no father to
guide me! I turned to the streets!” “What are you? Some silly rap rhyme? A
system against you? No one to believe in you, but gangs right?” Moon retorted.
Ricky stood up ready to swing when the guards stopped him. Thomas didn’t even
flinch. Thomas remembered another session. “So what are you really after?” He
dared to look Ricky in the eyes. Trying to pull something out. “Quit looking at
me!” Ricky retorted. “What are you really after!?” This two sentence dialogue
went on for several minutes. The guard was about to interfere. But Thomas kept
giving him the nod not to. “After?” Ricky’s eyes filled with tears. “After,
indeed. What are you going to do to make your life better after this?” Ricky
then began telling him a particular story. He wanted to see his father for a
while. Especially after watching other kids with their fathers having fatherly
moments. Like the father playing catch with his son. The father coming to
career day at his school. He’d listen when he wasn’t supposed to. Ricky was
listening to his mother, “He really wants to see you.” “How much money do you
want? You didn’t earn anu of it. Then you want to bring our son into this.
Well, you ain’t getting one cent.” “What about your son?” “Your son.” “That’s different.” “I can always go to the police and tell them
what you do.” “Okay fine.” “Well maybe you were supposed to be listening,”
Thomas interrupted. His mother dropped him off. He remembered the room was
small and the music was loud from the stereo system hooked up to the
television. “I was nine years old. And he left me with one of his girls. I remember he said he’d be right back, yet he
didn’t come back till the next morning. His eyes were bloodshot.” “Is it?”
Thomas asked. Ricky’s eyes squinted with rage. “When I asked what you were
after. I didn’t mean what you think. I meant, ‘How do you intend to change your
life after?’ After this cycle. How will you break the cycle?”
“I remember you’d always liked to take me on long trips,” he
said as he imagined her sitting in the passenger seat. He’d hold her hand
tightly, remembering the times they had on the beach. He was driving on the
beach highway, aka Highway 90 for as long as he could. As the sun rose the
first song of the cd’s played. It was Everclear, “I am still living with your
ghost,” came loudly through his speakers. The beach was on his right. It
spanned for hundreds of miles.
“You came this far.” “By no choice of my own!” Ricky
retorted. “We placed ourselves in situations to get hurt.” “I didn’t have the
same options as you did!” “You don’t know that.”
On one of those particular trips, “Baby remember that time
we went tp Florida. Didn’t have hardly any money, and you used that credit
card. I was so locked in my head. You always knew.” He paused looking over at
the sun coming up. And imagined, “Well, babe this is my turn to be your one.
Remember in that McDonald’s we went to for breakfast. And I saw that tall black
woman who looked like Grace Jones. She had claws. Fingernail seemed to be at
least three inches long. She had to be seven feet tall. I was simply terrified
going into new social situations. You’d take me to big clubs and I froze.
‘listen to the waves hit the shore baby. Calm down,’ you’d say.”
The oldest daughter saw the silver minivan coming from fifty
feet away. “We don’t have much time.”
“I saw many hotels and motels as I drove the highways and
all of the scenery, and I remembered things that I have not remembered for a
while. Like that time we were in a car following your mom. You let me drive,
and I carelessly put the standard gear the wrong way and messed up your car.
Damn, I haven’t thought about that in years. Well, I owe your mother the money
she spent to fix it. I remember that time that you paid our rent in that
apartment that used to be a motel. You seemed to buy everything. Yea, I didn’t
believe in working too much back then.” Then he was scared that he said too
much to her. Yet then he realized that she wasn’t there and felt very relieved.
“Well, you have the opportunity to do something different. I
got a question for you. Don’t answer it out loud. Don’t answer it for me.
Answer it for you,” Thomas said. “You really get off on telling people what to
do don’t you,” Ricky interrupted. “When was the last time that you?” Thomas
paused and then threw a pen and a pad at Ricky, “Wrote to your son?” “I didn’t
mean for it to happen,” Ricky replied with his eyes full of tears. “What are
you after?” Thomas asked. “Not even sure if I ever was in love,” he said with a
tear streaming slowly down his cheek. “It really wasn’t supposed to happen.” It
was a college party. He was there with his frat buddies. But he as more
interested in making money. “I don’t even know you anymore!” His girl since
high school scorned. “You really think I care? I can get any woman I want.
Ain’t that right? Come here you.” He motioned his hand, waved her to him. She
was very susceptible since she took what he called, ‘A piece of white heaven.’
Five minutes later he was doing her in a bed.
“This is ours,” she
followed his mother. They both followed her father. Her father was holding her sister in his arms. It was on the second
floor. In the den, the first room was the picture of Jesus that she always
remembered seeing when she walked into their home. She smiled. Maybe everything
in her life would be better for a while. They all had a huge hug. Her room of the
two bedroom, apartment had a view of the sign ‘The Pines,’ the entrance of the
complex. There was a small bed and dresser with a fifteen inch television,
“Selina, here’s the remote,” her father said coming into her room, “We got
cable here.” He turned on the television and put on a Spanish speaking music
channel. The program on was a documentary of the musicians of their former
homeland. A loud banging came from the front door. Selina flinched. She wanted
to find somewhere to hide. “Baby it’s
okay. Come with me.” She shook her head, “No Papa.” Selina’s mom answered the
door. “Hello maam. Large meat lovers pizza and a two liter of Pepsi. That’s
fifteen dollars and thirty seven cents,” The pizza man said. The mother smiled.
