Improvisational Oblivion

The Queen Of Purple And The Broken Finger

2009-09-25T10:25:00.003-04:00

"Why don't you come back to my place?"

"I like it here. Stay here with me awhile."

"It's too bright in here. Everything is white."

"I know. The sun is shining. The wind is blowing through the whole place."

"Come back to my place. Don't you want to fuck me?"

"Can't we fuck here?"

"No. We can't. Bye I'm leaving."

"Bye."

She pops her head back into the doorway one more time smiling and then disappears down the walkway between our apartments. I lay back on the white bed cover, and look up at the white ceiling. Suddenly the room seems so bright. My thoughts swirl in questions and commentary. "I will be a vampire soon for sure.Where does she get all that weed? I'ts black in there. No, it's cozy. One day I will never come out. One day she would lick the skin off my body for sure."

She is probably in the shower now. Overly soaped. Shaving her body smooth. Her lips catching the water. She's not a vampire. She's a vegetarian who lives in the dark. Stepping from the shower she will wrap herself still wet in a purple silk kimono. Two black cats purring around her feet. This the daily ritual. She sits upon her purple bed. The drapes also purple. She is the goddess of darkness.

A four foot bong. A two foot bong. A one foot bong. A wide bottom bong. A double bong. A cigarette one hitter. A little wooden pipe with the secret compartment. Little works of colored glass. A pack of rizlas. A pack of zig zags. Her preference is the bong hit. She has a bag of swag. A couple of film canisters with the purple haired, the orange haired, and some minty green all approximately half full. She will be choosing the purple. She cleans it with a snap and falls back on the bed, and she should be knocking again any second now.

Maybe she will have a quesadilla first. What kind of vegetarian doesn't eat vegetables? Cheese is not a vegetable. The only vegetables she eats are avocados and - and - that's it. Tomatoes in salsa, but not fresh tomatoes so they don't count. Chips and salsa. Soy milk. Cheese and tortillas. Why soy milk if you eat cheese? Felafel's with sour cream. No fruit. She hates fruit. Vegetarian my ass. This diet will kill me. I think of her body: curvy and warm. She always smells of fresh morning earth. Suddenly I miss her. I sit up.

My room now seems so sterile. So plastic with vertical blinds, and everything is so damn white. My surfboards look lonely in the corner. They call to me. Take me. Take me. Feeling guilty I leave them standing with their old wax, and sand encrusted leashes wrapped around their salty fins. I stroke the rail of one as I walk out the door. I will slowly die. I think of her breasts against my face. Yes, coughing on a bong hit I will surely die in her arms in the darkness. I am knocking on her door.

"Who is it?"

"Me"

"Come in."

The drapes are shut. Candles are lit. Nag champas incense fills the room. Her body glows pale against purple. She drags her painted toes along the sheets. A toe ring catches the candle light. Her eyes glow golden. The cats purr on the floor. Her temple beckons me. I hold on to the door knob. A narrow beam of bright sunshine through the crack in the door lays across the carpet. The final fight of the light against the darkness. I look back toward the light. I can smell the salt in the ocean air. Across the street the blond and tanned play in two foot crumbly beach break flying over little sections of white water as if floating on clouds. I push the doorknob behind me and the light dies. I fall to the bed and into her caress. Mick Jagger moans "oh don't do that" to keith's nasty rhythm and we twist and grind. I hold in a tantric pause as she pushes a swirl of glass art between my lips. I enhale the purple. I am lost in the suck of her wet mouth, and her tongue wraps around my body.

When I awaken she is alseep. There is just an annoying hint of litter box behind the incense, and the faint smell of bong water. I look at her cheek as she sleeps. Now she looks gray instead of luninous pale. She snores loudly. I see the demon. Slowly I crawl from her cocoon.

"Where are you..." Then her voice trails off.

It is the morning. The moments before dawn. The sun momentarily will rise over apartment tops and spread it's light over the Pacific. I walk in boxer shorts down the walk way and down the steps. I cross the street and walk up the small court to the board walk. Concrete, but that is still what it is called. I lean my body against the wall that separates the sand from the cement. To the left and right of me their are others. Shadows in the mist. They stand as I do scanning the ocean. Looking for movement.

"How'z it look?"

"It looks like it's comin' up."

A body clad in a black wet suit jumps over the wall beside me. A recognizable face. The first one out. I will be next. I turn and run back to my apartment and grab my wetsuit hanging from my bathroom window and quickly I am back out the door. I stand where the water touches the sand and laugh loudly at the sky. I have escaped. I am free. Diving into the pacific I feel my head throbs momentarily from the cold. There could be no better pain. The dark turns to day.

I walk wet crossing the boulevard with my board weaving casually through the traffic and up the steps of my apartment building. To my left is the beach market. To my right is the last vacant lot in Mission Beach. I stand my board in the corner of my studio and give it a quick wipe with a towel. and jump in the shower and peel out of my wet suit. I hang it from my bathroom window like a trophy.

Sitting on my bed I lower my head and a stream of salt water runs from my nose to the floor. For some reason I always find this evacuation to be gratifying. A voice in my head says I should examine why the salt water is running down a hose that looks like it's attached to a vacuum cleaner. One of those ribbed hoses. It's clear. Fluid seems to be shooting up the inside in smaller hoses.

"What is this?" I say aloud.

"Come now" says a voice.

"What's going on here?"

"You've been gone awhile."

"No I haven't. I just sat down"

I look down and all I can see is this white hose leading into whiteness and then disappearing. I feel panic an nausea at the same time. I hear footsteps echoing on hard floor and glass against glass.

"Where am I?"

"You've been falling to pieces", says the voice.

"Sherri?"

Laughter echoes around the room. " She can't hear you. She went to New Jersey remember?"

"No"

"Sure, you do remember she got pregnant?"

"But I shoot blanks"

"Well yes, it was someone else's."

"She never believed you. She thought she could get pregnant and fool you. Remember."

"No, I just went surfing"

"No you have a hose attached to your medulla oblongata which is essentially an artificial spine. Congratulations on being awake."

"I'm still wet, I can taste salt water... just now I..."

"No you haven't surfed in years. You started to fall apart remember?"

"Who are you?"

"First was your right arm. You started to lose...or rather it was your little finger of your right hand...you lost movement. Then you lost your arm. A pain in your bone remember?

"Sherri", I scream.

"She is definitely not going to hear you. Judging from what we know, apparently you left her standing in a phone booth while she was having a bad trip on LSD and then you called the ambulance and they took her to jail for being suicidal and then you disowned her...something about liking white curtains or sunshine...or something...and she felt so sad that she moved to New Jersey. She got pregnant and came back and you would not even say hello when she banged on your door. Then she went back to New Jersey and married someone she did not love...and eventually died of a broken heart."

"She was a girl I dated once, or am dating now... what year is this?"

"Well memories of her have woke you up, so she must have been more than that."

"What happened to me?"

"Well as I said, you started to fall to pieces. You bent your little finger, and then the whole system started to just sort of get screwed up."

Suddenly a sharp pain ran down my right arm. It felt deep to the bone and I grabbed my arm with my left hand screaming. I felt like I was going to fall to the floor. The fluids began to speed up in the tube.

"Oh goodness don't worry about that. You just think it's your arm. Just memory, I assure you all of your nerve endings are simply dummy receptors on the other end. We've tried to end these sensations of limbs, especially painful ones."

My head swam.

"Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?"

"Who are you?"

"I am the agent assigned to you."

"What kind of agent?"

"A government agent of course. Have you ever belonged to the communist party of the United States? Well let me help you, we know that you were a registered party member at one point, you had a card..."

"I just did that as a joke"

"You delivered the newspaper for them. Bundles. you wrote for them."

"I wrote them a letter"

"They printed it. Well part of it. Evidently it was rambling."

"What year is this? What happened after my arm?"

A huge blurry nose came out of the vast whiteness and touched mine. I could feel hot medicine breath enter my nostrils.

"Listen, I think I should be asking the questions."

"What's happening here?"

"Okay well anyway you continued to fall to pieces bit by bit and now here you are. You are a head with a hose attached to it and you have some bad memories evidently, and one string of your memories is of interest to us."

"I Must be dreaming. This is a nightmare."

"I tell you what, I will let you bounce around a bit in that head of yours. I'll be back when I think you have a bit more control of your thoughts."

I raise my head and stand up. I look at my feet. I open the door and walk outside. The sun is high in the sky. Across the alley on the opposite balcony two young men wave hello. At the bottom of the stair well next to the beach market the phone booth is empty.

I flex all my fingers. My little finger on my right hand is stiff. I can't remember Sherri's last name. Guilt is eating me up inside.

39. First Letter From Captivity: June 2009

2009-06-09T10:52:00.001-04:00

Dear Captain,

You have asked me to give you the details of my life. You have specific questions related to the facts surrounding my two sets of genitalia. I have one complete male set with a fully functional appendage, and a female set. Both sets contain all the requisite parts, and I am fertile in both directions. Meaning that I am capable of impregnating someone, and I also am capable of being impregnated.

My mother was advised shortly after my birth that I should become a female, and have the male organs removed. It would have been easier to remove the male organs than to have a full hysterectomy which the Doctors considered to be a more dangerous operation for an infant. My mother not wishing to interfere with the natural processes of my living decided not to have the operation. She has told me that it was not that she wished for me to remain a hermaphrodite, but rather it was only that she was not certain if I should be a boy or a girl. She thought that it was best if I was allowed to mature a bit so she could watch, and see if I would show male or female personality traits. I am eternally grateful to my mother for her decision. Before I can answer your other questions I will give you an overview of how it is that I function.

I am not alone as you know. There are many more like me. More are being born all the time. Our highest numbers are in the so called third world countries. The reason for this is that villages, and slums are less likely to have doctors present. Midwives often will hide our births, and thus we are able to survive. In first world countries, as you know, operations are usually conducted at birth which are hideous in their barbarity. Doctors typically will force mothers to make a choice, and then the child is butchered of it's natural organs so that it can appear to be normal. I wish again to acknowledge my mother for rescuing me from such a fate.

Because it is now the 21st century, and we are in the information age, those of us who are survivors are now for the first time able to network with each other using the Internet. Through this process we have been able to track our numbers, and also to track our abilities, and character traits. We are different from you in many ways. Not just the overt physical characteristics, but in other ways as well. We are able for example, to change our appearance. To choose if we wish to appear physically as a man or woman. We don't do this instantly. If we wish to change we go into a sort of dormancy or mini hibernation. Like when a snake is changing skin for example. The original slang term used in English for this was becoming a couch potato. The term has stuck, and regardless of the language the slang has become simply Potato.

For example, let's say I am currently showing the appearance of a man, and wish to become a woman. I simple would lay around the house for a couple of weeks. During this time, as a potato, I can gradually change my hormonal levels at will. My facial hair falls out. My skin becomes soft. My breasts will grow. Most of us have rather small breasts, but there are exceptions. Even body shape will gradually change. For example, fat and muscle tissue is lost or gained. We all tend to begin rather mid range. Think for example, of the androgynous Rock and Roll singers you may have admired. We have that androgyny to begin with, and simply amplify in either direction as we want. This tends to happen as our love interests change.

We can become attracted to men or women, and change to fit the current desire. We may also change to suit what we believe may be the desires of a potential mate. We are not limited to heterosexual couplings. For example, I may become a male to suit a potential homosexual suitor if it is my desire. I may become female to attract a lesbian. When I say male or female I am speaking of appearances. The genitalia always remain the same within the parameters of what you would call normal. If in the female mode as we tend to call it, then my penis tends to be small, and as dormant as is all the male aspects of me. The other case leaves me with an enlarged penis, and my vagina wanting to stay closed. My urine flow is through the male appendage. Anal sex is simply a matter of choice for us, and has little to do with anything other than personal desire for pleasure (or denial of pain) depending on preference.

Some of us prefer to remain fairly obviously as male or female in outward appearance for extended periods, while others like to play off androgynous aspects, and remain somewhat neutral. I said earlier that all of my parts are intact, and we are all capable of reproducing. If we mate with each other we are capable of reproducing twice as fast as you. We can get our mate pregnant while we are pregnant.

We know no bounds to our sexuality, and tend to like to live communally. Raising our young in this manner is natural for us. We may live six or eight together. We couple off in all sorts of ways, and move between partners quite easily when we do so. There are families in the favelas of Rio in Brazil that I have heard have eighty to ninety children. We maintain the same sexual taboos that you do in regard to incest or pedophilia.

In the United States, and other Western countries we are careful. My being here is not the first time I have heard rumours of abductions of our kind. We never had evidence until recently, but because we are harder to find in the west we long suspected that forces were at work that upset the natural balance. For this reason we have attempted to remain underground for so long.

Aside from our abilities to morph into male or female appearance over a period of a a couple of weeks, we also have the ability to have rapid changes in body chemistry to suit our mood or sexual appetites. For example we can activate sensitivity to our genitalia instantly. We can change our vocal patterns rapidly male to female or opposite. We also can rapidly change the way we move to suit male or female patterns of feminine or masculine. We have also found these abilities to be useful to our survival. Their are breaks in normal patterns that confuse your kind as your senses do not expect them.

We are not sure why we have come into being. We are sure that our numbers are on the rise. While we can not prove any reason for this we have come to believe that climate change is the reason. We have no scientific studies. We do know that in reptiles worldwide there have been increases in births with malformed genitalia or hermaphrodites. In reptiles though they are losing the ability to breed. In our case, the ability to breed has obviously increased. There is apparently great dominance in our genes. If we mate with one of you the child born will be one of us. If we mate with each other the result is the same. In the West must be careful. We fear doctors for obvious reasons.

Even though we can't prove why our numbers may be rising we have all come to believe that we are the next phase or new generation of mankind. We are aware that you have begun to think of us in terms of a threat. The feeling is mutual. I am assuming I am not the only one of us being kept as a lab rat. I find no reason for me to be held here against my will. I ask that you assist in my release, and do not put any of my family through any of the torment which you have put me through under your hands. We do consider ourselves, and your kind as well to be human beings.

Finally, we are very complex creatures. I have left out much of our behavior, and physicality. Natural breeding overtime will leave us the dominant species. We are peaceful. If you stop trying to cut the natural organs from our young and end your programs of sterilization - yes we are very aware - then there is no reason we cannot live in peace. Over time measured in generations you will be like us. There is no reason to fight what is inevitable.

Yours in the name of the unknown Creator, and all of our Prophets who preach loudly in human voices the denial of mythology that falls outside of known scientific truths; in Love, and in the best interests of the future which is ours.

Sincerely,

Jack

38. How To Score: 2009

2009-05-14T15:45:00.008-04:00

"Mr O'Daniels, what exactly are you doing here?"

"I don't want to be out there anymore."

"Out where?"

"Outside of this hospital."

"Well we can't keep you here."

"Why not?"

"We don't have a reason to."

"I'm dangerous."

"To who?"

"To myself. To everyone."

"That's not what your test scores say."

"What do the test scores say?"

"They say you are narcissistic, and obsessive compulsive."

"So I can't be self centered thorough and dangerous?"

"You're not dangerous."

"What if I picked up my chair, and hit you over the head with it?"

"You won't."

"How do you know?"

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"What if I don't?"

"I'll call the police."

"They'll hold me for one day. I'll come back."

"I'll call them again."

"How many times?"

"Mr. O'Daniels, really your test scores say you are doing fine. How about if I schedule you in to one of our out patient groups?"

"I Don't like people."

"Well that's a problem."

"That's what I'm trying to say."

"Why would you want to live here? In a hospital? We have people here who are seriously ill. They aren't always pleasurable to be around. Maybe you won't like it here so much."

"I feel like out there everyone has gone completely mad. For example, I don't want to use money anymore. I hate guns. I hate religion. I hate Jesus. I hate Mohammad. Well I don't really hate them because they're dead. I hate the people who follow them. I hate Moses, and his followers too. I hate the government. I hate the Military. I don't want to be part of it. They are all mad. The whole civilization is mad. Everyone is killing everybody else. It's an epidemic. We are even killing the whole damn earth now. So let me out of it. I want to live here."

"What would you do in here? Don't you want to be productive?

