Tag: humor

A July Fourth To Remember , A July Fourth To Forget

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brass moon

 

J. T. Hilltop
I left my job as line cook at Windows On The World to become a working chef in a 40 seat restaurant in SoHo. I believed my career was on track now that I was the number one man atThe Smoking Moon Café, a quaint littlerestaurant in a very hip part of the city where happy customers sent back drinks or even the occasional joint to me in my kitchen domain.. A limited menu restaurant with a focus on specials, like eight entrees a night. My staff was one dishwasher, one waitress, one bartender, and me. But we all had the right attitude and abilities to make it a fully functional team.
Our clientele were mostly young hip professionals with an edgy style. It was an ultra cool place to work, the owner treated us like family, even when he wasn’t there when our shift was over he allowed us to lock up and have a few drinks at the bar before heading out. Whenever its really busy I bitch wishing for down time, and whenever there’s too much down time I bitch wishing for customers. Typical of foodservice workers. But on July 4th, 1986 I experienced the most excruciating downtime in existence followed by a near impossible power service. The city was alive with celebration, the streets packed with people in anticipation of the annual fireworks display. This year we celebrated the centennial of The Statue Of Liberty so the fireworks were on the West side that year. Being near the West Side ourselves lunch was crazy busy, I had to come in early to assist the lunch chef but by dinner just about everyone was out jockeying for a good spot to view the works. By seven o’clock we had had one single customer who only ordered a burger. The area was like a ghost town with everybody and their brother on West Side Highway. It was so slow Moss, the waitress, Eddie the dishwasher an I sat at the bar chatting with Stolie, our favorite bartender.
I mentioned that a customer who had requested a very hot meal had given me a bottle of Mt. Gay rum. I made some my patented dragon juice, assorted hot peppers stepped in sherry vinegar to an order of lamb couscous which I topped off with some harisa. When I came out to chat with him his face was covered in sweat but he loved the meal. He asked me if I like rum. Of course, who doesn’t so the next day he bought me a bottle of Mount Gay, his favorite, to say thanks. Before I knew it Stolie, Moss, and I were in a rum drink competition making each other rum drinks. Eddie didn’t compete but happily accepted the privilege of judging. My concoction was a combo of 151, Meyers, and Bacardi with a drop of every juice I could find then a splash of coke. Delicious and deadly. By 10:15 the four of us were toasted and still not a soul to serve, not even anyone passing by. Closing up in 45 minutes. We were laughing loudly when the door opened and a couple walked in. Shit! Now I am really buzzing and have to cook some dinners. As I half walked half stumbled back to the kitchen I hear Moss say, “Holy fuck!”
From the kitchen door I could hear the decibel level increase rapidly. It was like the floodgates opened allowing customers to come charging through the door. The fireworks were over and we were right smack dab in the middle of the path of hordes of happy hungry people leaving the highway extravaganza in search of a place to eat. Within ten minutes every table was full with a line of hungry revelers out the door. Half hour to closing time, but now closing time no longer existed.
Most restaurant people stay in the field working because we thrive on the pressure. All four of us were thriving our asses off. Moss handled the tables expertly, Stolie made the customers drinks and helped Moss by bussing. I really would need a new ass, thriving or otherwise if I didn’t cook it off I was certain to sweat it off. Eddie was promoted to assistant sous chef and he did a fantastic job. For the next two hours the four of us worked together half drunk on pressure, half drunk on rum. For me the best part of the crazy scene was after the last two tables had been seated, while things were semi calm, Moss came back to the range with her cocktail tray holding one large drink. “The happy customer on table seven wants to send a drink back for the chef so Stolie made you a JT Rum Special.”
I was literally drenched in sweat, rivulets of saline trailing from my temples. I was breathing hard because I had been cooking non stop even slapped myself hard and shook my head many times to try instant sober up, and Moss was standing there, also exhausted, but still smiling handing me a drink. “Are you fucking kidding me? A drink now?” Moss tilted her head, lifted her eyebrows, smiled at me shaking her head yes. All I could do was smile back, “That sounds about right.” I accepted the drink with a laugh, giving half to my newly promoted assistant. We didn’t have our usual close up drink that night, all of us wiped out, but we talked about our fourth of July experience for months after. Those were the days….PEACE

I Wanna New Drug ( From The Insidious Adventures Of JT Hilltop)

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new drug

 

J. T. Hilltop

The moment I saw the shit eating grin on Kens face I knew he had scored something special. My heart was racing even before any kind of chemical assistance would kick in. Will it be some opium streaked black hash? Some wheelchair gold weed or Thai stick?  Whatever it was I knew we were about to embark on an adventurous ride somewhere. “Yo, JT. Check this out Bro, my cousin Jerry just came from Brooklyn with this.”  Ken passed me a small tinfoil package, “Here man lets  do a line.”   I opened up the packet and noticed a familiar white powder, but it seemed almost wet. “What is it man, some super coke or something?”  Ken chuckled, “no no no man, this is fucking powdered THC, Jerry just calls it T. Its like all the good shit from weed all packed into this powder without smoking. You and me are gonna see just how powerful it is.”

