October Blue (Why Take The Children)

 

 

Grief is a bomb
It never stops exploding
Fills our worlds with chaos
Unrelenting and uncaring
Constant burning flames
Entering out souls
Our hearts
Reminding us how weak we are
Today I remember myself at my weakest
My baby girl
Taken away on this day
A beautiful shining star
Extinguished
It’s so unfair
I was supposed to be her strength
Hold her up with all my might
I held her so hard
I tried so much
I believed so strong
Poured my entire soul into my baby
Yet I failed
Still Megan I hold you in my heart
Every aching second
Of every single day
Time never passes
Not one single tick
Without a thought of you
I still don’t understand why
Many have reasoned
That you have gone with God
My baby is an angel at his side
But what need has any god of a child?
Who but the cruel and ruthless
Would erase the innocent
Not any God I can accept
We needed you here
But this isn’t about me
This isn’t about God
It’s about you
Yet still people have suggested
Perhaps God broke me to be rebuilt me
I never asked to be rebuilt
If true he took from my inner self
The most important part of me
The most true and honorable piece of me
My attempt to be her Dad
Is not unconditional love the most true?
But their God left a gaping abyss
An endless hole in my heart
No way to fill a hole that has no end
Yet on some arcane level
It was losing you that brought me to my awakening
Suffering…
Suffering is what made me who I am
All that remains now
Is my memory and
An existential mystery forever unsolved
An unanswered question asked for eternity
Why take the guiltless children?
Used as an innocent pawn
Why my baby?
She was not born to us of mere flesh
But of a longing of life
A desire to spread her wings and soar
An opportunity to exist
A chance to shine bright
Why was she deprived of life
Deprived of her own Goddam fate
Taken from us in a single morrow
I could drown in my tears
So many have I cried
Be lost in the light
So dark had my soul become
Been lost forever in the pain
So deep was my anger
Yet each day I must rise
Without your smile
Each day goes on
Without you
Everyday I struggle to wake
For without my child
I had no reason to exist
I would gladly perish
To give you a shining chance
One chance at living
But if living means this pain
I wish it not for you my Megan
For those who I share love
I continue on wounded forever
Now every earthly rotation hence
October comes at me hard
Stalking me like a villain
Reminding me of it’s power
The dominance it holds o’er me
Even with all its beautiful colors
With it’s clean crisp morning air
October darkens my doorstep with gloom
Obscuring my memories of what could have been
My Megan
Leaving me scarred
Tattoos carved deeply in my heart
All I have left now are those memories
Of a profound innocent loved shared
And the pinwheel above your new room
Which spins wild upon each visit I make
Each silent visit
Though I want to join you
I can’t sleep beside you yet
For there are others that still need me here
So sleep now my “Little Little”
I can celebrate not this October
For our memories can ease our pains
Or they can devour us
I hope for the former
The anniversary this month brings
Is forever unwanted
Yet this horrible pain
Is all I have left……
I never sleep during October
I only cry

Live and Love in Peace

Advertisements

GO TO HELL

 

 

Truth be told I will be seriously disappointed if once dead we are reduced to two options, either go to heaven and live in boredom or go to Hell and live in flames. Frankly the repetitious and cloying sweetness of doing nothing for eternity would drive me to Hell, which begs the question…..What happens when one goes to Hell?

 

Once I’m passed my expiration date
Where shall I dwell
Will I be delivered unto heaven
Or will I end up in HELL
In the world of Satan
Where nothing gets healed
Burning in eternal fire
Or in damnation my true self revealed
Like Dante traversing the 7 burning rings
Where consequence causes the fiery stings
No more in aimless pursuit
Of pleasures of flesh
But buried in torture
Without any rest
Kick it……

I’m a Goddam Irie ite, trying to do it right, a precious bird in flight who never learned wrong from right yet still somehow my star shines bright despite the shite….so out of spite I got into a fight crushing some poor bastard with all my might, took his life and ended his plight and that’ how I ended up a hellbound blight
So now the bitch is deceased.
His soul has been released and my chances of hell are ten times increased yet I’m at peace cause in my mind he deserved to be fleeced ….Or at least uncreased. So now my life is on lease to the devilish priest. So I deserved what I earned when my ass got burned, that’s how I learned to give up my turn and here in Hell is where I burn

 

 

The world of Satan
Where nothing gets healed
The rings of flames
Where the truth is revealed.
Find your real self in the Valley of hate
The very first second you get passed the gate
Abandon all hope ye who enter here
Surrender to me, surrender to fear
Beelzebub conquers Beelzebub wins
Happy to watch us devour our sins
Laughing and chuckling in the house that he built
Snickering at us as we choke on our guilt
Pursuing our pleasures that make us all moan
While seeking the answers best left alone
This is the sad tale the only one I can tell
If Jesus ever saw me he’d say… “Go To Hell!”
Kick it

The devil seduces us and introduces us to shit there is no use for us the he reduces us. Turns us to dust while we choke on our lust losing all trust in a fit of disgust.
Who can we turn to who to believe? We kneel and we pray as we weep we’re deceived. Here we receive the troubles we perceive and the sins we conceived. I’m going to Hell to learn and to grow, try to be pure as the new driven snow but Fuck it man I died a long time ago…… I just didn’t know

 

Live and Love in Peace

Shadows in the rocks

 

I love music but can’t sing or play a note, but as I’ve said sometimes a rhythm or melody worms it’s way inside my head asking for some lyrics, so from time to time I attempt to write some lyrics, for better or worse…

 

Scratch armed bandit
Collecting junk at night
Trying to find a balance
Get himself feelin’ right
Running with his best friend
Baby girl in flight
Shooting powdered milk
In the darkness of the light

