Interface Mountain, A Modern Evolutionary Three Act Tale

By J. T. Hilltop

ACT I
There was a really loud bang, sudden darkness, and a symphony of glass shattering into a million pieces followed by a wall of sound stereo system of twisting crunching metal in an uneven rhythm. “What t remember a thing. Yes, yes that’s it, yea, I was driving down the highway in a mad rush for work and then…..and then… and then what?” Everything is so damn foggy. No, not metaphorically foggy, actual dry ice on a stage foggy. “Wait! Where am I?” Am I in a fugue state filled with hazy wafting smoke. I don’t think so, I feel like an empty shell of a person, like everything passes through me but my memories are a plethora of echoes. Could this be death? No, but maybe I‘m just super stoned…It sure don’t smell like weed though, in fact it smells sort of clinical and pristine, maybe a hospital so probably not in my car stoned. So then where exactly am I? What’s with all the mist? Okay think…I was in my car on the way to work and what? “No! Oh shit now I remember, some asshole car came across the median straight towards me and into……. Oh fuck no, I was in an accident!” I am in a hospital. Yea, that’s it, I’m in a hospital and….. No wait, that can’t be right, the mist, no tubes or wires, no beeps, not in a bed, I’m…ah I’m in a… I’m sitting on a bench? No, not a bench. Wait! Am I fucking dead?” My flair for the dramatic apparently still alive I paused for effect…..That’s when shit began to settle into my head and shine a light on my situation. I am dead, I was killed in a car accident and now I’m in….. In where? The Twilight Zone? A morgue? Not Heaven! Purgatory then? Was I wrong about heaven and hell all this time? Maybe God’s punking me by placing me in the ‘Heaven Can Wait’ waiting room. Or sending me my own personal George Bailey AS2 guardian angel Clarence Oddbody to take me away and earn his wings. Hold on here, I’m an existentialist so if there is God he isn’t about to let me hang out on his turf, he’d probably send me to everlasting church or something just as tedious. So then just where the Hell am I, pardon the expression? As I was pondering my potential fate a loudspeaker broke the unearthly silence. “Hilltop, Justin Thyme? Is there a JT Hilltop here?”
Before I heard this announcement I was merely confused, attempting to piece together recent events. Some weird dream, maybe a coma dream or something but whatever it was I thought I was all alone. There are other people here waiting for what I supposed their own fates would be. I’m in some kind of group of the misplaced dead and I’m being paged. Now I’m like “Pew pew pew BAM.. Mindfuck!” Here I am trying to figure out what the hell is going on with my death when I get mind-fucked by a loudspeaker. Should I stand up or should I pretend I didn’t hear it? I was just about ready to find an exit when standing right in front of me was a young dude. “You’re JT, yes?” I gave this, this, umm, young entity the once over. A nerdy looking kid somewhere in his late twenties with thick rimmed glasses and a bargain store suit that was a bit to big for his small frail frame. He had thick short dark black hair with a pencil behind his ear but not a hint of a smile on his face. He didn’t even look my way as he was reading something on a clipboard waiting for confirmation from me. After a few seconds of silence he spoke again in a monotone voice, “Don’t make this difficult Mr. Hilltop, you’re already dead so you really have nowhere else to go. Nobody gets out so just come with me please.” He never even waited for acknowledgement just began walking away. I followed blindly as he led me down a hallway.