Ken  used me as a barometer for his drugs because like him I have like a natural ability to metabolize drugs and  can normally handle at least a half a hit more than most kids. If someone did one hit of Blue Cheer we did two.  So if it freaks us out he dials it back or warns his customers how far to push it and if it doesn‘t get us jazzed he knows its weak shit. Carrie and I had been doing a lot of coke lately and frankly I wasn’t really digging it that much. I’d rather smoke a joint, eat a couple of ludes, and then just have sex or something. But everyone was chasing the coke high. This new T powder could be a welcome change, a new drug. I took the square piece of mirror from the table, poured out the powder, then went through the awesome ritual of chopping and forming two thick and two thin equal sized lines of the powder. Ken passed me a rolled up twenty dollar bill so I placed one end up my nose and bent over sniffing the first line like professional Dyson. Tilting my head back I dipped my fingers in my beer and dripped some into my nostrils forcing the residue further into my sinus cavity. It burnt a little bit and had a kind of chemical taste but it walloped me instantly at the back of my head turning it numb. I repeated the same processes on the second line passing the mirror to Ken. My nose hairs probably disappeared running away in flames but my brain would not be registering any pain. I felt it going right to the back of my cranium tickling my cerebellum.

It took about fifteen seconds for the inside of my head to explode. A mushroom cloud erupted in my brain  forcing my skull to grow like five inches to compensate for the euphoric growth. I imagined my forehead like a Cro-Magnon. Dead brain cells were being piled up in brain cell body bags by the endoplasmic reticulum synapse police as what was left of my sanity began triaging the remaining frazzled yet live cells. I got up to walk but my feet and legs had filled up with helium so I couldn‘t feel the ground. As I closed my eyes and tilted my head back I visualized walking, or rather floating in someone’s garden. The garden was beautiful full of running streams, fruit tees, and flowers. It seemed as though it should be familiar but I couldn’t ever remember being there before. None the less I wanted to walk through it until I noticed the paths were lined with what I  thought was cooked spaghetti. The pasta began slithering and hissing as it morphed into snakes. It felt like two people were watching me and I began chuckled thinking I must be in the Garden of Eden with Adam and Eve wondering who the fuck I was. I did however realize I was tripping and needed to master this new high so I focused as best I could.  I opted to try and negotiate a walk through the garden.  The helium continued to fill up in my legs. It was as though  I needed to be tethered like the balloons at a Macys parade or I may float away. I took a few steps forward without feeling my feet on the ground but going forward on complete faith that I still knew how to walk and the floor would happily meet my unfeeling feet. Everything looked distorted to the point of surrealism. Dimensions came and went or piggy backed on each other leading to total confusion. On top of that apparently some of the helium was escaping because as Ken spoke to me he sounded like Theodore or Alvin from the old Chipmunks cartoon. The world had morphed into slow motion, or maybe stop motion it was hard to discern.

A squeaky mouse voice whispered in my ear, “JT, I’m too fucking high man. I can’t fucking move.” Then the squeaker began laughing. I looked over at Ken and his mouth was laughing but his eyes were like fixed, open but staring into nothingness and registering no emotion. He was seated in a multi colored cushioned rocking chair that was hovering a foot above the floor. Except for his laughing mouth he looked like he was frozen solid. Somehow I made my way over to him, “Are you okay Bro?” I think I was swaying, like a weeble that wobbles but doesn’t fall down but I can’t say for sure. Ken stopped laughing, “I think I’m a wax statue.” For  two seconds that seemed like sixty we both thought about what he said and broke out laughing. I laughed so hard I had to sit down, if only I could figure out where a chair was. It took us somewhere in the vicinity of forty five minutes to regain our composure. Or maybe it was two days, that was how high we were.

Once I was able to maintain a lucid thought I realized all the hallucinating I had been doing. Ken was back in that green recliner, I had legs, and I had visited the Garden Of Eden. Best hallucinations ever, we found a new drug and it was beyond groovy. But this shit was definitely way strong so it had to be cut with some mannitol. I knew instantly our entire town would put the cocaine on hold and get into this new THC.
TBC

Epilogue.        T became the new drug of choice, it was like being more stoned than you had ever been before without falling asleep.  After about six to eight  months reports of kids being hospitalized after using powdered THC and becoming paralyzed, like frozen. It seemed someone had adulterated the chemical by adding something far more dangerous and it quickly fell out of fashion. Much to my dismay cocaine once again became to drug of choice at bars. I didn’t dig coke too much because you only got one good rush from coke on the first hit then spent the rest of the night trying to relive it until your mouth hurt from grinding your teeth. Not to mention the paranoia it caused. None of that however deterred me from putting as much of it up my nose as I could afford. We invented snake lines which were the longest white powdered lines possible but it still had people going crazy looking for more. I continued snorting even though I didn’t particularly care for coke because it was still a drug and the rush of doing illegal shit was addictive. The shrinks later on would tell me I suffered from an addictive personality disorder but I still think like most kids I was just always looking for kicks, I just had a bigger sweet tooth for the forbidden than most.  Either way my mantra back then was most definitely  “I wanna a new drug.”