"You can medicate me with expensive drugs. The Government can pay for it. The drug companies will love it. They can use me as a guinea pig. Just keep me dosed out of my brain all day and all night. Sit me in a corner to drool."

"Look, you just need a job."

"No I don't want to be part of it."

"Of what?"

"All of it."

"So you want to drool all day?"

"Do you know they are making seeds now that don't produce seed?"

"Yes I Know."

"Do you know the frogs are leaving?"

"Where are they going?"

"I don't know. The bee's are leaving too."

"This still isn't a reason for you to live in a hospital."

"Do you know the United States has over seven hundred military bases all around the world. Huge cities they are every where and no one even questions what the fuck they are they're for. I mean who are we going to fight?"

"Mr. O'Daniels please don't cuss at me."

"Are you religious?"

"Yes"

"And you're a Doctor? You see what I mean?

"What do you mean?

"You're crazy too."

"This isn't going anywhere. I think you should leave."

"Oh I've offended your religious sensibilities now have I?

"No I'm not offended."

"And you're a liar too. All of you are liars."

"So are you going to sit here an insult me all day?"

"Are you offended?"

"No"

"Liar. Do you know that the first School shooting was in 1764 and then the next one was in 1966."

"So..."

"So after 1966 there have been fifty eight more. All in the United States. Ha ha shit, there was nine of them last year alone."

"Is this going to go somewhere?

"Where the fuck do you need it to go? Don't you feel a sense of panic? I sure do. I don't want to be out there any more. Just give me the drugs. Make me drool."

"I'm sorry. I don't have any drugs for you."

"Oh yeah you do. You have plenty. I just didn't ask you the right way."

"I just told you no."

" A chunk of ice the size of Manhattan fell off the Northern Ice shelf up in Canada somewhere. They said they were shocked. It's a record."

"Yes I suppose it's a reason for concern."

"A reason for concern? You are kidding me right? I feel terror. How come you don't feel the same terror I feel Doctor? You know I talk to people all the time who laugh at me when I tell them that story. Like I made it up or something."

"Well maybe you keep the wrong company."

"I don't keep any company. I just bump into people sometimes and I tell them all this shit and they just laugh and walk away from me. They think I'm crazy. So that's why I'm here."

"I thought you are here because you are dangerous?"

"Well the next time someone laughs at me like that I am going to grab them by the skull and squeeze their brain until the fucking jello comes out. The jello and the corn syrup, and the text messages, and..."

"I get the idea."

"You get what idea?"

"I understand you are unhappy that no one seems to notice the things that are important to you."

"Important to me? Do I sound like I'm talking about my feelings of inadequacy or loneliness? We got the whole damn Army chasing after a bogey man who lives in a cave. The reserves - the State guard - guys are on their third tour - chasing a guy in a cave - we destroyed Hitler's army - were chasing a bogey man in a cave. Are you kidding me? Am I the only one who is watching this shit? The soviets are gone man, and were still building more and more. We kill a hundred civilians in a clip - oops - who gives a fuck right? Okay sorry let me quiet down a second. Can you just give me something? If I can't stay here can you give me some Valium or something?"

"Can I trust that you will take your medication?"

"Of course. I must be at least as crazy as the other sixty seven million Americans who take Anti-Depressants. Everyone is crazy out there. I'm telling you the truth. Of course you know that already."

"Okay I'm going to give you a mild Anti-depressant. I'm going to want you to come back here in one month to let me know how you feel."

"I'm not leaving"

"Mary, can you call security to escort Mr O'Daniels out please."

"I was hoping for something much stronger than this. Do you have any idea what's going to happen to the temperature of Africa in the next few years. Do you have any idea what that's going to do to their crop yields?"

"Goodbye Mr. O'Daniels."

"Did you know in the ocean fish are showing up where they're not supposed to be?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"I don't know. You tell me Doc."

"Thank you Mr. O'Daniels. Goodbye."

"Thanks for the drugs Doc."

All Content Property of Ron Andrew O'Daniels

37. Carmen In Orange County: 2000

2009-05-13T22:50:00.001-04:00

My right arm kept Carmen from hitting the dash as I braked. Gravel smacked the car on all sides. I let off the brake, clutched, downshifted. Hit the gas, and spun from the gravel back in to the wet black shine of the Santa Ana Freeway. I had slowed to about sixty now. Sideways. We continued across the lanes, and I saw the guard rail getting closer. I pushed on the gas swung around, and now was looking at the other guard rail. Wow this was one hell of a controlled slide. Shit. Finally we stopped on in the middle lane looking toward the oncoming traffic. Luckily at 4am there was none. I swung us to the side of the road. Not much further ahead from where it had all started. So this is how it ends. A long night.

Carmen's motel room was somewhere in the middle of cheap Orange County central. Where late in the evening Methamphetamine wafts through the air from cheap single burners perched on top of expansive sinks next to plastic cups. Fly away chemicals through broken screens. She came out to tell me to wait. "Give me a minute I got drama." Her girlfriend peeked through the curtain stone faced and violent. "Okay" I said. She was dressed real butch with long baggie shorts past her knees, and her hair pulled tight in a pony tail. An over sized t-shirt. Her make up was off. Even then she had a beauty that radiated.

I fought hard to ignore myself. I had been trying to figure her out for awhile. A few minutes later out she walked in a little black dress. Her hair also black was out free and wild. She wore classic pumps, and full giant hoop silver earrings. Her legs glistened. Her lips red with gloss. Nothing overdone. Even her walk changed into a confident strut. A small clutch in her hand. She was light skinned but Latin. Not pale; more like luminous. Her skin did not play in the sun. She opened her own door, and sat next to me. Closed the door. Put her purse in the glove box, and sighed a deep sigh. Then she looked at me and smiled. "I'm ready" she said. I smiled back, and did not say anything. We drove.

Our first stop was a party. A large gathering of several Latin families. Someone leaving town or something. Sometimes I go to the door. Sometimes I wait down the street. Depends on who called, and what they want. She went to the door on her own, and came back a few minutes later handing me $250.00. "This is going to be short. They want me to dance, and I only do privates. Keep the engine running." I had already learned from experience to follow these kinds of instructions so I did. A short ten minutes later she came out of the house with a brisk get away walk. I began to back toward her on the street, and opened the door. Five or six men streamed out of the house cussing at her in Spanish. She jumped in the car. "Go." We were moving as she slammed the door shut. Right turn. Left turn. Left turn. Right turn. I made as many turns as I could until I was going far from where I would have been expected to be if they started following.

"Fuck. I tell them all the time I don't dance man. She laughed. "Fucking scary man. She looked into the side mirror, and the rear view.

"No one's back there."

"I started to do a private show for like two of them. Then they all started opening the door. I just stopped, and said I'm out of here. You want some gum?"

The next stop was down south. In the hills somewhere. Big rustic looking dark wood house with huge windows set low from the street down a long driveway. This was another park away, and don't come to the door. As long as they know I'm out here. I stepped out of the car to stretch my legs. I was standing against the car smoking when she brought me the money. I always count. "See you soon sweetie," she said. I watched her walk down the driveway. I have never seen a walk like that again. About five minutes later she appeared in the window. Nude. She held a wine glass up high. Gracefully walking the whole length of the house toward him. I was sure she knew I was watching. Whoever he was. He must be pleased. Certainly. I had one eye open when she returned. "Hard at work?" It was forty five minutes later.

"Do you have a girlfriend?"

"No."

"What do you do for sex."

"I don't."

This was not the first time the question had been asked. Most of them try to pay using their bodies at some point. What they are really looking for is the permanence, and convenience of me. If I accept they have gained the ultimate in control. They want a daddy to love them. I always avoid this drama. I am interested more in the money. Not love. Carmen was different, for her I had real want. A famished want. She was in my head at the wrong times. She was the whore with a heart.

"So you're just the driver huh?" She smiled while she spoke. Like she had a secret.

"That's right."

This gig had been going on for four months. I worked for an agency that operated out of parking lots using cell phones. Each day I met them at a different spot to do the cash drop. Always on short notice. They were East European. That's all I knew. They were smart. Different cars, places, faces, and times. All the time. Girls came and went. They always did me straight. Cash money.

All the girls had their quirks. Some were outright prostitutes. Others soon would be. Some wanted me to stop at a gas station after every call so they could hit a bathroom, and snort speed or cocaine. Some only danced. Some only did privates - massages or rubdowns. Some more. Not my call. Some were beautiful, and some were ugly. A few scared me with their lack of self control. Some caused fights, and dragged me in. I didn't always sit in the car. Sometimes I came in the house to monitor bachelor parties. Sometimes I came in to check out the room first. With customers sometimes I was simply a confident bystander. Sometimes I was an intimidator. It's a scary world. Carmen was new. She was not like the others. She had a composure about her, and control of her world. She wanted to control me too.

The next call was around 2 A.M. We drove far south. Carmen lay against me resting upon my shoulder. She smelled nice. Like flowers. Cheap body spray I thought. I liked it just the same. All the way down to the water front. The real mansions are down here. It was new even for me to make this drive. The last house on the street, and we saw two young men standing in the drive way. I stopped a few houses short of the house, and dimmed the lights. I wanted to recheck the address. I didn't like them out in the drive way. I called in and confirmed. "What did they sound like on the phone?" An Eastern accent flatly said "Okay. They shouldn't be a problem." I swung the car around so it was pointed up the street for easy exit. They approached the car. She kept her window up, and I rolled mine down. "Go back, and wait at your house I said." I spoke the words like an order, and they obeyed.

"What are they doing milling around in the driveway?"

"They look shifty. Like plotters"

"Plotters?" She laughed. "Did you make that up?"

"Stay close to me."

They were twenty something. One was much larger than me, and both had a look I didn't like. The look of spoiled rich excess. We stepped from the car and walked toward them. The driveway led to an open three car garage under the main house. There was a door in the garage leading to the inside of the house, and another exiting outside. The garage was clean, and well lit. Bright to be exact. When I was up close I spotted them out right away. Both were very high, but without the happiness of the casual drug user. They grinded their jaws non-stop, and spoke to us with blood shot eyes of paranoia. I put them as up on speed for three or four days. Maybe more. From the tight jaws, and teeth grinding probably a few hits of e thrown in which failed to do anything except add to their over driving motors. They were on a train that was driving them into a black hole. Like it eventually does to everyone. I didn't like the way they couldn't smile. They just looked bad. Souless.

They looked Carmen up and down approvingly, and maliciously. They licked dry lips, and tugged their crotches.

"Well what do we do now," the bigger one said. I quickly labeled him as Fat Face.

"First of all, which one of you made the call?

"I Did" said Fat face.

"I need to verify your ID."

I don't normally verify anything, but I was on a roll now so I decided I would keep going, and get the money sorted. I already figured chances were that this was not going to happen to plan. We spent an hour driving down here.

"I need Two hundred, and fifty Dollars," I said.

"The guy on the phone said one seventy five." Again, Fat face was talking.

"No he said two fifty, and you're wasting my time."

The smaller one, pock marked and pallid, started to close the garage door. I'll call you Mr. Pimple I thought. I don't like to remember the names of people I don't want to remember. I checked the side door exit for a clear path to the driveway as the door was coming down. Satisfied, I let the door fall without a word. Fat face reluctantly handed over the money. They both grabbed at ends of a large blanket, and threw it down on the garage floor.

"What's that for?" Said Carmen.

"You can dance here." Fat Face was doing all the talking. Mr Pimple was grinding so hard it made my teeth hurt to watch him. Both were hiding something.

"In the garage? I don't dance like that, and I do private shows only."

"There's only two of us."

"Can you give us a second please." Carmen pulled me close and whispered into my ear. "What the fuck are we doing in this garage? Why aren't we going into the house?"

"I decided to ask, "Guys, what are we doing in the garage?"

"What do you mean?"

"I mean why aren't we going into the house?"

"...and what do you think he's going to do with that camera?" Said Carmen, pointing at Mr Pimple who was now sitting on a lawn chair with a monstrous video camera between his legs.

"That's it. I'm outta here."

"Were leaving now guys. You broke the rules."

They both jumped to block our paths. The Fat Face now obviously agitated.

"We need our Two hundred and fifty bucks back before you even think about going anywhere."

I motioned for Carmen to keep walking up the driveway toward the car but Mr. Pimple jumped in front of her. Bad move. Women in this line of work have short fuses. She grabbed him by the shirt, and flung him like he was laundry out of her way. I watched to see his reaction, but he stood where he was waiting for some kind of sign from Fat Face on what to do now. Fat Face stepped closer to me not letting me follow. I looked into his eyes. I'll deflect this one, I thought. No sense leaving a bloody scene.

"You aren't leaving with my money."

"When I finish speaking I am going to politely step around you, and start walking toward my car. Then we're going to get in our car, and leave. You've wasted our time down here long enough, and we don't give refunds. You paid for the girls time, and had her time so we are leaving. You are welcome to call the agency, but let's not make this a violent situation. That's it we're done"

"I'm going to call the cops"

"I know every cop in this County. As soon as they show up they're going to take you, and your little tweaker friend to jail. So call 'em if you like."

Of course I don't know any cops, but it sounded good. I started walking up the driveway. He was confused now. They stood mumbling to each other. I joined her in the car.

"Jesus, you almost put that guy on the ground."

"I'm telling you. Seriously let's get out of here these guys creep me out."

"The big guy is on his cell phone."

"What do you think he's saying?"

"Well it's either he's calling the agency or he's trying to call for reinforcements. Either way we're outta here."

"They're punks" she said. Carmen rested her palm on my thigh as she looked back between the seats through the rear window.

"Yeah, but they've been awake for days. They're not thinking straight." I was thinking about other times I had run in to the judgement impaired. I bounced old names, and faces through my head. They all ended badly. I wondered if I was ignoring the happy endings. I thought it through again; there weren't any.

We were heading north in a light mist. I watched the wipers through my tired eyes. She lay with her back against the door, and her legs across my lap. I had one hand on the wheel and the other lightly floated across her ankles, and calves as she slept with a contented look of peace on her face. I felt privileged. Like she felt safe with me. I wondered what it would be like to wake up with her. To run my fingers through her black hair and kiss her awake. A normal life. I laughed to myself. Would I aways have to be her driver? I wondered what else she could do besides rub downs, and masturbation shows. Would she content herself to be a bank teller somewhere or go to school to learn nursing or something? Could we be regular folks?

The first shot was an announcement. It said "hello we're here," and I sped up to about ninety, and moved to the inside lane. Carmen sat up. "What the fuck is going on." I looked to my left. I didn't recognize the face. He hung out the window with a pistol. I'm not a fan of guns so I couldn't tell you what kind. Just a pistol. He waved it crazy. Blond hair. Cropped short. Some kind of loud night club shirt like a greenish blue print. A gold chain. A watch. The gun in the right hand. In the back window Mr. Pimple. Fat Face must have stayed home I thought.

They drove to the front of me, and forced me into a gravel spill. Just my luck. A second shot came through the front windshield. Carmen slumped forward, and I pulled her back as I turned off the gravel, and out back onto the wet Santa Ana. I spun the car two times before we stopped. They were gone. I was facing the wrong direction on a long empty stretch when the car stopped. It was 4am. Carmen was slumped to the side. I drove to the side of the Freeway. The bullet hit her just above her hair line. It had gone through the windshield, and made one of those classic bullet holes. Just a hole with some spider web around it. I kept thinking in terms of that hole. Like it wasn't right. She can't be dead because the windshield didn't shatter. The science was wrong. Funny how your mind works sometimes. I couldn't call the police. I could leave her, and call anonymously I thought. Maybe. I drove off the freeway, and drove around a Walmart parking lot twice just trying to think things through. Her body slumped in the seat. There was almost no blood. Just a little hole. I stopped the car. She glowed under the giant super store parking lot lights. The emptiness was heavy. I literally felt the black sky falling on me.

"Okay Carmen," I said. "Let's go get our revenge."

I headed South again. It was 420 A.M.

All Content Property of Ron Andrew O'Daniels

36. The secret Life and Times of Jesus: 2000 Years Ago.

2009-05-12T14:36:00.020-04:00

Mary picked herself up from the dirt, and ran from the darkness. She reached for the wetness, and found it to be blood. She fell. Again she ran. Tears mixed with dirt on her face. His stink still upon her. More tears. Falling in the woman's arms she wept more. Convulsing uncontrollably. She turned her head and vomited to the ground, and the tears still streamed. She choked on dust. She could not speak. Days past. Then weeks.

