Follow Yer Dreams

“The trouble with being a writer is never being able to find the ending of a story so as to start fresh the next day.”
Albert Jones 2010

The trouble with the mirror is the reflection of course, the close ever close and coursing circle of you within you. They never promised you’d get a rose garden. But it’s not the end of the world. On the expansive superhighway there are your speeders and those you have left behind. The art of destroying the competition. It’s the game, I guess. It’s not real. Numbers. Before they could teach me about numbers they had to sit down and talk to me about how in the hell A could become a herd of buffalo. They never did. Oh well. I didn’t become a doctor nor a lawyer.

Most would call me stupid. No money. No name. No family. The no’s could go on forever. Regret? Sure, you betcha. Plenty of regret. Oh well, what are you going to do about it…Gain? Weight gain. What then? What’s left? What’s left for me to not to have gotten to have? Just about everything I’d guess. Oh well. Yeah, a little regret.

The sun was down now. Night again. Always night and nowhere to go no one to talk to. It’s going to be a modern hipsterevening because they’re the only ones who have the chance of being future readers after everybody has disappointed them later in their lives. But maybe that’s just the regret talking. I wish everybody well including myself and the more I let myself just be stupid like that the better I feel. That is intelligence that they can’t give you a diploma of in college.

I’m a post-modernist myself, a latent hipster myself. Diggin it. Studied mysticality and mythology extensively, at least a little bit more than normal. When I got my doctorate I told the world that it was great, that I now had a license to be nuts. Heheheh.

Susie says I’m bi-polar, but I don’t think so. I think I am something for which a name has been give only once. I would hate to think that I spend my life on a bi-pole contraption where my thoughts swing monkeylike back and forth until I am so compartmentalized in my explanation of myself that I forget that I’m the color blue. I’m not blue, but for instance. Does it matter anymore that I am the color blue? Maybe I am blue because there is a reason to be blue. That would mean I would have a whole new section of the ship to tend to to take the ship home and I’m just standing at attention all the time. Is Bi-Polar designation too unmythological? Maybe. That’s my formal education talking. You’ll have to forgive me at times.

I couldn’t make it at their cocktail parties. I didn’t feel inspired at that school either. I was meant to be a writer and researcher. Sam says he could get me a few speaking gigs on my whole Foller Yer Dreams shtick, a comedy bit, that I do about following Yer dreams. A lot of guys are trying to use this right now and it’s as good a shtick as any, Thomas in Vegas, Barclay over in London, a few others. Debbie…who is another story. Debbie and I had a fling. I hate to say it. But we had a fling. Bad on both our sides. Oh well. Like I said. Oh well. Turns out she’s a hessian or is that hussy? She’s got these claws that go out and scratch you as though she’s just trying to keep you next to her. She’s a big Jaglom film lover, but doesn’t ever get it that guys are as good as chicks. She’s like totally nothing I do and when I broke up with her she called my girlfriend who then broke up with me. Debbie. I think there’s a magician in Australia who uses it too.

The thing is that when you start telling your story because you want to you’re good, you don’t worry about others. But when you think that you enjoy it enough to want to do it all the time, even to make a living at it, you start wondering what the world was seeing and you slow down and are like the rabbit in the headlamps. We all have that aspect of ourselves. We hate it because we hate to think that we would stand there in the road staring at those headlights until it was too late. Snap out of it they say. Snap out of it. Well, you’ve got to if you are in it. But if you’re not then you shouldn’t be thinking like you were going to go back to it. That’s back rocking horse seesaw stuff.

Okay, I’ll tell you about Follow Yer Dreams. Follow Yer Dreams was something I used to say a long time ago back when you could say something and carry it around with you like a sign, before the internet. I was a dancer for a local club, a dude dancer, the kind that rocks out with the women and makes them think that not every man is a shmuck and at least one can dance and they’d gotten their money’s worth and all. When I got my Ph.d from the Oceanic I’d learned one thing. That it was mine. It was a piece of paper that I was lucky enough to be able to afford through debt and it stated that I did the work. Now, whether that institution is considered valid by those in positions of authority would be another matter. I’m not saying that the The Institute of Oceanic Consciousness is not a good school. It is, it is one of the best in what it specializes in: psychology, mythology, mysticism and the like. Highly regarded in fact within those “circles.” But it is a small world, too few dollars for every subject. Mysticism would often go out with barnacle bending and buckling.