NO IFS, ANDS, OR BUTS

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dad

 

 

A Little Ditty of Dads Advice
Stand up for yourself
You need to have guts
If he hits you hit back
No ifs ands of or buts

Work hard in school
Don’t become a putz
Get your diploma
No ifs ands or buts

You all need haircuts
You look like lost mutts
Find yourselves a job
No ifs ands or buts
You need to stand up tall
No time to be a klutz
I can’t stay here forever
No if ands or buts

Raise your own family
Love has no shortcuts
Give all of yourself
No if ands or buts
When its time for me to go
When I strut my final struts
Smile and carry on
No if ands or buts
I made a lot of mistakes in my quest to be a good Dad, but I always tried to keep the torch lit so I could pass it to my children. My kids have kept the torch lit showing the way for their own families and have done a far better job than I did which is how it should be if progress has any hope of moving forward. I am very proud of my children despite my shortcomings they have prevailed and excelled as parents which is a job suitable only for someone who can handle the daily parental pressures of be driven nuts. No ifs ands or buts.
HAPPY FATHERS DAY

Humiliated But Happy (Good bye Self Esteem)

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self esteem

 

Kicking it freestyle about getting kicked when you’re down
All is not fair in love
My woman gave me an ill berating
It was humiliating and debilitating…
Downright deflating
My self esteem needs rehabilitating
Save that heat for Satan
Haters gonna keep on hatin’ and hatin’ is so aggravating
Frankly I just tired of waiting
Anticipating
My turn to be real
Spinning my luck at the Karmic wheel
To get my payback from way back
I’m a throwback on Prozac
Having to tiptoe from the git go
Who’s been outsmarted
By Lady Coldhearted
Where all this shit started
It was mean to strip the sheen off of my self esteem
Like some glycine queen
She snuck up like the bee
I closed my eyes so I could see
She stabbed my back and she blindfolded me
Set me free
To stumble aimlessly
Searching for some self esteem

I was depressed n’ obsessed
Screwed by the best
It was disgustin’
I was too trustin’
While I was working and hustling she was midnight lusting
Thrusting and busting
It’s a trust thing
It musta been
She said trust me
Left me emotionally castrated serrated and frustrated
Then rubbed my wounded faith with salt….
I’m needing Gestalt
But in the end its my fault
Took my eye off the prize
I was ostracized
Sized up and cauterized
No surprise
Flaunting some dude
Right before my eyes
She should be exorcised for that exercise
But I got wise
I got it straight
Too little too late
But I don’t hate I’ll take the burn
Live and learn
I took the blow
My dignity had to go
Self esteems at an all time low

She built me up and tore me down
Made me her clown with the run around
Then demonstrated how she conjugated
With heat
What I’m trying to say is she’s a cheat
Stomped my heat with both her feet
From someone else’s back seat
I can’t compete with a sexual athlete..
Bittersweet
But now she wants to reconcile
Crying like crocodile
Tears that only last a while
I should cut her free
Ignore her plea and let her be
Find another love for me
But then I saw her smile
Standing strong is not my style
So it would seem
I know I should kick her ass downstream
But I’ll take her back
I got no self esteem
Doesn’t matter I’ll probably get run over by a truck anyway

Age Is Just A Number And other Lies I Tell Myself

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age

 

 

J. T. (Over The) Hilltop

After  a certain age one of the most awkward questions to ask is how old they are. Especially if the question is asked of a woman and  answered with the equally awkward question, how old do you think I am? A very quick processing takes place, I look at the woman who asked me, guess at what age I really believe she is, and then subtract ten years. It’s a tried and true algebraic equation which often brings a smile while proving that those algebra classes did in fact come in handy.  But first the tough part. Do I answer? Use the algebra and hope she looks at least close to the age I originally guessed so she feels good and I escape my awkward situation? What if my guess is way off and I offend her? That’s almost as bad as asking a woman when the baby is due only to yourself being sliced up and set on fire from her eyes, letting you know in no uncertain terms she is not pregnant. Maybe I’ll use the trusty old stand-by, distract and move on? Maybe I could just lie and say “Age is just a number” then change the subject. Age is just a number. That’s the first lie I tell myself about getting old.

It’s not “just” a number, its an ever escalating number that grows exponentially. It’s a number that goes up but never down no matter how hard we try to look younger. A toupee? They look live divots you replaced in your scalp. Dressing in younger style, dieting, crèmes, oils, aromatherapy, we have an abundance of reverse the aging process products on the market. I get emails telling me I can increase my virility by washing with bull semen. They just happen to have a deal on it this week too. Who collects that semen anyway? Some brave young stud I guess because I can barely outrun a snail. And of course the hard sell, little pills of instant sex machine. Viagra. How did my Dad survive without it? Age is a number all right and I’m getting tired of having to add to it all the time.