She didn’t understand much of his English. “Here’s twenty five.” Then her
father smiled toward his daughter and said, “See, it’s okay. Everything is
okay, Selina.”
“I’m singing that song that is forever embedded in my mind,
‘Come sail away with me.’ I sing with the third cd. I’m almost halfway through
with the collection that I’ve made for the trip. I been drinking coffee and
chain smoking.” Then he paused his conversation at the drum beat of the
bridge-worried about the things he would say. Then he started talking to
himself, “The pictures of her facebook don’t show her smoking. I better get
this car to smelling good. I can buy one of those spray things that’ll shoot
out mist every thirty minutes. That’ll solve it. I can wash all my clothes in a
laundry mat to get rid of the smoke. Anything for you, baby.: Then he pulled
down the mirror flap to look at her picture again. The one he re found months
back-the item added to the events that convinced him that “God is leading me
back to you, babe.” “The sun was going down and I had that feeling like so many
times before.” That feeling of exhaustion where no amount of coffee, or long
ago, no amount of alcohol or drugs could keep him awake. Thirteen hours of
driving. “So you’re really going through with this?” That was the first thing
out of his sponsors mouth, And of course that angered him, “Look. Just because
you never had any luck getting that woman back that you caused to leave you.
Doesn’t mean that this won’t work for me!” He yelled back as he dumped the
suitcase on the hotel room floor. He looked at the same blue jeans and short
sleave Polo shirt, from years ago-their first date. The garments were wrinkled.
He looked for an iron and the iron board by the door of his hotel room. He also
noticed a coat hanger. Then mumbled to himself, “Better get the wrinkles out of
this,” while his sponsor retorted,
“Who are you yelling
at!? I’ve been. As you know, happily married for over twenty years now.”
“Hey,” Rcky said calmly to his mother during visiting hour,
The room was like being inside of a box. “Thanks for visiting me in this box.
Ricky always said to his mother. His tone was getting brighter and cheerier as
the weeks passed. Yet his mother could sense something was wrong, “What is it?”
She asked, “When was the last time you saw…” “Jakel.” His mother interrupted.
“I been seeing him more over the passed
year,” She paused “Damn,” he muttered.
“I gotta go,” he was quick to say after his sponsor had that
all too common suggestion, “Have you been to a meeting?” He was sure to pack
his portable cd player to ensure to keep in mind set. “I saw the sign and it
opened up my mind I saw the sign.” He also had the coin, the seal of
Solomon-that she had given him on their first year anniversary. The Ace of Base
song continued with the chorus, “I saw the sign” as he smoked what he told
himself was one of his last cigarettes. “Baby, remember I was so nervous when I
requested, “Can I kiss you?”
“Do you really think this is a good idea?” The mother,
Daniella asked her husband, Ricardo. “There’s no other way for now,” he replied
as he lowered the mattress to conceal the opening that had a large steel case,
where he kept most of their money. He couldn’t use a bank because he had no
identification card, had no social security card either. “We’ll be fine,” he
assured her. “What’s wrong?” Selina stood in the doorway.
‘Would you like me to bring Jakel with me?” She asked. Ricky
wanted his mother to leave. He didn’t want to think about his son seeing him in
there. “Maybe later,” Ricky replied. “You know that maybe sooner is better than
later,” his mother replied. “I’ve written this,” Ricky replied as he handed her
the folded letter he wrote.
About a week ago, “I don’t even know what to write?” Ricky
saide defeated with his head down. Thomas remained calm, “Well with your head
down you can always take this opportunity to pray for God’s guidance.”
“They’re still here,” two teenagers noticed, that always had
their eyes on the best opportunity. The new opportunity was room A101. Ricardo
Rodriguez didn’t know their, or the bug man’s name. The bug man came once a
week. The bug man told the two teen-agers about the thousands of dollars in
that silver hidden away box, in the mattress. They knew they couldn’t go in
during the daytime. There were too many people around.
“Just ask him more questions about himself than you talk
about yourself.”
“So, how’s your school year going? What sports do you enjoy?
I’m getting very smart up in here. Learning about things I never knew before.
Seems like the more I learn, the more I want to know.”