But mysticism was where Follow Yer Dreams came from. I don’t know nothing. I don’t even talk like this, but I feel like I speak like this. You know what I mean? Nah, you wouldn’t. It was just that I was interested in the subject matter and then suddenly poof I was in the academic realm. Barkey was scratching his tit under the t.v. But when I got out of Oceanic I couldn’t parlay nothing into nothing except the university gig and that was an accident after seeing Bette Sue over at the Domgarten. Spaaten. You know what I mean.

People don’t much want to make their living like me using words and thoughts well enough to get bread and butter through them. Real bread and butter. I did. Like I say, I’m hyperactivementalogistically and that doesn’t mean that I am wrong. I am not on some radical and bad end of some pole, come to think of it, do they mean the actual pole or the two poles, or staffs really, on the opposite ends of the earth? Questions.

To be honest, to this day, I still don’t know what Follow Yer Dreams means, except now it’s out there and I make usually anywhere to four to five thousand dollars per month from it. Then the talks at the bookstores and all that and I got me this house overlooking the ocean, and it’s all good. It’s done. I’d followed my dream and gotten this house overlooking the ocean. When I suddenly looked up and wondered if I was possibly staring into the headlights. What was I doing here? What now? I had no love in my life. Single. Looking, but feeling ugly compared to past evaluations. I didn’t know what to do. I went to page 192, it’s a long book, and saw what I wanted to see:

If you follow your dreams you will not be left alone to the hounds of the world. The hounds of the world are the same hounds that you would find in hell but more real world, not as evil. But still they’ll nipping at your heel. Why? Because you wouldn’t know what to do if they weren’t. You’re human. Things chase you in your mind or you chase things. It’s a give and take, a big game of tag you’re it. So go out there and Follow Yer Dreams, because what else you gonna chase?

There it was, right there, as clear as your dreams. I’d capitalized Follow Yer Dreams. I’d trademarked it. That’s what I mean, there’s a few guys here and there using it, Thomas, Barclay, Debbie till she petered out. But I did it first. Yup. I capitalized the three words first and got the big bucks. But I didn’t mean to take away from the other stuff by doing it, but did. You see? I put a big sponge in the bucket of thought and it took everything else away. Why? Because you brought money into the equation. It’s like being at a cocktail party and suddenly saying excuse me and then whacking off right there momentarily until you are re-fastened properly enough to join back in the conversation.

That was the rabbit in the headlights as I looked out my wallwindow of sea.

I don’t like to say it destroyed me, but I will say that it is something that took me away from my original goal of really following my own dreams and doing some good work in my field and not worry about books, just publish them and be allowed to be left alone with my ocean’s hum and write.

When the capitalizations stop is when the original works begin.
So I’m there. I’m really there. That’s what I saw, what my rabbit stare turned into. It turned into a real pathway, but one thing I hadn’t really thought of was the letters. They never told me about the letters.

To Kleven Benjamin
From Lisa Wentworthy

Dear Mr. Benjamin,

I too have flown from a mountain, sailed, as you say, the way that you saw the world there blue and waiting and you yet had your wings and yet you went anyway, soared, sailed, sprouting your wings as your faith first lifted you. I too have experienced this.
I was wondering if perhaps you would like to speak at our gathering this coming Friday at 7 p.m. We are a light hearted group with mystical leanings. We are not naïve, but we do believe in what we believe. I am single and within birthing age.

Thank you,


See what I mean? Everywhere you went there would be another one. Just when you loved them there would be another one and then they would start adding up on top of each other, but some of the things that they said. Lisa wrote back three times and by the third times I wanted to marry this girl, but then there was that weird statement about being of “birthing age.” Who says that except someone being held in chains somewhere. She seems like a Quaker. I got all the high flying ones for sure. Those were my specialty and I should have known it, but it’s the field too isn’t it? Isn’t it just that I no longer believe? Maybe. I stepped out of a lot of things on this little journey and accepted some new roles the most enormous being that of the role of “father.” An archetype. I didn’ t have any kids. I was always too screwed up to mate well. Yet there it is. It’s what paid for the view, the need of the people to have a surrogate father for 16.95 from the bookstore.

So I guess that’s why I slur back into stupidity. Why not? I’m not the story that they wrote about me. I’m just me. I was glad that I wrote Follow Yer Dreams though because I still believed it after all these years. But where does the end of the story begin? Even that doesn’t make sense.

Published in: on December 22, 2010 at 6:23 am  Leave a Comment  

The Overshoot

Ronald Kranski sat a table at his coffee house next to an outlet where he could plug in his computer. He had his book open to the Pequot Massacre. His hair was rumpled up from his hand running through it over a hundred times that night. He was tired. He had studied for this test for three days already and wasn’t nearly done. It was the most important test of the semester.