The second lie I tell myself is that I’m getting old. I’m passed the getting point and at the being point. I am old! I’m at the dinosaur stage. The days of my roaming the earth in search of food or other dinosuars is ancient history now. I have moved on to a new epoch. A friggen senior.  But not to worry, with age comes wisdom. Yea, that’s the next lie. They say intelligence is knowing that tomatoes are fruits and wisdom is knowing not to put it in a fruit salad. I know there are tons of stupid people out there but I have never seen anyone put tomatoes in fruit salad so the wisdom they speak of is actually very common. Besides, with all this reported wisdom how come I still don’t even know who “they” are? Oh I’m much wiser now, I realize drinking has a limit and I know it real well at this point but do I actually have wisdom? Not really, it took me a very long time to learn things I should have known years ago.

Next lie. You’re not getting older you’re getting better. Getting better at what? Just when I think I have a handle on new technology it springs another light year ahead. It took me four years and numerous lessons from my kids to learn how to schedule the VCR and one month later everyone switched to cable DVR’s and some Blur ray crap. It’s like the eight track fiasco all over again. I go to the doctor he doesn’t say “Hey good news, your getting better”, he says, “You’ve gotta exercise, lose weight, and slow down” That’s an oxymoron. If I slow down how can I exercise? Things I used to do all night take me all night to do once.

Next lie. I’m aging like a fine wine. Hahahahaha… Nice try but no. If you age a wine too long or too wrong it becomes vinegar. In human terms vinegar is known as the grumpy old man stage. Admittedly the older I got the more complicated life got and with wine  complications are a virtue. I have so much extra skin that no longer fits I could hide a bottle of wine in the flaps. The older I get the more like box wine I become. There’s plenty of me and I’m cheap. If you drink a lot of wine you will develop a common trait of us seniors, you’ll be heading to the bathroom to empty your bladder a lot. Only difference is mine isn’t full, it just likes the comfort of relaxing by the toilet.

Next lie. You’re as young as you feel. Really?? Than I must be a hundred and twenty years because that’s how old I feel in the morning. It takes a lot of coaxing from my brain to get my extremities on board with getting out of bed.  This young as it feels body feels like its been running on fumes for so long it gives out contact highs. I need a check liver light with all the alcohol I’ve consumed and a lung scraping for years of smoke abuse. Bones are crisp, like peanut brittle crisp and the noises they make scare the cat. When I was young I felt like partying all night and now I look forward to bedtime.

Next lie. You’re aging gracefully. That’s total bullshit, I may pretend like I’m being graceful but grace walked out for a pack of cigarettes years ago and I haven’t heard from it since. I’m fighting it constantly but I’m losing every battle. I use plenty of preservatives or as I like to call it Vodka, but after a few of them it’s almost impossible to be graceful. Age is kicking my ass and making me look like a lame bum boxer from Palooka-Ville that functions best when it takes a dive. In the first round.

Next lie. 60 is the new 40. What?? Are you kidding me? There is absolutely nothing about being 60 that’s new except maybe the effects of senility and the loss of bone matter. Someone tried to explain baldness to me as my brain pushing the hairs out to make room for the overload of intelligence we have. I believe it’s actually the brain cells become too weak to function and hold down the roots at the same time so they just let go. In a desperate search for belonging the follicles colonize in the ears and nose where they set up tight knit communities that are unruly to say the least.

Last lie. It’s not the years in your life, it’s the life in your years. Okay, I have to admit that ones true. Despite the fact that I have to convince myself to get up each morning, despite the fact that the image in the mirror is way fatter and has much less hair than the real me, despite the fact I am not much wiser, despite the fact that young people laugh when I try to use the newest technology, and despite the fact I constantly need to remind myself not to let the small shit turn me into a grumpy old man, it’s still me who is in control of how I live out the rest of my life. Is it asking too much to live it out with a little of that reckless abandon that I enjoyed so much before responsibilities became my reality? I hope not……PEACE

Like A Bat Out Of Hell Part 1

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bat 1

 

 

 

I’m Coming Home I’ve Done My Time

J.T. Hilltop

I woke up feeling good as I looked over at my thirty scratches on the jail cell wall. Each day I made a new scratch. It was my countdown to freedom. They don’t supply you with calendars in jail so I had to keep track like some sundial making ancient Roman or something. My cell wall calculations were my oracle and they foretold that its time for “Yankee Boy” the now infamous New York jailbird in some South Carolina Correctional Facility to get out of this hellhole and back to….. Well I‘m not sure where I’m going yet but believe this my brothers and sisters anywhere is better than jail. I was ready to breath free air once again. I was finished with my 30 day stint for driving with a suspended license. Yea I know, major crimes division was all over me but the truth is they locked me up for that because they couldn’t make the marry-wanna charge stick and they had no real proof that it was me using a garden hose as a credit card for gasoline. Thirty days may not seem like much to you but when you can’t go anywhere, get feed cold instant shit grits four days a week, fill up on some bitter spinachy thing called turnip greens, and the highlight of your day is watching some dudes argue over the game of checkers it feels like forever. Not to mention it takes less than a week to lose your identity and fill yourself with a nagging sense of hopelessness. Besides all that thirty days without even seeing a female was torture for a 20 year old with hormonal overdrive syndrome.