"I am with child. I will be cast out."

"Have no fear child said her Mother. It is God that grows the child in your womb. He will grow to be a man of great strength. He will be a son of God."

Joseph a good man heard of Mary. He loved her, and took her as his wife. They moved to a new town.

Once Jesus went to the spring, and saw a man laying on a mat by the water. "Why are you laying here" said Jesus. "My Spirit is broken" said the man. "I have been laying here a long time looking to be healed. Get up said Jesus.

"You are well. Just believe it."

"I am?" said the man.

"Yeah man"

"Don't let anyone get you down."

"Who are you?"

"I'm a child of God. Just like you."

"What is God?"

"I really don't know. I only know I exist, and I'm happy to be here."

"Very cool"

"You don't need to know anything else really, do you?"

"No not really."

"Good go live your life."

The Priests heard what Jesus said. They didn't like it, so they had Jesus brought before them.

"Jesus," they said. "You are interfering with our whole operation. If you don't stop we will take you to the Governor."

"Stop what?"

"All the son's of God stuff. It doesn't fall in line with what we have written down."

They sent Jesus to the Governor. "I wash my hands of this whole mess, but I need tax money to come in so I can't let you go man."

They crucified Jesus on a cross. He died. It was a painfully slow agonizing death. Most painful for his mother. Watching men kill her son was the second violation she had suffered from the hands of wicked men. The followers of Jesus took the body away, and placed it in a grave.

Later his followers produced copies of his words and passed them around. "Jesus lives," they said. You can kill the body of a man, but you can't kill his spirit. These are some more secret sayings about Jesus:

When Jesus shows up at a party expect the wine to show up with him.

Jesus went to a gathering with only 12 loaves of bread. Everyone shared equally to make sure everyone got a chance to eat. He did the same thing with fish. Jesus was all about everyone getting something to eat.

Once a whore was being beaten in front of Jesus, and he said "why don't you go after her pimp?"

Once Jesus held up a coin and said, "Do you see who's picture is on this coin?" Everyone said yes it's Caesar. Jesus said, "that's right, so give to Caesar what belongs to Caesar."

Someone stood up and said, "Jesus I'm not really sure what you mean. Do you mean in the literal sense to give our money over to Caesar, or just figuratively like we should not covet too much money, or rather keep our hearts for God, but still use money, or what exactly do you mean?"

Finally Jesus got all pissed off, and he said "Look, money sucks, and really doesn't fit into the kind of world I would envision as a utopia. Do you follow me? I mean if we are sharing everything; food, clothing, and everything. Then what do you need money for anyway? Oh and one more thing. Don't try to equate me with Joseph Stalin, because it's a seriously flawed argument."

Jesus said, "blessed are the peace makers for they will inherit the earth."

Someone raised their hand and said "well what if someone has something I desperately need to run my economy. Let's say for example that I needed this to maintain my lifestyle. Nothing too fancy. Let's just suppose I wanted to have three houses, and five cars, and I wanted enough to travel around the world year round, and live in plush comfort. What if someone else had a substance I needed, and would not give it to me at the price I wanted. I mean shouldn't I be able to go, and take it. I mean, say I tried peaceful means first, and then this person said no "I am not going to share with you." I mean if he isn't sharing shouldn't I be able to go in, and take what I need to continue to live a good life style?"

Jesus looked up at the sky for a moment. Then down at the ground. He picked up a stick, and drew some lines. Then he flung the stick in the direction of the man who asked the question. The guy had to jump out of the way real quick so he wouldn't get hit.

"Look" said Jesus "why don't I just walk over to you, and take your bag of money so I can have a better life style. I mean why not?"

'That would be stealing" said the man.

"You took someones labor, and resold it. You kept all the proceeds for yourself because you are at an unequal advantage over the man who gave you that labor. You sir, are the thief. The man worked all day for you. So that you could sell his fruits, and keep almost all the money. He sleeps in a slum on the outskirts of town, and you live in a mansion with servants and a huge mega yacht. Now I ask you is that fair? What exactly did you do for the money? Nothing. As a matter of fact you don't even care if he has running water in his house do you?"

"Well not really" said the man.

"No" said Jesus, "not only are you not giving up the coin like I suggested that you do, but instead you're using it to build up an army of thugs that you use against this little guy if he doesn't sell you his stuff at a price next to nothing. You know why? Because you want to live in a mansion, and drive a Hummer around don't you?" The man just got mad at Jesus and walked off.

Then another man raised his hand "but Jesus if the man in the slum wants me to give up my purse to him isn't he robbing me? I mean I work very hard for this purse.. and..."

Jesus, totally exasperated cut him off, "no you greedy little maggot. You have all of your money because of him. You have your education because of him. You are able to have leisure time to put toward creative endeavours because of him. You go to the lake, and drive your motor boat because of him. You send your kids to the best schools in the best shoes with special inflatable compartments because of him. Now you are telling me you don't want him to be able to go to a hospital when he's sick, or put his own kids in a school. He lives in a dump for crying out loud. I swear to God you people make me sick."

These are a few of the secret sayings of Jesus.

All content Property of Ron Andrew O'Daniels

35. At 7,000 Feet On New Years Eve: 1999

2009-05-12T09:38:00.016-04:00

On a mountain top

nineteen ninety nine

In solitude here

on empty dirt

It was a cold walk

heavy booted on the way

ridiculously the best Italian

for the Alps

on borrowed money while fleeing wreckage

memories bounce off the roadside

old friends jumping from my path

Certainly I have gone mad

famished

below the valley former lovers friends schools homes children

while this big universe swallows me with emptiness

once more I vomit myself to the ground

I Loathe all so seems this eve

the stars white and distant

having a party and I in cold shiver exiled

reflecting vast sins errors judgements

alone laughing hysterically of my abilities

betrayals in tears to sleep

beat down from a blood boiled

walk in the sun

to seven thousand feet

laying

without books photographs phone numbers or invitation

the wind mourns my eyes dry

in a yellow tent

carefully selected

for a grand exit

my wasted life

of cowardly purpose

certainly a comical return awaits

once more not the hero

I will merely walk down from here tired

with dread

as forever

will not greet me in this place

Content Property of Ron Andrew O'Daniels

34. Painting Houses With Teenage Labor: 1974

2009-05-11T12:39:00.001-04:00

I cut school to thumb to the beach. Thirty five miles. Over a little set of hills down into the flats, and then all the way down Beach Boulevard to Huntington Beach. I'm still the same way. I like to road trip on impulse. On this day, before the hills with a blanket of fog laid down, came a Rambler wagon. It was old then. Like a '69 or something. White, and the guy was carrying equipment for painting houses in the back. Tarps and ladders. He had one of those flat top hair cuts. Back then it was a weird cut. About fifty or so. He had a twitching eye. Mostly I remember that twitch. First thing I said to myself, this guy's got a weird eye. Big ears too.

I was skinny then. About a hundred and twenty pounds. Long hair. Smooth face. To him a pretty young boy. So he asked me where I was going. "To the beach" I said. After that he was quiet. Kept looking in his rear view. Like he was watching his own eye twitch. Then he asked me if I wanted to earn some money. "Doin' what?" I glanced to the back of the wagon. I figured he meant helping him to paint houses. He didn't answer me. Instead, he asked me again if I wanted to earn some money. I didn't like that. "Nah, I'm okay."

The Rambler continued to snake up the winding road through the hills, and he started to get a hurried look. Again with the "Don't you want to make some money?" Grinning at me now like he was my friend. I looked out the window at the fog, now heavy, and choking out the outside world. Alone we drove. I had an eye on the road. "Painting?" He smoke while he drove, and the car creaked. The smell of stale tobacco, paint thinner, and Old Spice. The radio was tuned to the static of the AM news.

He wore a white t-shirt, and blue work dungarees. He was all hard creases stretched through a gaunt face. A man who spent a lot of time working in the sun. Well browned. Pastel green and white paint splashes were on his fingers, hands, and forearms. Dirty finger nails on the worn wheel. I watched his face. His eyes in and out of the rear view. Finally, as if he was talking about getting a cup of coffee he said, "let me suck you, and I'll give you five dollars." In fear I pressed up against the side of the car. I thought his next move would be to pull a gun or a knife.

"Don't worry I ain't gonna hurt ya."

"Let me out of this fucking car right now."

"Settle down. Like I said..."

"Stop the car. Let me out."

I had real fear in my voice that day for sure. He looked worried. The fog enveloped the car. I grasped the door handle, and gave it a turn. The heavy door swung slightly open. The sound of the tires on the road exploded into the car.

"Take it easy I don't mean to scare you or nothing. You're gonna kill yourself"

He grasped out for me, and caught me by the shirt. I kicked out under his arm and caught him in the ribs. He let out a moan. "I told you I wasn't gonna hurt ya - you little prick." He grabbed a metal bar from under his seat. It wasn't real heavy. A piece of some kind of tubing. He started to poke at me, and laugh. At the same time he stepped on the gas. I was hanging on to the door as it swung open. "You want to jump out you little fucker? Go ahead jump out now. Go on" he laughed. Pain like little bites as he jabbed. Then it happened. The stillness. I looked down at the road underneath me as I gripped the door handle. I swear I could count the pebbles as everything began to slow. I watched the expression in his face change "Ha ha Hooo..." he said. His voice slowing to a drone. His eyes caught mine. His laughter faded.

He drove the car to a stop. Off the road up the driveway of an undeveloped lot. We were just fifteen feet or so off the road but hidden in the fog. "Help me" he said, grabbing his chest. I jumped from the car, and lifted my shirt to check the source of my own pain. Small purple circles covered my chest arms and belly where he had been poking me with the tube. "Help" he said. One hand grasping his chest the other still extended with the metal tube in his hand. I took the tube from his hand. "You having a heart attack?" I poked the tube into his ribs. He groaned. "Is this where it hurts?" I poked again.

Now he took both his hands and had crossed them over his heart trying to stop the pressure. I walked to the front of the car, and watched him through the front windshield. He gasped convulsed, and then stopped. I looked right into his eyes as he fought for his last breath. Now dead he sat staring out into nothing. Everything was silent, and the air was cold in my lungs. I don't think I killed him really, but I always count him as the first. After that they just kept on coming.

I reached in to his back pocket for his wallet. I walked along a couple of blocks before I caught another ride. Seventy three bucks. A card for the Hillside Baptist Prayer line. His wife. His kids. I tossed them into the bushes as I walked. With him no one traced me. He was just was some guy who had a heart attack parked at the side of the road. This was like a practice run for me. That big eared flat top grimace I never forget. I was sixteen.

Content Property of Ron Andrew ODaniels

33. The Terrible Mr. Charlie Jones: Present and Nearby

2009-05-08T02:45:00.002-04:00

"Do you read?"

"I carry them around."

"Can you read for me."

"Don't touch those. Put 'em away."

"What, are they going to spook me or something?"

"No, they're just personal."

"Well maybe because you pulled them out that's a sign."

"Okay give them to me and I'll read."

"You don't know how to read."

"Then I'll just put them away."

"Okay here go ahead."

I took the cards into my hand, and quickly examined them. I always do that when someone else touches them. I don't believe any of that card spell stuff. It's like I feel the need to reassure myself they're all okay or something. Same routine. A quick look then a shuffle. Then I am ready to go. I do the same read all the time. A Celtic Cross. The only one I know, and the only one I need. Oh I have had the books. Just not how it works for me. I began to lay out a cross on top of a small cloth I keep for such purposes.

"You know, before psychiatrists people still needed to talk to someone about their troubles. No Doctors. No shrinks. You had priests, and you had tarot readers. Now, being someone who read tarot could be a dangerous thing you know. Get in front of the wrong person, and whadaya know. You're a witch. So you know. You had to go to a Tarot reader somewhere - somewhere quiet."

"C'mon dude, just give me my fortune. I don't need to listen to all this shit."

"So as I was saying, it was kept kind of on the down low. You know, I seen some psychiatrists, and psychologists before. Some were good, and some weren't . I continued to lay down the cards. "I will be right with you Man. Just let me take a look at what you got here - So what a bad shrink is missing is insight into people. A sense of understanding. Of empathy..."

"I ain't got a clue what your talking about."

"That's okay. It don't matter. You just need to get a little understanding. Now if you look at these cards you can think that everyone of them represents types of people, or types of behaviors in people, or sets of conditions. It's important I tell you this so you know where it all comes from. It ain't fortune telling. It's the real deal.

"As long as you tell me I'm going to get rich."

I looked up into his eyes for a moment. I figure people out quickly. I had him figured out. He was the one alright. The cards; well they are going to show me the possible paths. I got insight. That's for sure. Twitchy fucker. Every time I open my bag he's got his eyes on my shit. Always thinking about getting something. Now he wants me to show him the money. I've been running with this cat for two weeks now. Sleeping with one eye open for sure. Clean cut. Young. Handsome faced. Always working on something though. Spinning the wheels around. Guys like this they think they're real smart. Little by little though they start to spill the beans on themselves. Tell me about enough of their crap history that I start to know the next move.

"How rich do you want to be?"

"As rich as possible. Pretty damn rich."

"Okay Jelly bean...let's see what we got."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It's just an expression. It means your made of sugar."

"Well one more time. What the fuck does that mean?"

"You know. Like you got a way with words. Words fall out like sugar. A smooth talker."

"Okay I got it. Sounds kinda strange that's all. Go ahead."

I looked down at the cards in front of me. Than I looked back at Charlie looking down at me.

"Wotcha worried about Charlie?

"I ain't worried about shit. Are you going to read or what?"

"Yeah, you know what - why don't I just dispense with all this, and get right to it."

I swept all the cards back up into my hands and shuffled em.

"Cut 'em"

Charlie sat down now, and tossed me a smoke. A sign of his happiness.

"Got you mad now don't I"

"Cut 'em again."

"You got it partner."

"Were going to do this with one card Charlie"

I motioned for the lighter, lit a cigarette, and pulled a card off the top of the deck and laid it out.

"Bam"

"What the fuck kind of card is that?"

"That's the nine of swords Charlie. The nightmare card."

"You set that up didn't you?"

"Nope"

"Well I don't want that card."

"Don't you want to know what it means?"

"Hell no. I don't want no god damned nightmare card. Give me another one."

I carefully laid down the next card right next to the first one.

"What the hell is that? It looks like a dead guy."

"The four of swords."

"Okay yer fuckin' trying to fuck my future up ain't you? Give me another one."

"Maybe you want to quit while your ahead."

"You shut the fuck up, and throw down another card."

I laid down the third card. Charlie sat back like he had been stabbed in the heart. He was down on his cigarette where he was damn near smoking his finger tips. He didn't say a word. Finally he reached for his pack, and rummaged around until he brought out his gun. He casually pointed the gun toward my face. He waved the gun around while he talked.

"You think this is funny huh?" he cocked the trigger. "Okay then read me my fortune. You better make some money come out of those cards."

I fell forward and began to wretch. I turned my face just in time as to not hit the cards. I vomited. Then again. It wasn't Charlie. It just happens when I see. When I see sometimes I get sick.

"What the hell is wrong with you?"

"Okay Charlie, your future comes from your past. I see a woman gray haired and wild eyed she is in the middle of a street. Oh Charlie. The bikes are spinning. She is screaming for you Charlie. Wants you home. The boys taunt her. Kick at her. She's out here every night charlie. Wild eyed. She's been drinking charlie. She's not there all together. Oh Charlie this was hard. She ...

"Shut yer mouth or I'll blow your fucking head off."

"She's screaming Charlie. The boys are all screaming Charlie."

Suddenly he jumped at me knocking me to my back. He stuck the gun to my mouth but it was too late. My eyes already were rolled to the back. The sight can't be stopped at this point. I could only hear him faintly now demanding that I stop, but I couldn't. The vision opened from my mouth expelling like oil, and crawling up the barrel of the gun like long fluorescent worms. This is how I see. I speak the words but I see the breath that carries them. Through a darkness. Now, completely overcome, I began to speak in the voice that rules me. A deep voice. An old voice.

