Tag: writing

From Cosmo and His Garden Earth/ Brave New World

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Late Devonian landscape. Artwork of wetland plants, and fumaroles during the ate Devonian Period (385 to 360 million years ago). The plants shown here include club mosses such as Aglaophyton. Bacterial mats (orange) surround the hot pools. A large millipede is at lower right.
Late Devonian landscape. Artwork of wetland plants, and fumaroles during the ate Devonian Period (385 to 360 million years ago). The plants shown here include club mosses such as Aglaophyton. Bacterial mats (orange) surround the
hot pools. A large millipede is at lower right.

JT Hilltop
Kirk and Cosmo had been friends since Elementary God Training School when life was just about splitting atoms with friends, playing star toss, and studying to be a future cosmic gardener god of a galaxy. Through all the millenniums since they have remained close so it came as no surprise top anyone that Kirk would be with Cosmo in the creation of his second garden attempt. Kirk was well recognized and praised for his work in his Tiberius galaxy so he had quite an array of awards. Cosmo never gave jealousy a second thought. He was overjoyed to have Kirk offer his opinions in the new seeding of his garden. “Zoinks Cosmo this is like the old days. Man your fucking garden is so colorful and full of vegetation. Nicely done my friend it’s coming along really nice. So which species are you gonna hit up with brainpower?” The two friends surveyed the globe. “Doc gave me two types of seed. The AB seed which is just basic intelligence, and some CD seeds which is a slightly higher grade. With AB seeds the new smart species will be able forage, hunt and gather and build simple tool and structures. The lucky recipient of the CD seeds will be able to build more complex structures, and have the brain power to make not only tools, but weapons for more effective hunting. See those hairy things down there?” Kirk looked into the jungle Cosmo had pointed and saw a colony of Apes. “Is that gonna be your intelligent species?” Cosmo shook his head excitedly. “Yea. Well not exactly. Look closer over there. I have modified the apes to look like that.” He pointed to another small colony of apelike creature with less hair and a straighter back. They were almost godlike in appearance. Cosmo glowed with pride. “I gave them less hair so they could move faster. They will need to figure out how to make clothing to keep warm, but that’s why they are getting brains. I also strengthened their spines, arms and legs. Gave them strong muscles.” Kirk was amazed. “Deity shit Cosmo they look just like you man!” Cosmo laughed heartily at this because he came up with the design after staring at his own body in the reflecting material for over an hour. “That’s fucking funny as burning brimstone Kirk. I’ll call them you mans because that’s the first thing you said when you saw them. Meet my newest creation about to become knowledgeable. The You Mans.” Kirk loved when Cosmo was inspired right before his very eyes. “Good one buddy, you mans sounds great. Why not make it like one word though?” Cosmo rubbed his head. “Okay, yumans. The male one will call man, and the female ones will be what?” Kirk laughed. Man, that’s perfect. Whoa that’s funny.” Comos turn to laugh. “You are fucking brilliant Kirk. Whoa man. that’s the female, wo-man.” So Cosmo had man and woman and now it was time to drop the seeds of knowledge.
“First I am going to put some AB seeds around.” Cosmo took some sees and sprinkled them on some of his creations in the land down under. “This is where I will put the first AB seeds. I will call these people my ABoriginals since they are the first.” He then put the power of reason in both North and South Columbia and the islands around them. He was getting low on AB seeds so he put a mixture of AB and CD seeds in his continent of Afrika and Eurasia, and the rest of the CD seeds everywhere else. “Well that’s that Kirk, now just watch them grow and evolve. Hey listen Kirk, when I was at the District Doc warned me about watching out for jealous gods. Is he being overly worried?” Kirks face hardened. “I’m afraid he may have understated it my friend. Some guys like Simon and Lucy may play little jokes Like the time Simon gave some of my species pointed ears. Oddly I ended up digging the look an adopted it myself. Oh and the time Lucy snuck these furry little creatures in she called Tribbles. Fucking things were adorable at first but before I knew what was going on they had multiplied in the millions. Lucille still laughs about them. Dang the trouble with Tribbles was epic! But there is a dark side to the mischief as well. I can’t prove anything for sure but I think Micrighton or Botchie fucked up my garden and slipped in these evil shits named Romulans. At the very least some god planted a vegetation that spat out deadly spores on my creations. And either the same bastard or another saboteur place a number of dilithium crystals in a transporter and it cloned evil twins of any who used it. I didn’t even find them for two weeks. Let me tell you that was a mess and really screwed up the dichotomy of my garden. That was no accident. You need to keep your eyes open all the time. I don’t trust many gods, especially those two. But have no fear Coz, you have many friends and we will watch you back.” Cosmo felt a little better but that other person in the room feeling was still gnawing at him. Could Botchigaloop have been there with he and Mary Anne? Or Michreighton? He was certain there was a third entity in the room after their night of sexual rapture but wasn’t positive it was a god. He considered mentioning it to Kirk but opted to wait. Kirk had read Cosmo’s notes on his new cycle of life theme .He looked at his good friend admiringly, “Please Cosmo, tell me more about you cycle of life. I find the concept….fascinating.”
Cosmo was extraordinarily proud of The cycle of life and was more than happy to talk about it to his friend. “Here’s the real deal Holyfield. I have programmed all the creatures with the laws of life, or more appropriately ’cycle of life’. Every creature is programmed for a life span which is exclusive to their own species. For some its only days and for others it can be a hundred years but each has its own cycle. They are born, they live, and they die. The law is that once they die they must avail themselves back to the garden. I call it decay. Other creatures, or bacteria, or insects eat the flesh, organs, and muscles and convert it into organic material for vegetation. The vegetation gives off oxygen which allows the creatures to breath. So they have a life cycle and when they die they become part of a larger cycle. Each creature is responsible to formulate a strategy of survival. They must do whatever they can to make the chances of their species continue. Thus the cycle of life.”
“Fascinating! Cosmo you are a fucking genius. That is beyond brilliant. Everything relies on everything else. They know all this? What other life laws do they follow? Give some examples please.” Kirk was enthralled and wanted to hear more. “How specifically does this survival shit work? Fascinating! And remarkably logical.” One of the things Cosmo loved most about Kirk was how intriguingly organized and analytical his mind is. “Kirk, you are gonna love this.
Let me start with sea turtles. Every turtle knows it must run for the water upon birth in order to live. No one tells it to run for the water it knows instinctively. The very moment they enter the garden it’s a mad dash for the water because many birds like gulls view them as tiny shelled hors d’ouerves. So a female turtle lays like a hundred eggs and buries them because she knows many will not survive. Some become nourishment for birds while others reach the water where they will live. But even then not all will survive. They must now worry about becoming dinner for some smaller fish. The ones that live will reproduce and start their cycle over again. Since they were the strong and smart ones that survived they will have offspring with strength and smarts too. Like a natural selection. While alive they feed on poisonous jellyfish which they are immune to, hence giving something towards the betterment of the sea. On land my mammels know right away to look for the life giving teat of a mother. The mother nourishes them until they can fend for themselves. Lets take a goat as an example. We have a black goat and a white goat over on that mountain. Different species. Lets say the black goat’s mom dies and can’t feed the baby black goat so it goes over to the white goat. The mom refuses to feed it because that would be a threat to the survival of her own baby. See those huge majestic eagles over there?” Cosmo pointed to a tree with a large nest and four eggs. The mother has four eggs but only enough ability to feed two babies. Upon birth the ones born first will many times kill the newer ones as they are trying to leave the shell . That’s their strategy for survival of their species. Butterflies have to struggle out of the chrysalis to signal blood to flow to the wings to allow flight. Everything knows just what it must do to survive and if it fails to follow the law or gets lost or eaten it will drown in its own gene pool. Everyone for themselves within in the clan of a species for the better of the species.” Kirk stood mouth agape at the amazing creation. “Devine mother of Cronotitan! I bow to you my liege. This I nothing short of absolute.” Kirk bent down on his knees and offered his arms over his head. “I’m not worthy, I’m not worthy.” Cosmo let out a long laugh. “If you liked that my dear friend, just light up a smile stick of cannabis while I tell you of my ants and graminoids. Two brilliant blueprints I left for the youmans.”
Everything in the garden has the power of some form of communication. This is the key to existence. Everything has the ability to communicate in one way or another, taste, sight, smell, touch, or sound I gave the youmans vocal chords similar to ours and various other forms. My snakes have forked tongues to push the air into a sensor on the tongue that acts as a nose and they communicate by smell. Some species are developing an ability to hide from predators using colorful deceptions to help insure the continuation of their own. Oh here, check this out. I have bacteria living on the water. By touching each other they gather information. Once they have enough bacteria together, they communicate by touch and all begin to glow like one big school of happy shiny fishies. Bioluminescence. Fantastic. The larger fish see them and eat them, and thats where they live, inside the fish stomach sharing the fishes food. When they die they become part of the big fish waste and give back to the garden. They all want to be part of the garden. It is truly an amazing thing to watch. However those little tiny things way down there are my ants. I have designed them as a kind of blueprint for the youmans. If the youmans are as smart as I hope they will be they’ll study these tiny works of creation art. They are the closest thing to a perfect species I have ever made. Ask me, these are the most intelligent thing in the garden except that they can’t reason. The very second they enter the garden the know their purpose and how to achieve it. Some are specifically born for mating, the ones with the ability to have the highest amount of offspring. Others are foragers that go out in search of food. Once they find it they communicate to the workers where the food is and the workers all get together and carry it home back to the colony. Everything is for the benefit of the colony.” Cosmo stopped to puff on the joint. “Brilliant Cosmo, the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the one so the colony may live long and prosper.” Cosmo let out a plume of sweet smoke. “Exactly my dear friend. All the youmans need do is observe how well they work together to build and feed the colony and they will be building cities in no time.” The two friends finished the herbal delight and surveyed the world. “It all looks great Coz, what about this graminoids you mentioned. What’s their significance?” They went down for a closer look and Coz showed him patches of green all over like area rugs or a green carpet on earth. “I call it grass for short. This grass serves a great deal of purposes. It serves as a food for many species, it retains water to keep the garden cool and moist, it can be used for so many things but it has one huge significant purpose. If it they study how it works it will teach the youmans how to grow all kinds of vegetation at their will. That knowledge could cause a revolution.” The two friends finished the weed and hung out trading stories for the next few hours but it was time for Kirk to head back to his own enterprise. “G’luck Cozzie my friend. I will wait with baited breath to see how your youmans turn out. Until then, beware of things unseen. Live long and prosper dear friend.” At those prophetic sounding words a cloud of confusion settled over Cosmo. He wasn’t especially good at being suspicious but he promised to take Kirks advice very serious. “And you as well my dear friend. I hope to see you at our next reunion.” Cosmo heard a “Beam me up Scotty”, and in an instant Cosmo was all alone again. Well not alone really, he had his suspicions with him as well. TBC

The Continuing Adventures Of JT Hilltop/Homeward Bound (part I)

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Ben Gogna/Tempest Jericho, a drifter since June, sits off of Interstate 80 and waits for her adventure to unfold.
Ben Gogna/Tempest
Jericho, a drifter since June, sits off of Interstate 80 and waits for her adventure to unfold.