So it’s time to alert the friendly guards so they can escort me to freedom. I was feeling a little bit New York cocky so I addressed my jailors in terms they are not especially fond of, “Yo turnkey! Hey oh, today is day 31, I’m supposed to be getting out of here!” My words echoed off the jail cell bars so I tried again. “Hey! Oh! I did my time I want to get out of here!” Maybe yelling louder will help. “HEY COUNTRY BOY I WANT TO GO HOME!” But no guards came by and even if they did they would probably just stare at me with utter disgust and distain, the one thing they’re real good at. It was beginning to feel hopeless, like I was destined to be my own Lifetime TV movie about a young hippie who gets locked up in a South Carolina prison for thirty days then ends up doing a life sentence in a prison run by sadistic cops. The other prisoners, most of which have never even seen me but were happy to trade insults with me all the time, had a sudden change of heart towards me. Insults and trash talk were really just bullshit, spoken to sorta brighten up the day but when the cops fuck with one of us? Man they fuck with all of us. Nothing like a little injustice from authorities to break down barriers creating a bond between the oppressed. Someone else started yelling on my behalf, “Yo, let Yankee Boy out.” Another voice repeated the phrase and then another. Before long it was an out and out chant of a brotherhood of wrongly incarcerated inmates enjoying any opportunity to piss of the guards. An ear shattering chorus of “Let the Yankee go!! Let the Yankee go!!” now shook the iron bars.

A loud clanging of a billyclub on those prison bars brought a momentary silence, long enough for a guard to raise his voice. “HEY! Alla y’all better shut the hell up right now! I ain’t hearin no shit from y’all today the Braves is playin’. Y’all bess shut up right here and right now! Whicha Y’all started this mess and done ruined my game anyhow?” Just my luck, my old pal Billy boy, always ready to rumble with a man in handcuffs anytime of the day and a big fan of kicking Yankee ass. Fuck it come hell or high water I’m gettin outta this shithole, “Me, I started it officer Billy. Your favorite long hair Yankee. I done finished my time and I want outta here now!” Billy walked up to do what he does best. He stared me down for a few seconds then spoke in his own special brand of condescension, “Now listen here Yankee boy, if’n its time to kick yaw stinkin’ long haired ass out this jail I be happier an a pig in a New Yoke City shit puddle but I ain’t no judge or no record keeper boy. So you bess shut your mouth now an let me get back at mah game. I’ll check with the warden bout your time you can believe that. Tell ya what now boy, if’n you done ruin my baseball game fir no reason I’m likely ta kick yaw ass alla way to hell boy! So yawl better be right quiet till then son.” His dissertation contained the usual amount of greasy spit flying off his unruly thick mustache. That vile saliva always seems to accompany his attempts at proper use of the English language. I wiped my face, “Listen here turnkey, I been counting every day here and the judge done give me thirty day and its been thirty day. Great day in the morning how much longer I needa stay here? I wanna git outta here.” Jesus shit only been there thirty days but I’m starting to talk like him.

I stood at the bars waiting patiently for Billy boy to return but he didn’t come back for over an hour. When he finally did come he walked up to me smiling, “Seems ain’t no one here today can look up to check yer story boy. Now lookie here, heres what we gonna do, yew done gun shut yer trap an get on back to yer little home there ith alla the other law breakers here and I’ll leave a note ta have em check it out first thing come morning.” To make sure I understood he put one end of the Billy club between the bars pointed at my chest and slammed it right into my diaphragm causing me to gasp. The pain was a not so gentle reminder of how mean an sadistic he could be, especially with people in no position to fight back. He smiled triumphantly, gave me a sarcastic “Y’all have a nice day” and walked away loudly lecturing the lot of us on keeping quiet so he could enjoy the game. The rest of the inmates started calling the guards names and offering words of comfort to me. I’d gone from dumb shit dirty Yankee asshole to a prison guard whipping boy martyr which, sad to say, wasn‘t much of an upgrade.

I paced my cell. Two steps at a time as that was all the pacing room I had. The minutes passed even slower than a watched pot. Dinner came and then lights out squashing all my protests in vain. I was here until tomorrow. My living quarter was tiny cell with all the amenities literally at my fingertips and once lights went out we had our nightly talk session, where we offer each others therapists help for the criminally insane. I remained silent because I was afraid my voice would crack and betray the fact that tears had welled up in my eyes. The inmates in my neighborhood tried unsuccessfully to cheer me up as I lay in silence. They finally tired. I fell asleep and dreamed about the beach.