As he read, a man came down the aisle toward him. Ronald quickly glanced up and then back down. You may pass, he thought. The man was disheveled, a grey sport coat that was soiled. A tie, checkered. Perhaps he was a professor, but in all probability he was one of the crazies that roamed the streets around the university. He pulled in tighter as the dark ship passed. But it didn’t.

“It’s the overshoot.” The man had just stopped right there. Ronald looked up and saw a scraggly philosopher. He knew he was a philosopher. He called them philosophers. The last philosopher he spoke to had admitted that the CIA was hot on his trail. Another philosopher. Oh, God.

“It’s the times when you go over the end of the tunnel or the end of the cliff or whatever and it happens. It’s the overshoot, man, when you’ve got nothing inside of you but you go over anyway. You must think I’m crazy, like I know what “it” is, this thing, this thing that is always there, the moments. Then you’re alone, man, but you’re in the world, but not in the world, the way that we all are, really, that stuff we try and drown out, the invisible swirling oceans we’ve got inside of us, the unknown and unnamed seas that we think that if we could only name we could float upon and not fall over and out and down.”
“Hey, man, please, I really need to study, “ Ronald said.
“You need to study?”

The man actually looked a little angry. It confused Ronald. Ronald didn’t know why the man was talking to him. He was grungy, dirty, his face marked with lines like a wooden cutting board or a crumpled lunch bag, his hair thick as strings, gray and black, a hooked nose, black glasses that covered only slightly an earnestness that exasperated Ronald from the moment the man opened his mouth. His test was in two days and he had no time to spare. Could you ever find peace?

“You know what I mean? Over and out. But nobody is telling us nothing about what it is that we’ve got going on inside of us. How could anybody? If they do they’re making money or they’re trying to figure it out for themselves. They get fast cars and their wieners grow large and they think that’s it. So they tell us, get your souped up Chevy and take it for a joyride and you’ll know what “its” all about. Or they’ve got a big book binge going on and they’re going to let you know that Freud said this or Freud said that, but you know they can only tell you that because their belly is full of Chardonnay and raw French steak. They can’t tell you nothing.”

Ronald definitely didn’t need this. Ahmadinejad was screwing shit up again. Sarah Palin was ever calling her soccer moms to arms and their men were following because they didn’t want to lose the sex. In the 1630s the Puritans slaughtered the Pequots of Connecticut and almost wiped them out for good. People hadn’t changed and now this, this guy, sitting there telling him this same old shit from the same old store of used up loser thoughts that Ronald ever tried to escape. Everywhere he went there was another and another and another. Always another wordy answer man waiting to take up his precious airspace. This exam was huge, Colonial history in America. It would be a bitch and he didn’t need this. He didn’t Need this.

“Yeah, so what’s your point?” said Ronald, kicking himself instantly. It was 9:25 and he only had 35 minutes left before they kicked him out of the damned coffee shop.
“Well, this, young man.” The man took the response as an invitation to sit in the chair across from Ronald. “You don’t know shit! Excuse my French.”

The French. The French! Ronald thought. He would have to get back to the French too.

“That….book, you got there. What’s in there? Let me see…
He tried to turn Ronald’s book around.
“Hey, hey!
“Well, whatever you got in that book, look, it’s not going to stay in there.” The man, about sixty, pointed to his temple. “It’s in here and then it’s out here.” He pointed to his ass.
“Look Mr. I don’t think you’re right about that. I’ve put so much of this in my mind over the last few years that they’re going to give me a piece of paper proving that it’s in there. They’re going to stand me up on a platform and a genius in a robe is going to hand it to me and it’s going to be my proof. Then employers are going to look at it and it’s going to prove it to them too. Everybody’s going to know that it’s still in there. Please, will you just go back over there?”

The man just stared at Ronald. It wasn’t a hurt stare as much as a stare of disbelief that somebody would question his wisdom. His crooked, grey teeth poked out at him from a tilted smile that Ronald could see was definitely going to let him hold on to this thing that he was trying to do to him. Ronald didn’t feel like being mad.

“Look, I’ll let you go. I’m just passing through here anyway. I’ve got me a business in Lisbon, Spain and it’s going through the roof. It’s in the mental arts. You don’t know what that is. Well, it’s not that.” He points at the book. “It’s not in your words, your knowledge that you think you’re getting from it. It’s from the all-knowing wisdom factory that you’ve got up here. “ He points to his head. “That’s connected to this here.” He points to his heart. “ And comes from everywhere.” He runs his hands around his whole body as if outlining his aura.
“New Age,” Ronald said simply. “And Lisbon is in Portugal.” Christ! Even he couldn’t let this just die.
“Not new age. Not exactly.”