Shadow children
Shadow chill-ill-dren
If they live into their forties they’ll be residing in a box
Hand in hand while tripping over the shadows of the rocks
Remembering the good times
Making money pulling cocks
Never see the brightness when you’re a shadow in the rocks

 

 

 

Beat up little urchin
Sneaking out the back
Satisfied Uncle Aaron
Still moaning in her sack
Never got invited
Still he has a knack
Of using teenage sweeties
Afraid to tell the facts
Meets her superhero
Captain America on crack
Both sinking down the drain
Victims of the smack
They don’t need food or money
Its life the really lack

 

 

 

Shadow children
Shadow chill ill dren
If they live into their forties they’ll be residing in a box
Hand in hand while tripping over the shadows of the rocks
Remembering the good times
Making money pulling cocks
Never see the brightness when you’re a shadow in the rocks

 

 

 

Sick of being tired and tired of being sick
Worshiping a dime bag turn another trick
If they make to their 40’s they’ll be living in a box
Begging for a morsel as shadows of the rocks
From the bottom of the rocks
The wretched lonely rocks
Shadows of the alley smashing the bottom of the docks
Runaways forever shadows of the rocks

 

 

Everybody hates him
Wants to see him harmed
He needs to take his handgun
Just to stick it in his arm
Little girl abandoned searching for a friend
No one see’s a child no one raises an alarm
She’s just a geisha of the poppy
Hiding from the storm
Hopes to be a grandma
But her life won’t last that long

Shadow children
Shadow chill ill dren
If they live into their forties they’ll be residing in a box
Hand in hand while tripping over the shadows of the rocks
Remembering the good times
Making money pulling cocks
Never see the brightness when you’re a shadow of the rocks

 

Sick of being tired and tired of being sick
Worshiping a dime bag turn another trick
If they make to their 40’s they’ll be living in a box
Begging for a morsel as shadows of the rocks
From the bottom of the rocks
The wretched lonely rocks
Shadows of the alley smashing the bottom of the docks
Runaways forever shadows of the rocks

 

 

Madmen Have No Remorse

 

From high in the treetop
The vulture viewed the lambs
Innocent thought the predator
Who but me is truly innocent
I hold all the power in my arms
I need release
The wondrous smell of gunpowder
The echoing pops of rapid fire
The scattering of the sheep
Some fall some ramble chaotic
But all are stricken with panic
It is I who holds the power
They bleat and whine below me
Only I can stop the killing
I wish this could last forever
But someone is at the door
It is time for me to worship
Holding the holy death stick
I point it to my head and pull
My power to you I commend
I join you my lord
Take me in your forgiving arms

Waiter, There’s A Fly In My Administration, (a flies eye view of Watergate)

 

Prelude
I swear sometimes its like they don’t even know I exist. Well that’s fine with me because my Dad always told me its better to keep your mandibles shut and be considered a fool than to make some buzzing noise and remove all doubt. Besides, with those new fangled fly swatters and bug zappers my species has been taking a huge hit in the census reports. I prefer to just sit on the wall and quietly listen to these humans ramble on about all their petty nonsense. Interesting surroundings here I must say, much too clean for this flies taste with not even a crumb or juice spill for me nibble on, but I am in The White House and this is The Oval Office so its only a matter of time until I come across a big pile of bullshit.

My Confession, I Was The Fly On Nixon’s Wall

 