I was kinda hoping he was in search of his lost personality but sensed he was searching for my place whatever that may be. A place for me to exit. What a shit word to think of when your dead, exit! I decided I would try and engage this nerd so maybe he could help acclimate me as to just where I was or give me an indication of where we were heading, “So I died huh? Was it the accident? I bet it was the accident. So what, is this your full time job or are you just filling in? Is this even a job bringing the dead to their final destination?“ No response, “Come on man have some pity on a dead dude, help me out a little. Who exactly are you working for?” His pace quickened, “We all have our tasks here Mr. Hilltop. I work for no one and yet I work for everyone now just come along please, no time for idle chatter.” I processed his statement. No time? Maybe he has no time but if I’m dead then time is irrelevant, “I’ve nothing but time young dude, so help an old man out, what’s going on here? What are you like the Geek Death Squad?” The nerd shook his head as though I was exasperating to him, “Mr.Hilltop you died! Expired, kicked the bucket. You have ceased to exist. You were in a car accident and died because a drunk driver hit you head on. Looking over your file sir it seems about as an approprriate way to die as I’ve ever seen given your pension for the bottle. That or cirrhosis but either way how you died is insignificant. Your at the terminal right now, and please no lame jokes about the name terminal its been done a few million times over the years by people far more witty than you think you are. I’m a death agent assigned to take you to your Sherpa who will assist you in your transition. Now please keep quiet and continue to follow me we’re nearly there.” Transition? Great, more questions less answers. I peered at the doorways along the way and it appeared they had different religious symbols on them until we reached one door that had a big red X and the word Atheists on it.
Suddenly I was feeling like my head was spinning. Not really dizzy, but constantly spinning. Grumpy the young douche-nerd death agent opened a door speaking to someone on the other side, “I have a very uncooperative Mr. Justin Thyme Hilltop here sir. He never shuts up and he is now your problem, not mine.” The person on the other side of the door mumbled something incomprehensible and the young agent of death let out an exasperated sigh, “Well techniquely he doesn’t believe in any deity so he’s all yours Dee.” The door opened wide as the agent motioned to me to walk through. I walked inside. That is to say I walked through the door but actually found myself outside. It was about halfway up a huge beautiful mountain. Surrounded by gorgeous greenery of tree’s and shrubs, the sound of running water combined with an assortment of indefinable sounds made from various animals. I mumbled “paradise” as I noticed an old man with long white hair complete with matching silvery beard standing in front of me. “What the fuck are you like Kung Fu Gandalf or something man? Am I in Middle Earth?” The old man smiled warmly like…..well like Gandalf actually, “No Justin, I’m not Gandalf, I’m certainly no magician or wizard or even ninja and this is nothing like Middle Earth. You’re on Interface Mountain. I’m what you might call your Sherpa, my name is Dee Bays. Its my job to lead you back to the Mountain Mainframe after discovering your rightful place. Hopefully you can be re-appropriated correctly.” I chuckled, “You’re who then and this is what now? Sorry old dude but I didn’t get a word of what the hell you just said. All I wanna know is are you the one who can tell me what exactly is going on here?” The man had ancient looking eyes, much older than even he himself. It appeared as though they had viewed centuries of pain and sadness yet they had an incredibly calming effect. It was as though those warm narrow orbs were a separate entity that seemed to wrap me in a hug putting me at ease. Old dude placed his arm over my shoulders, “It’s okay Justin, or do you really prefer JT?” I smiled, “You can call me whatever you want but I prefer JT. How much longer do I have?” The old dude let a small laugh slip out, “Are you in a hurry JT? I can speed this up if you want?” I was pretty sure he was teasing me but just in case I answered with a hint of fear and desperation, “No,no,no, seriously, I’m in no hurry. Its just….Well my head is spinning and I’m confused.” Old dude began walking up a mountain path signaling for me to follow, “Your head is spinning because of the buffering JT, it’s a side effect of dying. It will go away once your operating system is re-booted.” More confusion, “My operating system? Re-boot? What the fuck?”