He left the hotel around six thirty. He prayed after waking
up, “Lord please make this happen for me. I’ve learned from my mistakes of the
past. I’ve said that eleventh step prayer thousands of times by now. I’m tired
of watching others be so happy and thinking that that life just isn’t for
me.” Then his mind went back to that AA
stuff, “We are careful never to
pray for our own selfish ends. Many of us have wasted a lot of time doing that
and it doesn’t work. You can easily see why.” “Shut up! Shut up! You’re not
going to ruin this for me. Everything I have done has prepared me to truly
love. Thank you God Thank you.” He was sure to pack as many apples and pastries
as possible, when the doors first opened for the free continental breakfast. He
was nervous checking out. Hopefully they didn’t know about the breakfast he
stole. “Time, time ticking in my head.” The final cd was playing Anthrax’s
album ‘Persistence of Time.’ “Nothing can stop my love for you.” He remembered
a girl he dated after the bad break up. The one who he was more concerned over
more than his job. The girl he dated, Mary, saw him when he went to that
bar-convinced himself that he had to break out of his destructive isolation.
“Yea, I was drinking that coffee smoking those cigarettes. Was doing it so
excessively I joked, ‘drinking cigarettes and smoking coffee.’ It was a full
bar. Yea, I definitely had to look, I did look out of place. With that tight
white tank top. The band was playing slow for couples to dance slow on the area
in front of the stage. I was in the corner, sitting alone. I got up and walked
in front of the bar. She gave me that look. ‘Hungry Eyes.’-What a coincidence.
Now the cd is playing ‘Hungry Eyes One look at you.’ I gave her a cool nod and
walked outside. Predictably, she followed. We talked. A few minutes later, I
was following her back to the bar. I don’t drink anymore and I wasn’t drinking
then. You really would have dug/ Yea babe, I realize another mistake I
made.-yea, I an use that part-but not so much about the other chick,” he thought
to himself. “I was so scared to go out in public. I know it had to be such a
burden on you. You never could really
have a good time because you had to worry about me, Anyway, it didn’t take
long.” He saw a sign as the city that he hadn’t seen in years, was closer. When
he first came this mid-western town he noticed how it seemed to have two or
three Mississippi towns in one town. Had forests with long roads. Had the
buildings congested all together with clean asphalt. Had the road where you see
houses on one side and a river on the other side.
I’ve heard for quite some time, that water is
one of the most powerful forces in the world, and beyond this world. In the big
three major religions Islam, Judaism, and Christianity there are stories of the
great flood. Water being a tool to purge the lands. Water gives life and takes
life away. A major storm, named Katrina, did such things. I heard Katrina is
German meaning is ‘cleansing.’ Baptism embarks on a spiritual rebirth involving
water. Once I placed a hand held glass container that contained holy water.
When I removed the barrier of one of my energy points, I took notice that with
in days of removing the boundary, the water evaporated. Where’d all the water
go? It went to many places, uncountable. This is a story of one drop. One day
he remembered to visit his grandmother. “After all she wouldn’t be around
forever,” his father told him often. His father would die a couple days prior,
The place had a two story Charnell House one could see, from the highway by the
beach, all sorts of biblical scenes. “Funny how folks think of God stuff more
when death effects them personally,” he mumbled to himself as he made the left
turn into the dirt and gravel path. He looked at all the flowers in front of
stone homes. He parked the car. Last time he was unable to find her. Damn, I
used to drink a lot,” he grinned as he was satisfied with himself that he found
her, “Thanx Loh’Rd.” he continued to smile as he noticed the weeds almost
completely covered her and her husbands grave, his grandfather, that he never
met because he died years before he was born. He had a machete in one hand, and
carried a bag that contained a plastic bottle of lighter fluid. A pack of
smokes and a cigarette lighter. In a corner, close enough for him to be seen by
an elderly man visiting his wife. The older man saw him and decided to call the
Biloxi police. “I love you, May. The world is really a strange place,” William
Ripley said over his wife’s grave. He had on a pink dress shirt and tan pants,
with brown top sider shoes. He cared so much that he bought fresh flowers to
put in the vase. He comes to the Broadwater Memorial Gardens every Monday. This
particular Monday was special because it was their wedding anniversary. He felt
the streaming tears go into the wrinkles of his face, like rain filling a
valley. He smiled. He used to curse the Loh’Rd for making him old. For taking
his May away. Yet now and for a short, he used to think too long when he was
younger-that made all the difference. Thus he pulled out his black outdated
cell phone and “Hello, is this Biloxi Police department,” Mr. Ripley sounded
rather desperate. So, “Sir do you need to dial nine one one?” “Ugh the nerve.”
“Sir. Ughm.” “That sughn uvah …” Mr. Ripley saw him squirt a long few seconds
of lighter fluid on his grandparents grave, while memories of all those times
he cut his grandmothers yard flashed through his mind. The hot Summer days, the
smell of fresh cut grass. Every time he thought he was done with manicuring the
yard, his father, most of the time dressed in a suit and tie because he just
got off work, would find a small detail that he missed: a foot long weed, a
patch of grass, a few blades on the walls on the outside of her house, or the
lines in the grooves along the driveway not being edged deep enough. He’d
always say, “Why didn’t you get this part? It got doo doo on it?” “There’s some
punk desecrating graves out here.” Where is your location sir?” Broadwater
Memorial Gardens.” “I’ll send someone.” “Thank you, Sir.” He used to really
hate that his father made him work so hard. He’d wash the cars and miss a spot
on the drywall of the tire, or there’d be a little dirt on the inside of the
car door. Or if he didn’t have a shirt folded right, he’d dump the clothes on
the floor. He used that as an excuse to hate his father for many years. Yet
now, in that moment, as he dug the blade of the machete into the edges of the
grave stone, and swept away the burnt weeds, he realized he had also removed
the needless anguish. He knew that his father had taught him to live life at a
higher standard. “Malley, you there?” The dispatcher asked Officer Malley.