Halfway There And listening To A Prayer

I’d just spent two weeks in a blissful sexually charged romance that rocked the shit out of my world. Everything that happened after that just seemed boring and unremarkable. My new focus was to get back to where I once belonged, back to the place of my birth, Centerlawn. Why I’m not even sure but something was eerily drawing me back there. Maybe my hometown has some magic magnetic pull on me. Maybe this is just me exercising my masochistic self fulfilling prophecy of doom. I didn’t really have anything there other than some great memories, and as I‘ve learned you can‘t live off of memories. So the curse of JT continues. My best friends are gone, Carries married now, Tina is who knows where, Mom James and Kayla are dead, all my close friends with the possible exception of Patrick are gone, and Mandy will probably never go back to Long Island. Dad? Well he is another story entirely, not sure where he lives and don’t care. But Centerlawn has my old hang outs and the comfort of familiarity. Maybe what I desperately needed now was some mindless mediocrity. Shades of mediocrity. Clearly there is no greater purpose for me. I am as average and mundane as the town itself. But Centerlawn is also a town that had a dramatic impact on my life and my most recent travels have been……. Interesting. Mediocrity. That’s what I needed most. Go back home and just be boring.
Hard to believe I could take leaving Josie Rae so hard. I had only known her for two weeks yet I felt more empty and alone than any other point in my life. Maturity is bullshit. No one ever told me it could hurt so much. Pain is a state of mind and my mind hurts. “ I whispered my mantra “This too shall pass.”
When you’re out on the road hitchhiking you have a lot of time to think. Perhaps too much time because at times all you can do is think and thinking when you‘re alone and depressed is a Molotov cocktail. Still I reasoned it was important I figure this thing with Josie, love, and my sudden influx of maturity out before I get back home. Realistically I couldn’t have been in love with Josie there simply wasn’t enough time. She was beautiful, the sex was fantastic, laced with heated passion but that’s lust not love. True she reminded me of the best of the two chicks I had really loved and that may have had something to do with it but when it comes down to it I think I was just in love with being in love. After all I’ve been through, addictions, deaths, break-ups, jail, it felt really good to be in love. I wanted to love Josie but what I really loved was the feeling of stability she gave me which is crazy ironic because I knew from the start our time together would be short. A two week sexual fling. I just didn’t want to admit we were using each other. I gave her two weeks away from her life sentence with Randall and she gave me hope at having a real relationship. What puzzled me was what in the hell made me think I would find it back in Centerlawn?
Yet here I am out on Route 17 way down in Conway with my faithful thumb in the wind searching for a rainbow to take me home. I copped a ride with a fair haired young lady and if I didn’t know better I would have said Josie sent a friend to see me out of town. She gave me a ride clear into Myrtle beach and deposited me right at the boardwalk. I had one last look at the beach, The Gay Dolphin Store, the arcade, and the Magic Carpet where Josie and I had danced before doing the bedroom lambada just a week ago. I wiped a tear with my Harley Davidson bandana, wrapped it around my head, kissed my thumb for luck, and off I went. Point me north I’m coming home.
I had no idea how difficult it would be getting back to New York via the scenic route. Perhaps if I had gone straight to 95 it would have been a day or two but the scenic route was far less traveled and for much shorter distances. I was encouraged when my first ride took me over the border from South Carolina to North Carolina but after being dropped off outside Columbia reality would come back laughing its ass off at me. There are two things about Columbia North Carolina I will always remember. One, if you’re a hippie stay away from a military town, and two, Columbia NC has the nastiest bitiest god damn red ants in the world. These fuckers were so aggressive they jumped me like I was being mugged by a street gang. Out of nowhere I start getting these sharp pains first on my feet then quickly up my legs. When I looked down it was like red ant apocalypse. They were running up in flanks as fast as I could brush them off and biting the entire time. I jumped up and down and did a ninja spin while still brushing them away. I could see their faces, the anger in their eyes but kept the fight to them. When I saw what I had inadvertently done to their sand mound, their military base, I understood. I was the invader not them. They were defending. My only move was a quick retreat so off I ran hopping and slapping myself with a new reality and a few wise ass kids laughing at me.
So my visit here to Columbia was marred forever. I didn’t stay to look around which would probably only have gotten me an ass kicking anyway because the military school was full of testosterone driven young cadets with something to prove. I refused be their example so I made a bee line out of antville. My hitchhiker digit now in top form I got a ride in the first five minutes. As great as that sounds it was not without a downside. I was in back seat of a VW bug with what had to be the smelliest couple ever. Now I was probably a bit ripe myself but these two were downright raunchy. The stench had it’s own area code. It was horrible.
A most unpleasant journey but a journey none the less. I was on the move but the highway had gone from a three lane racetrack to a one lane road winding in and out around the shore. Between trying not to breathe and chatting with my body odor spewing taxi I ended up somewhere else in North Carolina. They were going west and let me out on what looked more like a local road than a highway across from some strange looking church. I was glad because I couldn’t take much more of a VW cockpit filled with what could be the steam of a decomposing body in it. Hell, maybe they were serial killers with a body in the trunk looking for another suitable toy. Either way, my joy of having escaped possible cellar torture and being able to discard the layer of stink was short lived.
As well tuned as my thumb was even the magic digit is unable to rustle up a ride if no cars come by. Hours passed and darkness crept in. The only sign of life was an occasional car, more often than not headed the wrong way, and the filling up of the church whose members found me oddly interesting. At least it seemed that way, they all seemed to look over my way, talk to each other, then honor me with a second glance mixed with an occasional surreptitious finger point. Just what I needed, some born again Christian cult members viewing me as a potential new sacrificial lamb. Seems the reed ant army has communications abilities because on top of the dark setting in they apparently sent an aerial assault via the mosquito squadrons. I found myself itching for one of the church goers to save me and if that’s what it takes to get me from this buzzing ghost town back to a real highway then praise the fucking lord!
As if on cue two parishioners ambled my way. It seems born again Christians never do anything strictly out of the goodness of their hearts. Every last favor entails an obligatory thank the lord combined with a slick segue into a preaching parable. But again, attitude of gratitude! So when the young black couple came over and offered me a ride I jumped at the chance. At least they smelled nice. I told them where I was heading and they informed me of the err of my ways. First directionally, then in my life choices. I was headed into a very coastal one lane highway which would get me nowhere if I kept on the way I was and a very downward spiral which already is nowhere if I didn’t find the Lord. Apparently he’s not on that coastal highway and thankfully neither would I be. The couple gave me a ride all the way to Interstate 95 and left me at a rest stop which gave them ample time to recite scriptures and generally make me feel inadequate in my faith. I thanked them reverently for the ride and direction. I knew they were disappointed I excluded to thank their lord but I was pretty certain they would thank him in redundancy for me.
It was great to be out of mosquitoville by the shore but it was now around ten o’clock at night and hitchhiking at this hour was a bad idea. Besides I was really tired here in Lumberton NC so I walked down by where all the truckers rested looking for a little alcove or something. Anything but an abandoned gas station or the side of the road which I swore was a thing of the past. The best I could find was an overturned wooden picnic table under some tree’s. It was like a wooden pillow fort so it would serve two purposes, giving me minimal shelter from the elements and instilling a bit of comforting childhood innocence. I leaned up against my wood fort, closed my eyes, and listened to the cricket orchestra playing stage right. I needed to take my mind somewhere else so I wouldn’t be surrounded in negativity. I couldn’t get the sex with Josie Rae out of my mind so I fell a sleep with a shit eating grin on my face. I did not however, wake up that way. Over the course of the evening the insect world mistook me for Gulliver and began exploring all parts of my body. ALL parts. I never had so many itches in so many uncomfortable places to scratch in my life. It was like the red ants of Columbia and the Mosquito squadron of No Sin City sent messages up about a delicious tasting human being headed their way. Ants, centipedes, some beetle like bastards that had hard shells on them, all kinds of creepy crawly critters claiming me as their territory. Having become experienced in insect warfare recently I took the battle right back to them. A few jumps, shakes, and then any stragglers were destined to meet their end in the great waters of the men’s room as I raced them to their doom. To my tiny enemies it was the great flood without Noah to save any of them.
It took me about ten minutes after being bug free to shake the feeling of their prersence. Phantom crawlings on my legs and arms still had me scratching but I was finally able to get hold of myself. (Not literally) I ventured back out to the truckers area and scoped out the truckers to see if there was anyone I could relate too that might take me north. The first ten or twelve I eyeballed appeared to be speed freaks who were strung out and skinny as hell. Not reliable and the last thing I needed was to be around drug users again. Then I spotted him, a normal looking dude around my age with long hair. He was driving a furniture store truck and from the looks of him I could cop a ride. I put on my lost puppy dog face before I approached him. After explaining my situation in which I stressed the “left abandoned and stranded by someone I thought was a good friend” He offered me a ride to Virginia. Hmmm. The place for lovers and Virginia Ham. Why the hell not? Next stop the State For Lovers…..TBC