The short lifespan of a fly doesn’t have much in the way of excitement so when I woke up in the oval office of The White House I knew I had a good story to tell my grand-flies next week. You know it must have been quite a ride landing me here in DC with Richard Milhous and his cronies but truth be told I don’t remember much of it. Oh yea I get it, you se me rubbing my hands together in a devious manner and think I have been making plans to take over the world but no, I am just cleaning the ah…. Puke of my arms. Anyway, more on that later. First a little background about the life and times of a short lived pesky fly who ended up on the wall of Richard Nixon’s oval office..
All in all a fly life is boring. Oh sure if we find some dead body and its like an all you can eat buffet for the entire family but that’s just a night out to binge and purge. There’s not a whole lot of exciting occurrences for a fly. Avoid that sticky gooey tape thing, play dive bomb at people heads while they try and swat us, and wait around to find some tasty shit. Literally shit. We live short simple lives and have very few needs. Air traffic patterns to confuse predators, anti-web maneuvers which, by the way seldom work, friggen spider bitches, and some good rotting flesh or defecation. Basically we eat, puke, and eat again. Not your fabulous eat pray and love idiom but what the fuck, we’re only flies.
Oh yea, about that fly paper. That’s my pet peeve man its a real bitch because you use fly pheromones so we think we’re gonna fly united and get laid when all of a sudden glop! Bastard humans make those sticky tapes smell just like lady fly fluids and I’ve witnessed many a friend die thinking he was gonna do some mid-air muff diving only to find himself trapped dangling in a gluey mess with a dozen other would be amorous fly boys. But I don’t want to bore you with the details of the danger of life as a fly I came here to share the interesting conversations I was privy to while I was hanging out in the oval office here in the Whitehouse during the days of what you humans call the Watergate scandal. From my vantage point on the wall I was able to hear quite a tale with a cast of characters that, well lets just say for them to call our larvae maggots is extremely hypocritical. They think their fecal matter isn’t odiferous but any fly worth its proboscis can smell a politician miles from the beltway. But how did I get here? Listen up man, I’ll walk you through it.
The last thing I remember from last night was falling asleep all snug in the hidden hair region of a women that I picked up bar. I had just flown in from Boston and man were my wings tired. It was pouring rain so I found this cozy little bar in Washington DC looking for a safe place to rest when I saw Destiny. Destiny was her name and my destiny was to find a comfy place to sleep in her warm pubic bed which is exactly what I did.
Destiny was at the bar drinking and when some dude started hitting on her it woke me up. “What’s a beautiful woman like you doing alone in a bar like this?” Phhhhtt. Real original! I started dozing back off because I had a feeling this clown wasn’t getting anywhere with that weak ass rap so I cuddled up near my curly hair snuggle mattress. Not much to worry about with an opening line like that.
But apparently the dude was persistent. He told my cooch ride his name was George and he claimed he was some powerful man in DC. Oh yea, and a Scorpio. Small talk? That was microscopic talk man, this dude was going nowhere. I fell asleep when he started asking Destiny what her sign was assuming Georgie boy wasn’t getting any sugar on this night. I got the feeling the asshole was married anyway and Destiny would no doubt pick up on that too so I felt safe and sound curled up in her warm curlies. But great God Brundle-fly was I ever wrong.
I woke up and found myself not in a soft perfumed curly muff mattress but in a dark coarse long brittle hair bed that smelled of cheap scotch and stale cigarettes. I found myself sleeping in the thick ugly mustache of none other than G. Gordon Liddy. How the blowfly did I get here? Seems somehow Georgie Porgie got lucky at some point last night and I was given a transfer to the thick Liddy Lip Central which gave me a bristly ride here right to the oval office of The Nixon White House.
Believe me folks, G. Gordon was a real son of a bitch even by fly standards. Let me just say that I had no trouble throwing up on his smelly-ass lip rug to dissolve some of Destiny’s leftover love juice for my breakfast. He made puking easy. Apparently he was some kind of bigwig in the FBI and has been screwing people over for a living for quite some time. He was a personal friend of the other asshole in the office, Richard Nixon. Think I’m bullshitting? Well I shit you not my friends because Tricky Dicky here taped the whole thing which will validate my tale so listen to my story as they play the taped conversation and you’ll see what I mean.
“George, did you read what those Godless bastards at the Times wrote about me last night?” Even a fly can detect paranoia, and man did Nixon have a real bad case. George started rubbing his lip (yup, the infamous rug transferring lip) which is what caused me to relocate to the west wall. “Dick, I’m telling you, some sonava bitch is leaking stories to those damn reporters and they want to print whatever they can to discredit me.. And The Whitehouse. What you need is an experienced, ah, um, plumber, a sneaky plumber to find the leaks and eliminate them.” Nixon was clearly angry and interested, “Your right George, those pricks are out to destroy me, to take me down. Every chance they get The post, The Times, those pricks Severid and Reasoner, they’re all trying to screw Richard Nixon. Let me tell you George Richard Nixon will not be taken down by some leftist liberal atheist commie shithead. So man, what’d you have in mind?” George shuffled a little as Richard stared out the window. “Look, I have a source who tells me the Pentagon Papers were released by someone working for General McNamara. I have a name. The sonova bitch copied classified files and now wants to leak them for his own agenda. There’s something I want to try. This asshole goes to a psychiatrist and I’m going to liberate the files of this ratfink bastard from the shrinks office for proof. Then we’ll nail his communist ass to the fucking wall! No one will believe a word he says. Listen, I know a few guys from the organization I can still trust, and with me as their chief I’ll find him and any other scumbag commie leaker and get rid of them all. You’ll never be implicated in anything, It’ll be my operation and I’ll run it. Of course I’ll keep you informed but this will give you plausible deniability.” Nixon smiled, “Plausible deniability? I love it George, okay lets go with that. You head up my group, the Whitehouse plumbers.” George was one of those control freaks who need to assert his dominance and replied, “Operation Odessa Mr. President, in here we can be called the plumbers but officially we’re Odessa, part of the Committee To Reelect the best President our fair country has ever had. I’m gonna get my guys together and I’ll report to you in two days. I already have my lead and he’ll be the first sonava bitch to go.” Nixon shook Georges hand and said, “No names George, not yet. These prick liberals are trying to ruin me, ya know? They want to bring down America, become commies and make it normal for our kids to be homos. I don’t think they even believe in God. You bring me some results and I’ll make sure you get rewarded.” George shook Dicks hand, “My reward will be serving you Mr. President, just leave things to me. I have the way to deal with the unpatriotic hippies. I’ll get rid of all your problems Dick.” George left and Dick opened a drawer of his desk picked up a microphone and softly spoke, “G. Gordon Liddy and President Richard Milhous Nixon, June 18th 1971.” and closed the drawer. Hmmm, odd these humans, they seem to secretly tape record conversations. I wonder why?
To Be Continued………..

Night Tremors

 

I awoke in the eerie dark
Or maybe I was still asleep
It was far too dark to tell
Too quiet to understand
Arcane and unsettling
Something or someone
Was in my room with me
WHAT WAS THAT?
Has fear taken ownership
Am I paranoid or in a dream
Sweating from the paralyzing fear
Droplets begin to roll off my forehead
So fucking scared
FEAR
Am I gonna die!!
Oh……my……god

 

Kick it
This fear has fermented I’m mentally tormented cause the visions I’ve invented
Are relentlessly depressing
A life form unscented from someone’s Hell has ascended it may not be documented but
…..I think that I’m demented….
I’m so tempted to pray to please be represented
But my God is discontented with the sins which I’ve presented
My life is at stake
My soul to take while I’m awake for goodness sake
We all make a mistake
Go away
Let me wake
Slow it down now

 

Perhaps I was dreaming
Dark theater of the brain
Strange noises in my sanctuary
Am I alone or is someone here
My cranium keeps shaking
Tears pool down my cheeks
My reflection in the droplets
I see some movement
A tree branch? No a shadow!
Paralyzed in my bed
Make this end
Please let this be a dream but if it is a dream
What does that mean?
Are dreams simple stories our minds make up
Or are they the realties of what could be?
Why do our dreams never seem to have a beginning
Why do they never have an end….or a taste of the reality
How can they be so vivid and true yet so surreal
I don’t think I like dreams
I don’t want to have them anymore
Please get me out of here or wake me up
I want to be me….to be free
Kick it once more