 

Who Am I Now

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who p

 

Modern beat poetry incorporating a Dylan Thomas technique

And giving Props to On The Waterfront and Palooka-ville

 

Who Am I Now

 

 

Who am I now

What have I become

Every button undone

Unfinished and diminished

A life on the run

Am I not still my mothers son?

She drew me a map to Wall Street

But I got turned around

Jumped on the fastest one way

Headed straight out of that town

I was gonna be someone

I was gonna be a man

She gave me her best directions

But I still turned and ran

I don’t care I love her

But she pushed me under

Its not that I’m trying to offend her but

I coulda been a contender

Instead of a bum

Which is what’s become

Anyhow

Who am I now

 

 

 

Who am I now

What have I turned into

Vacant and complacent

The highs I just keep chasing

Became a loser and a boozer

Always cruising for a bruising

A substance abuser who screwed her

And wouldn’t renew her

An epic fail falling off the rail

Looking for someone to pay my bail

I may look like I made it but

Oh my Gawd

There’s nothing left standing when

You tear down my façade

No more lightning rod

You don’t understand

I coulda had class

I could been somebody

I could taken my shot

Instead I got laughed at

A lot

Anyhow

Who am I now

 

We All Live In A Yellow Petri Dish

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world

 

J.T. Hilltop

There are those among us that believe that we ourselves are the ultimate creations, the single most important things in the entire universe. No, not Trump, I’m talking about the science deniers and reverently religious zealots who still insist that the universe is finite and was created by the one and only true creator, theirs. The ones that say earth is only 6,000 years old and science is pure bovine defecation. Taking into consideration that when the world was created calculators were still a ways off, not to mention that the length of a day was our creation not Gods I have to disagree. A day could have lasted a million of our years or a millisecond of time, who‘s to say. Still many insist scientists have it wrong and deny that their religious texts are open to interpretation, that it should all taken literal. (or at least until the literal doesn’t agree with their perceptions) They believe not only are we the most intelligent but we are also the chosen species. Bad news my zealot friends, the truth is we are but small specks of a bacterium culture in a Petri dish being studied under a microscope. Much like the bacterial sight of worms and assorted squiggly things we viewed in biology labs in high school. Perhaps we haven’t even been discovered yet by the scientists/creators studying us. We are merely part of a quantum theory to those viewing universal growth in a dish. To them the bacteria we observe microscopically is still a hypothesis and they are searching for the Higgs Bosen or God particle of humanity. Which in reality once they find this sub atomic particle is nothing more than our very own discovery of staphylococcus. Get it? Well don’t, it’s a bitch to get rid of. But anyway that essentially makes us pathogens to these humongous scientific creatures who have us in their labs in a Petri dish. Confused? Okay, a little perspective.

Physicists today have gone way beyond big bang theory into string, quantum, multi dimensional, and multi-universal thought. Most believe there is not just one universe we can’t even seem to find the end of or that keeps expanding but perhaps there are two or more, maybe an infinite number of universes. We can only see what’s in our own “observable” universe so how can we possibly have enough arrogance to claim there is nothing else but our universe? Personally I think instead of just exploring all over the universe trying to find the end one of us should just stop and ask directions. Unfortunately that would involve admitting we are not the smartest species in this universe. Earth is just one spinning orb filled with various forms of life perhaps totally different from any of the millions of other types of living matter out there in the deep recess of space. At any rate, its my belief that our universe is situated in a huge sort of culture dish in a ginourmous scientific lab that makes the large Hadron Collider in CERN seem like a waterpark. Think of our world being observed like a tiny little ant farm. But one being viewed from the moon. Not our moon, Io, one of Jupiter’s moons.

The truth is our universe does have limits in the way of a spherical finite dish with a circumference as its boundaries. Sure it can grow like bacteria grows but even with logarithmic growth spurts it will eventually hit the rim of the dish and be forced to stop. Our seemingly never ending universe is a live active culture in large round dish known as Experiment#541728226, and it is stored along with hundreds upon hundreds of other universe dishes all containing planets, solar systems, galaxies, quasars, black holes, pulsars and super novas. Or as the multiverse creator/scientists call it, Cosmic Bacterium. To us, our planet has a multitude of different species including humans, but to the Cosmic Scientist we are merely an organic growth in a dish. Its an experiment and we are what they call micro-humanoid genatlium, a parasitic bacteria they discovered on the hairs of the genitals of a species from their world similar to our primates. Kinda like gorilla ball hair bacteria, simian salmonella if you will.