"Oh Charlie your riches I now unfold to you. Nine the swords hanging over your head small child now grown pig conniving young spiller of blood precious to me like gold. Wants your fortune told. Love me your gun. Violent licks you will have. Shaking now Charlie? Oh Mommy Crazy as a fruit bat screaming in the street passed her sickness well. My Charlie. Lovely. Her cries unheard murderous son the swords were hers young one. Shake your barrel now. Why so fearful? Should I bring her return? Well done your job of covering blood child. Fearful she sat afraid till you plunged the knife and ran."

Charlie sat and shook unable to move. Frozen in convulsing shakes. The gun still shaking outside of my mouth.

"Next for you best pupil. Laid he the four of swords for more fun with knives oh bigger man now, this for you presently in your new state awakened and found. Bury this one you will, and tomb will be created. Prepare yourself Charles king of wealth, and all riches. This ones release, and will peril you for sure. Standing between the rewards coming it's required now you finish the deed.

"Should I shoot. Should I shoot."

"Oh wild eyed Charlie not yet. Your future now I unfold final card in triple play laid belongs to me for my pleasure; why look my portrait. How bold am I Charlie with my children in bondage and my rams horns. I will envelop you with all the riches I can offer your future sealed shoot now Charlie shoot away.

Charlie fired the gun once, twice, as my face gave way, and blood shot from the back of my head. Again he squeezed the trigger until he sat click, click, click with a maddened glare in his eye looking down at the corpse he created.

"Oh shit"

Charlie sat mumbling . The worms crawled into his mouth. He wiped the gun with a bandanna. Stuck it back in his bag. Took a breath. Reached out for my pack and emptied the contents. Inside was a small plastic wrapped brick. He bit the plastic with his teeth and pulled the plastic away. He began to hoot and opened up in laughter with his new prize in his hands.

"Oh lord Jesus. Thank you."

He looked down at the corpse. One last time. Then he ran off toward the train tracks.

Content copyright Ron Andrew O'Daniels

32. The Earth Mother is Coming

2009-05-07T16:59:00.018-04:00

Over the phone I have sold magazines, ball point pens, key chains, time shares, precious metals, oil and gas investments, credit cards, phonics reading tools, long distance telephone service, motion picture investments, gifting programs, pyramid schemes, ribbons and ink, business opportunities, restaurant pagers, uniforms, software, college and high school yearbooks, cheap lithographs, newspapers, and some kind of weird imaging machines to doctors. I have set appointments for pagers, cars, and alarms. All for nothing. All bull shit. The reason my life is just a fucking tore up mess.

The credit card companies - the biggest in the world - provided lists of mostly elderly people to grab their tenth credit card. Trust me - the biggest banks know all about it. The phone companies did best with the list of the recently canceled so they could re-sell them again. Yeah they know too. The newspaper company allowed a fifty percent cancel rate so they could tell their advertisers someone was reading the paper. A publishing giant. They know how it works. The ribbon and toner guys all used the send the invoice in the blind routine. The time share people lied about the costs. The hotels all know. The car dealerships tell everyone "yes that car is here" when it was sold last week. The restaurant pagers are just stupid. The pens were junk. The year books are a scam to steal money from the lonely so were the dating services. The pyramids got me too. Me? Nothing more than a slave to some kiss ass middle manager with less than a soul then me. The guilty? why the biggest companies in the World and the smallest. Fuck all of you. Fuck capitalism.

Now I get calls from India and the Philippines where they found more slaves to work for them. Not content with stealing the souls in the West they are moving around the world. Scum bags. Whores. Over kill. Over sell. I am selling here because this system makes me so I can eat. Somewhere outside of these phone rooms. Some big guys have parties on giant super yachts. They own multiple cars. They have multiple properties. They produce more and more. As the world heats up, they worry about their incomes. I have gone crazy and mad. I hate it. Do you hear me? I hate all of it.

These people are so greedy they will kill us all before letting go of a penny. The insurance companies, the oil companies, the drug companies, they know all about it. They are studying how they will be able to prophet form your misfortune right now. They know that Africa will have it the worst. Along with parts of Asia. They don't care. All the regular Germans turned a blind eye as Hitler marched the Jews off to the death camps. Big money buys slaves good where a buck goes a week. I am rotting in this chair. My identity is owned by the world. I would self medicate in a pile of MDMA if I could. Fuck someone tell me this is all fiction. It has to be. The Earth Mother is coming. Spend your money with my advertisers dammit.

All Content property of Ron Andrew O'Daniels

31. Hot Dog Fantasy World America: 1995-96' ish

2009-05-03T16:10:00.038-04:00

I raised my left arm and threw it out in an expansive dramatic movement with my palm up in a great stretch. A thousand left arms immediately followed near to far. I watched them all go up, and followed them all the way around in one massive never ending arm wave that went on into the distance. The arms continued all the way around to my right arm which I promptly raised to capture this radiated energy, and bring it back down to my side. Amazing I thought. I did it one more time. Oh wow. Again. I was on the fifth time when I froze with both arms up. Head up and eyes rolled back. Locked in a vibration that went from toes to head and back. There I stood. The bass line ran. Boom Boom Boom.

"Are we in LSD land?

"Yes Tomomi, we are in LSD land."

"I am thirsty, and I am hungry too."

"Okay. Let's go."

I grabbed her hand, and we squeezed through glow sticks and backpacks, and under arms, hugs, and smoke. We danced in unison with the mass as we walked. When the crowd thinned we sat down on the hillside. Now it began to feel cold. We stared into the great light boards flashing in the distance. I opened my back pack and set it in front of me.

"I have something for everything, and congratulations"

"Congratulations also to you."

I pulled out a knit cap. I pulled out a big pair of white socks. I pulled out some gum.

"You have the whole world."

"Ha ha we're rich."

"Oh also, here, this will be perfect"

"Oh yes, this is perfect. Thank you."

Now I watched as she carefully set aside her wooden sandals, and slipped on my giant over sized crew socks. She set her sunglasses gently upon her lap and put on my woolly hat. She rolled the sleeves up on my sweater a bit. It hung to her knees. She carefully slid her feet back into her sandals and stood up. She pulled her sunglasses down over her eyes.

"How do I look?"

I slipped the glass beads from around my neck, and draped them over her.

"Yes. Now I am perfect."

"Yes"

"Wait. I can't see in the dark."

I perched the sun glasses on top of her hat. We clasped hands, and started the rest of the way up the hill until we reached a little dirt road cut through grass. It seemingly wound up, and over more hills until it disappeared. In the distance we could see what looked like some kind of wonderland of lights. The lights spread in all directions out into infinity. When they hit the ground they melted into little rivers of dancing color. The bass followed us as we walked. Boom Boom Boom.

We began to walk toward the lights. Small groups of people walked along around us. All of us in the same direction. We were heading into another world. We came upon a small group of three who were holding bottles of water that looked overwhelmingly giant in appearance. Each of them carried two to three bottles tucked under their arms. I salivated. Tomomi pointed at them as if they were gods.

"Water"

"Oh here have a drink. Here, drink all you want. Go ahead."

Tomomi drank, and drank. Everyone laughed. How long would this go on? More time passed. Still she drank. Now the boy looked worried.

"Okay Okay" he reached for the bottle. "How about you?"

I took a healthy swig, but held back a bit. "Thank you"

"How far do we need to go to get to the water?"

"To the lights"

"I know but how far is that?"

"Over the hill." his voice trailed off as they walked off into the dark.

Boom Boom Boom.

When we arrived at the lights we adjusted our facial expressions. We squinted our eyes. We improved our posture. I attempted to think in complete sentences. Tomomi assumed the identity of a lost tourist who was brought here by mistake. She gripped my hand tightly. We approached massive corporate sponsored beer and soda tents manned by huge grimacing security guards. Hundreds of Police officers and county Sheriffs manned the little yellow fences and herded us through like cattle to the slaughter. ID card. ID card. ID. Flashlight in face. ID. Stop.

"I have passport"

"OK. Go through"

"Very good" I said to Tomomi.

Once inside we began to relax a bit.

Behind these yellow fences were the normal people. They sat complaining. They pointed at all of us and laughed. They drank beer. Drunk, they sat in chairs and smoked their cigarettes like water through a straw. They all looked bloated and grey. They were dying slowly in front of us. I could hear their conversations. Blah blah. Something about working at jobs, politics, and fishing poles. We navigated our way. Finally we came to a giant tent with the word water written on all four sides. I walked to the wooden counter with Tomomi on my arm.

"We need water"

"I'm sorry Hun we just ran out."

I was puzzled. Instantaneously I processed all the information I had. Let's see you asked for water. She said they had none. I see people with water. What has happened here? I back tracked. "You forgot to say please", I thought. That's it.

"I'm sorry, may we have some water please."

"Honey, I told you we are out of water. You're gonna have to wait. The truck should be here in about thirty minutes."It was dusty and dry up here. Nothing else would do. Only these two liter bottles of water.

"Are you sure?"

The woman, someones Grandmother - tired and overworked - yet enjoying the show, turned to her co-worker in the tent. "Get a load of this one. He doesn't believe me."

"Is she talking about me?" I thought.

Things were becoming complicated. I realized that from here you could see the stage far off in the distance down the hill. I looked into the light show. Now so far away. The bass was still here. Suddenly it got louder. The singer on stage began to call to me: "Lager Lager Lager lager" he chanted to the Boom Boom Boom. (Underworld, Born Slippy Nuxx 2003 ) I could not stand still. I may die in thirty minutes I thought. I began to bounce in place. I could hear the sounds of electric motors buzzing and whirring to the beat. Boom boom boom. I started to laugh. Tomomi watched me and started to laugh hysterically. We couldn't stop. Precious bodily fluid was leaking out of my eyes and dropping in great pools at my feet.

"Oh ho ho," I said.

Suddenly a voice deep in the back of my head somewhere from another time and place began to speak to me. It said I should breathe deeply, focus my eyes, and try once again to think in complete sentences. "Come back," said the voice.

As I began to feel my feet firmly planted on the ground again I noticed men with great crates arriving at the tent. I stood silent like a small patient child holding a twenty dollar bill in the air. The woman turned toward me.

"Lucky you. How many do you want?"

"Four"

Quickly we opened a bottle each and began to drink. The liquid ran down cold into my belly and licked my insides like velvet. I had never tasted anything like it.

"This is the best water"

"Yes. Perfect"

We walked a bit further in the opposite direction with our precious cargo until we came to the Porta Potties. Not for me I thought. I'm just going to walk off into the woods for sure. Tomomi watched trying to figure out how this was to be navigated. There were about fifteen of them but no set line. It looked like people would just hap hazardly dart toward an opening when one came up. We watched.

"Go"

Tomomi ran toward the nearest opening door. At that moment Naoki came up along side me. I gave him two bottles of water. As Tomomi came out from the Porta potty she stopped, and began a very public display of washing her hands with the water from her bottle. Wash. Again. Wash. Half the water spilled to the ground.

"Very Japanese," said Naoki laughing. He had his long black hair up in a samurai top knot.

I laughed. I was happy to see him. At that moment I felt deep love for him. A very good friend.

Naoki spoke in Japanese to Tomomi. She looked at me and smiled.

Naoki left with his two bottles of water to join his girlfriend down by the stage. Virginie was from France. They could both barely speak English. As a consequence they could barely understand each other. It didn't matter mostly, but if they argued it could be bad as they never really were sure what exactly they were arguing about. They met in school learning to speak English. They each had tattoos done around their navels of the sun with rays.

"I got sick"

"Oh poor baby," I said. Taking her into my arms for a hug.

"I Threw out everything."

"Are you okay?"

"I need food. I am empty."

Further along was a food tent that stood alone. A line stretched for what looked like a mile behind it. I gave the situation some thought. I am not going to wait in that line. I can't cut in the line. It was too obvious. I will cut in the line with good intentions, I thought. I moved with Tomomi to the front. Everyone behind where I was walking eyed me suspiciously. I could hear them mumbling. All of them. "Hey mrhhprr the line...ggghrkbl ..to the back....mjkdf like everyone" that is what I heard. It reverberated through the entire line through the hundreds of them.

"I need to get this girl a hot dog" I said.

"I don't know man you need to get in line"

"This girl is very sick. She is going to fall over soon." Here is what I would like to do. I will give you five dollars for one hot dog. Not even for me. Just for her."

"I'm sorry I can't do that man."

Underworld began to call to me from the stage. "I'm invisible - I'm invisible...I'm an erasure of love... feel like I'm flying in two" (Underworld, Cowgirl, Dubnobasswithmyheadman , JBO, 1994.) I decided to take action. I stepped in front of him and addressed the entire line.

"This girl is sick I am going to buy her a hot dog"

My heart pounded. Boom Boom boom.

I got Tomomi her hot dog.

"She attacked the hot dog with her little Japanese mouth like an insect. She didn't care where it came from, or what was in it, or what the condiments were. I put the mustard and catchup packets into my pocket.

"Thank you"

We walked back down the road and then down about half way down the hillside and sat down. The distance seemed so much shorter. The lights exploded in all directions. Colors swirled in patterns. We watched for a moment until the crowd called us down to the stage. We danced until dawn.

All content property of Ron Andrew O'Daniels with the exception of Lyrics of Underworld. Permissions applied for.

30. A Story About A Dog: Take 2.

2009-05-02T10:46:00.024-04:00

I stood in the bathroom looking at myself in the mirror. More wrinkles. Too much makeup. My roots showing. I'm drinking too much. I neatly folded my dress and draped it over the towel rack. I paid so damn much money for that dress, and where did I go? To the same damn place I always go. What did I do? I brought home another loser of a man. What do they impress me with? He didn't say much. He just had that same innocent lost boy look I always fall for. Said something about loving dogs. That's right - he interrupted me. I was talking with Jimmy. He got scared, and walked away and left me with him. Did you meet Jimmy? Around men he's shy like a little girl.

I put on your flannel shirt. My night shirt now. You said I looked sexy in a man's shirt. That's what all men think I guess. The softness of the material reminds me of you. I know we didn't date long but you were the one. The reason I cry at night. The reason I bring home the guys like the one sitting in my bedroom now. The one my dog is growling at. A bad one for sure. My dog never let's me down.

I opened the bathroom door, and there he was. Such a cutie pie. Even now with that space helmet thing his head. Poor dear, I have been neglecting you haven't I? He sat wagging his tail waiting for me. He looked so horrible. His fur all matted and falling out in patches. The vet gave me that helmet contraption to keep him from biting himself, but he still couldn't help from looking so happy to see me. The other one? Well he was half asleep in the chair with one hand down his pants. "Hello Sleepy head" I said. "Why do you have to be so nice?" I thought. He sat up startled wiping saliva from the corners of his mouth. "Oh you look good" he said, holding out his arms for me. I climbed on to his lap. He was a young one. Very good looking. Still, a sure loser just the same. I'm fortunate. I have a bungalow no more than a half a block from the ocean, a great job, I am the envy of most of my friends. So why this one? I pressed into him. He was awake now for sure.

"Why don't I jump in the shower" he said.

"Sure, but hurry up. I have someone else showing up in thirty minutes"

"What?"

"Nothing" Dumb ass, I thought.

I was waiting for him on the bed when he came out of the shower. He did look yummy. Twenty five'ish I thought. I was trying to think of his name. Was it Ron or Rod or Rob? As we left the bar he was anxious to show me his car. His prize. I am lucky in that I only live two blocks away. I walk here usually. A brand new Ford something or other.

"Wow, what a pretty car."

" Yeah I just wanted to show you because I think it's getting repo'd next week."

That was more than I wanted to hear. "C'mon let's go" I said. I couldn't believe I was still going to bring him home. Do I not have a mind anymore?

"I'll drive."

"Let's walk."

My dog jumped to the floor. I had to laugh. That thing on his head makes him so science fiction. He sat on the floor growling at whatever his name was. Maybe he was growling at me. Maybe it's his way of showing disapproval. I remember you on the floor pretending to growl, and all he did was bark and wag his tail at you. Funny.

"Hey poochie yer not going to bite me are you bro."

I remembered now this one was another surfer.

"His name is Ringo"

"Hey Ringo chill out little guy"

Ringo growled louder and bared his fangs.