 

They are a malady of the banality someone’s misplaced morality
Worming its way into my concept of reality
Oh the fucking brutality the Dream Police finding criminality
Crimes against humanity my lack of sanity has to be what it is to be
To bring me to serenity
Stripping away the inside of me a paranoid fragility
My head hurts….just let me be
In the dark absence of light so filled with fright
My heads not right
I hate those fucking tremors in the night

After My First Kiss A Punch to The Heart

 

(from The continuing stories of JT and his quest for Culinary Nirvana)
I stopped off to see Kathy and bought a nickel of gold weed then went to the magazine store to buy a pack of big bamboo rolling papers. I was feeling a bit frisky, which is adolescent code for horny, so I decided I was the one who would set the tone tonight. The four musketeers met up by the corner of the schoolyard near the woods where many of us underage derelicts quench our mind thirsts with beer or wine or sometimes both. I hoped Ken would get out of being grounded, he almost always did, but this time he was busted with weed which was like the ultimate crime of the century or something. Felony pot smoking! Every suburban parents nightmare, a child that has been turned into a stoned out zombie from doing the “reefer madness.” Maybe his old man was just too drunk to remember what happened. Or maybe just beating Ken was lesson enough. I flipped when he showed up carrying a six-pack. “ Hey Ken man, give me the cardboard from the six pack, I gotta clean some weed.” This was a ritual in the neighborhood, copping some beer from an older brother of a friend outside the stores then rolling a few joints to get even higher. It was just another night in the land they call suburbia. On this eve we were a group of 12 strong all pounding down alcohol and puffing away on yellow gold high quality marijuana. Someone suggested heading over to Beth’s because she was having a party and there was an instant and unanimous agreement. Ken grabbed me and pulled me to the side. “JT, did you take those pills I gave you last night?” “Of course I did bro it was awesome. I did the red ones and brought the other 4 with me. I figure I’ll do one and give one to Carrie and you and Sue can have the other two” Ken thought for a moment then said “Lets you and me do the tuies and give the girls one yellow each. The tuies are a lot stronger.” It was decided. We called over the ditz sisters and offered them each a Nembutal. Carrie took it without question and washed it down with some of my beer. A foreign feeling came over me and somehow I just knew the moment was now. I grabbed her hand and held it like a boyfriend would feeling the sparks instantly. I knew Carrie could sense it too by the smile on her face and the odd twinkle in her eyes. I pulled Carrie in front of me and peered into her soul through her beautiful ocular portals. Without one single word spoken, with just one seemingly small act of mysterious energy the whole of the cosmos shifted to a slightly uncomfortably yet fully confident and happy alignment. We exchanged nervous glances at first, and then looked deeply into each others eyes searching each others desires. Our eyes engaged in the only conversation necessary. With a sensuous and tender movement our faces shifted slightly and slowly, very very slowly as we moved closer toward each other. Maybe she was born with it, or maybe it was maybeline but at that moment no other female had ever looked so amazingly beautiful and for a brief few moments no one else in the world existed. I felt a tingling that emanated from my groin and echoed through my entire body out through my fingertips as our mouths opened and our lips met with a furious and gentle tango explosion. All the blood in my body seemed to take the elevator straight to the top and made me wobble so that I nearly lost my balance. With our mouths locked tightly to each other our tongues danced that tango, tossing and toggling inside each others mouths in a desperate search of our new raison d’etre. With slippery hormonal precision our mouths performed the minute waltz in ten seconds as our tongues danced the entire Swan Lake to artistic perfection. Jesus shit man we were embracing in a wet and desperate lovelock of synergetic bliss. Eyes closed and mouths now hermetically sealed to each other our faces rocked gently as we both drank in the most incredible love infected chemical secretion either of us had ever experienced. We kissed and swapped salivary gland fluids for four or five minutes completely oblivious to any lifeform outside our now combined nucleus. My endoreticulum was running amok and scratching my back while it tickled my soul. I loved it! (see? I did pay attention in biology) The only sound in the universe was the soft panting and moaning of Carries throat and the slightly louder moaning of mine. After what seemed like two lifetimes the magic was shattered by a familiar voice when Ken broke up the vibe. “Well its about fucking time you guys.” We broke our lip lock and looked at each other knowing exactly what he meant, and we knew he was right. I think we both felt glad we waited because that was the most perfect kiss and saliva exchange in the history of Cupidom.
From that moment on Carrie and I would become inseparable, holding hands or walking with my arm around her shoulder. We were high from weed and beer and soon the pills would be kicking in and even if they didn’t fuck it, I’m in love which as of right now is the best high I have ever felt. Our friends looked at us as if this was how it had always been, no one even seemed to notice how different we felt. We however could not stop looking at each other, smiling and kissing the night away. The music was loud, the party was crowded, yet nothing existed outside of me and Carrie. We continued drinking and smoking whenever something came by our way and I gave the weed and papers to Ken and left him in charge. It was getting late and we were very stoned and very happy. But time was running out on the evening.
No sooner did we decide to leave than a strange tension built up between us. Well not really between us but more like inside the both of us. A sense of anticipation and curiosity filled the small portion of our private universe. Ah, the moment of truth. Should we continue our adventure into adulthood or just take it easy? I felt that awkward feeling because we were headed to that moment we would say goodnight to each other and figure out what the next step of our relationship was going to be. Should I try to cop a feel and touch her breast, maybe take it further tonight or be happy where we are and wait? Suave and cool operator or caring respectful dude? The pilks had one scenario and my mind had another. Should I make a move? Fuck man, what if I try for the tit and she gets pissed? Oh my god so much fucking pressure. Tuinols on one shoulder and my conscience on the other. As we walked closer to her house we chatted nervously and pointlessly about nothing. That’s when I realized she was sweating it out too. Well its time to make my move, be a man, do what a real man would do. But what man? Be like my asshole Dad? I’ll never get laid if I’m like him. Like Artie, the scumbag? No, he would probably rape her though I would never say that in front of Ken. Fuck man I have no role model since James got drafted. That’s it. What the fuck would Jameson do? He was caught having sex with his girlfriend once when her old man came home unexpectedly and caught them. They had to break up and James was a mess for months afterward. They got back together of course because they really do love each other but they had to steer clear of her parents. What kind of shit is that? He’s in the army defending I don’t know what an has to hide his relationship. What bullshit! But James was my hero so that was it. I’ll do like James would do. I stopped walking, grabbed Carrie and pulled her close to me. Our eyes met and I could see the look she had was curiosity with a side order of apprehension. “Carrie, I really dig you a lot, and I want us to have a long relationship. This love shit is fo fucking confusing! Well if it is love we should be able to talk about shit like this so here it goes. “I want to have sex with you really bad right here and right now.” Her eyes narrowed and she seemed to be contemplating what would be next. I took a deep breath and continued. “But I want it to be right, the right place and time and the right reason. I just don’t think tonight is that time.” Now her eyes began to smile and I think I heard a breath of relief. She smiled the most beautiful smile I had ever seen. Without a single word we both knew it was the perfect choice. “Jesus shit JT, I want to have sex with you right now too but I don’t think, no, I know I’m not ready. But I would have if you asked me to.” My relief was evident too and I smiled and said “You would have?? God damn it, now you tell me.” We laughed and embraced each other holding tightly and I am pretty sure she felt that uncontrollable male muscle pulsating slow and hard up against her hip. Life was beautiful, we were in love, and this new high we found was the best ever. We walked up to her house and stopped just out of sight should anyone be spying on us. We swapped spit, sucked face, made out, French kissed, toggled tongues, whatever the fuck you want to call it for 15 minutes before we said good night. I walked home like each step was taken on a carpet of foam rubber with my head so high in the clouds it took a special request from gravity to keep me on earth. I can’t wait to tell Ken. Jesus shit I hope this lasts.
I’m not sure if the incredible feelings I was experiencing was from love, beer, pot or pills. Most likely it was a combination of all the above but to say my head was spinning would be an understatement. I could feel the effects of all of them having a group hug in my cerebellum but all I could think about was Carrie. Damn man, I hung out with her as friends almost every day and now all of a sudden I can’t stop thinking about her. I walked straight into my special little spot in the universe past my Mom who was mumbling something about the time, past the dinner table which normally beckoned me over for a tempting bowl of cocoa puffs, completely oblivious to all the sights and sounds surrounding me. It felt like the giant smile not only went from ear to ear but wrapped around my head a few times. Fuck man, I’m in love!