TBC

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Secrets and Obsessions

 

 

Obsessions once revealed
Leave the soul naked
And the heart vulnerable
So we hide them away
Where no one can see
Our little secret

The secrets revealed
Expose the hard truth
We share them in faith
And hope that love stays
We open our hearts
Lay it on the line
That’s the first mistake

 

Napoleon believed our obsessions
Are the best way to govern our perspective
Because our obsessions can hold us hostage
Shackled to our deepest secrets
Daring us to reveal our egos
I have secrets and obsessions
I know that you have them too
It’s the mysterious inner glue
That binds us to ourselves
Without secrets and obsessions
We’re incomplete
Kick it……
Secrets and obsessions, transgressions and digressions
Concessions and confessions lead to many unanswered questions
We are obsessive about our obsessions our truths kept in suppression
So what’s the suggestion
Unsuppress the suppression?
No way
Secrets are here to stay
They’re untold portions of our stories
Truths we should never reveal
Something to conceal
Secrets not meant to dissolve into memories
But become raindrops in our attics
Obsessions make us addicts
Deep in the cathedrals of desire
Go lower but take me higher
Where we worship our master
In hallways of internal adversity
Where perversity is in such diversity its an alert for me
Some things that a lover should never see
But for me that was not to be
I let her see and she laughed at me
Now I know she knows the worst of me
So out of courtesy I’ll let you see the destiny hidden inside of me
I’m a catastrophe of hypocrisy
An oddity without a prophesy
And that hurts me
So now you see secrets are meant to be
Covered with a veil of mediocrity
I offer no apology just keep the wall in front of me
Secrets and Obsessions
Best to hold them internally

 

AND SO IT GOES

 

I littered the streets of my youth
With shards and fragments of ill
Deeds and wrongs left unpunished
Save for the breaking of my spirit
My saline teardrops iced to crystal
By the coldness of too many hearts
Dissolved into wisps of pining mist
From the flames of internal anger
While reflecting on the descendants
Of the ancient father of my yesterdays
Whose lasting advice I always follow
Remember always from which you came
So I cast one last meaningful gaze
One long sigh backwards in my horizon
Trying in vain to enjoy the final sunset
I now being the son of mine very own future
Plagued by memories like a sleepless mother
Tossing and turning as if on a hapless carousel
Yet in her heart should I find peace and freedom
And in my forbidden lovers arms I found bliss
Recalling murmurs from beneath satin sheets
In the twilight of the grand imploding passions
I can only hope my eagerness to please
Filled their souls as much as they filled mine
And always will I owe them the unpaid debt
Of presenting me with dreams to be dreamt
Nightmares as well as the specter s of joy
Easing my midnight delusions of utopia
Allowing my sun to always rise in smiles
Still as each day begins anew in my years of dusk
In each morn I taste the squalid irony this one thing
The time of my departing without my return
Shall be a time of gathering of memories for others
And so it goes……

 

Live and Love in Peace

A Slice Of Life (from Zen And The Art f Culinary Maintenance)

 

J.T. Hilltop
I was seriously depressed, spent 33 days as an unwilling guest at a South Carolina correction facility on my way to Arizona, and I never made it any further west then freaking Georgia. I played around in Atlanta, Columbia, and Myrtle Beach, and finally realized it was time to get back home to Long Island where I could at least waste my life away with some friends.

After two wasted years and a week of senseless sporadic hitchhiking in the south I finally made it back home to Centerlawn. It had only been two years yet as I quickly learned it’s a strange new world around here. Nearly everyone I hung out with has either gotten married, moved, or joined the “Establishment” and are doing their nine to fives. As for me I‘m officially unemployed and living at home with my Dad of all people. My next tattoo way just as well be a large “L” on my forehead so everyone can see what a loser I’ve become. What a cruel world. I had to do something, I was relented to the ultimate embarrassment of getting cash from my old man for doing menial tasks around the house, which had been seriously neglected as of late. A twenty three year old earning a teenage allowance. I needed to move out on my own again really bad but jobs were scarce, and I have zero money let alone security and rent for a month. Then my old friend Universe created its mysterious cosmic connection and the answer appeared in front of me. My cosmic companion placed fates ironic ad in the classified section of the local paper, “Looking for line cook for six day week. Room and board included. Inquire at Glen City Country Club.” “Fore!”