I pulled him down with me on the bed. I crawled on top. I started to kiss him.

"You've been spoiled haven't you?"

"What do you mean?

"Nothing"

I crawled down his body. He was lean and hard. I ran my nails down his chest.

"That's nice"

I didn't find what I was looking for. He seemed somewhere else so to speak. I decided I would share my dissatisfaction, and nibbled him a bit too harshly. More of a bite.

"Owe" he said grabbing me by the hair. This is better I thought. He pulled my head up to his face and we kissed. I ran my fingers through is hair. He was so adorable. Why does he have to be so...so unable to... do me. I was so horny I just began to grind his leg, his strong surfer leg, until I got off. I rolled off of him.

"Wow", I said.

He smiled, and for some reason looked pleased with himself.

He really wasn't a surfer he told me later. "Only sort of" he said. He was a salesman. He sold radio advertising. He was recently divorced. He currently only made commission, and was also being evicted from his apartment. The layers were getting deeper and deeper. He was actually thirty. To top it off, I watched him coming out of the shower one day, and he had a large purple mark on his leg. From me.

"Wow look at your leg" I said.

For some reason he gave me that same dumb ass look again like he was proud of himself for something. We were now two weeks into this relationship. I looked at the picture of my Mom on the bed next to me. My obsessive compulsiveness ran deep. No matter how hard I tried I was still obsessive about my hair. My make up. The men I brought home. My Mother has been married four times. She is never without a relationship. I don't know how she continues to find them, but she does. One loser after another. I have always vowed that I would be different.

"What do you want to do?" he said.

Christ, how many times was he going to say that to me? What I wanted was a really good shagging for about three hours straight, but I didn't bother to answer. I jumped from the bed and walked into the bathroom. I looked at all the neat little rows of medicine bottles in my cabinet. Why do I like everything so neat and in order? I thought of you and how good it was. Most importantly I realized that I didn't even remember your last name. Was it that long ago, or did it only last that short of a time? How can a man I never really knew still be affecting me so much?

"You look just like your Mom" he said.

I looked into the mirror. Right down to the last wrinkle I thought.

"What about you little space dog, what do you want to do?"

"Grrr"

I looked into the veins of my eyes and put mascara on. I wonder what I should wear tonight I thought.

"I don't think this is working out" I said.

Don , Ron, or Bob just kind of shrugged his shoulders at me and left. That was it. I decided on a dress the same color I had on when we met. Kind of an Ocean green. I wonder where you went. Maybe you're just down the street. Why didn't I remember your name?

Content Property of Ron Andrew O'Daniels

29. The Distance Of Candlelight

2009-04-30T11:08:00.004-04:00

He opened his eyes. A ceiling fan was above him. Motionless. He could hear a baby crying. The baby was yelling in a fit like babies do. He strained through the dull ache in his head to listen, but it was all gibberish. He heard a man's voice. This was equally undecipherable. Someone switched on a radio. Static sliced through his brain like a razor. When his brain was sufficiently tortured the razor begin to sing. The baby bounced on top of the razor demanding whatever it wanted. He closed his eyes. He strained to remember where he was. The baby kept screaming.

In his mind he pictured another baby crying. She was wearing a bonnet and reaching for her mother. The baby did not want to be on a pony. When he was a boy he tended ponies for tourists. He gave them the pony. They gave him the money. Then he took the money to his Uncle who drank too much. He died along time ago. Sometimes he would help walk the ponies up the narrow path into the jungle. This was the better job. It was cool up here. He could just let the tourists go on their own and sit and eat mangoes. Everyone in his village was a farmer. Everyone also worked in the restaurant sometimes or tended the ponies. All the elders were his Uncle or Aunt. Now that he was older he knew that it wasn't really that way. He opened his eyes again.

He was beginning to remember. He raised his head and looked around the room. The baby stopped crying sensing his movement. The baby stared at him for a moment. He rolled himself forward. He was on a mat on the floor with a single sheet. He was naked. Putting his head into the vice grip of his hands, he said out loud "You don't have to ride a pony." With that the baby began to scream again.

A thin brown man with long black hair and a sleeveless t-shirt appeared. He spoke words at him that he could not understand. He pulled the baby from the crib and handed him to his mother who appeared from behind a sheet of beads. He remembered her from last night. She was in the bed. They left the bar together. She wore no smile now. She began to argue with the man. He raised his hand in a threat, and she backed out through the beads. The man turned toward the mat on the floor. "You leave now," he said. He made a directional gesture. He looked around for his clothes. They were nowhere to be seen. He felt his neck. There was no gold chain. No ring. Now the dull throb began to fade as the adrenalin began to overpower the hangover.

"Where are my clothes?"

The same gesture.

"You leave now."

He stood up naked.

"I need my clothes," he thought for a moment. "My wallet and the rest of my shit right now" he demanded.

"Okay. Wait"

The man exited through the beads. He looked around the room. He was in no more than a shack. Odd pieces of wood joined together in any way to make them fit. A bare wood floor, the mat, a small chair and the baby crib made up the furnishing of the room. There were windows on three sides. No glass was in the windows. Only screened holes. The screens were not in frames, and only nailed up to the fragile wooden walls. There were two splashes of color on the walls. They were advertisements for beaches torn from magazines.

He pulled the sheet up around his waist to cover his privates. Not out of any modesty, but he felt he needed to protect himself. He became conscious of the fact that he was sweating profusely. It was very hot and the throb began to return as he stood in the silence. In the distance he could hear dogs barking. The sickeningly sweet smell of garbage burning was now filling the room. This was a smell that was everywhere here. A million open ovens, stoves, and garbage dumps. It all began to smell the same after awhile. The smoke always hung in the streets it seemed. Day or night.

He thought of home. On his Island it always smelled of flowers. The only thing that replaced the flowers was something on the stove. "There is nothing like real beans. Real tortillas" he thought. Oh they ate more than that. Much more, but it was the smell of the beans cooking that stayed with him always. "Mama made them the best". He liked to eat them every day. He always prayed first. Over every meal. His Mama made him do this. In the house was an alter. Just like in the church with many candles. The candles all had meaning and were for the Saints. A statue of the Virgin holding the baby Jesus was at the center of the alter. He didn't understand religion now. He stopped believing. It was like finding out Santa Claus did not exist for him. He discovered that the Virgin only existed in statues. Then he had no one to talk to anymore. To tell his secrets to.

The thin man with the long black hair came back through the beads. This time he carried a machete in his right hand. His left hand held a cigarette. Another man who looked much the same entered soon after him. He also carried a machete. Again they motioned for him to leave. They were young. Even though they had the obvious upper hand; they seemed unsure of the situation, and looked at him uneasily.

"I need some clothes," he said motioning with his hands to his lower body.

There was no sense asking for more. He would never find anything now. He was in a foreign land with people who more then likely sold all of his identification, and the money was long gone for sure. All he could do now was exact revenge. Not a good idea while he stood wrapped in a sheet and still did not know exactly where he was. He tried to create a short game of "what if" in his head. What if he got a machete from one. Then he would kill one, maybe two. Then probably he would go to jail for murder and rot forever here. "No not good idea" he thought.

The two men spoke in hushed tones for a moment and then one disappeared behind the beads again.

"Can I have a smoke?" He asked, pointing to the man's cigarette. The man stepped forward just within his reach and held up the machete at the same time as a warning. He took the cigarette from the man's hand and nodded to him. The man stepped apprehensively backward and nodded back. There was no sense fighting about anything. He had been robbed of everything and now stood naked. That was the way it was. The cigarette was hand rolled and the tobacco tasted fresh and good. He took a long drag. It seemed to help the throb in his head. It was the best cigarette he ever tasted.

The other man returned through the beads. He was holding a pair of men's slacks. The man tossed them to him. They were not his. They did not fit. He put them on anyway. Khaki slacks. They were American. Probably military issue. They were loose around the waste and too short. They would do. He decided to make one last attempt to get back his wallet and his ring and chain. He motioned with his hand to his neck where the chain belonged. Now both men became angry and raised their machetes and began to speak loudly in their native tongue. He raised both is palms up in defeat.

"Okay Okay forget it"

He thought about it. "Everything was probably sold last night anyway. His ID card, that probably fetched a pretty penny. His ring and chain gone for sure. He didn't have much money in his wallet as he could recall" his thoughts tumbled out under the pressure of the hangover. The men were motioning toward a doorway that led outside. More like a crack really. He squeezed through and found himself standing in a narrow alley way. The men looked through the window at him silently watching what his next move would be. They turned from the window as he started to walk. He thought about coming back and torching the place. "Revenge. That would just make it all worse." He quickly changed his mind.

Down the alley he walked barefoot in his odd fitting khaki's and no shirt. There were a few people out already. Children pointed at him and laughed. When he reached the main drag it was sleepy still. Taxi's and jitneys honked and rang bells at him. More people pointed. It could have been much worse. It could have been night. In the morning. It always was different here. The prostitutes were gone, and all the street hustlers. It was just street returning to life filled with regular people. Shop workers and such. As he approached the gate the guards watched him as they rested on their rifles.

"What the hell happened to you?"

"I got robbed"

"I guess so"

One of the guards tossed him a t-shirt.

"I don't know how clean this is."

He put the shirt on. Plain white undershirt. It seemed to take away a small bit of the shame. He had a habit of playing with the ring he wore on the chain around his neck. Reflexively he grabbed for the ring. It was still gone. His wedding band. The gold chain given as a gift from his Father. Now he thought, what would he tell his wife? His family? He looked down at the yellowed t-shirt. He thought of the candles that his Mother was keeping lit. For the Virgin. For him. For his soul. His life. Once he had thought that he would never find himself like this. Robbed by a prostitute. He felt his crotch through the khaki's. The thought came to him that he still had not washed.

He was surprised he did not think of her again until now. After all, she really was the one who set the whole thing up. Picked him out. She walked him staggering drunk from the bar to the money changers so he could get more money for her bar fine. Then she walked him back to the club and like a fool he gave it all away. He could remember now. There was no money left in his wallet. He had drank it, and then whore'd the rest away.

Blind drunk he was when he fell into her bed. Then he had her. In the haze he could see her with her eyes closed expressionless. It was him simply pumping into her until he emptied his life into her. He remembered that instant now. There was no gratification only shame, and he could feel it all again now. Now he had joined the idolaters. The dust from his walk to the gate covered him. Rubbing the sweat on his face he felt the grit. He wanted to cry and ask forgiveness. He saw the Virgin's eyes. Never changing in candlelight. The vessel of his prayers.

Content Property of Ron Andrew O'Daniels

28. A story about a Dog: California 1990

2009-04-28T12:01:00.000-04:00

"I love dogs" I said. More importantly I said, "Your dog will love me."

I had stepped into her conversation with someone who was just leaving. I heard the word dog.

"Oh you're so sure of yourself."

"That I am."

The lowest of the low is when you know that you have become so lonely that you are simply trolling for someone. Anyone. To relieve the emptiness. The buzz was on. So was hers. Closing time. I just walked in. She was at the bar. I happened to be standing in just the right light at that moment. Dark enough to hide the real me. The troll. Out of sorts with himself. Wearing all the wrong clothes. Recently divorced. A mountain of debt. Not the kind to meet the parents. I had stepped into the scent of her perfume.

She looked prim. She had one of those hair cuts that require maintenance every other week. A strong indicator of obsessive behavior. This is what happens when you start running around trying to lift your leg every where. Any hair will do. So there I was leaning against the bar. The bartender gave me a sly eye as if he was trying to say something. "Too late for that," I said back to him with my eyes. Throwing in just a bit of self pity as if to say, "I know man it's sad. I'm sad. Forgive me." But then he threw back at me, "Oh you sorry fucker, you don't even have a clue of what you are getting into." I caught all that in two quick facial expressions delivered to me via my beer goggles and into a few malfunctioning brain cells, then down to my penis which was hollering back,

"Wait I'm going to get some time to prepare right?"

"Yes", I said.

"What?" she said.

"Nothing. Are you going to introduce me to your dog?"

"Okay, let's go."

Now on this part of the beach every one is usually walking so no need for all that let me show you my car stuff, but I was driving nice at the time. Sealed the deal. It was repossessed about three weeks later. So much for appearances. I do love dogs to be fair. Certain types of dogs I don't like though. I don't like the ones that start to growl at me right away. Like they know me from somewhere, or they think I have bad intentions.

She had a nice little place. It smelled all of dog. The dog was on the bed. A little dog. A little gray shaggy dog with matted fur he looked in bad shape. He had one of those reverse space helmet things on his head so he wouldn't bite himself. I looked at her haircut again. The back of her neck shaved. The edge perfect. This wasn't bi-weekly maintenance. This was weekly. A non-stoppable hair cut that would go on for the rest of her life. A picture of her mom was next to the bed. She had the same hair. Jennifer was perfect platinum blond and so was her mother. The dog growled at me from the bed. He stopped for a moment to run around in circles frantically trying to somehow bite his own ass around the giant space helmet. I don't remember the dog's name.

Jennifer said to me, "I'm going to slip into something more comfortable."

"Okay" I said. Taking a seat far from the Space dog. Everything was happening in a much to orderly fashion. This was an often repeated scene. It wasn't that I was one of many, I mean who cares. No, it was just that I had the feeling this was the way it always went in this room. Many a man sat in this chair waiting. Eyes on this dog. This perfect little room. With everything so in place. She appeared later wearing a man's flannel shirt. She looked sexy. I squeezed her. The flannel felt nice and soft. Poor guy, I thought. This was a favorite shirt for sure. I stopped everything to take a shower myself. Her bathroom had a potion for everything. Lots of little bottles. All meticulously lined up in nice rows. The larger bottles to the right.

She wasn't unattractive but she had wore tons of make up. Her face had acne scars which I am sure to her meant everything. To me they were unimportant. I would have liked to tell her that her acne scars were trivial, but who am I to erase her insecurity in a night. It would have come out wrong. It would have been me telling her that she wore too much make-up. No, I didn't want to go there. I was all about acceptance. It was her invitation.

I joined her on the bed. She had put the dog on the floor. He stared at me from the corner and growled. His hair was everywhere. She crawled up on top of me and began to kiss my neck. She was very take charge. To the right her mother stared at me. With the same foundation make up. The same facial expression. I wanted to say, "can I turn the picture of your mom over because she's creeping me out." Instead I said, "let's turn the lights out."

"I like the lights on" she said crawling down between my legs."

"Okay."

This was becoming kind of a painful experience. Something I had never experienced before. I grabbed her by the hair. She liked that. I pulled her up toward me to kiss. Anything to spare me from the pain. We kissed. Okay this was much better. Suddenly she began to grind on my leg. This would normally be a nice experience but the grinding took on the intensity of a power sander. I reached for my leg. "I'm getting close" she said. "Well okay", I thought. I was hoping this wasn't going to go on for much longer.

The space dog still growled in the corner. Was he smiling through his fangs? She began to cry out. Than it was over. We had sex after that. I did my best. Soon she was back on my leg. "This is the best way for me" she said.

I continued to see her for about another two weeks off and on. I stood in the shower one day and examined my leg. It was always the left leg. Always the same spot. I had this huge carpet burn thing on my thigh. Her closet had an assortment of men's shirts. I guess they finally never came back. They just ran out one night leaving behind the favorite concert T-shirt, flannel, or even a couple of wild disco shirts. All were in there. She told me they belonged to an ex boyfriend. I knew better. Too many different tastes in that closet.

We broke up amicably. Just sort of nicely faded apart. The haircut extended in many directions. Only certain foods were ordered. They had to be prepared certain ways. Only certain places. We had to always attend her favorite haunts. Too much for me when combined with my rug burn. I saw her a few weeks later.

She had her arms around some guy much better looking than me at about 1am. She looked over his shoulder at me as if to say "your loss." She said something to the guy he was with about me. I sat at the bar. I was with my friend English Chris we were both hammered. I told Chris about my leg. He laughed and looked back. Jennifer's new guy looked at us direct with a bit of a snarl. The bartender - same guy - caught it.

"Poor guy" he said, flashing me a knowing smile.