He moves in a little closer. The snake in the man was getting closer and Ronald wasn’t going to push him away just yet for fear of getting bit.

“It’s New Mind.”

Ronald involuntarily rolled his eyes. Great. The snake recoiled. The man leaned back a little bit. He’d thrown his pitch. A ball.

“You’ve got a mind,” the man continued. “ In that mind is a lot of stuff. In that stuff is everything you ever experienced. I’m not talking about actions. I’m talking about emotions: love, hate, envy, greed, goodness, love.
“You said that.”
“Yeah, I’ll say it again because it’s a big one. Love is a big one because we think that it has to come from outside of ourselves, from a pretty little thing, and that’s where we get lost. We don’t need to have love from others to feel love for ourselves.”
“Not new age,” Ronald said.
“No! What’s new age? Look, there is you and there is me and…
“No you look, I’ve got to study.”
“What are you studying?”
“I’m studying the massacre of the Pequot by the Puritans in the 1600s.”
“The Pequots?”
“Indians. They killed all the Indians because….” He stopped. He really didn’t know why, not really. That’s what Ronald was really thinking about before the man interrupted him.
“They killed the Pequots because it’s in their nature to do so, “ the crazy man said.
“Yeah, I guess so. It’s in man’s nature to take what he wants.”
“And you say that it don’t matter what’s in here all swirling around all nameless like I’m saying? You say that it doesn’t matter that you are going toward the outer region every day of your life and when you come to that cliff that you better be able to fly or else you will flail all the way down to the bottom and will grab anything (or anybody) you can to break your fall. You’d take your own mother down with you if you thought it was going to keep you from hitting the bottom. That’s what they did, isn’t it? They picked on people easily picked on to get further ahead. Great warriors for God, I imagine. You’re talking about the Puritans.”

The man lowered his eyes and searched the table for something, some formerly forgotten roadblock to his understanding from the past.

“Yeah, sure, the Puritans,” the man continued. “The Goddamn Puritans. Not so pure the Puritans. Still got ‘em today for sure. Still on their rampage in the name of God. Christian Puritans. Muslim Puritans. Doesn’t matter. They’re the holy ones, but really they’re the most afraid. They’re the ones who won’t listen to what I have to say. They won’t listen to me when I tell them that they’ve got a wild storm going on inside of them that they got to ride through or they will go over the edge of everything and take everybody with them. Then there’s people like you who don’t believe in the invisible and you stuff everything in your head for God knows what reason, but it doesn’t help you. You’re not strong enough to do anything about what the dummies of the world are working for night and day, even in their dreams. You’ve got nothing but a few dumb words on the page about some Indians and Puritans and that’s all. You got nothing at all about the fact that you’re a monster and you don’t even know it!
“I’m a monster?”
“You’re a monster.”
“A monster monster?
“A monster monster. If you’re unconscious. It’ll suck you down the moment you get weak. Then you’ll take others down with you and then those others will take others down and then you’ll have your history, all the history that you need from any book. All these history books are documents of the ways that people were so unconscious that they chain- reacted their lost-ness all the way across society. The blind leading the blind…and we’ll all go down together…”

He actually sang this last bit loudly and an old couple just across the way looked up from their meal and stared. Ronald smiled at them embarrassedly.

True, true, true, Ronald thought, true all of that. But you can’t leave out the particulars. Got to keep moving with the facts. He felt an uneasiness, that same uneasiness he felt when he thought in class that he was missing something, missing some crucial point that mattered. This old man was going there, but it made him feel weak. If he gave in to the man’s ideas he would be the man’s victim somehow, that really the man was just shrewder than he was and that he’d better be careful on these craggy peaks.

“You’re still not saying anything, Mr., You’ve got nothing to give me here. I know that man is shit to man, always has been, but you’re pointing me to some nebulous shit and I don’t need it, okay? I can’t see me and you can’t see you. Nobody sees themselves yet we all stand up for who we are. True. That’s true. We can only guess about the reasons we’re making our decisions or what we believe in and all that. But we can be on top of things. We’re not all lost in a cloud of unknowing like you say and sometimes what we see is what there is. A lot of times it is what it is and that’s it.”