Now I know this all sounds a bit far fetched, like maybe a chapter from an L Ron Hubbard or Michael Creighton story but when you really think about it its not much different than many of the wacko tales of some of our more creative or devolved religions around our own world. Aside from the obvious out there accounts burning bushes, floating zoo’s, talking donkeys, plague bringers, salt pillar people, and river parters of the more common sort we have one religion created by a sci-fi writer that involves alien infiltration. Then we have the not so mainstream or well known religions like ones that focus on magic spells, UFO’s, cosmic light people, and even a church of euthanasia, which promotes cannibalism, suicide, and sodomy. The Seven Deadly Sin Day Adventists. And that’s not even the most bizarre. There is a group of people whose religious belief is that the illuminati impregnated a women with Satan’s sperm and delivered the baby antichrist They also believe that Nicola Tesla was originally from Venus and that we are conducting cloning experiments on Mars. Now I ask you, is a universe that’s a petri dish in a cosmic laboratory really all that out there in this perspective?

I mean really, compare my theory to creation theorist that include leaders who convince their followers to drink poison Kool aid, commit mass suicide to transport their souls to a spaceship chasing the comet Hale Bop, allowed themselves to be killed while locked in a building with their families? How about a theory that the creator of life came from a big boat on a planet orbiting the star Sirius. I’m serious, Sirius! I’m not saying religion is wrong, or bad, but why can’t my theory be as viable as the others?

Shit, by comparison my theory sounds almost plausible, or perhaps even sane! Hell, maybe it is sane, maybe I’m on to something. Perhaps the end of the world as we know it won’t be so spectacular, perhaps our world will end when the scientist in charge of experiment 541728226 gets frustrated at their progress and dumps the entire universe down a galactic drainpipe. Or maybe I watch too much Doctor Who and enjoyed too much mind benders back in the day, but then again hey……Ya never know, I could be on to something. The TARDISites of Gallifrey….I’d follow depending on what sna

 

The First Earth Day

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aaaaa

 

So lucky to have grown up with a generation that was conscious and aware of the importance of Mother Earth as well as humanitarian justice and the concept of inclusion . Although admittedly I wonder when many of my generation took on a cynical and self important view on life. But I won’t dwell on their abandonment of doing what’s right because frankly they aren’t worth an argument. Back in 1970 on this day in April even our high school and jr. high ( WTF is middle school anyway?) teachers and administration sided with the students on the preservation of earth and elimination of pollution. They allowed for us to be late without an excuse on Earth Day I provided we walked to school with garbage bags and cleaned up as we went. Great idea, and it worked to perfection.

My Jr. High school had a disproportionate amount of class clowns however and many of us would go to great lengths for a laugh. My usual pension for hijinx was unengaged this day as I took it very serious. Along with three of my best mates we took our garbage bags and walked to school picking up an unseemly amount of garbage. What the Hell is wrong with people to throw so much crap on the sides of the road. I never realized how bad it was and it left a lasting impression. We walked about two miles to school (Uphill in the snow while barefoot) and in the center of the school parking lot was a huge dumpster. We were already like an hour and a half late so of course we stopped by the dumpster to have a smoke before checking in school. I don’t remember what we were talking about, probably what was on Laugh In the night before, but suddenly two of my mates broke out in laughter. They were laughing so hard (possibly from the smoke) they couldn’t speak, they could only point. I turned to see what it was and immediately joined in the laughter.

Someone managed to speak, “Holy shit, it’s Kevin, Tony, and Steve pushing a Volkswagen full of trash!” Yea, those three won the most creative and clever and funny story of the year. They found an abandoned beat up Volkswagen bug and pushed it to school loading it up with garbage as they went. As for the school administration? Be careful what you wish for…..Peace and Happy Earth Day

 

The Real Information Age (excerpt from JT Hilltops Death After Death)

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real

 

I’m still not sure what I was experiencing or why I was hearing any of this shit at all. I mean if I’m dead then what’s the point. Al the creator was right about one thing though, enquiring minds do want to know. So before I go and become, what was it he said, a comet or a fucking quasar or some shit, or before I wake the fuck up or whatever it is that happens after dying I want to hear what he has to say. “Okay who or whatever you are tell me. What’s the truth and why does it matter to me?”

“Oh JT, maybe it doesn’t matter, or maybe it will bring you closure who knows except you? Maybe you’ll even be that one anomaly of humans to find a way to bring back the information you learn in death to your living world, I really can’t say. At any rate, here’s the truth. I’ll start with your misconception of information. You think you live in the age of information well let me tell you when it comes to information those ferns and plants over there are far more highly evolved as a species than you. Vegetation is not just food, pretty to look at, nice to smell, and a source of energy. Vegetation collects and processes information everyday, all day, gathering information from its environment and any visiting insects or animals that happen by. It gathers information from the sun and converts it into chemical energy including oxygen. Can you photosynthesize JT? Kind of ironic that one of the most highly evolved living things cannot master mobility. Not yet anyway. Even the giant fir trees can communicate to other trees. Once attacked by a horde of hungry insects any tree will emit smells to warn other trees which in turn process that information. The other trees then begin to emit chemical defenses to avert destruction. They can both emit and receive information through aromas. That’s understanding information my boy. Can you do that JT? Can you process the information from chemical aromas and plan a strategy of defense? Animals can process lots of information too and either put up a defense, plan a counter attack, or flee based on the info it receives. Most humans believe logic to be their sole possession but even small animals use logic. You see my boy the real information age came about centuries ago but you humans had your eyes and minds closed because you were too busy warring and destroying in the name of  world domination. Evolution JT, that’s in formation being processed and passed in ways to better each and every species. Ants and bees can communicate to their entire colonies through touch or dance, instantly sharing gigabytes of information to the benefit of the whole group. You idiots can’t even agree on what’s right in front of you, like pollution or climate change. You spend years debating over nature while nature continues to move forward through evolution. That’s real information working its magic.