“Yes.” “Mr. Ripley.” “Oh. Again.”
He crossed the
state line with an ashtray full of two packs worth of chain smoked
cigarettes. He played the jam “Come Sail
Away” by Styx twenty times because he figured it would put him in a confident
mental state. Then played the song two more times before he pulled his car into
the Trucker’s Road Stop. Took him bout ten minutes and four dollars in quarters
as he vacuumed his car out, hummed the song in his head. Then another fifteen
minutes of shampooing the car and spraying half a bottle of air freshener.
Filled the car up with gas. Put a nicotine pouch on the upper gum behind his
teeth. Hated the taste. Made him a
little nauseous. He got back on the
interstate. Listened to Classic Rock Radio. It was five thirty in the pm. He
had forty more minutes to go. From what he saw on facebook, he was pretty sure
that she arrived home at around six.
Malley, “Well
it just so happens.” He paused a minute, and looked to the left. Sure enough he
saw the flame. “I’m right here.” After he said that, the bright sunny day
changed in three seconds. Rain fell hard, “Well ain’t that something.”
Suddenly, Malley didn’t want to confront the man burning weeds on the
gravestone. Malley had that strange knot in his stomach. “That’s what he meant
when he said, ‘The Sky IS Crying.’” He recalled that Stevie Ray Vaughn song.
Ripley was disgusted by the rain, and quickly ran to his car that was ten feet
away. He started his car and slowly started to drive on the gravel and dirt
circle. “Darn it.” Two minutes later Ripley drove out of Broadwater Memorial
Gardens. Malley drove slowly around the circle. He was wiping away the burnt
weeds from the gravestone. He noticed that strange insects came from the cracks
where the bronze vase once was. He looked up watching Malley. The rain stopped.
Malley drove slowly by him, and they waved at each other. Then Mally drove out
of the cemetery. Ten minutes later, the
grandson was driving down highway 90 quite happy. He noticed a rainbow that
seemed to end or begin at Broadwater Memorial Gardens.
…missing text…
“There it is. Oh dang. I need to get flowers.” Yet as he drove by her house he
had a feeling, overwhelming feeling, that this may not be such a good idea.
“At night. We
got to move at night. Naw dawg. Maybe we move like a thief in the night. The
best time to get them will be at two in the morning.” “You got the tools?”
Greg’s fifteen years old, Jayquin’s fourteen, D’ Anthony’s sixteen and the
mastermind of it all, Maurice was twenty-eight. Maurice was the maintenance
worker, he had access to all the apartments. They playing cards on a large
folded table in a room in the back of the apartments. The ashtrays full with
Newport menthol butts. They seemed to be passing around something to smoke
constantly. The rap music was loud, and some might say it influenced all of
them that another armed robbery was a great idea. The father’s sweat stuck to
his skin. He always drove the speed limit, knowing that if he was pulled over
he would get busted, and all would be lost.
He bought an assortment of flowers-sure to
include wild flowers.
As he drove
past the house, he looked on facebook to make sure it was the right one, The
first thing he saw was the sun flowers in the flower bed. Then he saw the
statues of two cats. Later on he would wonder if the cats resembled the cats
that stayed with them in their apartment. Or was it what he wanted to see? The house looked like shotgun house. It’s painted yellow. Yellow is
her favorite color.” “Baby I bought these for you.” That was the first thing he
said to her when she answered the door. She took the flowers. Said
half-heartedly and frightened, “Thank you.” “You haven’t aged at all. You’re
even more beautiful then the last time I saw you. I know it’s been a while and
we didn’t depart on the best pretense. Baby, I’ve come here to be what I should
have been long ago, your knight in shining armor. I’m here to give you a life
that you deserve. Remember when I couldn’t seem to keep a job? Well now I work
for one of the biggest and best financial advisory companies in the state.
We’ll have the perfect view of the sun set everyday. And our bed is big enough
for your cats to snuggle with us.” He paused a couple seconds because he
panicked. He couldn’t remember what to say next, The panic caused his eyes to
water. She looked at him perplexed. “I’ll even cook for us every day. I’m your
knight in shining armer. After all this time. After another long five minutes,
she calmly placed her finger over his lips, “Stop it honey you’re embarrassing
yourself,” she said. “But baby, I’m here to give you the life that you deserve.
I’m your knight in shining armer,” his voice was beginning to crack. She folded
her arms in front of her chest, “Yes. You’ve told me that over and over again.”