Thank you destiny! It opened up a whole new world to me. Long Island has tons of country clubs and most of them offer room and board as part of a compensation package. I could bounce from club to club until I get back up on my feet. Hey its not like Maggs Garden Apartment but it’s a room with a bed. I went to GCCC the very next day in my best clothes wearing my best attitude and charm. I got the job on the spot thanks to all my previous restaurant experience. Zen and the Art Of Culinary maintenance is back in the house.

The country club circuit is different from restaurants. For one thing it means split shifts. The members get breakfast and lunch Tuesday through Sunday, and dinner Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday which meant a break from 3-6 on those days. Mondays the kitchen was closed so we all had a day off. The hours were very mixed up but the work was steady and the pay was decent. A great staff, quality food, lots of waitresses, and we all got along and had fun. The room and board left a bit to be desired, the staff referred to it as “The Monkey House.” A small room with a cheap bed and dresser with showers down the end of the hall but what the Hell man, it was still better than having to see Dads face everyday.

Alas, I’ve learned that anytime anything good happens to me something has to come along and fuck it up. After losing at love three times in a row I opted to not get caught up in any serious relationship but that didn’t mean I would stop flirting. As I have also learned I have a pension for flirting with disaster, this time disaster being the General Managers daughter. Eight years younger than me but she was just too hot to let pass without making a pass. I put my flirtatious charm into overdrive and soon their was a very thick air of sexually charged tension. As the Rabbi said before the Bris, “It won’t be long now”

I was employed at Glen City Country Club for just under a year when the ill advised flirting with the bosses daughter teamed up with that old practical joker JT‘s fate and raised the level from disaster to catastrophic cacophony. An accident that would send me to the hospital would set off the next series of unfortunate events in my life.

The members of the clubs get a lot of perks and have a lot of all day golfing tournaments. On most big outings we had to set up two refreshment stations serving soda, beer, water, a hamburger grill and cold sandwiches. We loaded up a golf cart with folded tables, food and drink, and ice buckets to keep stuff cold. The tournament was over and one of the other cooks, Jose, was driving the cart we had just loaded with all the tables and leftovers from the refreshment stand at the 9th hole. He was driving the loaded cart along an elevated tee, a two foot incline, when he noticed something fell out of the cart and jumped out to get it. The cart kept moving towards the edge of the incline so I reached my foot over to hit the brake. Unfortunately the gas pedal bore a striking resemblance to the brake pedal so instead of coming to a stop the cart, full loaded with me in the passenger seat picked up speed. Or it’s quite possibly the beer I snuck or the two Valiums I washed down with the beer an hour ago, but either way I put the pedal to the medal and the golf Cart took off. Literally. Not enough speed to break any golf cart speed records but enough to send the cart full speed ahead to the edge of the elevated women’s tee into a triple one and a half twist gainer with a perfect swan dive straight into the ground. … I remember seeing a bunch of things rolling around with me but don’t remember any pain. In fact I was shocked when I saw the amount of blood coming from my arm.

Jose freaked of course and in his broken English I believe he said “Jesus and crackers JT, you losing focking blood”. Indeed I was, I grabbed one of the table cloths and wrapped my arm as Jose took off towards the main house screaming “help, help, help” That’s when I passed out. I awoke in and ambulance but I was seriously disoriented. The medic told me to relax and I told him I was in considerable pain.Next thing I knew a familiar feeling of warmth spread across my body. My old friend morphine was entering my bloodstream for a reunion. I closed my eyes, smiled, asked the medic to throw away the pill box in my pocket and drifted off into a different state.