Bioluminescence, instinct like frantic sea turtles running for safety at birth, these are the kinds of useful information passed along. Knowing their environment and adapting to the changes. A fox sees a squirrel track and understands instantly from the intricacies of that track which direction it’s potential meal is going, about how big it is, and even estimate if its worth chasing or a too much energy wasted in a futile chase. From the aromas it can tell how long ago it was there, what it is, and then form a strategy based on where its going, how far away it is, how long ago it left and decide whether to go after it or look for another meal closer and easier to catch. That’s using information. You use Google and fill your brains with tons of unnecessary information. One day you will fill your heads with so much unnecessary information you won’t be able to grasp what goes on around you in the world at all. Or maybe another evolutionary twist will get you to the point where you only process the info you really need. But better of worse your burning desire to know everything is part of your evolutionary drive. That’s why your species invented religion, to quell that unyielding desire to know why you’re here so you could concentrate on survival. Without the various religions to distract you from the truth your kind would have become extinct while chasing answerless questions eons ago. You would not have been able to form survival strategies if you were in a pointless search for why you were on earth. So religions enabled you to celebrate your superiority on earth so you could process the more important information. The drawback obviously was that the diversity of gods you created led to arguments which eventually spiraled into wars.” Al paused as if exhausted, or maybe he was pissed but either way I was beginning to get it. It was actually beginning to make sense yet I was still not convinced that I wasn’t dreaming this whole mess. “That is pretty fascinating Al, but I was pretty toasted last night and this entire thing seems so unreal. I mean maybe I watched a science show before bed and it made me dream this shit about you and evolution.”

“A dream, eh? Good point! Ever wonder why you dream JT?” The smile on his face seemed almost devious. “Your brain takes all the shit you’ve processed and then messes with you by presenting it in an abstract manner. All day long your brain is very busy collecting information from your nose, ears, eyes, and skin. It has to filter out what’s unimportant, put what is important into memory, and still be ready to make split second decisions on even the most mundane things you do daily. Simple things like washing your hands. While your washing thousands of events are happening right where you are standing. Things you don’t see, or rather don’t notice because your brain views them as insignificant so it doesn’t process them. Maybe it’s a tiny hair strand floating by. Knowing its there is of little use to you and your brain concentrate on more important things. Sounds, smells, and sights are in full force around you all the time, so your brain puts you on memory which to you is like auto pilot, while it continues to search the world around you. It’s a very busy job and it juggles many things at once. The brain loves to work and thrives in busy situations making decisions every split second. Then at night you turn out the lights and go to sleep leaving your brain with little to do, not much in the way of senses to process. Now its almost like your brain is bored while you sleep so it makes up frightening images so scary some people wake up in a sweat. If your brain has been overworked it will make it seem so real you wake up wondering if its really happening or am I dreaming?. Other times it will cause you total confusion by showing you something so ridiculous you’ll wanna pinch yourself when you wake. Most of the time you just wake up so confused all you can think when you do wake up is what the fuck that was all about. You remember your sexual dreams as an adolescent? Okay, I won’t go there, just know your brain really enjoyed fucking with you back then and got your body to respond in kind. As if puberty wasn’t hard enough! Pun intended by the way JT.”

I thought it strange he would make a pun, being a lover of puns myself I know it’s considered a poor mans form of humor. But no time to dwell on why he was punning he was obviously not finished reading me the story of life. “You live in an age of over-information son. I’m here to help you sort through all the bullshit so you can move on and understand your role in the universe. In my universe.” Maybe I was over-reacting, or tired and out of sorts but for some reason the last part stung a little bit. “Your universe? So we’re back on that huh, you’re what, God, Yahweh, Allah. The creator of everything? You look so insignificant, no offense, but I really expected the creator to be a bit more, oh I don’t know, regal and grandeur or some big smoke monster or something.” The diminutive scientist/mathematician smiled. “I’m sorry to disappoint you JT, but as I told you before I am merely a manifestation, an image you have created to fit my role. Universes are created by scientists, not gods. So I appear to you as you envision a scientist. This clipboard is a prop. Have you seen me use it for anything? What do I need a clipboard for. It’s even you talking except when the info is over your head. So blame yourself if you’re disappointed, I’m not here to make you feel good about yourself, I’m here to tell you what you don’t know about yourself. If you don’t want to hear let me know and we’ll call it quits and you can just move on.”

TBC