The Continuing Adventures Of JT Hilltop/Prison Of Love

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prison

Breakfast with the beautiful southern belle police officer Josie “Sexy as Hell” Rae 930 at Waffle King. That didn’t leave me much time so as soon as I saw the lights turn on at Western Union I bolted inside. Amanda hooked me up with a hundred bucks which was like the third good thing to happen to me in the last 24 hours. Holy Jesus a trifecta, a good omen if ever there was three. Now I could afford a new shirt, sneakers, and still have enough left over for breakfast. Did I really offer dinner? What the Hell was I thinking? But that’s just it, I wasn’t thinking, this Josie Rae had me completely inside out. This is way more than just a little horny flirtation, although that wouldn’t be bad either. That said this feeling of cocoons opening up in my intestinal system was something I haven’t experienced in a long time. I haven’t felt like this since….Jesus shit man, …since Carrie! I’m not sure why I have this strange feeling but I did know one thing, I was gonna be at Waffle King by 930 come River Styx or high tide so I’d better get my ass moving.
I found a small clothing shop at the boardwalk which had mostly touristy shit but I was lucky enough to find a Jack Daniels Tee shirt to match my new Harley Davidson bandana. I ran up Ocean Blvd to a gas station and took a hobo shower in the bathroom actually using a bar of soap I bought at some weird store called Piggly Wiggly. I had also bought a tooth paste and shampoo and cleaned myself up as much as humanly possible inside a Shell gas station bathroom. I was feeling more than just positive, I was feeling damn near obsessed. I got directions to Waffle King and that’s exactly where I headed, this time leaving those annoying voices always putting me down at the gas station. Could this be love?
I got a nice table near the window, rearranged the waffle syrups four or six times and waited excitedly. When I spotted Josie Rae I was floored. Out of uniform she was even more stunning. Long curly blond hair that danced off her head, piercing green eyes and a small slightly upturned nose. Her smile re-opened the cocoons. She had on dark blue eye shadow and bright red lipstick. That look combined with the fact I knew she owned handcuffs tipped the scales of justice and I would confess to anything. A mysterious beauty. I couldn’t believe how smitten I had become. She looked at me with a very sexy leer and said, “Y’all have the right to remain silent. But if you do I’ll never shut up so y’all better be ready ta tell me things” She sat down and we began talking instantly as if we had known each other forever. We discussed cultural differences between north and south, compared similar experiences growing up, and every conversation came loose and easy. I had found a friend but was hoping for more. In an effort to feel her out I mentioned that I was only heading back to New York because I have nothing here. She smiled at me assuring me she could tell by the way I got ready for our date that I had nowhere to stay then she put it out there. “Well mister JT, if Y’all wanna come on home with me you can have yeself a nice hot shower and good nights sleep afore you go on yer way.” I tried to weigh the implication of intentions here but what did it matter. I win either way. If its just the plain offer it sounds like nothing lost and I leave fully refreshed, but if she’s hinting at something deeper, then I’ll go deep! “Josie Rae, I have to tell you I am whelmed. In fact I am overwhelmed. I was beginning to believe that the southern hospitality I’ve heard so much about was pure legend. I would appreciate that greatly.
As low as I was on funds I insisted on paying and as always left a nice tip. We left Waffle King and drove out of Myrtle beach towards Conway. She explained to me that Conway is much more real and much cheaper to live in than “The Beach”. We pulled into an apartment complex and her room was around back in what seemed like nowhere. The area’s around Myrtle Beach were remarkably poor, seriously impoverished area’s and this apartment which would have been basic back on Long Island was a luxury home by comparison. Once we got inside it was all I could do to stop myself from ruining everything by jumping on Josie. I maintained my composure as she went into her kitchen and pointed down the hall. “Woncha go on ahead an take a shower JT, I bet its been awhile since y’all felt a nice hot shower. I’ll git us some wine. Towels are under the sink.” She pushed me toward the bathroom and I worried maybe I was smelling ripe or something so I did as I was told and went right into the shower.
Its amazing how much we can take things for granted. The very second that hot water hit my hair and headed downward my attitude of gratitude returned. It was like the hot water was cascading onto my shoulders and chasing away all the negativity that had been clinging to me for so long then forcing it down the drain. As I peered down imagining all the bad shit running down the pipes a voice startled me. “Mind if I join ya?” I looked up and right in front of me was this beautiful angel with the sexiest southern drawl this side of Daisy Duke standing buck bone naked in front of me. Before either of us knew what was happening we were in a desperate lip lock with mouths open and tongues dancing. Embracing beneath a cascading stream of hot water I felt her body up against mine and within seconds she felt not only my body but my intentions. Rubbing our bodies together our tongues continued a desperate slippery tango and the most audible sound either of us could make were moans. I’ve heard people say they could hear fireworks going off from a kiss like this which is pretty damn accurate. My roman candle was reaching up anticipating an oncoming explosion that promised to find itself south of the border. We soaped and kissed, kissed and soaped and let me tell you if I died right then and there I’da died one happy man.
After a complete cleansing and drying we continued our assault of passion in Josies bedroom. Time ceased existing and we made love three times in a row while raising foreplay to an art form. We must have spent a few hours with very little talking, a whole lot of cuddling, and it was obvious to me we both benefited more than one orgasm. Now admittedly I hadn’t had sex in a few months so my libido was begging for release but it was far more than that. The tenderness, the closeness that had been absent from my life since Tina and I split. It was on a par with the love of my life Carrie. Not the third women to have sex with but perhaps the third woman to fall in love with. I was certain she was in love too and I was right, only it wasn’t with me. I had to remind myself to slow down because I had a reputation for falling in love with any female that shows me a modicum of attention.
After the sexual smoke cleared away the talking returned. It wasn’t good news. Josie Rae is engaged to be married. Her fiancé is away for three weeks training at some place called Quantico, some FBI training school or some shit. That hurt but Josie convinced me we can enjoy this small bit of time together before I head back home. When I thought about it I knew she was right, I had nothing to do, nowhere to be, and life has really sucked for the last two years, I deserve some great sex and the company of a beautiful woman if only for a short time. We agreed I would stay with her for two weeks but leave before her fiancé returned. That gave me plenty of time to get her to change her mind. Besides, if I can’t change her mind I’ll want a head start if a well trained FBI dude learns I’ve been boning his bride to be.
So it was I became a kept man, at least for the next two weeks. Josie and I really connected. I wasn’t ready to give it up. I stayed at home while she worked and cooked us breakfast or dinner. On nights she had off we went out dancing, on nights she worked we sat in and had wine, sex, and talk into the afternoon. Towards the end of our time together the conversation of us as a couple kept sneaking in.
“You know JT, I really does like y’all but I caint git outta what Im into. Tell y’all the truth I aint even shore if I loves Randall. It’s juss the way things is here hon, when a feller asks you at marry an your fokes want you to marry him you jess do.” The cultural divide was clear and quite probably freedom of her culture is the one thing I may represent to her that will convince her to stay with me. “That may be how it is around here Josie babe, but not back where I’m from. A girl cn do what she wants and date who she wants. Nobody tells a New York girl how to live her life. Why don’t you come back to New York and try that for a while?” Back and forth for days, neither of us giving in on the future but both of us giving our all in the bedroom. I prayed for time to go as slow here as it had when I was in prison, but time sucks. Instead it flew by.
Unfortunately that inevitable moment arrived. We both knew it was coming. Time for JT to leave and move on to the next adventure. Only thing is this time I wasn’t really sure if I wanted a new adventure. More unsettling was I still wasn’t exactly sure how I felt about Jo. Could it be love? Maybe. Not the traditional type of love but a strange and alluring love that grabs hold while your not paying attention and digs its roots deep into your soul. Our love story was a short story with the end written before it even began. A love story who‘s destiny it was to fail. It started as a time bomb of sexual tensions that made good on its promise to fulfill both our intense needs and then it was supposed to fizzle out. That was all it was supposed to be, two lovers sharing the comfort of each other for just a short time. But the sexual volcano erupted and the lava it released was strong and unfamiliar. Is this an emotional attachment? Not good! Not good at all!
We agreed from the start that before her boyfriend Randall got back home I would leave willingly as we would go our separate ways. I was sort of okay with that. No attachments, no bullshit, not strings. At the time it seemed like a good idea but I never considered that my emotions would sprout into a giant beanstalk in two short weeks and stick my head up in the clouds. I mean sex without commitment should be a young mans dream. And the sex was good, god damn was it good. Reckless abandon? That was an understatement! We often put the music on real loud to drown out our very expressive sexually motivated squeals and promises. I can’t even remember half the shit I said but the half I do remember was pretty much the both of us pleading gods name over and over louder than I ever heard before. So often and so loud you would’ve thought we were staging a Oh God Yes born again revival.