I woke up about one or two days later, my arm was tied up top a pole with this huge sock that would be too big for Shaquile O’Neil, and sitting across from me smiling was the managers daughter. I knew instinctively that nothing good could come from this, so naturally, I asked her out which was extremely awkward considering when I got out of bed I realized the tied on hospital robe I was wearing exposed my big white hairy ass….. Was tha a good thing? Or a bad thing? Time and fate would tell….
TBC

 

I

You May Be A Racist

 

 

Money for opioid addiction. Man it seems to be a very important issue these days, and Politicians are jumping on the bandwagon in an effort to prove how important it is to them. It’s an epidemic! So is this a new phenomenon? Hell no, its been in the ghetto’s for years but it only infected the poor, the disenfranchised, or the thrill seeking suburban teens. It was a problem for the urban youth, code word for minorities. We were happy as hell to just lock up anyone who used drugs so mainstream America could feel safe, far away from the losers and evil criminals. But now it has infiltrated white suburbia and suddenly addiction is an epidemic that must be addressed. Now white America is prepared to spend all kinds of money because it’s a problem that has infected their youth, urban drugs in mainstream Suburbia America. That’s privilege and racism whether you are willing to admit it or not and like it or not, if it took these circumstances for you to consider addiction a disease which knows no race, class, or environment, you may be a racist.…..

 

 

You’re a racist
Too busy bitching and moaning jawboning and groaning
Screaming so loud that your hatred showing
Your face is all glowing your bullshit is flowing
As you seethe in self pity your racism keeps growing
Believe it or not you continue Jim Crowing
You be exploding and disowning cause you need more melatonin
But shit man that’s whack
You can’t be more black
Sport lash tattoos on your back while smoking your crack
Pretending you’re stacked and hip hop ain’t just black
You don’t know Jack
Time to admit
Who da cap fit let them wear it
You’re a Racist shit
Being politically correct isn’t a solution
You ain’t some old white man exclusive
Verbally abusive full of mental pollution
Read your constitution the retribution and the revolution
Is causing confusion
You’re an unusual delusional on a stay of execution
Aughta be in seclusion
Just an obtrusive nuisance whose abusive excuse is to hate your brother
And become a recluse
Think you got game but you ain’t nothing but shame
Flickering flame looking for someone to blame
Hating on your brother just shows that you’re lame

 

 

 

We traded their blood for free white economics
With atomic vomit poking fun in Ebonics
Time to end the onyx vitrionics
And add to harmonics
Have you even listened
To songs of freedom
Ever really heard the pains
The chains and unheard claims
Of our brothers all bleeding
Pleading and seething in shackles of grieving
Or are you blinded by your heritage
Sipping on your favorite beverage
Using law as your leverage
Is it the garments they wear
Or the skin beneath the thread
That makes you fear and dread
Their lives have been fleeting
Whipped just for reading
They’ve been bleeding and pleading
Too many hearts stopped beating
This shit should end today
I hope the fucking KKK
Simply burns away
Charred by the flames on the crosses
Of the hatred they made
That shit leaves me perplexed
So what’s next?
We need to bear of the scars of the rope burns across their necks
Yes I’m pissed amidst this unforgiving hateful mist
You can continue to say racism doesn’t exist
But if you really believe that…..
Take me off your hypocritical CHRISTmas list

Peace out my brothers and sisters, Live and Love in Peace

Cardboard Purgatory

 

The Homeless. Everyone agrees it’s a problem yet no one has a solution. Many of us would refuse to walk an inch in their shoes but most of them would walk a mile with blistered bare feet just to have a pair of our shoes. They are looked down on, looked at with disgust by many, looked at with sympathy or empathy by others. Most of us walk past them pretending not to see them, or maybe throwing them a bit of spare change, but seldom do any of us stop and talk. Or better yet, listen…..

 

How did I get here?
Too many the days of pain
Too long the pain of days
Was what brought me to this
Alone in the jaws of depravity
In the confines of hopelessness
Left naked and empty of hand
Crouched in the shadow of despair
Possessing only the gifts of the Earth
And the stipends of the caring few
While the gates in my face are slammed shut
The gates of my heart remain ever open
What little I have I share with the world
But the world doesn’t often reciprocate
Ridiculed and held in distain from on high
I am the dust beneath their Persian rugs
Catching scraps from their linen tablecloths
Judged as lazy, useless, and worthless
Praying the generous winds of humanity
Will lift me away to place I can call home
And free me from this cardboard purgatory

 

 

Spit it BeBop Street Flow…..