For the first time in ever I woke up happy and wide awake. I am ready to start the day a teenager in love. Think I’ll go into the kitchen and surprise my Mom with a kiss. The surprise was on me though because as soon as I got to the kitchen my dear mom was sitting at the table with a bucketload of tears in her eyes and my dickhead old man pacing and just mumbling over and over how “Everything’s gonna be allright”. Moms head was shaking and all she could let out was a desperate sounding sob. She kept trying to catch her breath but sounded like she was going to choke. I looked at my mom but my words were directed at my Dad. “What’s going on?” My old man looked at me with a shut the fuck up look on his face and spoke forcefully when he said, “Its not a big deal. Jameson has been shipped off to Viet Nam and is headed to a place called Quang Tri. He will be defending the honor of the entire country and our family because he is a brave son doing the right thing.” I knew it was half trying to convince mom, validate his hawkish war stance, and most importantly to him send a dig at me and my anti-war friends. Mom was becoming increasingly more hysterical so I chose to let that shit slide for the time being. In the calmest voice I had used with my Dad in some time I intoned outside of Moms audible range, “Dad, Jameson is going to Nam. He is going to risk his life for nothing. Not a big deal? No big deal?” Unfortunately my brazen in love self began growing balls and my voice raised a few octaves. “ What the hell do you mean no big deal? James is going to fight in a bloody and senseless war halfway around the world.” I was using every ounce of Zen energy to remain composed but the old shit was feeling guilty and believed increasing his own volume gave him some warped sense of authority. “First of all watch you language young man, you’re still living under my roof. We live in the United States of America and our country needs our help.” I rolled my eyes yet he continued, “Just because you are a pansy ass chicken who’s afraid to fight doesn’t mean both my sons have to be.” The Old shit felt that his drunken slurring statement was in need of an exclamation point so he slapped me hard in my face. I was stunned.