The fact that no strings were attached made it intriguing even though I dug her so much from the start. I knew when the time came I could leave no problem. That is I thought I knew. It wasn’t supposed to happen this way but I was pretty sure I did love Jo. I reasoned I was just not in love with her. At least I didn’t think I was. She understood the dark side of me the way Tina had, she fulfilled me emotionally the way Carrie had, yet I knew from the start she was unattainable. Maybe that was it, maybe just wanting something I know I can’t have is what’s driving these feelings?! One thing I was certain of is Josie and I were really good together. Our feelings for each other went so deep. Our conversations went deep. And the sex, well….deep! But it was time to discard the emotions and say good by. Who knew it would be so difficult. We laid naked in bed in a satiated silence after what was presumably our final high energy fling. Anyway we went at it as if it were our last time either of us would ever make love again in our lives. So much determination and passion we were motionless for over an hour before she spoke.
“JT Sweetie, I sweer I ain’t never gonna firget you baby. But y’all known Randall is coming back inna few days and its bess fir us both if y’all be long gone fore then.” She placed her head on my chest using her soft curls as a pillow. She tenderly reached around my shoulder to lightly scratch the back of my neck. “Why does it have to end Jo? Why can’t you come up north with me?” She moved her hand to my lips, “Shush now Justin, y’all know that caint happen. Things is way differnt down here baby. Things is expected of a gurl down here. My Mama won’t never furgive me an my Papa, well Papa ain‘t one to anger up none.…Ya don’t wanna be puttin no bee in Papa’s bonnet Honey J. I juss caint do that, my future got be with Randall. It’s done been determined already. Thats the way its spose to go. I got to think about the future.” I placed my arms around her and planted her head firmly between my neck and chin to caress her with my cheek. “It doesn’t have to go like that. You in can be in charge of your future. You can make your own choices. There ain’t no reason you can’t leave here. Hell baby child even if its not with me why get married to someone you don’t love? Trust me, that shit don’t end well at all, I been there and it sucks.” I could feel a tear on her cheek. She sat up, “JT, that’s not how life is here in Conway South Carolina. I gotta answer to Jesus. I know y’all don unerstand that but it means a lot here Baby Boy. A girls folks expeck her to marry the man they wants fur her to marry, have chillen and raise them to fear the lord. Womens don’t get to do no choosin’ round here and that’s okay, way its always done been. A girls don’t wanna have no bad past cuz a past can foller her around an make her life horrible if she goes against thangs. My past is determining my future, and my past is with Randall so my future gone be with him too. Mommy an Daddy like him an he‘s gun be a good supporter. So now my future got to go that way, Sugarpie. Don’t matter none what I want.” I looked at her incredulously. “That’s not true Jo it matters very much what you want. Its your life pretty girl. Your past only determines who you were not who you are. Its what leads you to your present but it sure ain‘t who you are today. You can’t live in the past Babydoll that’s over. Your past is gone, you own your future and if you want your future to be with me all you need do is say so.” I gently kissed her on the temple. “Listen to your heart Jo, what’s your heart saying? The heart knows because the heart lives in the present and begs you for a future. A future that you want, not what god or Jesus or your mom and dad want, but what Josie Rae wants! You’re not defined by your past and you can rewrite your future Sweet Thing. Listen to your heart. I think I hear it whispering my name.” She smiled a half smile that told me a hundred sad stories. The story of the past two weeks being over, o a girl and a boy sharing the most perfect moment in time before time runs out. The story of a beautiful girl who is chained to a pre-determined destiny and is not willing to break free. It teased her with what could be while at the same time mercilessly reminded her of her fate. It told of deep stories of sadness and defeat, told by a lonely girl who believes she has no control over her own life so she‘s giving up. Stories of things gone by and things to come, but not the story of the now, the right here. No stories of a happy ever after with me or of endless possibilities. The smile was fighting a sadness underneath below a profound stare with eyes that confirmed her feeling of hopelessness. “Weeze all defined by our pasts JT, ain’t none of us can rewrite the future no matter how much we want to. The heart lives in the present but its afraid of breaking. Like mine is right this second. I dint never spect this to be so hard baby. I aint even sure how it happened, but we had us two weeks of bliss and I ain‘t sorry bout a second of it. But it got an endin sugar, I‘m sorry but as much as it hurts me this song is got to be over. Every song ends. I done wannit to stop neither but that’s my life honeypie. Things happen for a reason an we juss gotta figger out what the reason fur us was.”
We embraced deep in thought for a few minutes. This feeling was so foreign to me. Fuck man, am I starting to grow up? I’m not sure why but I still wasn’t ready to let this all just slip away, “Jo baby listen” I sat up and took her hands in mine. We stared into each others soul with piercing compassion. Our eyes embraced. “The past doesn’t matter Josie Rae. You done things in the past and I done things in the past but that’s history, not destiny. Maybe its our destiny to look beyond our pasts and think about a future. I never really thought that things happen for a reason, like fate or anything. I always believed everything was random and just happened. But maybe I’m wrong. Maybe shits not just random. All the things that happened to me were so we could meet. That’s why I took a trip with people I knew I had no business being with. That’s why I got busted and stuck in jail. To meet you. I learned a lot about myself doing my time in prison. Maybe I was in prison to straighten my head and to get ready for you and me.” Now her smile was thoughtful, she was fully aware she was in complete control of everything. One of the things I love about her. (did I say love?) “Sweetie, you wasn’t in no prison. You was in jail Baby Boy. You spent time incarcerated in a southern jail, and maybe you sure enough did do some growin there, but it was just a jail, not a prison. People like you an me we own our prisons. We carry our prisons right here on our backs. It sure nuff don’t seem right but thets how it is fur us dreamers. We dream but we ain’t never in control of our dreams, not really. Way I figger it weeze born with these prisons on our backs, you an me. We live with them an they done remin us that no matter how hard we believe, we ain’t in control of nuthin. We likely carry’em tar graves. And we been out of our prisons for two glorious weeks, maybe the best two weeks of my life. Leastwise the happiest. That’s what I got from you hon, an that’s gun be my most precious memory. You freed me from my prison but it’s still here a waitin, right there on my back. An I got to carry it agin an agin, cuz its my prison. I sure hope it was like heaven fir you too JT. For the last two weeks Justin you let me out of prison and I will always be thankful for that. But I got to pick my prison back up tomorrow, and I recon you gonna fine yersff someone you can live with too, an you‘ll live with your prison still on yer back. Leastwise I recon you will. Lets juss firget all bout this now an just be happy with each other one last time. Lets make love once more afore you leave.”
I had no argument left, she was right. I wasn’t ready to become a good provider like Randall. I didn’t belong here and Josie doesn’t belong in New York. I do carry my prison on my back, I always had. Besides, over time she would get tired or bored of me, or worse, something bad would happen to her. No one stays with JT. Not for long anyway. That was my prison, a life that’s a plague of death or abandonment. Like I always seem to do I got hung up on someone that leaves my life. Then I push them away like I did with Carrie and Tina, or they just leave on their own like Joe, James, Ken, Bill, June, and even my mom. I put them aside and thought about the past two weeks and I gave her the most passionate kiss I was capable of. Then we made love. We made love for over an hour, not with reckless abandon this time, but with slow calculated lasting tenderness. When we finished we wrapped our arms around each other and fell asleep. We never spoke another word to each other.
When I woke up it was six o’clock so I quietly got out of bed and kissed Josie Rae Sessions on the cheek and whispered, “I don’t care what you say pretty girl, I’ll always love you.” I could swear she smiled but whether she did or not, the only fair thing for me to do for her was to exit quietly. At that moment I had truly matured. I knew I was growing up because I loved her and that’s why I had to let her go. That’s how deep my love went. I quietly let her go as I tip-toed away with my heart shattered in pieces. I would only prolong her pain and make it worse if I continued to be selfish. Sacrifice. Love comes with consequences. You gamble on some pain to enjoy the ultimate pleasure. But like everything else in my twisted world it ends. I learned a lot. How much love really can hurt, how my love for one woman could be so strong I would willingly break my own heart to allow her to follow hers. I also ;learned love never stays. Right or wrong it wasn’t for me to choose. I had my own life to focus on now. I washed up, got dressed and left. Maturity is soooo overrated. I walked out the door with exactly what I had arrived with two weeks ago, my wallet, my clothes, and the prison on my back.
TBC