Listen up to the story of existing in purgatory inside a cardboard dormitory
Where guts ain’t got no glory dying is pretty but livings gory
A metaphoric allegory that ends in a repository
Am I striking a chord here?
My shelter made of cardboard is an upgrade from the psyche ward
Got no money can’t afford more been abandoned by the good lord
My universe yet un explored I was floored
Had to fall on my sword
Guess I got a fitting reward but I hate falls
Want to tear down the corrugated walls
But that takes protocols and balls and my balls are all I got left
Feeling bereft because I turned right when I shoulda turned left
So I turned to theft
I was busted disgusted and couldn’t be trusted so I fled
In days past my life seemed complete, had the world upon my feet
Riding high living sweet a big time player playing Wall Street
Until my defeat
Took quite a fall and lost it all, took both eyes off of the ball
Dropped like a giant cannon ball into a tub of alcohol
Anyhow, that’s all I can recall
Lost my job and lost my home lost my family was all alone
They stripped me to the bone locked me up in the crazy dome
Then set me free
Below the Bourgeoisie
No longer have home so with homeless do I roam
Stockholm syndrome
Misfortune as my captor, my pastor and my master
Lead me straight into disaster faster than a slick Bastard
So I got plastered
To be clear it was wine and beer until my problems became severe
Then I blazed the drug frontier and all my worries disappeared
Acted cavalier
But it gets you in the end destroys your life and all your friends
No matter how hard you pretend all the shit comes back again
Only worse
Life becomes perverse obtuse and terse
You’re immersed you can’t converse the only way out is in a hearse
So you ride alone

 

 

 

How did they end up here on “skid row”? Some are simply born into poverty and never have the advantages of good schooling we take for granted. Illness, loss of a loved one, domestic abuse, mental illness, PTSD. Some came back from fighting a war and were simply left alone in the cold. Some simply couldn’t find work. The point is don’t assume they put themselves there from lack of will, or unwillingness to do even menial tasks. Most homeless humans have stories to share that could curl self righteous hair.

So don’t point a finger and yell that lazy bitch got no will power, that’s all. Pull themselves up by their bootstraps and face the world, get a job instead of getting high. But getting high isn’t why most of them do it, they do it to numb the pain, the physical, the mental, and most of all the emotional. Bad decisions often lead to worse decisions and the dominoes of life continue to fall, a little harder each time. Judge not lest Ye be judged…… Live and Love in Peace

 

 

Last Nights Dream

 

 

He came from out of a rainstorm
More than halfway through his journey
Holding a piece of broken memory
Pushing it on a gurney
Recalling a single teardrop
A lonely drop he cried
Chasing his favorite sonnet
Hoping it will stay dry
Yesterday coursed through his blood
Letting out a scream
One more chance to dance his dance
One last happy dream
He was
Burdened by the stormy night
Chained to his existence
A broken mind a broken heart
Life in its persistence
His years keep piling running up
He counts down for his last breath
The time of his life is hanging around
With the hour of death
Been running towards it for so long
You can smell it on his clothes
The stench of wind suck to his hair
When from his dream he rose
Time is but a cognitive illusion
A series of frozen moments
Unfolding in chaotic order
You can’t control the slowness

 

 

 

I snapped a photo he didn’t like
Happens all the time
When he looked in the mirror
The face he saw was mine
Did the snapshot capture his image
Or did my camera set him free
Exchange him for a memory
Of who he used to be
But looking at the photo he was just like you and me
Waiting for the moment that time will set him free
And what’s to be shall be
Just another day
What good are photo’s anyway
They only get me pissed
All they do is make us smile
While reminding us we’re missed
Reflecting back we realize
He was dreaming on a whim
Searching for that one person
Who was trying to find him
A bus came by and he got on
Slipped inside the closing door
Please let me keep the memories
So I can dream once more

 

Live and Love in Peace