The shock converted quickly to anger and it took every ounce Karma I had to not punch the shit out of his old drunk ass. Mom let out a little scream as my eyes burned holes in the wallpaper and my fingers began to ach from clenching. Being the better person I headed back to my sanctuary to worship my stereo headphones and pretend I didn’t live in this hell hole of a house. My dickhead father, my wailing mother, and the thought of my brother shipping off to Vietnam for real had completely destroyed the amazing feeling of love from my first kiss. Fuck them, I’m outta here on my eighteenth birthday!
TBC

War Is Unhealthy For Children And other Living Things

 

 

 

 

 

J.T. HILLTOP

 

The effects of the booze and drugs didn’t manage to dull the fact that my brother is dead in some country called Vietnam! It did however manage to leave me an ass kicking hangover teamed up with emotional overload. Jameson’s body, or what’s left of it, is being flown home tomorrow from Vietnam. So now what? Time to make preparations Old man war lover said of his son’s death . Just what in the fuck did that mean? How am I supposed to cope with losing my mentor, my big brother?
Kids in school barely spoke a word to me, afraid I had a dozen eggs hanging precariously around my heart. Maybe I did. I told them at work I needed a little more time off which of course was not a problem. Mom was in her denial stage wearing a fake smile but her vacant eyes betrayed the true feelings. One look at the hollow abyss of her glazed orb sockets and the masquerading smile fooled no one. Dad had spiraled downward and was drinking way too much, which for him was quite a feat. His precious fucking reputation around town had now become the poor martyr that sacrificed his son. Bullshit on that. Jameson was the one who fucking gave his life and Mr. well respected man about town was soaking up the sympathy like it was he himself that had fought in Viet fucking Nam. The only possible good side to all the bullshit was that my sister Mandy was coming home. Mandy sweet and innocent Mandy my older “true hippie” sister who had left home. I had always suspected my father of kicking her out of the house but Amanda maintained she left on her own. At the very least I was sure Dad had made living here impossible for her. Mandy had left and moved in with her boyfriend upstate New York in a town called South Fallsburg. I had been to visit them once when Ken and I drove up to the Catskill Mountains town to get away for a week two summers ago. Her boyfriend Todd had studied Club Management at Sullivan County Community College while Mandy took some photography classes and worked part time as a bartender at the Bending Elbow. Todd finished his two years and landed a job at a resort club in Monticello as assistant manager. The last time I heard from her she was still working and was trying to find work as a nature photographer. I would find out soon enough because part of the preparation was getting a room ready. I really missed her.
Dad was too drunk so I had to bring Mom to the Funeral Home to make arrangements. Jesus shit this must have been the hardest thing I ever did. Mom sat and nodded her head as a sleazy mortician described what services they offered. It was downright offensive that he was asking my Mom about tips for the gravediggers, and did she want to spray some air freshener in the casket. I mean I know it needs to be done, but all we were getting from the US Army as I understood it was an American flag and a uniform once worn by my brother and his remains. Remains? He died in a fucking bomb massacre and truth is I have always had a distrust of the military but give me a break. They most likely scrapped together whatever organic shit was left of the troop that were killed and shared it among the families of all the deceased. Who really gives a shit if it smells nice anyway? The fucking topper was getting her to buy a vault so the “a umm, bio-organic scavengers don’t infiltrate the casket.” Oh, do you mean so the worms, maggots, and grubs don’t eat his body? There is no God damn body you scumbag, only remains! But again, I guess he had to do what he had to do. I would absolutely hate a job like that. The memories of all the bodies being discreetly removed from the Nursing Home patients that died flooded my mind. I imagined a similar conversation took place with their families and thought how many of them wouldn’t have even cared about the worms and such. But Mom did, and I knew it was all about her and not me. My loser old man couldn’t even make it to the funeral home. All that did was added to my already boiling distain for his sorry self-pitying ass.
On the ride home I knew I needed to get Mom talking. “When is Mandy getting home?” As if on cue Mom broke out of her desperate trance. “She is coming in Sunday night. I can’t wait to see her Can you pick her up at the train station JT?.” I was going to respond but she immediately regressed back into her sad and morose meditation. Jesus shit this was tough, and I have no idea what to do. I let Mom wallow through the five steps of mourning as I continued to attempt to make sense of the world. This fucked up Jameson free world. I can’t handle all this death shit man, I gotta do something!

 

 

 