The Continuing Adventures Of JT Hilltop, JT Hits The Beach

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Even with my new bucket of hope and a full stomach Myrtle Beach fared no better. It seemed like everyone is looking to make a buck and few willing to part with them. I did however finally get a piece of advice that was worth listening to. I was directed toward the boardwalk and told to make sure I stopped into the Gay Dolphin to do some shopping. I admit having reservations about the shopping at first, I mean what the hell kind of store calls itself a gay porpoise. Not to mention I wasn’t rolling in money but the boardwalk did sound like my kind of place. We had some fantastic boardwalks on Long Island, Robert Moses and Jones Beach come to mind plus I had been to the grand daddy of boardwalks in Atlantic City New Jersey. Honestly though I gotta tell ya the Myrtle Beach boardwalk was pretty spectacular. Maybe it was just being at a beach again, maybe it was just being somewhere different, but whatever it was the fucking boardwalk was amazing. Full of happy people, hot looking young ladies and studly young men, old and young all decked in the latest in beachwear fashion. To my ocular enjoyment many of the ladies were clad in really tight bathing suits and after spending a month in a testosterone overloaded penal community even the ladies that may have been better off not having chosen such a snug fit looked great. As for the dudes they were all mostly tanned and toned and I suppose the ladies eyeballs enjoyed that. Although a few of the dudes did reveal far too much packaging for my eyes. Not everyone was decked out in the latest in appropriate beachwear fashion there were some definite fashion don’ts, women who were in need of more covering and men who should have considered showing less body hair and more body clothing.
The Gay Dolphin was a four or five story impressive looking glass shop but it was clearly a tourist stop filled with touristy crap. Walking on the boardwalk I found some other s shops that were great, all kinds of food and touristy clothing one shop in particular caught my eye. A Harley Davidson accessory store right there on the boardwalk. It was like a Beverly Hillbilly epiphany when it called my name, “JT, come on in, take yer shoes off an stay awhile!”
With only my emergency four dollars in my wallet I found what would one day become a family heirloom. An orange Harley bandana with a black stitching of a bike chain and the HD logo. For three seventy five it was a steal, which also crossed my mind but the last thing I needed was a shop-lifting beef on top of what I just went through. Despite being hungry and wanting a beer I blew my emergency money on a fashion statement.
I spent the day at the beach my head proudly protected by my new bandana and was living the dream in South Carolina. I was feeling great and free, so happy that nothing could rain on my parade. Well except for rain that is. A storm blew in off the ocean causing a massive chaotic rush off the beach. Like Mary’s lost lamb I followed the crowd without a clue where we were all going. With in the realm of three minutes or so it had gone from a warm sunny day, to a dark dampish day, to a rainfall, then ultimately to a downpour of rain that put on an incredible light show and thunderous stereo speaker worthy explosions. My brand new bandana was soaked in seconds. The rain came down cold drenching me and causing me to see if steam was coming of my previously sun-warmed body. People were scampering all over the place in what seemed to be chaotic. I ran under the boardwalk to seek shelter from the storm because it was a hard, hard rain gonna fall. The beach had pretty much cleared out and I sat with a few hundred ex-beachcombers waiting for the sun wondering who‘ll stop the rain. Despite all the rock and roll references I whispered to no one in particular, “fuck me”
The storm was mercifully quick but it’s effect was staggering. In it’s short half hour existence at Myrtle Beach it had created an entire new environment. The waves were choppy, the sand was dark gray and the texture of moist grainy mud. It smelled of wet sage and waffles. The boardwalk was in the process of becoming deserted as most of the people headed out to their hotels or homes or wherever. All that remained were a few hardcore surfers, hardcore beachcombers, and one lonely hardcore Long Islander who was starving once again as I had been unsuccessful at finding my old friend or making any new ones. Alone, re-depressed, and soaked to the bone I pointed myself towards the town, hung my head and meandered down the next path of my unscripted journey.
I couldn’t go back to KFC despite my hunger and it being as tempting as it was to scrounge another bucket of hope. Karma dictates storing the memory and being grateful not greedy. Time to move on and find the next experience. After tossing the idea around my head for a few hours I finally decided I needed to call my sister Amanda and plead with her to send me a little money so I can eat and begin hitchhiking back to Centerlawn. It was getting late and after following directions from a local man I found the local Western Union building. I found a pay phone down the block, called Amanda collect, and she promised to send me one hundred dollars under the one condition that I visit her before going back to Long Island. Under the circumstances it was impossible not to promise anything. All in all things were looking up. Over the next fifteen minutes I convinced myself this was the start of a phenomenal turn around and I would soon be back on track with my life. Brimming with both bravado and confidence I walked up to the doors of Western Union to pick up the money Amanda sent me. I took a deep breath preparing for my big turnaround and grabbed the handle of the door. Even with my newfound strength the door wouldn’t open. No need for a telegram to get the message. The door was locked, the building closed.
“What?! Six o’clock! Who closes at six o’clock?” Yes that’s right, the Western Union in Myrtle Beach South Carolina closes at six o’clock and it was now ten minutes past six. Disillusioned but not ready to give up I altered my strategy. Western Union opens at eight in the morning and I’ll be the first in line when it does. Just as if I was camping out in line for Grateful dead tickets I sat myself with all my meager belongings next to the door and would just sit right here until it opens in the AM. I was a tad exhausted so I closed my eyes and before I realized it I fell asleep. I woke up completely unaware of what time it may be and probably a bit confused of where I was at first.
Time passes remarkably slow when your on a cement slab listening to all the night insects and animals around. The alligators and frogs kept running around in my imagination and it wasn’t long before they were joined by rats, wolves, vultures, and maniac serial killers. Lions, and tigers and bears oh my. A sudden beam of light scared everything away. The beam was headed my way bouncing around the ground near my feet. I could tell it was coming from a flashlight. I rubbed my eyes and all I could see in the darkness was a figure in uniform. The way things have been going it had to be a cop shining the flashlight at my crumpled up self. Just fucking great I thought, the poe leece!
To my complete shock it was a sweet southern female voice that traveled into my auditory canal. “Are you allright there sir?” She called me sir which was a good sign. I hoped I remembered how to be charming, “Oh yes maam, yes I’m all right. I have an early morning meeting with a moneygram here at Western Union and I wanted to be sure I didn‘t miss it. You know, just in case I find a nice South Carolina Southern Belle to take to dinner tonight.” Truth told I have no clue what came over me. I can only assume I was either over horny or over compensating because a female cop both frightened and enticed me at the same time. “Hmmm, a nice southern belle huh? Y’all ain’t from round here, I kin tell that, whar y’all hail from?” Moment of truth. Say New York and its either real good or real bad. I got a quick look at her through the moonlight while also slightly challenged by her flashlight beam. Hard to judge her body all bulked up with cop stuff but there was what appeared to be bundled up curls of blond hair sticking from under her cap. I swore to myself she was beautiful. But again, my view was somewhat challenged and looks meant shit right now. Charm was what I needed to keep me out of trouble. There was a slightly playful tone to her beautiful southern drawl so I went with my northern charm instinct. “New York born and bred maam.” She gave me a smile that near melted my heart, “New York huh? What brings you round here at our beach? You know we gots the moes beautiful beach inna country.” I was enjoying this, I haven’t had contact with anyone outside of prison in over a month, “Well it sure is a pretty beach and I must admit your city is full of pretty women.” A quick flirt glance, “I’m an out of work chef looking for a job.” What in the hell possessed me to do or say that? “Well we could sure use us some good chefs here in Myrtle Beach. Wyoncha consider stayin round here awhile?” I was unsure what was happening to me but I was no longer in control of my vocal chords, “You know I might just do that. My name is Justin, er, JT actually, and the truth is I was left stranded here in South Carolina. I don’t know anyone here but I’m looking for a friend.” Time to place the flirt-inator in her direction. “Well Hon I’d shur like tah be ya first friend here, my name’s Josie Rae.” She stuck out her hand to shake so I got a closer look at her. Sure enough long blond hair tucked up into a police cap, and like I said a uniform that hides curves but man was she pretty. I held her hand a bit too long, “Are ya scared of me?” Like an idiot I kept our hands moving up and down in some sort of hand trance, “No maam, I’m not miss Josie Rae.” She smiled, “Then why you still shakin’ Hon?” That did it! I was hooked. Pretty, funny, sarcastic, what else could I possibly hope for? I let go of her hand, “Oh I’m sorry, I’m just not used to such a gorgeous police officer interrogating me. Perhaps you would like to interrogate me over dinner?” Those damn vocal chords are out of control. She took out a small pad and began writing, “I’m not sure about dinner Hon but I tell ya what. My shift ends at nine and I might be tempted into some breakfast at the Waffle King up the road on 17 roundabout 930. Here’s my number. If I don’t see y’all there y’all best be on yer way back to New York cause I’m likely to come hunt ya down an run y’all out of town mahseff.” She tossed me an impish smile, “Now y’all keep yerseff outta trouble there Mr. JT, don’t wanna hafta come back an lock you up. Lest wise not in jail.” She walked away. I was so excited I couldn‘t think straight .
TBC

Jesus Christ Superstar Do You Think You’re Who They Say You Are?

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Excerpt from JT Hilltops Galactic Gardening

News. North East West South. Good news, bad news, happy news, sad news. There’s tragic news, welcome news, not so welcome news, news, news, news, all kinds of news. Some news has little or no consequence on your life and some comes hurling at you accompanied by a shit ton of bricks. News can make you laugh or cry, chuckle or sigh, it can have little effect or it can have a dramatic effect. But its gonna come. News is coming toward you and there ain’t nothing you can do to stop it. Mary Anne’s news was one of those shit tons that came on a speeding train out of control heading straight down the track with no one at the wheel. Like it or not, good or bad, news is a coming and Cosmo better be ready because once this news hits Cosmo’s fan there will be a whirlwind of change and its got a shit ton of bricks with it. The real difference between good or bad is perspective. “Cosmo my favorite god, I have some news for you. Remember that time we had our romp in the clouds in The District? You filled me up with joy, pleasure, intense feeling and….and a shit ton of highly active sperm. You have a baby boy and his names Jesus.” A baby? That’s news all right! It’s the kind of life altering news that for some is incredible and joyous, to many others it’s indifferent, but for a vast number who get this news for the first time its frightening. It’s the kind of news that will have you running down the street screaming halleluiah I’m gonna be a parent or slam you headfirst into unprepared parenthood. “You have a son” is the very definition of life altering news. “You have a son, his name is Jesus.” Cosmo repeated the name Jesus over to himself more than a dozen times and he was still not sure how to take the news.
But lets put some perspective on this news. Not your ordinary couple, Mary Anne is not headed for cable TV show about a pregnant teen, but she may swing a new show about bring up a half god. Cosmo is the God of The Milky Way Galaxy and Mary Anne’s profession is ….lets call it questionable. However we must keep in mind that Cosmo has always been a stand up god as well as quite resourceful. If anyone can put a positive gravitational spin on this news Cosmo could. So this news of baby Jesus would not be taken lightly. First things first let it be known that the moment it sunk in Cosmo knew his responsibility to both Mary Anne and baby Jesus. As much as he loved his bachelorhood the thought of a solid lifestyle held a degree of appeal to Cosmo. On the other hand Cosmo was quite the lover and never had a problem finding a partner. Yet many a night was spent lonely watching his garden and Mary Anne would certainly be of interesting company and a god has no qualms about past practices of their mates. Besides she is quite skilled at put a huge smile on the virile gods face. The bottom line is he had a baby on the way and a responsibility to both the baby and the non god he had fallen in love with. Wait! What? Fallen in love? Certainly not fallen, perhaps he had stumbled in a profound like with her but love? Come to think of it he did create the fertile crescent while thinking of her beautiful hair (If indeed it was as he claims her head was the body part he was thinking about). Maybe this news can be used for a positive effect on the three of them and the garden as well. A plan was inseminated and the egg is ready to be hatched. Cosmo knew exactly what to do with the news.
Of course the news is also going to be heard at a board meeting in District 7. The board is like the gravitational center of universal gossip. Whether it’s entertainment, breaking news or even just hearsay, all news that’s fit to print or printed to fit will find its way to District 7 in a radio-active flash. The best thing for Cosmo to do is to have his plan of action fully worked out before they summon him. Some mixed marriages have worked, a god and a non god can live a happy life but many a failure has been scandalized across the universes. With this plan however Cosmo was taking fatherhood to an unprecedented level . He had already sold it on his non god lover who had found herself in a awkward position of being the mother of a gods child. Ironically it was from twisting herself into an awkward position one pleasure soaked night that lead to her situation in the first place. For her part it was difficult to argue with a god to begin with but Mary Anne trusted Cosmo implicitly and his plan made sense. Truth be told she did have some reservations at first but after thinking the story through a few times it began to make more sense. Her son would be a savior, a Christ. Her son would be the messiah of Garden Earth. She repeated it to herself, “My son, Jesus Christ, Superstar.”