Ronald already felt defeated just by falling into the discussion. He had been on a track and he needed to circle the truth ten thousand more times to eventually get to a morsel and know it as truth. He was prepared to stay on that track until he had all the sustenance that he needed. He wasn’t just going to jump off the rails and stand firm that everything was bullshit because everything was bullshit.

“You’re not hearing what I’m saying,” said the man.

Oh, Christ. Great. Complete failure of understanding. Now, daddy, tell me what it is I need to know.

“Dude…” Ronald said.
“Okay, okay, I’ll leave you alone. I can see that I’m upsetting you, but let me finish. There is an answer. No, listen to me, don’t huffaw like that, listen to me, son, listen to me!”

He grabbed Ronald’s arm forcefully. Ronald pulled back from his rebellious stance. The man was serious. Saliva dripped from the side of this maniac’s mouth.

“Now, listen to me! You are going to face great trials. One day something will go wrong. Things won’t ever be the same after some of these things and you’re going to have to deal with them. You’re young yet, you don’t know, but I do. Something will happen. Something major. Major things happen to all of us and they have happened to me and I want to tell you what you’re in for, but you’ve got to take me seriously for just a minute. Okay?”

Ronald nodded unintentionally, nodded to the angst in the man’s eyes if nothing else.

“Now, you’ve got an ocean inside of you as do I. You’ve got no way of ever knowing the breadth of that ocean. It’s too big. It’s you. Do you see? Don’t ever think that you can know the scope of who and what you are. It’s too vast. It’s too deep. But you’ve got to make it anyway. You can drown at anytime.
Now listen, when you feel that you know something remember, just remember, that you don’t know all of it. You don’t know what you think you know because you’re just coming at it from one angle. There’s a million angles and not all of them are coming from you. A lot of them are coming from others or others before them or others before them. Society, belief systems, everything, but at some point you’ve got to know about something that you got inside of you and it’s this: you’ve got a core. That’s right. You’ve got a middle, a center, a place where you can’t be pushed any further, where even confusion can’t go. You’ll have been through too much by the time you find this core of yours. It’s really something that we don’t want to have to know about. We all wish that we could always just live right from this core like we did when we were children, but we can’t, not when the world has taken a hold of you and taught you a few things about human nature and this goddamned world. You’ll be sent sailing on that stormy sea and you’ll be looking for a port and it’s your core that you’re looking for. Dry land. And it’s in you. It’s always there, it’s just that, well, we’re all lost at sea sometimes and you can test the winds and all that (he points at the book), you can throw Jonah over the side and have an argument with God or whatever, but you’re not on dry land until you’re on dry land and you can get to that because its there, right now, its right there, there!”

At that the old man leaned forward and slapped Ronald hard on the chest. Ronald was in shock so said nothing. He wondered whether he’d been assaulted. The man got up from the chair he had never been invited to sit in and walked to the exit without as much as a nod of goodbye.

Ronald watched him go through the glass door and saw that the man had kept a shopping cart outside and it was filled with odds and ends. He was your average bum. Ronald put his index finger to his lip and looked down at the book. Word after word after word. Each word pointed toward something else, some other fact, some other monstrous fact which led to a monstrous idea, each large enough for its own book. It seemed the more that he learned the more there was to learn. It grew exponentially this thing. It was an ocean, just like the man said, and he was on it, but the waters were as yet serene and he was as yet able to believe that he would sail smoothly through it for the rest of his life, pick up his treasure where he may, and live happily forever after and onward.

But there was the idea still of the ending point, the end of the world, the place where the waters fell down the sides of a flat earth into an eternal void where nothing could rescue him. It was what he didn’t know, and was he fooling himself in thinking he ever could?

Ronald closed the book and found himself staring at the old couple sitting in front of him. Neither of them spoke. They just sat there, one looking a little this way and the other looking a little that. Their eyes were flat and peaceful in a way, but blind too, as though something had been cut off from the inside. He wondered if they had fallen off the side of the world, had overshot their boundaries and didn’t know how to get back. This time he did not dismiss it. He did not retreat into the luxury of his youth. This time he held inside their vacant gazes and allowed them to teach him something, something, something utterly nebulous that perhaps a book, he realized, would never be able to do.

Published in: on September 26, 2010 at 6:06 pm  Leave a Comment  

Nobody Hit Harry

Harry Blankenfeld sat on the ground in the middle of the street and waited for the cars to come and run him over. The light had turned green and one by one they went around him. Jerry had come out of his office just a moment after Harry sat down in the road. He saw Harry and went to the side of the road and motioned for his attention.