When we got home from the funeral sales floor the old man was sitting in his recliner and was clearly out of it. My anger began to gather in the pit of my stomach and work its way up into my overloaded brain. I looked at that sorry excuse of a man and decided that this was the time. I got right up in his face. “Why don’t you get up off of your self-centered pitiful ass and go comfort my Mom? She is in so much more pain and all you do is sit your worthless ass here and get drunk and feel sorry for yourself. Where are your patriotic self righteous principles now? Jameson is fucking dead! Dead! I told you this war would kill him and now it has. Mom cries every god damn night and all you can do is drink beer. You call me worthless well what the fuck are you?” It was the first time I ever cursed in front of my Dad and it felt strangely good. The only thing that could have possibly felt better was if I had a picture of the look on his stunned face. He had no clue what to do because in his cold heart he knew I was right. I just read that asshole his rights and I liked it! He was speechless and I sensed his angst not directed at me for a change but at himself. He looked sheepishly toward my Mom, looked at me and then back at her again. I believe he was debating whether he should try and beat me to a pulp or go and comfort his wife but surprisingly after a short deliberation he chose to do the right thing. As soon as they embraced I knew it was time for me to head to my room, my fucking sanctuary. I needed some comforting too! I also realized that things had changed profoundly here at home and nothing will ever be the same. Sometimes my life is just so fucked up I am not sure what I should do.
As fucked up as it was though as soon as I walked through the door I knew what I was going to do. I knew that I was gonna snort some morphine pills. The twin tablets Ken had left me had been singing a sweet love song to me ever since they made it into my pocket. I grabbed my stash, a cleverly hollowed out bible, and grabbed the pills. Next I pulled out my new Grateful Dead Album. It was a live double album of the Dead who are by far my favorite band. Not a Deadhead yet but I have seen them quite a few times and I own every album they have made so far. But today this album would serve double purpose. Music to soothe my soul as well as “drug paraphernalia” to soothe my brain. I opened the album cover and placed the pills in the center of one side. With the back of a soup spoon I crushed the 2 pills into a pile of powder. I had seen movies so I knew what to do and I took out a razor blade so I could chop up the pills even finer. Then out came my driver’s license and I formed two long lines of white powder. I rolled up a 20 dollar bill, put one end in one nostril and closed the other with my finger. I sniffed hard and fast as if I were a Hoover vacuum cleaner until both of the lines had gone deep into my sinus cavity. It burnt so much I thought I would get a nosebleed but I immediately clasped my nostrils shut so nothing would escape. Next I drew in a hard breath through my nose like a strong sniffle. Jesus shit it was like I could feel it making its way up my nose and into my brain. I looked up feeling like I was going to sneeze, my eyes began to water, but within 15 seconds a new sensation set across my whole body. Wow, a warm and fuzzy! It really is warm and fuzzy, and as if by magic every bad thing in the universe disappeared. Not gone but certainly forgotten, at least for a short while. I whispered to myself intending it for Ken. “This shit is like 10 times better than ludes man, you were right! I felt good.” Not just good man, great. Fuck everything man. James is still dead, my old man is still an asshole, my Mom cries all the time, but at the same time, everything is okay. Not gone, but okay! Holy shit, I think I just found a new religion. I will now become a morphine-ite and worship the serenity it has bathed me in. And the music was perfect, I had chosen side 3, an18 minute jam called “The Other One” and I closed my eyes and drifted. Praise Jerry. It was Jerry Garcia’s guitar that scooped me up in a magic carpet and set me on a course to wonderland. I was chasing Grace Slicks White Rabbit and feeling great. I plopped on the headphones to help drown out the sobbing and reconciliation of Mom and Dad. I wondered for a second if they were going to have sex, and nearly threw up in my mouth a bit at the thought. Fuck this man, I need to drift off in this music. Take me away Jerry. So Jerry and Sister Morphine took me by the hand and walked me down into the garden of serenity, hoping the piper will lead me to reason. And a new day will dawn, if I can only stand long, and the forests will echo with laughter. I really love laughter. As always the drugs took me away, so very far away from this mad fucking world! Knowing it was Dangerous didn’t make me more cautious, it made me want to continue doing it forever.

Continued Tomorrow

 

THE STORYTELLER

 

The storyteller unlocks the subconscious
A locksmith using memories as his tool
Reminding us knowledge which lay dormant
Sleeping in the memories of our own hearts
Wishing one day to sort out real from imagined
So we listen with intent hoping to be free
Because feelings that lay frozen in our minds
Plead day to day that they be un-manacled
Free of the fears which lock our hope away
Holding hostage that which we already know
The knowledge that dawned with our births
Stored in the vastness of our repressive minds
Inside the temples of the storytellers graveyard
Where secret knowledge is preached in solitude
So we listen

 

 

The storyteller he makes no claims nor judgments
His tales are the dreams of visitors from the night
Imaginary and manifested friends of midnight lore
Some welcome some unwanted but all unfiltered
Preying on our eager and vivid imaginations
Reaching in to unleash our suppressed emotions
To strip them naked exposed unto ourselves
He asks not to be paid in silver nor gold
Only hopes to enter into our hearts and minds
And allow his words soothe or injure wakefulness
Offering no direction nor instruction be followed
Exposing incognito the paths of our choosing
Oftentimes he tell stories of profound love
Allowing many to reflect fondly of experience
So we believe

 

 

Yet for others love never seems to be enough
So he recalls stories of deep pain and loss
Sharing the pains he lived through and died from
Exposing himself while revealing our profound grief
And in the end with the many tales he’s woven for us
He blankets us all from that darkness which resides
Obscuring from inside the desires of the incendiary
Coaxing emotions to come bubbling to the surface
In a desperate search to find our own reflection
And fix the broken parts we tried to forget
Whether memories make you sad or glad matters not
It bears no significance once the story comes to end
The teller leaves carrying our hurts without reward
Upon his shoulders to cast into his healing heart
A mutual exchange of what is and what should be
As it was intended

 

The biggest fish of the fishing rod, a thousand tales from Scheherazade
Saviors of the suicide squad that make us stop and think so hard
Should we disregard our own backyard or traipse on down the boulevard
Scary streets abandoned yards, play at risk of being scarred
Don’t blame the words of the traveling bard its only a tale
The storytellers veil to hide his wails
Be he poet or prophet or teller true
He gives freely of words to me and you
Words plucked from his heart become his art
Right from the start
He writes them down not for glory
Only wants to tell a story
To reveals our eyes to our mirror
Put perspective little bit clearer
So gather round come in nearer
Stand naked before his story moral
Thank him for his message oral
Once he’s gone only words remain
Because no one notices his barrel of pain
They only ask him to tell it again and again
Until he has no story left

 

 

I Got The News Today Oh Boy….(From Zen and the Art of Culinary Maintenance)

 

 