Don’t Write What You Know, Write What You Feel

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In an interview with Esther Davidowitz, the food editor of the Bergen Record recently I mentioned that I approached my culinary creations as way to express my writing passion. She asked me to explain but I had never really thought about it I just always did so I gave it some consideration. I had a passion for writing since I can remember and I developed a passion for food because of that passion. Creative energy flowed through me into the dishes I created much like it did from my pen when I was young. When I was a young lad I carried a spiral notepad around with me and wrote whenever I felt I needed to express something. Truth is I have had no formal writing education. Yea I know, hard to believe until you actually read what I write and then it becomes painfully obvious. But then again it worked to my advantage because I had no structured rules to follow I just write how I feel. I don’t write to be right I write to be me. I write to release burning creative energy that constantly bounces around inside my brain looking for an escape hatch. So how does that relate to the career path of chefdom I roamed through? Well let me write you about it.

From the very second I came out of the womb I wanted to be different. When the doctor smacked my ass I didn’t cry, I laughed. Okay maybe a bit of a stretch, I don’t actually remember my coming out party but I was there. The real point is from a very young age I enjoyed disregarding the rules and practicing the art of uniqueness. I didn’t just color outside the lines, I made up my own lines. I added things that didn’t belong and used unrealistic colors, like green suns or purple trees. I wanted to color my own way. For me, that was art. When I went to school and entered my first art class it was painfully clear my talents where limited to making Ducco cement balls and really interesting stick figures. A future back windshield artist for young families aside, I had no apparent talent in art class at all. I couldn’t draw the most basic of structures. In fact I failed penmanship up until the third grade. Still I had an urge to create so I stuck to writing, illegible though it was. I started out writing silly poems. My idol at the time was Hallmark, because the poems in his cards were spectacular.

When I got to junior high school I took typing for three reasons. First the penmanship issue, second I knew it would help me in my writing, and third and most important it was full of girls. I failed typing because I focused too much on the third advantage but I had a fantastic year and the long term what little I did retain from typing class would help in the years to come. I was still writing, the poems took on a bit more maturity, politics began to form, and I started testing the waters of short story writing. In high school I had an assignment of writing a short story so I had an advantage. I actually wanted to do the assignment. I went with the tale of a couple of youths with liquid LSD robbing a cop car and losing the LSD when they crashed the car into a reservoir. The reservoir it turned out fed the towns water supply and all the families began tripping. It really wasn’t very good or well written and I feared the content would land me a visit with the principal and perhaps even a shrink, but I wrote what I felt. Instead of lecturing me about drugs and off color topics my teacher found it extremely creative and convinced me to take her creative writing elective course. I did, and I failed. Unfortunately the class was right after lunch during the ritualistic handball court marijuana smoke break and I missed too much of the class, either coming in late or missing it all together. Not really my fault, the weed in my town was always very high quality and hard to resist.

I talked a lot in school about going to college for journalism to learn how to write but as is often the case in dreams life got in the way and I changed course. I had been working in kitchens to make money to buy the great weed I mentioned when a thought occurred to me. I finally realized it would behoove me in my life to have a career so I went to culinary school and embarked on a gastronomic journey to find my culinary Zen. It was really the only thing I was good at but as it turned out I was really really good at it. I was working my way up to become a chef when I met an established chef who would become my mentor. Chef Patrick was a cutting edge French chef who was poised at the helm of the kitchen during the New York City culinary renaissance period. Food was beginning to change and long standing cornerstones of culinary traditions were being stretched and tested. No longer were parsley and watercress the only garnishes, imagination ruled the day. Red wine with fish and foods such as grilled grapes and goat cheese salad replaced the tried and true recipes that had worked well for over a century. Sorry Mr. Escoffier, but its time to move over and let the youth of culinary communities take over and deconstruct the classics. Cultures of foods were clashing and mashing and a slew of new creations appeared in top restaurants around the world. It was the ideal time for me, chefs were now coloring outside the lines, adding things, and painting purple trees and green suns in their dishes. Patrick taught me how to take my passion to write and inject that creative flow into my cooking.

I approached cooking the same way I approach writing. I see ingredients, colors textures smells and tastes and rearrange them to create biodegradable art that tantalizes all five of the senses. I know different ways to alter them and I pair them with other ingredients by my feeling not by a cookbook. I just imagine how different things would work together and instinctively know the right ratio or combo. Much like the writing. I see words, I know how to use them and what they mean, but its up to me to choose the ones I want and arrange them how I like to get across the feeling I want to share. Maybe it’s a concept to convey, maybe it’s a moral I want to impart, or maybe I just hope to elicit an emotion from anyone who reads it or tastes it. I don’t write what I know, I write what I feel. The truth is as much as I would enjoy reaching a wide audience I’m happy and grateful for the few people who take the time out to share the energy along with me. As a chef cooking was my Zen, but now as I no longer compete with young chefs but have my own little food niche, I have more time to focus on my first passion, my true Zen, writing.PEACE

Whats A Nice Guy Like You Doing In A Jail Like This? pt1

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rewrite

Welcome to South Carolina, take your handcuffs off and stay awhile, hear?

A rewrite to JT Hilltops great American novel “Zen and The Art of Culinary Maintenance”

Here I was on the first day as I moved into my new digs, a guest suite in the local detention center of Aiken County South Carolina. I remembered having detention in high school. Often! It’s a form of scholastic punishment for any of a variety of mischievous and normally mundane infractions. Detention in my high school was even nicknamed “Brig” to accentuate the feeling of being locked away. This however, was quite a different form of detention. Instead of sitting in a room with the other shenanigan producing student inmates forced to pretend we were working on homework after school I was given my very own guest suite. It wasn’t an especially large room in fact I’ve seen studio apartments ten time the size and this particular living arrangement came fully furnished yet totally unadorned. I suppose you could say it was decorated in minimalist style, complete with four bare walls, a stainless steel toilet and sink, a pamphlet thin mattress on a wooden platform with a polyester sheet and Government issue wool blanket, and…..well actually, that was it. That was the extent of the furnishings, all the comforts of home for a down and out hermit. Whatever the case it was to be my new living arrangements for the next thirty days. So here I am, this young suave New Yorker, locked up somewhere in the deep south where I feared I may never be heard from again. The pace in this city, I think I heard it called Grandmaville, or Grannyville or some shit was anything but urgent. Great, I thought to myself, here I am in Petticoat fucking Junction. There’s Uncle Joe he’s a movin’ kinda slow!” Somewhere between Mayberry and Hootersville. “Jesus shit,” I thought, “Not a familiar face anywhere and not a single person left to turn to.” Thirty days in this hell hole with no beer, no weed, not even a fucking TV to help pass the time. Just me, myself and….and a band of hillbilly cops. Actually, I wasn’t completely alone, it was kind of a low life criminal condo.
Along with yours truly, and against their wills as well, were five “block” mates each with their very own sardine can housing unit and each sizing up this long haired city boy. I could tell they were wondering what skyscraper it was that I crawled out from under. I was relatively certain I detected a mix of urban admiration and good ole boy Yankee hatred, but I may have been setting their intelligence bar higher than I should have. Having been in the wrong bar at the wrong time on occasion I instinctively I understood the importance of establishing the “upper hand”. I had heard some of the other detainees, let’s call them “Inn” mates, refer to the guards as“turn-key”. So it was time to establish my dominance with my jailors while developing my “street credentials” with my new roomies. I determined that a perfect place to start was right this very moment by showing these local yokel criminals how we do it up north in the big city. So in my toughest NYC voice I let out an authoritative directive. “Ay Oh, Turn-key. Yea you in the uniform over thar, I need to make my phone call.” I had attempted to inject just the perfect modicum of disdain and rebellion as was necessary to achieve my goal of upmanship. An awkward silence befell the cellblock and I‘m not 100% sure but I believe I felt a slight wind from the eyes of my roomies opening wide in astonished disbelief. I was half expecting Barney Fife to come take me to a phone but instead a burly mean looking police officer began to stare at me with such a deadpan sarcastic glare I almost felt jealous. I’m from New York, where sarcasm is taught in kindergarten and is a second language. This dude had such killer swagger in his walk he read me a cynical short story without even uttering a single word. I began to wonder if I was taking the proper approach or if I should rethink my technique. It was then that this komodo dragon in uniform began to saunter quickly in my direction with a slow and deliberate pace that screamed “What we have here is a failure to communicate.” The oily haired officer got his face as close to mine as humanly possible and just stared at me a moment. I could feel his smoky foul breath dancing across my cheeks and I felt the lashes of his eyes as they blinked. Little hard eye hairs that could successfully cleaned under his fingernails if he had the gumption to appear clean. I had a sudden and humbling movie memory penetrate my tough NYC exterior and turn me into shimmering mass of spineless amoeba. “Suey, let me hear you scream suey!” Before my ‘Deliverance’ became a reality I attempted to coax myself back from my baseless paranoia and re-establish control. Oh Hell, stop thinking like that and get your shit together tough guy. You faced bigger opponents in Spanish Harlem just three days ago. You’ve spent countless hours in a Pagan Motorcycles Club bar. You have faced off with New York City detectives. Not very successful with the detectives, but stood up none the less. Well maybe stood up was not the right term, more like whimpered through a face full of mace as I dropped to my knee’s, but I did get a kiss my ass pig in which my friends found impressive a few days later from the safety of our hometown bar. I gave my head a hair clearing shake, swallowed hard and began to feel like I was back in charge again. Apparently, none of this impressed Sergeant Komodo Dragon. He began to speak, and I swore the voice was the same voice I recalled from that scene in Deliverance. “Say what boy?…. Did I hear you say turn-key you long haired New Yoke piece o’ shit? Are y‘all gonna tell me y‘all came alla way from da big apple jess at git an ass kicking here in Aikon County?” I couldn’t help but detect a certain note of arrogance and alarming disdain in his voice. But alas it was too late the drama had begun. I sensed that any second now the proverbial pig shit was headed directly in the vortex of the rotary oscillator. And the fan was humming a darkly ominous Dixie tune! The two of us stared each other down for a minute and the silence raised to a tense ear shattering level that damn near burnt my ears. Then as if right on cue a big shit eating “who the fuck does you think your dealing with” sardonic grin broke out on his upper lip, quickly spread across his jaw until cynicism took over his entire face. He gave my solar plexus a formal introduction to his police baton with a shit kicker smile of an exclamation point. Now I am staring directly into this shit eating evil Cheshire Cat’s angry eyes and what’s most obvious is that it’s giving off some very serious vibe implications. I had to think quick to get out of this predicament, to ease the tensions and repair the relationship with my captor while not losing face with my new room mates. Something big and potentially life altering was about to go down. But let me back up a bit and explain how I even came to be here in the first place.