-Hey, Harry, what are you doing?
-I’m sitting in the road waiting for a car to run over me.
-Why are you doing that?
-Well, you know what, Jerry, it’s not all that easy to say, but I can tell you this: life sucks.
-Fair enough. Why does it suck? Hey, Harry, some more cars are coming.
-Excuse me.

They stayed silent as the cars roared toward Harry. One by one the cars swerved around him. None of them stopped.

-Anyway, Harry said.
-Yeah, anyway. Look, Harry, why don’t you come to the side of the road. You don’t want to do this.
-No, I do. I do.
-But why?
-You really want me to explain?
-Yeah, Harry, I’m the guy whose gonna have to scrape you up.
-Okay, then if you’re the guy whose gonna have to do that then I may as well tell you my story.
-Thanks. Hey, Harry, the light has turned green.
-Excuse me.

The cars once more swerved around Harry one by one. A couple of people honked this time, but nobody stopped.

-See, Harry, nobody is going to run you over anyway. It’s easy to avoid somebody in the road. I do it all the time. It’s easy.
-I’ll keep trying, anyway.
-The police are going to come for you.
-Then I better be quick, I guess.
Jerry nodded and gulped. He was getting really nervous as this situation truly sunk into him.
-Jerry, you’re an alright guy. You’ve always been good to me, but the rest of you…are shit! Shit! You see, I’ve got it all figured out. It goes like this. You’re born, right? You’re born and then you’re a kid. Everything is good so far, right? Then you’re a teenager and a young adult and then a real adult and then this portion of the show goes on a little longer and a little longer and then a little longer until you run out of portions of the show. You’re always an adult. In the meantime everybody is either new to the process or just like you, in it for a while. It’s when they’ve been in it for a while that it starts to hurt. People don’t care, Jerry! People don’t give a shit! So you always have to be on your guard. You say the slightest thing wrong and everybody is suddenly Steven fucking Seagal. They’re samurai! They’re suddenly out to prove something because, oh, you expressed your opinion or you asked for something. They’re fucking samurai! That’s because they’re so little. They’re peas. Little peas that don’t know that they’re peas. They’ve been shit on too. Everybody has been shit on and they don’t know that they’ve been shit on. So what they do is this, they take that pain of having been shit on, remember it real good, and then when they get the opportunity, you know, someone doesn’t do something they want, anything, any tiny little thing, they shit on you. Get it? Since everybody has been shit on they all go on to shit on everybody else and the ones they shit on are the ones easiest to shit on, the nice guys, the guys who don’t ask much out of life, but when they do, oh boy, watch out. Fucking Hitler is in the room for these guys and let the shitting begin boy. Wonderful way to steal shit. Believe that you are being attacked over some tiny detail and go all the way. Fuck like a fucking Mongol. Well, I’m tired of it, Jerry. I’m not going back to the office to let those people shit on me. Those people. These people in the cars, they can have me. Just take me once and for all. So I quit.
-You quit? You can’t quit. You only have a few years left till retirement.
-Jesus Christ.
-Harry, the light turned green.
-Excuse me.

The cars once more roared by Harry. A couple of more honks, but nobody hit him.

-This isn’t going to work out for you, Harry. Nobody wants to run over a guy in the street.
-Oh, yeah, they do. I’ll get one. Maybe one out of ten would see this as the opportunity of a lifetime. You see, they shit on all the little things. Get all the little perks from shitting on little people for little things all the time, you know, save money here, save money there. They’re always looking for ways to steal a little bit more to maybe get a little more ahead in this RATRACE we call life. It’s the perfect opportunity for someone. He’ll come along. Or she. Doesn’t matter. At least one in ten are looking for the perfect opportunity to take that all encompassing shit.

Jerry didn’t know much what to say so he said nothing and just tried to look sympathetic. Harry got the look and almost stood up, but instead, his arms and torso just sunk deeper into the road.

-Look, Jerry, I know. I know. This is stupid. I should get up and just go back to the office. But you know what? I kind of like it out here.
-You’re getting your clothes dirty.
-Let me have this, okay Jerry? Just let me have this.
-Alright…the light just turned green.
-Excuse me.

Once again, nobody hit Harry.