All Content Property of Ron Andrew O'Daniels

27. Why Don't I Just Introduce Myself Properly: Nationwide and Various

2009-04-25T18:20:00.000-04:00

If you think you know me, let me drop a dose of reality into this fiction. I drift. There is no permanency in my life. None. I have secrets - many. I change my identity like clothing. I got left a gift. I told you my father went down a bad way. That guy left me something. The one who did the deed. The murderer. It's not easy. I'm not a bad guy, but blood follows me. That was his gift to me. The first time was a long time ago. There have been many. The last time was maybe a year ago.

Coming off the interstate when you are thumbing rides becomes a big blur. One big grey off ramp. The same cement embankments to traverse. The little fields of trimmed grass with a few trees to camp behind. Crossing the road isn't easy sometimes. The whole country is just one endless procession of strip mall after strip mall. It seems that way. This day like the others was uneventful. I jumped from the back of a pickup with my pack over one arm, and my guitar in my hand. I learned to never put your stuff in the back of a truck, and sit in the front. I've heard too many stories of guys trying to take off the minute you jump out the door. I've seen a few standing at on ramps with nothing in their hands. That's the worst man. When you don't have a thing.

Down the off ramp and on to yet another suburban boulevard. I crossed a couple state lines in a day. I think I was still in Texas that day. On the other side was a dollar store. Behind were massive apartments. On this side a large cement block wall about eight feet tall with a lot of shrubs in front separated the three stories. The American dream. Some guy was working the off ramp. One of those veteran needs help guys. I could see the trail leading into the bushes by the wall that was his digs. His home. Probably had a small tent back there. A little makeshift camp. He eyed me uneasily. I ignored him. Didn't want to know. Didn't care. I crossed the main road. As guys with back packs crossing the road are invisible I waited a bit on the island. Then I ran the rest of the way. Inside the dollar store I walked past the canned sausages looking at the corn.

"Those are great man. Four cans for a dollar. Can't beat it."

He came out of nowhere. He was too close to me. I stepped back. I had to say something. "Maybe I'll try 'em one day." I grabbed a couple cans of corn. Some raw nuts. I try to stay healthy. There are some days when a burger and fries is all that I'm going to find. So I stock up.

"Hey man saw you come off the road. We're right over there. Got a bottle of wine. Come on over."

"I gotta do some laundry"

"Okay we're over there against the wall."

I didn't like his eyes. I didn't like his voice. I didn't like the fact that he came up on me inside the store. He watched me. Followed me. That's for sure. It's not that I don't trust people. I have been through this routine. Can't be too careful. Him and his partner over against the wall. Behind the wall some family with no idea. Just ten inches or so of separation between the affluent and a small tribe of hunter gatherers. I looked once into his eyes just long enough to show a required amount of civility and then continued. He faded out of my sight.

Next came the Laundry detergent made in Mexico. The powder in a bag. One dollar. I paid and made for a huge apartment complex. Tejano music filled the laundry room. It was a noisy place. I think two radios were going. Lots of small children. A dozen or so. It looked like all the machines were taken. I just stood there for awhile. It was hot in here. A small Latina woman. Pointed to the corner smiling.

"Mira"

"Gracia"

I only needed one machine. Everyone was friendly. Everyone a traveler in here. At one time. I sat outside on the steps and waited for my clothes with two or three little girls with bows in their hair showing me their coloring books.

"Linda. Muy bueno" I said.

I never get the feminine or masculine correct. They showed me page after page. Smiling and chattering at me. I packed up and headed back to the on ramp. They caught me.

"Come on man." It was two of them.

"Were only fifteen feet away man. We ain't gonna bite you."

To refuse now would have been a bold statement of mistrust. I thought about it. I was kind of in a bad spot. I tried to look calm but my skin was crawling. I could feel my heart begin to race. Maybe they're just a couple of guys. Regular guys.

"Okay I said, I'll hang out a minute but I got to get to Florida soon."

"Hell man, you won't miss a job hangin' here a few minutes."

Around the bushes flat against the wall was another one of 'em. We were blind to the road now. Just that short of distance changed everything. They had less of a camp then I thought. Just the three of them squatting on a tarp with their sleeping bags laid out. Under a blanket was another person. Looked like a girl. She appeared to be asleep.

"Have some wine" said the one with the beard. The one who was working the sign.

"I don't drink"

"What 'er you an alcoholic?" They all thought that was pretty funny."

"Yes", I said.

I sure wasn't going to be drinking out of their gallon jug. A young one - the third one - began to toss a knife into the dirt near to me. Toss and grab. He was too quiet. Suddenly the girl in the blanket rolled over. Her eyes stared at me blank. It was like she realized a new voice was in the mix. She looked to be not all there. The guy in the dollar store went to roll her back over.

"Now Charlene, you just get yer drunk ass back to sleep."

She looked young maybe twenty. Her glazed over look penetrated me. He rolled her over. When he did, I could see her hands were bound. I quickly looked the other way pretending not to notice. I was squatting. A position I can move from quickly.

In a heartbeat I said to the young guy, "Nice knife. Is that a switch blade?"

The older guy with the beard threw back the bottle of wine. He was looking closely at me. Sizing me up. The young guy continued to throw the knife.

"I got a question for you too mister."

"What's that?"

"How much money you carrying in that pack of yours?"

Everything now went to slow motion. It's like when you see a centipede on the ground and you reach for it. They go to fast forward. For me everything slows down.

"Bad timing Junior," was my thought.

With his last word, the knife hit the ground in front of him. In one move my right foot kicked the older guy square to the nose. I heard the sound of it break and a geyser of blood came out. The young guy caught the knife in his neck and went down with a kind of gurgling sound. The dollar store guy had enough time to make a run, but I caught his legs with my feet and down he came. One jerk and he was back behind the bush. I brought the wine bottle down on his head quickly. Once. Twice. It took me awhile to get a good grip on the jug. I was surprised it didn't break. On the third time it broke. Then I swung back with the broken handle as the first guy with the broken nose started to move toward me. A swipe across the neck. He collapsed like someone pulled his plug. I caught the girl out of the corner of my eye. She had rolled back over and was staring at me wild eyed. I put my finger to my lips.

"Shh," I said.

Now I sat down. I leaned against the wall. I was unscathed. Some wine had splashed on me, that was it. Blood was everywhere, but by some miracle, not on me. I looked at the whole scene. They were all three dead. I could hear the traffic just yards away. Thunderous it seemed. No one heard anything. Of that I was sure. I waited for my heart to calm down a bit before I spoke to the girl.

"Look" I said. "I don't know what has happened to you here, but you're okay now."

She nodded her head expressionless. I moved forward and gently rolled her over. Then I untied her hands. She sat up and was sobbing. She still had that same expressionless look on her face. All blank. She reached her arms out for me to embrace. I took her into my arms. I could feel her convulse. Then I could feel her lips softly on my neck. This was too out of place. "Not now," I was thinking. I was trying to give comfort but she was definitely kissing my neck. I could feel her tongue. Then a nibble. Her teeth gently scraped my skin. When the pain began I had no warning. It was sharp. I never felt anything like it. I could hear her growling. I moved so quick I couldn't even get a scream out. With one violent thrust she was off me, and her head smacked the wall. It sounded hollow. From her mouth my blood trailed down her chin. I grabbed for my neck and it felt wet and sticky. The flow was just beginning.

I threw my pack to the ground, and with one hand to my neck, begin to work my way through. Underwear. Socks. Bungee cords. Cigarettes. "Where in the fuck..." I said. Finally I pulled out a roll of gauze. I wrapped it three or four times around my neck. Bit it with my teeth. "I'll need more," I thought. I looked at her. Her eyes wide open. I could actually see my flesh in her teeth. I tried to feel my neck through the gauze. "Just punctures. A bit more maybe." I was speaking aloud to myself.

I crawled forward. She had no pulse. "What to do," I thought. I looked around at the four dead bodies. "Never ever do this again", I said to myself. "I'm not a bad guy" I thought. I was sure that when the police came they would survey four dead bodies. They would pull my DNA from her teeth.

"What happened here?" they would say. "Well the one guy got pissed at the whole bunch and killed them. Maybe he tried to have his way with the girl?"

I knew it would fall out something like that. I stayed there sitting against the wall with her to my right, and the other three guys splayed out in front of me until it was dark. Long dark. I checked them for money. Combined, they had $586.00. I left the change. They all had wallets. They had drivers licenses and food stamp cards. I took everything. I searched through their packs. Nothing. I figured if they couldn't identify them it would take more time for anyone to really get on the hunt. Charlene, she didn't have a wallet. She had nothing. She had on a strapless T-shirt. It said "Don't Mess with Texas". Everything else I left the way it was. The knife I took of course. I wrapped it in plastic along with the broken handle from the wine bottle.

I still don't know why she was tied up. Often I think about her. I wake up in the middle of the night. I see her. She's propped up against the wall. She wipes her mouth and says. "Hi" that's what she says. That's all. I wonder if they made her crazy or maybe they tied her up because she got drunk and tried to bite one of them. I will never know.

I walked about three miles to another on ramp. It wasn't even the same Highway. I was now going the wrong direction. I didn't even care. Just had to move. I went to a drug store. I wrapped a shirt around the gauze before I went in. I walked straight for the rubbing alcohol. I didn't buy it. Hardly anyone was in the store. No sense drawing attention to myself. Just stuck the bottle in my pack, and walked out. About fifty miles out I started dropping things. Wallets, the knife. Got rid of everything. Down storm drains.

This was the first time. I run. I change. I try sometimes to be normal. Sometimes I fall in love. Mostly it's cold. I think I could be normal occasionally. Death kind of follows me though. It's a curse. I told you. It always happens. Want to turn me in? Find me. I'm out there. I'm tired. I'm not a bad guy.

Content Property of Ron Andrew O'Daniels

26. My Right Pocket: Now

2009-04-23T09:29:00.000-04:00

Today, when I pulled my head from my hands, I noticed that I was holding some of my brain. At first I was alarmed until I realized I felt no pain. I just didn't know what to do with it. Kind of like holding warm ground beef but more gelatinous. I just shoved it all into my right front pocket and washed the blood down the bathroom sink. I looked at my face and couldn't see a noticeable wound. I even held up a little mirror and examined the back of my head. It must have come from somewhere but I guess it doesn't matter. I have a big red stain on the front of my jeans now. That will be my excuse to not go out today.

People are screaming at me from everywhere. I can hear them like faint bird cries, but I just pat my pocket slightly and a bit of water releases from my eyes. Suddenly the sounds go away. It's a little strange. Like having jello in my pocket. If I slap my pocket hard with my right hand my left hand punches into the air. The weirdest thing. So based upon this new development in my life I have decided that I now possess the means to simply continue in this room for an indefinite period. I'm going to come out only to eat ramen noodles. I do drink coffee as well. It would be crazy to do this without coffee.

There is a faint desire coming from my pocket I think to take the show on the road. To just put my laptop into a bag and start walking. I don't know if I remember how to do that exactly. If I do start walking I think I want to be the center of something. A big world wide underground organization. I think that psychiatrists call this delusions of grandeur. I only feel this as a slight flirtation at the moment so I am not ready to call myself delusional yet.

If I were to be fully delusional though, I think that my organization would be made up of other people walking with their laptops. We would simply exist to promote the technique of pressing one's hands against the head until a certain portion of the brain carrying certain emotional triggers separates and can be carried easily in the front pocket. I don't know if we would all meet up at some point or what. I don't even know if I would go at all. It's cold outside at night. I remember well. I would have to go through tons of preparation. The pack. The sleeping bag. All the little gadgets. A watch. Spare stuff. Good shoes.

Then after a week on the road I show up at one of those gyms. Filled with road dirt. I show my membership card. I walk into the techno world of pretty people. First, I would delicately place my little gelatinous mass into a plastic bag and then safely into a locker with my pack. "Don't worry I will be back in forty five minutes", I would say. Then I would stand under the shower and wash the world off, and rub some blue gel all over me. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. I then would kinda just walk around and play on the machines. I would never think about speaking to anyone. I suppose I would be a bit worried about the gelatinous mass in a plastic bag in my locker. It's never to safe. Gyms everywhere all say what's in the locker is left at risk. I feel worried already. I'm not going anywhere. I will run everything from here. Everything is going to change now. Prepare yourselves.

25. Special Earth Day Post: Today

2009-04-22T11:01:00.000-04:00

I have no nice list of things we all should do to help save energy. There are no bumper stickers on my car. I don't have a car. Oh I limit my packaged goods and try to turn the lights off and flush the toilet less. Basically, I consume like some of you, and still detest myself for it because of my weakness. Yet my consumption could never approach many of you. You are real professionals.

I have spent the greater part of my life employed at various concerns that did nothing but produce junk that served no real purpose. I spent the rest of it in the Military - 12 years - wasting vast amounts of fuel and other resources defending the greatest Empire the earth has ever seen. Bar none. Nothing has ever in history ever come close. In all of time. I trained young Men on how to take part in destroying the entire planet with the touch of a button. Yes, I grew to hate myself for my part in the insane world we have created. So hug a tree for me today. Then think about the best way to dismantle all of this.

It began like this as I recall: When I was a young boy of the age of eight years old they would hustle us off the hot parking lot because the air was too bad to have recess. That was okay. It was accepted. The authorities everywhere accepted it. To bring children inside from the bad air. It's perfectly normal isn't it? We made posters once for Earth Week, or Conservation day or whatever they called it then. My poster was against noise pollution.They build the freeways in the poorest of neighborhoods. The big noisy overpasses, and the train tracks, the engines of our Industry. They belong to the children with the least. You have always accepted this. These things are beyond you. Where you live. Where it is clean. Where your children are smart and clean and most go to college and have five televisions in your house and the latest video games, you don't know about these things. You watch them from a distance of great miles on your little boxes. Noise pollution that is what it was. My poster.

Years later when I was a young man - nineteen - and in the Military. I remember a bridge at the gate of the Navy base at Subic Bay, Olongapo City Philippines. The bridge went from the gate over a river we called "shit river" because of its muddy color and foul smell probably because it carried raw sewage. Thousands of Sailors and Marines crossed this bridge every day. At night small boats lined up on the river filled with children who begged for Pesos or American coin, and would dive into the filthy water to fetch coins the Americans would throw at them. Every night as I crossed this bridge I watched sailors taunt little boys of eight to ten years old to dive.The boats also carried girls of similar age or older dressed in white virginal dresses also begging for coins. They would beg the boys would jump. The sailors would ask these girls to drop their dresses in exchange for coin. They never did. They only acted shy and demure as they flirted with the grown men walking the bridge. For years I saw this go on. It took decades before the U.S. Navy finally built a fence to discourage the practice. Decades. As in from the beginning of the base until sometime before it's closure when public opinion in the Philippines began to turn against the base.

What does this have to do with Earth day? Oh I don't know I guess maybe it describes Americans. The big wigs of the world. Maybe it sheds light on who we are. I'm not describing isolated incidents here. This type of behavior shows up in many places we put our bases. We turn a blind eye don't we? For the most part? How about you? We maintain the largest Military establishment in the world. So you can be free? Or so you can maintain your life style? Which is it? This Military establishment dropped how many tomahawk cruise missiles on Iraq during the first few days of the war? According to my good friends at Fox news we dropped 40 of them on the first day. At 1.5 Million Dollars a pop ( I wish not to compare to the greater loss of life which is immeasurable). That is a fair amount of cash.

I was one who stood once in an an Apartment arguing with some Brazilians about the war. "If they say they got Nuclear Weapons or are about to get 'em that's it then, we gotta go", I was saying. I was suckered. I ask those Brazilians now to forgive me. I was a fool. My President and all his men and women lied to me. Lied right to my face.

What does this have to do with Earth day? Well, it was all about oil. A big environmental disaster of epic proportions all over oil. So you - and you know who you are - can drive your big SUV. Your Hummer. So you can show yourself off. So your wife can drive a Military transport vehicle to pick up your two children from pre-school. Earth day. I have no nice list of things for you to do today.The last job I had one of the owners jokingly said he would fire me if I voted for Barack Obama because he was going to bring socialism upon us. I was fired. Maybe that was part of it. You know, I argued with just about everyone in the building at least once over the environment. I was considered pretty crazy when I talked about big chunks of ice falling into the sea. They would say to me repeatedly that Global Warming did not even exist. I would argue just to get them to admit that climate change was not a fantasy. You know what? They really did not care.