Take The Long Road Home (by J.T. Hilltop) pt2

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road

Where There’s Hope…

When I thanked the sheriff for the ride it occurred to me he may have had an ulterior motive. He wasn’t saving me in the name of Jesus, he was getting me the hell out of his Dodge. I was a hindrance, a public relation nightmare. If some of his people were to engage me in a game of full contact Red Rover and leave this New Yorker dead on the side of a road in his jurisdiction the repercussions to tourism would be staggering. The mother fucker left me off in the middle of nowhere, full on darkness and a stretch of road so straight and lonely it begs tires to rotate as fast as they can in an audition for NASCAR status. The side of road across from me was dotted with a few little shacks, a general store, and a pub advertising a pool table. My side of the road was a fucking swampland. Nothing but marshy woods mainly due, I would soon find out , to the fact that you can’t build a decent structure in mud. The only thing that could survive this side of the highway was Swamp Thing or some genetic mutation thereof. But there was life somewhere because I could hear a deafening din of some kind of amphibian-like croaking. A group of frogs are called an army and this sounded like The Amphibian Marine Corps out on massive combat maneuvers. They shocked and awed me! I had never heard so much ear shattering croaking in my life and the voices in my head were nice enough to remind me of the intimidating alligator congregation so the level of fear intensity was through the roof. I was imagining killer frogs and mutated swamp things waiting for me to take one step too many. Nothing to do but start walking and hitchhiking with my back turned to whatever went whizzing by in the hopes that another pearl white Chevy truck would come my way and not a gaggle of goose stepping backwoods hicks looking for some boot practice. Well it was neither, after the first ten vehicles raced past without as much of an acknowledgment a foghorn drowned out the incessant croaking. An eighteen wheeler was barreling towards me not signally a ride but letting me know in no uncertain terms would it slow down or move over for me. A tense decision, either close my eyes and hope I’m not road kill or take a few steps into frogland. The thought of some Appalachian chef dicing me into human roadside stew swayed me and removed my fear as I stepped into the marshy terrain. With my eyes closed as tight as I could I felt the cold muddy substance on my feet and the most amazing thing happened. The fucking frogs clamed up! I mean like every last one of them.
It was downright spooky, the silence would have been laughable if I had even a scintilla of laugh hormone left in my body. The truck blew past me so fast it kicked up a wind that forced me to dig into the mud to maintain my balance. A header into Hellswamp would have been the end of my existence for sure. Feeling ever so slightly angered tempered with being scared shitless I decided to listen to the voices this time. To hell with it all! I stuck my middle finger up as high as was humanly possible while he blew past down the road and shouted out a resounding FUCK YOU! Even the army of frogs were taken aback and remained silent allowing only a smattering of croaks, mostly from deeper in the marsh where I promised never to find myself. It felt surprisingly good until my reality check bounced. I’m alone on Swamp Boulevard in the town of “Deliverance”, there’s a tavern back about a half mile that’s probably filled with inbred cousins of the gorillas shit kickers from Camden and their drunk ass selves would be piling out of that bar stinking drunk in a few very short hours looking for something, or someone, to do. Being a New Yorker would definitely not work in my favor under those circumstances. My pace tripled as I power walked down the road just hoping to find a somewhat safe area.
A new game for me, step off or become road kill. It took me a good two hours to get past this stretch of hopeless landfill and find at least a bit of road with some shoulder to it. Every time any vehicle came by I just stepped into the marsh and with my back turned with my thumb out to begging for salvation. Nary a ride. But I was past the worst, at least where I ended up had a hint of human civilization to it. Feeling completely exhausted, hungry and dehydrated, and having come down with a chronic case of hopelessness I spotted a tiny abandoned gas station surrounded by wood. I had little to no strength and the station offered at least a modicum of cover so I went around back to find the door open. I always try to see the bright side of things but this was really challenging. Well I can add hobo to my resume? Didn’t cut it, but there was a tiny sparkle of bright. The garage was empty, smelled a tad rancid but not overwhelming, and none of the local anarchistic militia truck drivers will find me. As unsettling as the garage was it was still a haven. I settled in, laid down and began to contemplate where the fuck I went wrong in life and how I ended up tired and starving in some tiny backwoods southern town where not one soul knows I’m even alive. Hopelessness came out in tears of self pity so I gently cried myself to sleep.
“Cold ground was my bed last night, rock was my pillow too.” A line from the Bob Marley tune “Talking Blues” that had become my reality. Not sure how long the burning sun had been shining the full force of its ultraviolet rays on my face acting on behalf of the alarm clock association but it was long enough to impart the slightest hint of reddening discomfort. I woke up with an aching body wishing I was home in bed, feeling dejected, tired, and hungrier than I ever remember. I found a water faucet in the back of the old store and gave myself a hobo shower giving some extra splash to my face to compensate for my lack of caffeine. I chanted a positive mantra to myself in the hopes it would renew my luck and perhaps withdraw a touch of good karmic returns from my good deed bank. I needed something.
I set back out on highway 22 convincing myself that the sleep and light of day would bring me fortune. The third car past me was a small Volkswagon Karmann Ghia with a young long hair college boy with a full beard and the idealistic life outlook that had been missing since I began this ordeal. He drove me all the way into Myrtle Beach chewing my ear off about politics and the southern “head up the ass” mentality that prevailed with most of the young robotic clones in South Carolina. It was like Karma jackpot, someone I could talk to and who understood, perhaps even viewed me as a sort of Kerouac’s Dean Moriarity type character. He claimed not to have much money on him but when he dropped me off on the outskirts of town he bought me a soda, or pop actually, and a buttered roll. Then he gave me the half a pack of cigarettes he had. “Well its sure been a pleasure chattin with Y’all JT, in I hope Y’all fine what it is yer searching for. I’m meeting my Mom and Pops up in Columbia so this is the end of our road. This here’s Myrtle Beach, that a way down there is Conway, a lot cheaper place than the beach and up that away is North Myrtle Beach which is touristy but more for camp like tourists. Make sure y’all check out the boardwalk and be careful.” I didn’t want to leave, almost suggested I go to North Carolina with him but this was my new path, I was going to find out what Myrtle beach South Carolina is all about.
What is it all about? Unfortunately Jonas the preaching sandwhich maker was right, it’s all about money. You can get whatever you want if you have enough money but if your looking for a helping hand its not here. Everywhere I went people tried to hustle me until they discovered my finances, then they would dismiss me with contempt. I was getting more and more hungry by the minute and was walking in circles. I could feel the dust had formed a film of dirt on my face. I was a mess, again busted disgusted and can’t be trusted. My stomach had gone from growling to downright snarling and I couldn’t barely walk any further. Weak from hunger and almost completely dehydrated I took a chance on a KFC.
My feet were filthy, my flip flops had flopped, and I was too exhausted to even formulate my puppy dog eyes but I knew I had to give it a shot, I desperately needed some water. I entered the Kentucky Fried Chicken getting in line behind one other person. When I got up to the counter a young African American boy looked at me curiously saying, “how can I help you sir?” I gave him the readers digest condensed version of my plight pleading, “Please, all I want is some water, this is my first time in Myrtle Beach, I’m trying to get back home to new York and I can’t even get a drink of water anywhere.” The young man gave me a look that said okay but he said, “one minute sir.” and started putting together an order for the drive through window. I was thinking he was dismissing me and was about to leave when he returned, looked me straight in the face and placed a box of fried chicken, mashed potatoes, a biscuit, and a large soda in front of me. “Thank you very much sir, have a nice day’” and then he winked at me. I could see behind his eyes, it was a genuine caring for another human being and he was likely going to end up paying for the meal himself. I grabbed the box and with tears of gratitude in my eyes and thanked him.
As thankful as I was gratitude had to be put on hold for a second, because at the moment I was a wild animal who had finally found his quarry. I found a patch of grass in the back of the building and crouched down with my kill, glaring back and forth from side to side ensuring no other hungry varmit was going to make a play for my fried chicken and bisquit. I ate like a starved vulture nearly choking on the bones as I was not going to let anything palatable remain in the box. If the napkins were edible I would have chewed them. When I had finished my meal, the absolute best meal I’ve had in well over a month, I sat like a sated lion, overseeing my parking lot pride as I leisurely finished my large pop. Time to formulate a plan now, where to go and what to do next but this time with a full stomach. I glanced through the window and saw the young man who had so selflessly given a total stranger, one who looked like a psychotic serial killer than a desperate human a meal. No, not just a meal, that young man gave me far more than mere food. He had given me a renewed sense of good, of the best that humanity can be, a renewed sense that there are things in this srtinking world that can rise above the stench of inhumanity and not only cover it up, but totally obliterate it, if only for a while. I promised I would never forget that young man, his face will forever etched in my memory, and every time I do any good deed, I will remember him and his incredible gift to me. The gift of hope! But for right now I’ll just have to settle for finding a friend ans getting back home.
TBC

Take The Long Road Home (by J.T. Hilltop) pt1

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hitch

I haven’t written any excerpts from JT’s great American novel about growing up in the 60’s in a little town of Centerlawn in awhile so the journey continues as he gets out of jail in the deep south.