J. T. Hilltop

Arties Quaalude parties where epic events and tonight’s was one for the records. We partied through the night high on ludes, shrooms, weed, and beer without a clue to what reality felt like. We laughed ourselves into the early morning hours unaware that time even exists. With Ken out of the picture for the night Patrick tried to put the move on Sue but I took him aside and set him straight. No harm no foul, it was the ludes that really gave him such big balls and Patrick wasn’t the kind of guy that would try and screw his friend’s girl. That is to say not without being coerced by a number of Quaaludes and herb. It was getting too late and time to head home so Carrie, Sue, and I headed for the homesteads hoping to sneak in unnoticed. We first dropped Sue off at her house, then Carrie and I hid in the bushes just on the side of her house. We made out for ten minutes and we both wanted to make love, especially with the enhanced desire from the Quaaludes, but doing it on her front lawn was not a good move and it was late and we had nowhere else to go. I gave her one long last passionate kiss goodnight and began my own trek home.
A myriad of thoughts were flooding my head and due to all the pills and weed combined with the shroom trip I began hallucinating wildly. This was not uncommon when you have been trying to maintain until it such a time as you could let it go like say the sanctity of my room. When you let your guard down the hallucinations flowed with the fury and passion of young love. Which by no accident was one of those swirling thoughts on this night. The smile on my face was so huge that my ears had to take a step back and make more room. The delirious joy from the ludes and the spiritual wonder of the mushrooms had begun to hit me in a tag team match. They both took me on at once kicking my ass and it felt unbelievably great. “Jesus shit, nothing in the world could possibly take me down!” But as we have learned the universe has it‘s own agenda.
I stumbled up the driveway feeling absolutely giddy until I noticed the kitchen light was on. “Oh fuck. Someone’s awake, this can’t be good.” I walked into the house sensing an uneasy feeling. That fantasy of life feeling was quickly replaced with trepidation. Maybe the parents found my weed, or I was busted for some dumb ass thing in school. I could hear my Mom whimpering in the kitchen. When I walked into the kitchen the tension in the air was thick as mud. It became obvious Mom had been crying for some time and the old man just stared at the floor with that dumb blank expression on his face he always seemed to have. I did my best to remain cool and not look as fucked up as I was, “What’s going on?” It was a familiar silence, the kind so tense and awkward your ears burned from the lack of noise. My head filled with heat and I was sure it made my face so red a beet would be jealous. Instant buzz kill from Mom’s laser machete chopping eyes swinging her anger at my general direction. Fuck me, don’t tell me they found my stash. But no. This was something far worse. After about 10 seconds of eerie nothingness my Pops broke the spell. “We got a visit from the army. James was killed in battle.” Mom broke out in a renewed set of loud heaving cries that I was sure had been going on for quite a while. I knew it. Jesus shit I fucking knew this was gonna happen! The rage built up quickly and I felt my face fill with anger, sorrow, and total disdain. I looked over to my old man and he never took his eyes off the floor. Didn’t even possess the balls to look me in the eye. I reflected on every Goddam fight Pops and I had over Vietnam, over government overreach and all the times I had to defend the fact that I wasn’t a shithead communist. I glared at him and all I could think of was how Ken had described punching his old man out for hitting his Mom. I wanted to go over and wail on him but my Moms crying stopped me dead. Stopped me dead? What a shit for brains thought that was for me to have. I looked past my war mongering old man and walked straight to Mom to hug her. My eyes filled up with salty rivers of sorrow. Jameson, my fucking hero, my big brother and only confidant dead. A senseless casualty of a senseless war. I began to cry as well and just held Mom tight as she cried in my arms. My whole world was now upside down, inside out, half assed, and backwards. The various drugs teamed up with the raw emotion and the result was a vortex of confusion, hurt, and anger.
My God praying Mom had an empty soul for the first time in her life. Her eyes were vacant and void, all red and beaten not just from tears tonight but from many years of worry and stress over her kids. I knew I was a major contributor to the weathered and worn orbs and felt ashamed at the moment. Her expression was blank, lost, at a complete emptinessm war,  of emotion. I had never seen anyone so detached and it worried the shit out of me. As I held her close I reflected on the better times James and I had, arm punch contests, purple nurples, and wet willies aside we were very tight as kids. Jameson always let me play ball with him and his friends and I thought back to the time playing football when he played quarterback and helped me score my first touchdown. “Okay JT, you take one step over the line, I’m throwing you the ball. You catch it, turn and run to the endzone.” Ha, the endzone. An obscure piece of real estate in between two large trees on our elementary schoolyard . The promise land of no rules pick a team football. He then turned to the rest of the guys in the huddle. “Any one of you mother fuckers lets JT get touched by anyone gonna get their ass kicked by me!” We laughed for days because I caught it, turned and ran my little ass off down the field and James and his friends used the most unethical and illegal forms of blocking, but not a soul touched me and no one from the other team dared to say a word. James was the best big brother anyone could hope for. For two weeks all anyone talked about in my Jr. High school was how JT made a touchdown playing football with the high school kids. It was gold. Jesus shit I’m gonna miss James.
I looked my Mom in the eye and said “Mah, remember the time James was chasing me around the house and I ran through the sliding screen door Dad had put in that morning? I thought you were gonna kill us both.” I could see the smile taking root on her face and her eyes lit up for just a tiny bit. I hoped it was making her forget if only for a short time the pain she was dealing with. I wondered if my asshole old man felt pain or patriotism but it didn’t matter either way, it was being numbed with cheap beer. But whatever, my Mom smiled probably for the first time tonight “Oh good god JT, you two were such terrors. You have no idea how much you guys put me through.” Mission accomplished, Mom was now reflecting fondly too. We exchanged stories for what seemed like hours, but it just felt good just to not see her crying. As for the old asshole, still not a word. Most likely he was wallowing in guilt and remorse. He was pounding down beer after beer and he looked drunk. I almost felt sorry for him because his sorry ass aura had no glow at all. Nothing, nada, zilch! Zero emotion as though he didn’t even have it in him to shed a tear. Beneath those red eyes was an empty sandlot.
I sat up with Mom for a few more hours until the sun began to shed light on what was a normal day for everyone else. Mom offered to make breakfast but I declined. My head was now pounding from the loss of James compounded by a killer hangover from booze and drugs. I went to my room slapped on the headphones and lay on the bed, not even bothering to take off my clothes. I have no idea for how long, but I stared at the ceiling until I fell asleep weeping. I slept hard all the time hoping when I woke up it will all have been a shit ass dream and James was waiting to kick my ass. Fuck war! Fuck Vietnam! Fuck me!! TBC