They went with their families every Sunday to Church, and talked about the crazy left wing, and wacko environmentalists.They went to Church to talk about how the rest of the World is out to get us. About how we have enough oil to last for thousands of more years. All we gotta do is drill. I have to tell you - you people - and you still know who - are very sick indeed. You are a Nationwide infection. You are part of a very sick and decadent society. You who wait for Jesus to wash you.

Once when I lived in Hollywood I read in the L.A. times that all the amphibian populations were down and many were being born with genitalia that was malformed. Sometimes hermaphroditic. Their skin was not being formed correctly and other problems as well. This because of planetary warming possibly. Back then maybe Ozone depletion was also a factor. This was in 1996 or so. I pulled up an article from 2007 that says that in the rainforest's of central America that amphibian populations are actually down by as much as 75%.

It's not real what I am saying though is it? It couldn't be. If it was then you would surely care. I mean you, who know who you are, not the rest of us believers. Yeah, everyday at that job the same shit. I would just hide out in a back office and listen to the rest of them what they said about virtually everything and cringe. That is what it is like to be one of us. One of the believers living among you.

Lately since Al Gore came to the forefront the news has gotten more grim. I am hearing things that frighten me. Bigger chunks of ice falling off. Cracks growing under ice. permafrost that is permanently melted all kinds of stuff like that. I still hear about the economic reasons for not moving forward with initiatives to cut our use of fossil fuels. How it will hurt the economy. I want all of you to know - that I don't care what you think any more. You are a danger to my health. No really - seriously - you are. Your anti-world view is a danger to my health. Your sick religious fundamentalist war like Jesus, us against them - war footing - is dangerous to my health as well. Your continued belief in maintaining this gigantic Armed Force stationed all over the world is dangerous to my health.You are seriously crazy, I mean the ones who already know who you are.

Again, sorry but you are all the same people. You are nuts. Every last one of you. Your greed is endless. You are the same ones who brought the slaves over. The same ones who colonized the world. You are still pillaging. You - the ones who like to grab and hold stuff. People and Countries. Can I ask you? what is wrong with you? When you read that bible of yours, that you thump down my throat so heavily, did you miss the part about sharing the loaves and fishes? Did Jesus say keep as much bread as you can? What is wrong with you people? Now that you have had oil prices drop down you don't even believe we have a problem do you? You who still are driving your Hummers around. What is your point exactly? Tell me.

I want you to know that I am watching you. I hear your complaining and your crying about not getting to keep so much. Do you realize that today according to the World watch Institute over 1 Billion people live in slums? Defined as such because people don't have clean water, a nearby toilet and durable housing. You don't believe a damn word I'm saying do you? It's just left wing propaganda to put you out of your gas guzzler. You might even have to get a smaller house. What do you have like a three story? Three cars. A boat. Some more toys. Yeah, you are special aren't you. I don't like you. I really don't. Many people don't. All around he world many people don't can you feel it? You like to horde stuff, yeah you do. So all these new world treaties they piss you off. Gonna make you change your life style. You are mad now for sure.Now I know you don't believe anything I said here. In fact it made you mad.

Today is Earth day. It's not Easter. You need to change or we are going to force you to change. That's right. Because our lives depend on it. We have grown tired of you. Fossil fuels man must die. Happy Earth Day. Consider yourselves warned.

24. Contemporaneous And Thoughtlessly Thrown

2009-04-20T18:38:00.000-04:00

This is what it feels like. This fear.

First for the critics of Poets. Fuck you.

For my family you are forgotten it seems.

For my love. I don't remember what love feels like.

For my Country. You are greedy. The mouths are coming to your door.

For the hatred that swells. I am trying to bar you from my door.

For hope. For what?

I don't clip my nails. I can't move. The mental paralysis is too great.

I surrender to the winners. I don't want to compete any more.

My hair gone my scalp dry my tears shed.

My face dry my teeth rough my gums red.

The smell of myself is all I have.

The idea of sitting and begging for a job kills me. To be someones tool.

To sell crap to crap lover's is the American way. To water. Melt. To sky. Bend. To earth. Do you really wither? To God. Speak or forever now hold your peace. When I snap out from under this weight I will laugh and say. My how heavy everything seemed. My how crazy everything was. My what changes have come. My what lies I believed. This generation far from beat cool hip lost in such uncaring as to punish all for our iniquities. We the eaters. The big eaters. The top notch drivers. The big people. The teenage porn purveyors. The plastic surgery fanatics. The money hustlers. The revenge lovers. The murderous thugs who attack at will with the latest pilots trained on gadgets. Oh such little to hoot about then in famous little whine and rant. Here now we melt. No I mean here now we melt. No I mean here now we melt. No - do you not hear me? Here now we melt. Non believers continue to count down to Jesus. Do you hear me - we melt now. So my generation of looters carelessly bedazzled by deception ponder at the value of their pastimes. We melt. The wonder of money rolling worldwide amazes. We now up to our knees as the water rises. I'm going to shower. Lift my head and try to wash off the pain. Everything is so pointless. That is what it feels like.

23. The Porn Star: 1998'ish

2009-04-18T23:30:00.000-04:00

With her big wild hair and expensive lingerie, she lay on his bed watching as he paced around the room making announcements about nothing in particular. The candles were all lit. The various strings of Christmas lights stretched across the walls cast a strange mix of color around the room and melted into the pattern of his shirt. It wasn't Christmas.

"We could go to L.A. and you could be a porn star." He didn't even have a clue where that came from.

"Do you know someone?"

"I know where they're at."

"Where who's at?

"The porn makers."

"Do you even know what you're talking about?"

There was a knock on the door and Byron let himself in. He arrived in knee high platform boots and a bright orange feather boa. He kissed Drew's cheek and looked at the girl in the bed. "Hello" he said. "Do you mind if I lay down with you?" He threw himself down on the bed before she could reply. "No,"she said.

"You look like a movie star."

"Thank you."

Drew, do you have anything to drink. My throat is so dry."

"Where are you coming from?"

"I don't know. Everywhere. I was with Heather and she left with some guy. Are you going to introduce me to your friend?"

Drew opened the small fridge and tossed a can of coke to Byron. "You want Alcohol?"

"Oh God, that would be wonderful. What do you have?"

"You have a choice of rum or rum or rum", said Simone.

"Do you have ice?"

"I give to you the last three cubes."

"Simone meet Byron"

"A pleasure," said Byron.

"Likewise."

"You have a lovely accent are you from Australia?"

Her face grimaced slightly.

"England - London."

"How do you like it here?"

"This is all I've seen."

"He's been like this all week", said Byron.

"I gather this isn't his normal behavior?"

"I'm going to go to Alaska", said Drew.

"I thought we were going to L.A."

"What's in L.A.?"

"Drew says he is going to make me a porn star."

"That's gross. You are to lovely for that."

"I'm going to go fishing", said Drew.

"My Friend was a porn star. He did gay porn."

"Did he make any money?"

"If he did he spent it all in a day", said Drew.

"It's a really sad story I don't want to talk about it."

"I'll fish for Salmon."

"What do you know about fishing?" said Simone.

"Is there any Pizza in here?" said Byron.

"I think it's from Wednesday. What day is this?"

"It's still good. I don't need to know about fishing. There's a shortage."

"A shortage of what?" said Byron between pizza bites.

Drew threw himself down on the bed between Byron and Simone and stared at the ceiling. Mick Jagger stared back at him.

"I dunno, whatever they do. The people they hire."

"You are seriously cracked."

"You guys I'm going to go I want to sleep.

"Nice meeting you"

"You too we can talk later."

With that Byron got up and wrapped his boa around his neck and left them laying alone both staring up at Mick Jagger."

"Aren't you a bit old for posters on your ceiling?"

"I'm a bit old. Yes"

"I came half way around the world to get away from guys like you, and now here I am."

"Guys like me?"

"Guys who are fucked up."

"Wow that's kind of harsh isn't it. I thought we were friends."

"You don't have any friends. This door has just been revolving. In and out with a bunch of lunatics. Just party people, other losers and drug addicts. A freak show."

"You've been the star."

"I need to get the fuck out of here."

"You know my friend told me once it was time to move out of here when he woke up one morning and his girlfriend was dancing around him with a lamp shade on her head and laughing like a loony."

"You think that will happen to us?"

"You're not my girlfriend."

"Right."

Simone started to cry. She put her hand over her mouth to keep the sobs from coming out.

"Really, I just wanted to sort myself out. I just need to..." her words trailed off as tears continued to stream down her face."

Drew jumped from the bed and walked to the window. He looked down at the busy street. A crowd was forming as the club closed. People from the street waved up at him. He didn't wave back. He continued to watch the crowd.

"You know. I didn't ask you to waste your time here with me. I told you everything there was to know about me in the first five minutes after we met. You pretty much followed me in the door. Now you want to blame me for whatever landslide you went through in London. I told you I was bad as in not good."

"Yeah, I can see that."

"No - you could see that. From the beginning"

"Are there any more fags?"

He reached to the floor and tossed a box of reds to her. Her hands shook as she lit her cigarette. She took a drag and then wiped the tears from her face.

"Are we going to L.A. ?

"For what?"

"The porn thing."

"I don't know anyone in L.A."

"You said..."

"Excuse me. When did I start saying something that made sense?"

She jumped from the bed and grabbed a pair of jeans from the floor. She put her sunglasses on top of her head. Then she walked slowly around the room looking for her shoes. He watched her from the corner of his eye trying to appear disinterested. She tossed her suitcase on the bed and began to pack.

"Asshole," she said. She threw a painted T-shirt over her head.

"That's mine."

"Tax."

"So where are you off to then?"

"L.A."

"Wow, you really are a mess."

"Yeah. I really am."

"Listen, I'm pretty benign compared to what you're going to find up there. I don't think it is the right occupation for you anyway."

She laughed for a moment and then sat down on the bed and began to cry some more.

"You know, you could be a great guy if only you had a bit of compassion."

"Look at me. What do I look like? What should I do? It's a revolving door just like you said. What - have I known you like three days? Everything's a blur."

"You look like your so nice. Your paintings, and guitar and your singing. Your Poetry. You are just full of shit."

There was a knock at the door and girl with bright red hair and freckles opened the door dragging a gigantic suitcase.

"Hello. Am I interrupting something?"

"Well I'm out of here then."

Simone stood up and grabbed her suitcase and walked to the door squeezing passed the girl with red hair. She paused half way in and out and looked back at Drew. The red haired girl cleared the doorway, stepping inside, and smiling politely at Simone.

"Here said Drew. He grabbed a card off the table. "This is a hostel in L.A. Not quite as cheap as this one he said smiling. "But it's safe. Don't do something dumb up there just try to be normal."

Simone took the card and looked at the girl with the red hair.

"Watch out for this one," she said.

"Oh I know this one very well" said the girl with the red hair. "Bye."

The red haired girl closed the door behind Simone.

"My goodness, your little interludes are becoming more and more dramatic aren't they?"

"She's off to be a porn star."

The red haired girl laughed. "Was that your idea Drew?

"I dunno. She says I'm fucked up," said Drew, nuzzling into her neck.

"She's in much worse shape then you are, trust me. You bad man you. Was that overnight bag her only luggage?"

"As I remember."

"She must have been very scared of my baby to run out of here at four in the morning," she said while lightly kissing his face.

22. Why I love Las Vegas so: 1998'ish

2009-04-15T19:33:00.000-04:00

"If you have the bottle in your hand then you can talk."

"Wait wait wait."

"Okay, give me the fuckin' bottle."

All dove for the bottle. Sherry was driving, and even she had her right hand twisted backward trying to grab the bottle. " Owe" she screamed.

Finally Jody was victorious, pushing his back up against the dash and kicking everyone with his boots. He held the bottle tightly.

"Okay wait - wait - Hang on I'll remember in a second."

"No you lose you spun dick head - If you can't speak give it up dog."

"Okay - I remember - when we get to Vegas everyone stick together. Got it?"

"That's it, you kicked my fingers to bits so you could say that? I'm very seriously impressed"

Everyone echoed, "seriously" letting the syllables drag out slowly.

"Okay give me the bottle", said Sherry.

Jody flicked the bottle into her lap. "Okay Speak"

"I'm not a dog"

"I'm gonna fuck you like a dog."

"Wait wait," I said. "You all are going to fast."

"Don't bum a ride if your gonna bum the train", said someone.

"What does that mean?", said Jody.

"Not a clue", seriously.

"Seriously", everyone echoed again in the same cadence.

And so the drive to Vegas went. Hours of non-stop inane senseless chatter rolling from mouths with blistered cracked lips and noses red. The soon to be dead. We stayed at the King Arthur one. Super theme number whatever.

I was watching Jody running around leaving a trail of red across the bed and the floor."

"Seriously dude get some towels. "

"I gotta nosebleed", said Jody.

"No shit, said Heather as she stepped out of her shorts and tossed a towel to Jody. "God, do something about yourself."

"Can I take a shower with you?"

"Not while you are on your period."

"Someone give him a tampon, said Sherry.

Jody had thoroughly soaked a towel in blood and sat back in a chair with his head tilted back. "Very funny", he said.

We lost Heather right out of the gate. She headed straight for the black Jack tables and disappeared. I went to the slots with Jody. We commanded two machines. Than decided to go for the super-duper jackpot. The Progressive. The one that gets bigger and bigger. We were shoveling coins back and fourth from machine to machine and had a big crowd behind us. Ding ding ding...and another one. It kept on coming. The crowd was bigger they brought us drinks.

I broke out some more. So did Jody. We tripped up to the room and Sherry guarded the machines. We came back, and now everything got heavy. The moment changed. I went into my other pocket. The one that had the not to spend money. The money that wasn't mine. Jody went to the cash card. the amount of coins started to get smaller the crowd thinned. The thoughts in my head started to jump out jumbled and incomplete. There was a way out of this. The girls left us there. Then it was all gone. I had the gas money and enough to get through the night but it was mostly gone.

Heather came back. "Assholes". She said. She was like that.

"How much did you lose? "

"I won sixty bucks", she said. Standing cool all in tight black pant suit. Her also black shades hiding her eyes. "I can't believe you guys blew your whole wad. "Okay she said follow me." We did our best to follow as she quicked it up to the room. We were in the elevator with a whole group of people. Regular folks. We stayed silent except for Jody who kept making announcements every time the elevator would start or stop. "Here we go", he said. "Floor number three."

"Okay said Heather, inside the room. We go to a club and you do what you need to do and we get out of here. Right?"

We showered and wound up at a huge club. A giant floor with techno. Globes and beams and all of it. I thought we were okay. Some guys started to eyeball me. They were in the corners at private tables. Holding their money in the air like they didn't care. Their runners were little rabbits who came begging to their tables. I could see their lips move. "Here you go." The runner gone again. I made a proposition to one of the runners. He came back scared. "Not interested", he said. There was an eye in the sky here. Several of them. The guys in the corners still didn't care. I was getting spooked. We ran into this guy we knew from L.A. He was some New York type he looked like Lou Reed to me. He looked like the Live album cover. Leather Jacket and shades.

"Hey Man how are you. Good to see you."

"Hey..."

Speaking quickly I cut short the hello. "I got a problem" I said. I was leaning forward my arms around him and speaking into his ear.

"These guys in the corners. You see them? Maybe I'm paranoid but I think they're going to kill me when I try to walk out of here. Do me a favor when I signal you, will you come up and grab me from behind like a cop, and walk me out of here like you're arresting me?"

He glanced around the room quickly and walked away from me. Saying nothing. I walked away back to everyone. "Were leaving, I said. "I'm sketched in here." Everyone understood. I waited a few minutes and then gave the signal to Lou Reed guy. He came up holding his wallet in the air at me. Brilliant, I thought. He grabbed me by the arm and walked me toward the door. I caught one of the criminals in the corner looking at me as we exited. Outside he kept up the walk until the end of the parking lot.

"Bless you my son", I said.

"No worries."

"We're at the King Arthur whatever, room 717," I said.

"Give me some time."