-It’s competition, do you see? It’s all of the competition. Everybody is screaming about socialism because it is against the American way, the human way. Human nature tells us to kill each other so that we don’t have any competition for our food and women and all that. Jerry, we’re dealing with animals here. Do you see? Look at me. I’m wearing this fucking suit. Look at this tie. And I’m a FUCKING ANIMAL! An animal. I defy you to prove me wrong. But we’re not honest animals. We’re fake, pseudo animals that like to kill each other slowly for the most part. We’re evil animals. We fuck each other strategically. The end result is the same: to destroy the competition. And us guys, us nice guys who thought that we weren’t animals, who are we? Well, we’re the food. We’re the fucking prey, Jerry. We’re very accommodating. We seek peace and solutions and the liars toy with us until we’ve given them everything they wanted to steal and once they have that they let us go. If we don’t give it they attack. It’s the American way, Jerry, and I’m done. Fuck America.

Suddenly Harry got to his feet.

-Fuck America.

He had a strange look in his eyes. Suddenly both hands shot out like flagpoles. Intensely true fuck you birds extended with every ounce of Harry’s strength. He started turning in circles as he fucked off the world.

-Fuck America! Fuck America! Fuck America! Fuck America! Fuck America! Fuck America!
-Harry, just come back to the side of the road.

The cars were coming. Harry had gone mad.

-Fuck America! Fuck America! Fuck America! Fuck America! Fuck America!

The cars whizzed past him. Nobody hit him. Jerry went to Harry and first touched one arm and brought it down and then the other. Harry let him, slowly waking up. Jerry gave Harry the only real hug he had received in 12 years.

-C’mon, man, let’s go. Fuck America. Let’s just go down to C.J. Murphy’s and get a beer. I’ll call in and tell them you got sick. Fuck work. Fuck America, man. Let’s go.

Jerry led him by the arm and Harry let him. He would let somebody control his life this one more time.