Long And Winding

Thirty three days in jail may not seem like much but it certainly frees up your time to reflect on a good many things. What I had to reflect on in my final day at The Aikon County South Carolina Correctional Facility was the fact that Max and his junkie girlfriend left me down and out in bum fuck South Carolina with nothing but the clothes on my back and…..well tactually that’s all I had. I was busted, disguted, and couldn’t be trusted. No money, no extra clothes, food, not even any cigarettes as I left the half pack for my cell mates to fight over. I was dejected and alone, nowhere near home, and it seemed like I had not a friend in the world. But then a thought hit me, “JT my boy, what about Rhonda? Yea, that’s what I need, ‘You gotta Help me Rhonda, help help me Rhonda.’ Rhonda Harris. Rhonda was a friend from high school whose family moved to Myrtle Beach at the end of the eleventh grade. We weren’t what you would call close friends but close enough that she’ll remember me and right now I needed somebody, anybody to talk to. I mean we talked a few times probably even flirted some but the plain cold truth is other than Rhonda Harris the closest friend I could think of was some six or seven hundred miles away back on Long Island. Forget family, no one I could or would talk to about my failure here. besides Myrtle Beach was a mere one hundred and fifty miles from this boondock town of, of wherever the Hell I am. After a quick calculation and a group meeting it was decided that me and the new voices in my deranged head that had adopted me during the correction phase of my stay would hitchhike to Myrtle Beach and look Rhonda up in the phone book.
So we pointed ourselves in the direction of Myrtle Beach, stretched out the faithful old hitchhiking thumb for some digital exercise, and began walking down the highway feeling happy, free, and positive that a car would come along any second. Well maybe any minute. Any hour? In fact it was almost two hours before even one car came by going my way and it zoomed past like I wasn’t even there. I checked my thumb to make sure that it was still working properly and satisfied my hitchhiking digit was in order my thumb, the voices, and I plodded forward. Four cars, one bus, and a dump truck later my first potential ride pulled over. A nice pearl white Chevy pick up had stopped and the driver rolled down his window. “Where y’all headed man?” Comforting. The front cab was full with four hippie looking young southern dudes. He motioned towards the back as I called out, “looking for Myrtle Beach man, thanks for the lift. How far am I from the beach anyway?” Driver dude smiled, “We’re heading up to Raleigh but we can get you about halfway up to Camden man. Then Y’all only have roundabout another fifty miles east. Ain’t no more room up here Bro, jump in the back. We’ll let ya know when we get there, maybe an hour or so.” Feeling grateful and happy to have a place to sit awhile I jumped in the back with a big ass smile on my face. The voices were happy too.
After the third or fourth huge bump my huge ass smile fell out of the back of the truck and I wondered if I would ever see it again. My new metal palace was in constant motion as if I were a crash test dummy taking the shock absorbers out for stress diagnosis. I bounced up and down, rolled left and right, and every so often the side of my new surroundings gave me a body check into the wheel well. But fuck it man, I was free, I was on my way to finding a long lost friend, and I was grateful. Hungry as all hell, but grateful to be getting as far away from Aikon County South Carolina as possible. When my savior in the pearl white Chevy pulled over at a gas station an hour later to refuel he came up to me. “here ya go man, this here’s Camden.” I was almost disappointed. He continued, “If’n y’all take 22 East ya run straight on inta Myrtle Beach. Ain’t no more’n hour an a half away. We be headin’ on up north here. Good luck.” I thanked him profusely as I took stock of the many new bruises I had acquired during the ride. Ith a hint of sadness and some serious hunger pangs I watched them take off. Now if only I could find something to eat. I had come to a sort of small bridge, both literal and metaphoric. I equated it to Dorothy stepping out of the black and white house into a world of wonder and colors. Yea, the way I figured it I was heading to Munchkin land, Utopia or Eden, but halfway across I looked into the slow moving rivulet and a stinging wake up call shook my very foundation, and when I answered it said, “No yellow brick roads here in River Styx, just a crickfull of danger. ” Sloshing around in the water beneath the bridge was a congregation of razor toothed alligators. Apparently congregation is what you call a group of alligators and this congregation was holding high mass, or maybe even celebrating baptisms. I was impressed with the smoothness grace and speed with which these parishioners swam and regardless of the fact that I was up here and they were down below a wave of paranoia swept over me. I ran across the metaphoric bridge as if they were chasing me to the other side. I made it over without incident but slightly disillusioned. Nothing changed, but at least there were no wicked witches or alligators with ticking clocks in their bellies. The other side of the bridge was nothing more than the other side of a bridge. To make things even worse, the running only made me more hungry.
I had often heard the phrase “There’s no such thing as a free lunch”, but to tell you the truth when you have dirty clothes, long stringy wind whipped hair, and a Yankee accent down south there isn’t a free anything except for advice! Most of the advice consist of things like Y’all should jess git yer Yankee ass back to new yawlk, woncha git that thar girly hair cut like a man, or take a bath hippie, y’all stink like a got damn angry polecat in heat. I was definitely not feeling the love of that southern hospitality I heard so much about, and frankly I would have preferred a bottle of Southern Comfort right about then. I was walking down highway 22 when I spotted an oasis in this backwoods hell, a small Salvation Army building. I walked inside and poured my heart out relaying my story of misuse, abuse bad luck, abandonment, incarceration, dehydration, damnation, degradation and to top it off getting scoffed at asking for a morsel of nourishment. The young man, Jonas, listened intently, offered me some apple juice and a peanut butter sandwich, told me I could take a shower and then we could talk some more. I accepted happily and even though I put a clean body back into those dirty rags I felt like a new man. Feeling fully refreshed and ready to talk more about my trials and tribulations I joined the young man in a sort of guest room.
The talk he referred to was not about me but about a much higher power, the lord. I was the beneficiary of a two hour lecture on God, Jesus, sins, repentance, and scriptures. It was all I could do to keep my eyes open but I remained grateful and awake. At least I wasn’t in jail anymore! When Jonas, finished his sermon he asked me why I was going to Myrtle Beach. Not wanting to get involved in anymore lectures I opted to explain how I had heard so much about what a wonderful city it was and wanted to experience it. Apparently Myrtle Beach was either the Sodom or Gomorrah of the south because I earned myself another thirty minutes of lecture which ended in advice to cut my hair and go back to New York because Myrtle Beach is about nothing but money and sin. I refrained from saying “My kind of town” and instead thanked him and meandered back out onto highway 22.
When I was a kid I loved playing neighborhood games, especially tag. Hitchhiker tag however isn’t quite as much fun and a lot more one sided. With the sun going down and dusk setting in another pick up truck pulled over, but this one was an old beat up rusted out model with three boys in the cab. Being a fast learner I ran up and started to climb in the back but instead of asking me where I was going the dude rolled down his window and snarled, “What the Hell you think you doin’ boy?” He then proceeded to pull the truck up about ten feet as I fell to the ground. I stood up noticing the rifle rack in the back of the cab and the Deliverance image made a brief reappearance inside my head. The loud guffaws of condescending laughter riled me a bit. After a second time the voices said to me, “ Fuck them, lets kick their asses, we can take them” Fortunately I paid the voices no heed this time as the funny truck driving asshole yelled back at me, “Hawhawhaw, I’m sorry man, we was jess kiddin’, c’mon git on in the truck.” I weighed my options, didn’t want to piss them off and certainly didn’t wanted want to get fooled again so I moved forward with some trepidation. Slowly I moved towards the truck and that’s when the game of tag ensued. After four more antagonizing times I just said “Nevermind man, I don’t need no fucking ride.” He slammed on the brakes and both doors swung open. I gulped and thought, “Fuck me! No wait, I don’t mean like literally I meant please don’t fuck me, please!!” The three amigos walked towards me and I felt like this was gonna be even worse than the beatings I got from my favorite jailhouse guards, Billy Boy and Jimbo.
“Whatchoo mean Y’all done want no ride, we aint good enough foe yo dirty stinkin hippie shit ass? Maybe you needs to learn a little manners ya pig fucking longhair.” I tensed up to brace myself for another order of southern fried ass kicking when an authoritative voice broke through, “Now come on boys, Y’all know better’n at stomp this young lad fer no reason.” I opened my eyes and walking behind my three wannabe ninja’s was a huge figure of a man with an impressive trooper looking hat. The boys looked disappointed as they had been forced to reseal their cans of whip ass. Having feared the cops for most of my immature adult life I wasn’t sure if I was being saved or enslaved. I had visions of being taken to the basement of a police station naked and hogtied with a red ball strapped inside my mouth while some huge half witted yokel prepared to jam his self amused hard on up my digestive aperture……. Sorry, I’ll give you a sec to get the image out of your mind.
After a few minutes of the boys apologizing to the sheriff and swearing they “Was jess gonna have them a little fun, wasn’t akchully gonna hurt im” the would be assassins got back in the truck and the sheriff came over to get a closer look at me. I braced again, this time for handcuffing or Billy club enlightenment but the sheriff must have been a follower of Jonas from the Salvation Army because he spoke with the same God preaching condescending tone. “Praise the Lord I got here in time here boy. Now son y’all really need to watch out for yourself in these parts, where you from?” I took to telling him most of my story, leaving out the jail part but telling him I was abandoned in the night by my one time friends and was just trying to get back home to NY. He listened politely and then began practicing empathetic lecturing on me and leveled some tried and true southern advice on me, to cut my hair, take a bath, and go back home. He offered to take me to the town limits on 22 where he was sure I would get a ride. I told him I was much obliged and I actually praised the lord out loud for his coming around when he did. Like I said, I’m a fast learner.
TBC

Taking Chances

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take chances

This could be dangerous lets think it through
Young minds considering the wrong side of the law
None of us sat back but dove straight in head first
Without a thought if any consequence lay in store

Way back in the days when we took chances
We let not a soul tell us how we should act
Pissed in the wind without using protection
Mindful supervision was something we lacked

Back when we were young
Left no single bell unrung
No song unsung
No fence could keep us away
All we did all day was play
Doing it our way
Took on every single dare
Lived a life without care
So full of flair
Lives were full of fast romances
Writhing in horizontal dances
Just taking chances

Back in the day without a worry to be had
On life we kept the toughest stronghold
Indestructible bodies we were never defeated
Taking chances was just the way we rolled

Then our own children broke all of our rules
Responsibility suddenly became our new goal
Protecting our own kids from making our mistakes
Trying to teach them the safest way to roll

Back when were old
Talked of how we rolled
We broke the mold
Taught our children rules
They laughed at us old fools
Stubborn mules
Taught them what to see
Be the best they can be
Be better than me
Tried teaching them from the start
Taking dares won’t set you apart
Taking chances is not so smart

Time is a boulder rolling downhill
Gathering moss like no rolling stone
Of all the things we wish most now
We hope we never have to go it alone

I coulda been a contender
A lifetime full of splendor
But I surrendered
Never made a name
Never found my fame
So who’s to blame?
Take a closer look
At the chances we took