By hearing the tone in her voice, he immediately knew that something was wrong.
“Look, you seem like a sweet man. And whoever you think I am. I assure you. I
am not.” “But I made cd’s of your
favorite songs,” his tears began. Then his logics came and he knew the woman he
was talking to was not her. He realized he had manufactured a whole fantasy in
his mind. “ “Now, I don’t mean to be a total witch. But if you don’t get off of
my lawn…” He turned around and did the walk of shame to his car. She smiled as
she watched him drive away. Then she walked inside. Set the flowers on the
table inside her house. As he was driving, he took the coin out of his pocket.
He thought about tossing it out of the window. “Naw it be better to throw all
of these cds out of the window.” He placed the coin in his cup holder. Turned
around. Looked at the house. Turned back around too early to see another woman
looking out of the house’s side window. His cell phone rang as his tears fell
onto the coin (Seal of Solomon).
They heard a
loud bang at the door, “Just who could that be?” “Probably Miss. Jenean.” “Just
a minute,” he had it set up perfectly to grab the incense and light it. Then
lit a cigarette. The two teenagers grabbed the weed and cigarette butts. Put it
on a dinner tray-and put it underneath the leather couch in the entrance room.
Many apartments away on the second floor, she looked at the small statue. Then
fell to her knees and prayed again for God to protect her and her family.
“Well, Ricky,
this is our last session. I appreciate learning from you,” Thomas Moon said
with a warm grin. “You learned from me? It’s because of you that I’m tight with
my son again.” While Ricky gave his praises he remembered the visit during
Thanksgiving with his mother and son. Almost a year ago, he would have been
resentful that he was forced to spend Thanksgiving behind bars. Yet now he was
grateful to have his son and his mother back in his life. He had a guard take a
photo of him. While he was working in the trade shop he was able to burn the
picture onto his twenty four hour chip.
“How’s going
Romeo?” His sponsor said reminding him that his Higher Power was, is, always
there and AA was always there. He pulled over at the state line rest stop
wanting to hide. Wanting to break away from his life for a while. All he could
do was cry. His sponsor could hear his wailing, “Well son, you aint drunk are
you?” “It it it,” then he cried more. He looked at the coin (Solomon’s Seal of
Love). “ Damn it. Damn it. Damn it.” That’s uh lot of damns, son.” He laughed
at his sponsor’s reply. Then lit a cigarette. Took a long pull. “I’ve dedicated
my whole life to her.” “Bull shit. You ain’t seen her in over thirty years. You
know what to do. I’ve heard you say it in meetings. You know like that Neil
Young song …” “Why didn’t you try to stop me?” “Well. I did what I do. But you
had to do it. Find out yourself. Tell me.” “What? “Tell me!” “’I am just a
dreamer. And you are just a dream. You could’ve been anyone to me.’” “That’s
right son. Now get your ass to a meeting.”
“Well, we’ve
made some arrangements for you. Are you ready?” Thomas Moon asked. Reverend
Span came to the jail AA meeting after being telephoned by Thomas, “I have
someone for you.” At the time, Span was looking at photo albums. He was
reflecting on his past. He remembered the first church he was appointed to. He
had just came back from Nam. Went through so many struggles. Used to try to
drink what he saw away. His father raised him. Told him one day, “Son, talk
about it and you’ll be free.” And he talked his way into preaching at that
Sarah Mississippi church after their preacher man left. Many assumed that their
former preacher left because he got addicted to drugs. Now Span had been
diagnosed with terminal cancer. He knew he was leaving this world soon. “Last
one you sent wasn’t…” “This one is different,” Moon interrupted. “Different
uh.” For a few seconds as the two continued talking he remembered the last
one. “Hello Johnson, welcome to your new
life,” Moon said as he met him in front of Freedom Church. “I won’t let you down.”
Johnson started off the couple of weeks doing everything right. He’d come in
for curfew staying in a storge room. Had a big sink, a bathtub, a folding
table, a microwave, two feet high refrigerator, and a couch. Yet he met an old
friend at the bar he used to go to, “I had to get a restraining order.” “Well,
Span just come to the AA meeting and you’ll see he’s legit.” “Okay. What’s his
name?” “Ricky White.” “Ricky White?” “You know him?” “His mother and son go to
my church.” “So it’s a God thing, uh?” Span let out a long sigh. “Does he know
you’re sending me?” Span had to ask to see how Ricky really acted.
She felt
something was wrong. Regardless of the big meal that her father paid for. She
stayed up all night and early morning looking at the handheld statue. She heard
them outside the door. “I don’t think this is a good idea,” one of them said.