Published in: on September 8, 2010 at 5:18 pm  Leave a Comment  

Forgotten Man – Albert Jones

Skid row poor. Beat down. Nothing but. Black. Wandering some, purple power. Lost souls. Of course you’d say that. Wanna know the real world? Can’t get away from it. Have to talk about it. Nobody wants to know the real world. It’s all bullshit. And you’re there whether you want to be or not.
In our world we see nothing but chain stores, fancy shops, people who did good, young people who walk down the street oblivious to us. The walls are harder for us. There’s much less hope. We see everything but there isn’t any beauty in it. We catch highs where we can because we know the Christian right would kill us either way with their chewing tobacco, their church going blondes and good jobs where they make upwards of 20 dollars an hour or more. We know all this as we ride our bikes or walk down the street or look for something to eat. Some of us have money. Some of us don’t.
I’m talking about the socio-economic class of nothingville, where the older guys sit around and think they’re involved, but they’re pushed aside because they’re too old to make new. We know what’s going down. How everything is based around sex and beauty. You see a young average looking guy walking with a beautiful blonde and you know he’s a lawyer and you understand something about the world in that everything fits together. Money and blondes and their kids and the way they think it’s supposed to be and the way that it is and how they’re walking on tightropes and dare not fall off. And all the girls rub their noses when you walk by. You don’t know why really except you’re ugly and dirty. It’s a natural reaction, but you get sick of seeing them always referring to snot whenever you’re around.
When you were younger and more innocent they used to lick their lips when they saw you. They couldn’t help it. Now they rub their noses and they can’t help that either. Did the world change or did you? You think about this all the time. You figure it’s you then you know it’s you and eventually you drop out completely, stop looking into the doors of the bars and clubs because you know that the girls want someone who doesn’t stink and if there’s anything that you do it’s stink. You stink to high heaven as they say.
But it doesn’t have to be like this. You used to have a talent and you used to believe that there was something in the world for you because you had a talent, but that talent fell away when you saw that the people that the talent is for were fickle and meaningless and you’d wander away and pretty soon you didn’t care anymore. Without an audience there was no reason to have a talent. To have a talent for money was just as meaningless as having a talent for the people who just didn’t care. After awhile you stopped caring yourself. Stopped taking care of yourself until you walk down the street and it’s obvious, everybody knows, and the girls rub their noses. The girls rub their noses.
Thought never ends. This is something you realize from your philosophical days before you realized that Camus was right that the only legitimate philosophical question was whether or not to kill yourself. Nothing matters out here. The world is pitted inside of a corporate monster. Architecture is the same. It’s purpose regimented and intact. There is no store-keeper, there is no love for you or anybody outside of money, but you don’t have that. There is no love. The world is a piece of shit and that’s as un-poetically truthful as you can get. You can’t gloss that up.
People live with their institutions and glass walls and revenue streams while you live outside of it all. You’re not clean enough to join them and the something inside of you that won’t mend won’t allow you to fill out a resume anyway. You know you would quit after a short while because you would feel like a slave and this form of meaninglessness is even more meaningless than simply walking around and seeing these places that provide jobs. You’re not a slave. You don’t have money, but at least you are you and it is it, but the hunger and fear and bullshit of not having a job hurts and after awhile wears you down, but you still can’t go to the other side. It’s hell there.
Hate. Hate of yourself for every mistake you ever made, for every bridge you ever burned. Hate. Pure un-adulturated hate. The eyes fall numb forward in the eye socket, not wanting to close, hating being open, but you got sleep last night so you’re awake. Doesn’t matter. Better to be asleep. Don’t have to be here if you’re asleep. Drugs are the only salvation for you in the city. Drugs lost s of drugs. As many drugs as possible. Because it steals the time before you have to die. It’s much grander than a 9 to 5. Drugs take the bite out of this American wasteland. It teaches you that you have an essence worthy of an emotion, even if the emotion is fake. You’ve got memory and you’ve got a little bit of hope when you’re on drugs because your mind takes you to places that you wouldn’t go otherwise. It at least takes you out of your depression or makes you forget about it.
Everybody is on drugs in the big, big city. What the fuck do they expect? These Kentucky Fried Chicken corporate lords in St. Louis, Missouri or Chicago, Illinois or New York City sucking down their ten dollar martinis and chomping on their 50 dollar steaks as they think about who they’re going to fuck next or how their kids are doing. We don’t have kids around here. We are the kids. It doesn’t matter how old you are. If you are around here, of us, you are a kid. You were left out of adulthood. It just passed you by and you are a kid. Now, kids can be ignored. The Christian right does a good job of that. They do their tough love on the kids and they don’t even know them personally. It’s all a scam for Jesus freaks to have more 50 dollar steaks and more kids.
You see them in the glass windows eating two together, sometimes three or four. They’re fashion conscious, they’re even liberal, want to see good come of the world, but they’re ordering those Tom Collins’s anyway and that special dish they heard about then they’re going to their little art functions and eat cheese and wine and then back to their lofts and watch television and maybe make love or read or do something intellectual.
But the kids aren’t. They’re left to their own devices to die if need be. To be the representatives of the darker corners of society and everybody lets them, just watches them go. It’s ingrained in the society. It’s ingrained in the churches who blame and blame and blame so they won’t have to care. These churchies who backed lil’ Hitler in Washington because, and they won’t tell you this, they make shitloads more money through him than they do through more Christian like democratic candidates. Money trumps the real Jesus every time. Shit. There is no meaning when Christians aren’t even Christians. Then it’s ludicrous. They should go to churches that worship money instead of using this guy who was hung on a cross to do their business for them. It’s hypocritical and ultimately evil. If I were Jesus and I was with God I would be doing a lot of spitting out of my mouth with these “Christians.” It’s stupid how evil they are, how self-deceiving. I wonder if there are any real Christians out there. Maybe one or two, but I haven’t met them.
But smile! Everybody smile because if you don’t they’ll shoot you, at least lock you up. Try not to smile too much when you’re on drugs or a yuppie fuck will come after you and stick his nightstick up your ass. Jesus loves me this I know, for the Bible tells me so…
Whatever happened to witnessing? There’s a question for you. They know they won’t make it very far with their modern philosophy of Jesus, the modern American Jesus who will kill you if you look at Him funny. I don’t like this Jesus, in fact, I think that this Jesus is the Devil in disguise. Isn’t that odd, how the devil can impersonate Jesus? But he does.
All things are turned around for me. Jesus is evil. Everything is weird. You’ve dropped everything that you had. All hope is gone and you realize you did it out of anger. You said enough things unthinkingly that you will never be able to return to an older part of your life ever again. The words were too strong, the impression made too great. Friends that fell away will never return and you know you can’t make new friends because you no longer care. Even words. I gotta go…

Published in: on October 2, 2009 at 10:25 pm  Leave a Comment  

Fargo’s impromptu allowing of a short short story (to appear)

101_0071.jpgOnce there was a a story. A story you say? Yes, a story. It lived on it’s own in a world of “nether.” Netherworlds? This story? Yes. A netherworld story. Was there popcorn at this story?abstract12.jpg No. Fun? No. Story? Let me finish. Okay. This story was to hold all story and it was to be quick, short, fun…You said that. Yes. Fun. Fun? Of course, a short short story is fun. It is? Always? No. Back to Paris with you. Let me continue….the butler did it.

Published in: on January 28, 2008 at 6:20 pm  Leave a Comment  
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