Earlier that
day, “Break that sh#t up. Hurry up!” “Alright.” Jayquin was in the passenger seat, breaking up
the buds. One bag was nasty wets. The other bag was the creeper. “Five O. Five
O,” he said nervously, causing Jayquin to drop some of the buds on the floor
board. Next they heard the siren, saw the lights, “Relax man. Act cool.” He
kept picking up the buds. “Stay down. Stay down,” Greg instructed. So he
contorted himself as much as he could into a human ball. Greg laughed as the
policeman passed them, “He’s gone. It’s cool. It’s cool.” Jayquin didn’t
realize that he mixed the good weed with the nasty weed. The nasty bag had a
bad hallucinogenic dried into it. Neither one of them had been wet before. Greg
and Jayquin smoked the blunts on and on, “Just kick it in.” “Naw. We got a
key.” Dude what are you looking at?”
He didn’t know
why there seemed to be a larger number of participants. It was as if someone
important person in the jailhouse who would grant them freedom. Ricky didn’t
know that Span had entered the back of the church. Span stood behind him. “I
need someone to read today’s Daily Reflection,” Ricky instructed assertively. So
many hands raised eagerly. “You in the corner, Smitty right?” “Right.” If
Smitty had his way he’d run out of the door he was by. Spam smiled toward Moon.
Moon replied with a nod. Smitty stood up, walked to the podium and read the
reading about ‘Trusting in God.’ “Well you have anything to share?” Ricky
asked. “God. God. Well me and God. We don’t talk too much. I’m aware that there
is a God. He stopped believing in me. At
least, I’m not fake. Like you other losers in here. Pretending that I want to
change my life. Acting a certain way so I can get a handout…” Ricky listened
intently for five minutes, then, “Thank you, Smitty.” “Yea,” with that Smitty
stood up disgusted. Was about to walk out of the room. Then he saw Moon and sat
back down. “Hello my name is Wallace and I once felt like you, Smitty,” Wallace
paused and looked at Span, “God brought me here to change my life. I think of
how I used to be. Running the streets till dawn. Hiding from the police…” After
five minutes, Ricky had to, “Thank you, Wallace.” “My name is P. Low…” and on
and on it went. “It was comparable to academy award speeches,” Thomas Moon
would tell him in a counseling session that followed. Ricky would laugh
agreeing.
He kept crying
and crying as he had been driving for four hours now. Listening to the drive
back home cd’s. “She was supposed to be with me now! God, I just don’t
understand, “Why can everybody else have love but me!” He cried more and more,
as what he heard in those meetings echoed in his head. Memories were colliding
of all the times that he had been rejected, with that ‘We depended on others to
make us whole…’ Somewhere he stopped thinking at all. His gas gauge was
blinking, “Be still. Be still. That’s when the Loh’Rd will speak to you.” He
took exit 62, “Don’t take yourself too seriously. First thing he noticed was a
car in a gas station parking lot that looked just the car she used to drive.
Also on the bumper there was a sticker in blue and silver that read ‘Friends of
Bill W.’
“I used to
think that I was a big shot. Had to drive the most expensive cars, have the
biggest houses. But one day I was drunk and who I thought was a friend turned
me onto that white girl. And I gave away everything. But God was looking out
for me-that’s why I’m here-God put me in here,” and the convict who called
himself Big A. kept going on and on until Ricky, “Thank you Big A. Well, they
do say we find God in jail. Okay we’re out of time. Who’d like to read the
Promises of AA.” Coincidentally, nine convicts were shouting with the pick me,
‘I want the gold star’ intent. “Okay we’ll read em one by one.” Ricky said.
Preacher man Span chuckled out loud. That got Ricky’s attention.
“I’ll never
love anyone, ever gone. I’ll never love anyone ever again,” is what I meant to
write. “Jesus,” he paused. In that pause he wondered if he was really intending
to say the Loh’Rd’s name in vain-or if he was asking his higher power for
guidance. He was paralyzed by his overwhelming emotion. As his tear-filled eyes
were stuck on the sticker, “Friend of Bill W.” “Be still. Be still,” he
muttered. He remembered saying “I’ll never love anyone ever again.” Did he
really know what he meant by saying that? With those nights it was so so long
ago. Almost seemed like. “No it was another life time ago.” Living in that garage
apartment. Surrounded by Alcoholics Anonymous literature. Didn’t want to face
the pain. Drinking to forget. His anthem was any song of heartbreak. His
favorite was on that Bob Dylan album Blonde on Blonde. Especially the songs
“Sad eyed lady of the Lowlands” and “Sooner or Later One Of US must know” that
personal statement that Dylan. Made the lyrics just for him “I didn’t mean to
treat you so bad. You just happened to be there that’s all.” It was an overcast
day as he sat in her car Toyota corolla sedan. She turned the cassette player
off. Stubbed her Marlboro Red out in the full ashtray. He’d later recall, “It
looked like a bunch of bones in a pile of ash. He pulled slow on his 32 ounce Budweiser.
He lit a Marlboro Red thinking about it all from years ago. “I got to go with
my mom to Missouri.” He remembered so vividly he could smell it now: the
cigarette and weed smoke combined with her perfume. He turned his head. Waited
for her to turn her head. Looked into her eyes, “You ain’t got to move. I’ll
take care of you.” “Boy you better be sure. It’s a big world out there,” his
father replied, after he shared his plan. Father in his ash gray pristine suit,
neatly trimmed beard. Had papers scattered on his desk. Papers that were
contracts of clients. Papers of different stocks on the wall market. Papers of
insurance contracts. Papers that granted different accounts and deductibles
measuring different health factors. He wouldn’t realize till years later the
important warnings his father was giving him by telling him things like,
“People who have bad dental hygiene can get dementia.” “Yea Dad, I’m quitting
college,” he muttered out loud. While at the same time he thought, “Beyond
Space and Time. He looked at the coin, thought about her car. Smiled and realized
that he was finally letting her go. -at least that’s what he told himself. Then
he looked at the gas gauge on E. “Running on empty.” Then he remembered being
in that bathroom in that two hundred dollars a month to rent-one of the many
places that he insisted that they move to. He didn’t have a job. He remembered
squeezing the sponge. And so tenderly cleaning her back, “You think we’ll stay
together?” “Why did I ask her that?” He remembered the look she gave him. So
broken hearted. He turned around to go to the gas station. A police car with
lights on pulled into the gas station. He was frightened until a few seconds
later, when the officer was scorning a homeless man. It was enough to interrupt
his thoughts. He went into the gas station repeating to himself, “I’m not going
to look for her.” Of course he did look for her. He also saw the big pictures
of beer advertisements: the loving couple doing ‘cheers.’ Advertisements of
beach scenes, hot chicks hitting the volleyball. Yea all the barbie doll
characters having good times at the beach. He noticed the big face of a drawn
bulldog. Reminded he used to really enjoy Red Dog beers. Especially because
inside the beer caps there’d be a saying like, “Follow the Dog.”-he thought
about the ‘Fool’ tarot card: the bum bout to step off of a cliff with the dog
barking at him. “How did I get here?” He was staring at the beer and liquor in
the cooler. Then he immediately walked to the cashier “and fate it had to be.”
“A simple twist of fate,” said Bob Dylan. “Oh but faith is another matter.
Drugs and Revelation took all the people around you, Cause sometimes Salvation
is in the Eye of The Storm,” Black Crows. “Can I help you?” the cashier asked
breaking him out of his musical trance. He noticed that cashier was the same
age he was when he was trying to get rid of her by drinking. “Yea Bob Dylan
Blonde on Blonde. And uh twenty in gas,” he replied. The album was on sale for
$9.99-the same cost as a good buzz-Another time he could die emotionally and
spiritually. Ten minutes later the tears came again, “Stupid stupid stupid.” He
looks at the cd, looks at the road ahead. He looks at the sign, “Missouri THE
SHOW ME STATE,” then he realized he was driving the wrong way. He took an exit,
removed the cellophane from the cd. The drive makes a U turn with Dylans “Sad
Eyed Lady Of The Lowlands.” The tears were dropping more and more on the coin.
He picks up the coin squeezes his hand, feeling the coin pressing into the
flesh of his palm. He remembered another one of the two many, “Or not enough?”
of the I’ll always love you but I never want to see you again. That one was a
convenient substitute for him to get over the previous I’ll always love you,
but never want to see you again. He remembered how the substitute would be on a
date, and he kept talking about how the last one hurt him. The substitute would
always tell him “Well I think that it’s those past relationships prepare you
for ‘True Love.’” Then he pressed the bottom, the driver’s side window. Threw
the Solomon’s love coin out of the window. Then he pressed the eject button of
the car d player, but the cd would not eject. Just kept playing. It was stuck.
“Damn. Love songs ain’t no friend of mine,” he said to himself. Then chuckled
as Bob Dylan, “Ain’t it just like the night to play tricks when you’re trying
to be so quiet. “How did night come so quickly?” He mumbled to himself. He had
hours to go as he kept contemplating whether to throw all of the compilation
cd’s that he made for the trip out of the window.
“Ain’t no body awake at this hour,” Jayquin
urged Greg, as he stuck his key in the lock. “Man, there’s a reason that they
call it the dead of the night,” she heard Greg say. She looked at the red
digital numbers of her clock. It was two twenty two. The numbers glowed and
streamed red beams on the statue. She heard the metallic click and for some
reason, that she wondered why, she was not afraid. She stood up and quickly lit
the candles that were on the den book case shelf, in between two pictures of
relatives. She’d ask her mother who these relatives were. Her mother always
replied, “I’ll tell you when you’re older.
“The main point
to remember is…” Ricky paused questioning his intent. Then decided, “Well we’ve
run out of time. I need you, Smitty to pass out the chips. Smitty was about to
retort, yet thought against it when he saw the guard.
“It’s so close
to getting the checks. We really don’t need this,” Greg said. As Jayquin pushed
the door open. He was the first to see the shadows from the candles flame
spread to the corners of the room. Then seemed to form figures. And she
remembered, “Fear not. Something will protect you,” as two Mayan warriors
dressed in panther skins, “Some bodies here!” They held large spears and lunged
forward as gust of wind came through the doorway, and circled around the room.
The warriors lunged forward as the gusts blew out the candles flame. Greg and
Jayquin stepped back haphazardly falling backwards, and landed head first on
the concrete below. The blow instantly killed them. She shut the door, as her
father opened his bedroom door, “What is happening here?” “Nothing papa, I lit
a candle to find a book I left in here. Then flipped the light switch. “I
didn’t want to wake you. I know how bright the light gets. Her World History
book was opened to the page that described the feathered serpent God Chaac. Her
mother then came out of the bedroom and coyly nodded to her daughter.
“…nothing, I
did was ever good enough.” “Nothing?” “I was never good enough.” He remembered
the edge of the beach. He was not even three feet tall. He looked around at all
the kids and their families splashing in the water. Heard the carefree
laughter. The water was bluish green. The large boat rocked with the Atlantic
ocean’s wake. He held the fishing pole tight, “Turn the reel in slow,” the
towering intimidating man instructed. He remembered his eyes blurred with tears
as his shaky right hand clutched the lever and he started turning it, “That’s
too quick! Do it slowly and steady!’ The yelling frightened him so his grip was
lose. He dropped the pole in the water. “HOW CAN YOU MESS UP SOMETHING SO
SIMPLE?!” Now he was pacing slowly in a creek, gripping the fishing pole
lightly in his hand like he did so long ago. The current was slow to most, yet
fast to him. He was afraid of not doing it right, “You’re doing great,” the
patient boy he was following said with encouragement. “I can’t do it.” He said
out loud. Then he thought he was mumbling low enough to himself, “Nothing I do
is ever good enough. Nothing I ever did was good enough,” yet he didn’t realize
that he was loud enough to be heard. The boy replied, “Nothing. Nothing is
nothing. We got everything if we look at it the right way.” Then he reeled the
line in slowly. Even with his shoes on he felt something small underneath his
right foot. Curoously, he put his free hand in the murky waters. Grasped his
hand on the palm sized bottle. He looked at it and knew it was a bottle that
holy men put water in. He put the bottle in his pocket. Come on!” The boy
yelled. And for a moment he flinched again until he realized the boy was
instructing him to follow him down the creek. So he walked behind him with his
string wound. Six feet away from the boy, “You see that spot over yonder?”
“What?” I mean to your left.” “Oh okay.” “You gotta casts it in the dark part
of the water.” “The shadowy part?” “Yep.” “Then he swung as hard as he could.
The line didn’t release. “You gotta let it Go,” the boy said. He wondered if
the boy knew he was suffering from memories. Therefore, he swung the pole
again, and released the line. “There it is,” the boy encouraged. He started
slowly winding the line in. Wasn’t Jesus a fisherman?” He asked the boy; as he
could feel the holy water bottle move in his pocket. Then he felt a pull on the
line. Wound as quickly as he could. His eyes were full of tears when he saw the
fish on the end of his line. The boy helped him take the fish off of the hook.
He realized he was replacing a bad memory with a good one.
“You just want
to think that you are being thoughtful and a self-less servant so you don’t
have to face your FEAR OF CHANGE.”
He wound the
line in. He didn’t notice the holy water bottle fall out of his pockets and
intp the murky waters.
Surrounding one
of the energy points are the three magnets. With the removal of the lamb bone
carved skull beads, the magnets fed the energies of the different objects. Did
the magnetic fields cause combinations of objects powers. I removed the
magnets. I look at a cloth bag that contains grave yard dirt.
There maybe a
good reason to clean your shoes when you enter a home. Home has always been a
place of peace. Or at least, somewhere there is always a hope that it was
supposed to be a place of peace.
There is a
being that travels from place to place. A person who is granted powers from the
grave. Some stories end at the graveyard, other stories begin. Some of us have
dreams. Some others wish they could have dreams. Some live in dreams. Dreams
can be a good or a bad thing-it can be both. All of these energies come here to
the Charnell House. Driving across country, he noticed there was a distance
where Texas meets Louisiana; near Memphis Texas there are graveyards that have
street names. There’s parts of this country where the dead outnumber the
living.
He had a dream
once that he was in hallways that were in the ceiling. The first thing he
noticed when he walked inside the church was the inner oval ceiling with a
painting of creation. Then he took note that the picture was shaped in such a
way that it looked like a human brain. “That’s just the way the painter
designed it,” he thought to himself as a way to discredit any divine
inspiration. Then he took note that the air conditioner vents were on the
sides. “Drawn to The Creation. Spirits are in the wind. Spirits are the wind,
and he heard they’re attracted to water. And the church is less than a mile
from the beach, from the Gulf of Mexico, the gulf streams from the Atlantic
Ocean. Surely unclean spirits wouldn’t dwell in this house. Then he heard the organs.
The organs played, thus reminding him why he was here.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ihapleg--po
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=sX5u2fG6JHo
https://www.youtube.com/shorts/WlcV41Uwn6U
https://www.youtube.com/shorts/e-W9ifpkB20
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