Back at the hotel we stayed all up night. Smoking, drinking, and chattering about things of great importance to the world. Than we drove back to San Diego the next morning. I grabbed more cash quick. I caught a Greyhound back to Vegas by myself. I met the same machine again. The machine remembered me. Once again the Progressive taunted me. Two days awake now. The total loss somewhere around three grand. The morning was cold and the strip was empty. I walked the complete length of the strip into old town Vegas. I found some nickles in my pocket and walked into the smaller casinos and played nickle slots. Soon the nickles were gone. I had my backpack and my bus ticket. I walked down the middle of the boulevard with an ice cold wind blowing hard against my face. "Fuck you Vegas", I yelled.

At the Greyhound station I sat in a stall trying to assist myself back to life with chemicals. I watched through a crack as a security guard paced back and fourth. I never felt so low in my life. I walked into the waiting area. All eyes upon me. They could see the misery in my face. I was sure. I sat and pulled shades over my eyes. I was having a hard time understanding my own thoughts. They were coming at me in bits and pieces and out of order.

I need a plan I thought. What am I going to do. How will I explain this. How will I get back three grand?

In San Diego I sat inside the Grand pacific Hotel on the stairway. It was night. I had my shades on for maximum darkness to match my mood. I had slept about five hours in the past four days. I sat smoking a cigarette when she walked up the stairs looking like the city of London.

"Who do you think you are?" She said.

This content is property of Ron Andrew O'Daniels

21. A Problem with Guns: Various

2009-04-14T19:58:00.000-04:00

My Uncle David shot himself in the head with a pistol. I guess he had a gun. I was about twelve or thirteen when I got the news. My Mom said, "David killed himself. He shot himself in the head." I was laying in bed. I thought it was a very sad moment for my Mom. She just wanted to tell someone.

My Uncle was the only man in the house when I was a small child. He was an actor. He won a scholarship to Pasadena School of Arts. He was the star of the show in his high school. While he was there, in Pasadena, he got in some trouble drinking. That's the story I got, but really can't be to sure of these things. I never saw him drink. He was a sad man. Sad like me I think. In a storage room in the Apartment where my Grand Mother lived there were pictures of my Uncle that I used to look at when I was a child. Head shots. Really nice black and whites. One he was dressed kind of in a sailor shirt. Looked like wardrobe from a play. Other's he just had that actor head shot look. Like leaning his chin on his hand. The pictures looked very expensive. All the stuff about the acting going wrong all took place to early for me to remember.

I remember following him around whenever he was home. It seemed like he only visited, but came by frequently. I remember watching him shave. He had bad acne once. He cut himself a few times. I never saw a man shave before. I was about five. He would walk around the house singing "standing on the corner watching all the girls go by." The song comes from the show, The Most Happy Fella. It came out in 1956. I saw him perform at the local Play House in San Luis. Maybe he couldn't get the song out of his head.

I moved away at age six to Los Angeles but I came back every summer. I last remember he was working at a Furniture Store. A dusty little place that was family owned right in down town. He let me come to work with him. I guess I was eight or nine. He told me, "Ronnie whatever you do - figure out what you want to do." That's what I remember. Those are the words he left me.

I never did figure it out. I did, but I never had the courage to do what I want to do. Instead I joined the Navy. Then I was a telemarketer. I tried to be an Actor for a few weeks. I have carried about books filled with poetry. I played guitar on the street. Surfed big waves in Hawaii. I feel like I have never done anything though. I only made about five dollars playing guitar. I have no picture of myself anywhere. None. I never can do anything right. I always have this thought that says I am not really doing what I am doing. Like I'm dreaming.

Now I'm sitting here four months into unemployment writing for free. I will run out of food soon. The landlord will come and tell me that he likes me but I have to leave. My girlfriend will leave me. She is going to take the dogs too. This is what I want to do. I don't shower to much. I just sit here and type. I write. I eat but I know soon I won't. I will become thinner. Eventually my hands are going to develop strange sores. My ass will meld to this chair. They will carry me out.

"Did he leave a note?"

"What happened?"

"He wrote himself to death evidently, holy Christ did you see his hands?"

So my Uncle was an Actor. I did not go to the funeral. I was in school. My cousin Gene, he also shot himself in the head a couple of years later. I went to his funeral. My wife came too. She got mad at me because I didn't show any emotion. It was a strange argument. I came to the funeral but I didn't go to her Uncle's funeral a few months earlier. So now we were at my Cousins funeral and I wasn't emotional enough, and shouldn't have came because I didn't go to her old Uncle's funeral.

My cousin was a young man married, and had a child. He and his brother and me were really close when we were young. Together for all the holidays like Easter and Christmas. Every holiday was with him. I don't know what happened to him. Never heard why he did it. At the funeral I went in to see his open casket. I thought he moved and looked at me. I saw his head turn right around toward me. One of those weird things. I didn't get scared or anything, I just thought to myself - man you are having a big hallucination here boy. I came out a bit shaken though. He was all made up. Looked like a wax image of himself.

I left that scene and continued with the argument about my lack of emotion. I was beyond crying. I guess that's part of the reason I don't own a gun. Seems like everyone in my family shoots them in the wrong direction.

I am documenting my unraveling. I have unraveled several times. so this time I am doing my best to get it all down. My new incarnation is going to be a tough one. I can't be a surfer, or a raver, or anything like that this time. I'm too old for that now. I mean, it's just the new friends, and new places to walk and all that. I can't go through finding another new world. I'm too old.

Old Crazy People scare me. I lived above the Cafe Seville in San Diego for a while. A little hotel owned by a Pakistani family with the bathroom down the hall and a shared shower. The owners were very nice. They Man seemed real pleased to have me there. He was one of those guys who kept a baseball bat behind the counter. "You go or I call the police." I think I heard him use those words five or six times in the few months I was there.

Once this old guy knocked on my door.

"I need to talk with you", he said.

"what about."

"I need to talk with you about something"

"Well what is it."

I opened the door and peaked through the crack. He was standing in his under wear. He stank of piss. He started to say he was tired of me knocking on his door and that he was going to call the police.

"Get the fuck out of here", I said. It was about two in the morning.

Out from behind the desk came the Pakistani with the baseball bat.

"Get to your room or I will call Police, he said.

The old man looked confused and started muttering and walked back to his room. The landlord began to apologize to me. He said he would make sure it never happened again. Ever since I lived there; that has been my biggest fear. That I would wind up a crazy or senile old man. All alone and living in a dive of a hotel. Lost to everyone and myself. Still trying to figure out what I want to do. That old man knew he had nothing to do. That's why he trying to find something to do. "I'll go knock on that guys door", he probably thought.

I can't figure out how it's done. How somehow someone reads this stuff and decides it has any worth. Then they say I am a guy who did something. I'm doing what I'm doing. Yes, what I do. My uncle David had a little apartment up in Paso Robles I think. He had some books. A little box of papers. That is what he had. He was never married. He was a handsome man. I never remember him having a girlfriend. Never was any rumours of being gay. I would have known. We had someone else who was gay in the family. Spoken of in quiet tones back then, but still not hidden. I don't know what happened to David. They call this slice of life. None of this is true. My true stories are all going to have happy endings.

All content owned by Ron Andrew O'Daniels

20. Bad boys: 1966

2009-04-13T12:06:00.001-04:00

"Use this. We will kill them with this." Everyone laughed from the four year olds to the twelve year olds. That's how we ran. In a pack like that. Julian was standing a five foot, 4 x 4, up against the work bench in his father's garage.

"How heavy is that?" I asked.

"It's heavy eh. We gotta all carry it"

We were trapped in the garage. The other pack had us trapped. They were outside taunting us. "Sissies. Sissy babies." Alex was cutting a car inner tube with a rusty razor blade.

"Eh - watch it eh."

He forced through the rubber and came up and almost cut his own face.

"Whoa your dangerous eh."

Finally we had it all rigged up three of us put the 4 x 4 across our shoulders and Julian stretched the inner tube back across the largest rubber band gun ever made.

We waited until we couldn't hear the boys outside. Peeking through the cracks in the door someone gave the all clear. We marched out the door laughing.

We marched down the street. Mr Lopez, Alex's dad was watering his yard as we marched by. "What the heck is that?"

"The destroyer."

"The king."

"No, it's the exterminator, eh"

We kept marching, we came upon the other group not paying attention. They were all lined up at the ice cream man. Ding- a - ling - a - ling, came from the truck. We crouched behind a tree unable to control our laughter. Julian was oldest. We didn't have to ask - we all waited for his signal. They walked happily from the ice cream truck dizzy on sugar, twirling in circles, sucking on their big sticks and snow cones, and looking at the sky.

"Now"

We all screamed "Charge" and with precision chased down the smallest first.

As we got close we came to a stop and aimed. Off went the giant piece of rubber flying through the air, and nailed the first victim - age five - square between the shoulder blades. Down he went and his ice cream went with him. Oh we relished that. He came up crying.

"Oh too bad" we said. Laughing hysterically we closed in on our next target. He begged us as he walked backwards big stick in one had and the other extended in an obvious surrender. Blam! Down he went backward into the grass. This time the ice cream was confiscated as loot.

Now the bigger boys in the group came at us with intensity. It was all over, we dropped the 4 x 4 and scattered in all directions. We would have to hide now for awhile.

We met up at the forts which were in a near by vacant lot. We had dug holes throughout the whole lot. Big holes seven feet deep. We worked on it all summer long. Each hole had a central beam in the center that balanced a mess of wood stolen from construction sites. Then we covered the top with dirt so they were invisible. Each hole had a crawl way in. There were seven or eight of these scattered about the lot. We would abandon and rebuild just like little termites. All of our moms forbid us from playing here.

After we hid out here for awhile we went down to the railroad tracks. This was Barrio Hayes. Near South El Monte. We lived here. Most were Hispanic. Not me, it didn't matter. The tracks ran right behind my apartments. We found these metal bands used on pallets. One of the older kids taught us that if we put the metal bands in the cracks separating each track section, we could make the crossing guard move up and down. The crossing guard was about a block away. Back and fourth we rubbed. Up and down it went. The cars began to back up. We showed no mercy. We knew this drill really well now. We would stay there, on our knees in the gravel, rubbing back and fourth and laughing until an adult would get out of their car and try to chase us down. We would always wait until the last minute. We liked to almost get caught. We would brag later.

"Wow eh, he almost caught me. Did you see?"

If we followed the tracks a ways we would come to the bird seed factory. For some reason we thought this bird seed was a valuable commodity. We all had gathered up a sack of it. We kept it in our homes for feeding stray pigeons. They never seemed to live. We passed by the bird seed factory. The younger boys got bird seed down their shirts. The older boys flung the bird seed at each other. We didn't know if it was a real bird seed factory or what but they loaded bags of seed here, for sure.

There were two overhead trestle bridges we would pass. One crossed over the freeway and another over the River bed. We knew how to get up inside of both of them. We never told our Moms about this that's for sure. The end of the journey would take us to a low land beyond that was covered in shacks. Here is where the people poorer than us lived. We would visit this place because we were amazed by their poverty.

"Look eh, he has no seat on his bike."

We watched a boy about our age riding a bike with no seat. We didn't laugh. He looked dirty. Like us, but more so. His t-shirt looked brown. We had to be careful here. Other groups were over here. They caught us once. Had us pinned down with rocks for hours while we hid under old mattresses. "What happened to your head?" asked my Mom.

The boy on the bike came closer, and cussed at us in Spanish. We decided to leave. On the way back we found abandoned clothing near the railroad trestles. Clothing always scared us. Like something real bad happened to someone. "How do you lose your clothes?" we thought. We would usually all pick up sticks ready to defend ourselves and look around anxiously.

"Something bad happened here. Let's go."

The river wasn't really a river, it was a big cement flood control channel. We played here often. It was near by the airport. Here we would lay hidden on a embankment and throw small peaches at cars. Once we got chased all the way to the fence that separated the river from the airport.

"Did you see, eh? He had me by my shirt on the fence."

"That was close, eh."

When we got back the older boys ordered us on to the handlebars of their bikes. We had no choice. We could cry. We would then be taunted and cry some more. We would show up at home with tears smeared with dirt on our faces.

"Why are you crying?" Who would want to answer?

So the older boys would put us on the handlebars and we would ride to another part of town. We would pass by the little liquor stores on the boulevard. When they saw the target they said "Okay go" we would then jump and run to another little bike, and have to ride it all the way back home laughing and looking back over our shoulder. This was a big act of bravery. You could hang out with the older guys now. They would quickly spray the bike, and change the seat and tires.

Of course, we all had our own bikes. We would drive them around the parking lot of the Catholic Church a lot. We would get chased away sometimes by the nuns. The nuns scared us a bit. On one side of the street was the nuns. On the other side was a little church in an office park. Julian's Mother told him to stay away from there. She told him that once during service the lights went out and a big wind blew in the front door. When the lights came on everyone had chicken scratches on their faces. Goat tracks were all over the floor. She told him that the Devil disguised as some big goat chicken thing did it.

Julian had an alter in his house. His Mom would make us giant bean burritos from a pot on the stove. We had to kneel quietly before candles of the virgin before we could eat.

I was eight years old. By the time I got home it would always be dark. "Where have you been?" My Mom would say.

All content property of Ron Andrew O'Daniels

19. The Dead Friend - South Beach: 2003

2009-04-11T18:59:00.000-04:00

The night was warm when I fell to sleep, under light clouds, and an almost full moon. I could hear the waves lightly lapping on the sand. In tranquility I dozed off. The weather changed. It began to rain. I could here the drops begin to splash. Echoing as it always did through the sun dried wood. I was dreaming. Was it raining? I opened my eyes and looked down into the sand and then to the sky. It wasn't raining. What is that? Am I dreaming?

He was pissing. Pissing all over my life guard tower. I jumped from my sleeping bag to a standing position. I watched him as he marched around from side to side yelling and aiming his stream like he was performing some kind of victory dance. He wore a red disco shirt.

"What are you doing Man?"

" I'm taking a piss, why you have a problem?"

"This is my house man."

"This isn't your house. This is a life guard tower."

"Get the fuck out of here"

"Fuck you, man."

The stream came dangerously close as he swung around toward me. I felt like someone was pissing on my living room floor. He was drunk. He didn't care. That was it.

He quickly zipped and took a step toward me. I was there first with a solid push with both hands to his chest that knocked him into the far railing. He was startled but came back quickly.

He caught me as I lifted his bag and tossed it over the railing down into sand.

"I fucking kill you."

I was caught just as I released his bag, still off balance when he gave me a solid crack to the side of my head, and backward I went into the other rail. I felt the pain of the blow. Now I had to take the upper hand. I came back with fists up - but not in an out of control frenzy - I had a solid opponent here. I came in like a surgeon. Trying to think ahead of him. I had to. He was young, about twenty two or so, and tall, slim yet muscular. He had me beat by at least two inches and I'm six foot. Latin, but the accent was strange to me. Maybe Brazilian?

He was facing me looking for his shot. Bang - dead center - good one! Into the rail he went. Now he was awake that's for sure. I watched him as he took his hand and touched it to his nose. He felt the blood. He was rocked. I came at him again with a combination before he could get off the rail. Bam - bam - whack. I stayed inside and low, and then I grabbed him by the collar and swung him into the tower. As he bounced, I gave him a quick head butt - Oh that hurt you didn't it, I thought. Once more I swung him, and I sent him running off balance down the tower steps, rotating his arms wildly, until finally he crashed face first into the sand.

"Okay you want to play" he said, as he crawled toward his bag in the sand.

"I wouldn't come up here again."

I stood victorious guarding the top of the steps. Watching as he cussed in a combination of languages and rummaged through his bag. He pulled out a CD and ripped it from it's case. He held it in the air like a communion wafer and split it down the middle. He picked the best side. Even from the platform I could see the sharp edge. The CD flashed in the moonlight.

"Now I cut you."

He's going to kill me with a CD, I thought.

Now rested, he stood up straight. He charged up the steps full speed with the half CD in his right hand. I grabbed his wrist and pulled his momentum up the final steps and toward the rail and smashed him down against the rail. He dropped the CD. From behind I grabbed him and put him in a choke hold, but my arms were up so high I was off balance, and he began to push back against me, running me backward into the side of the tower. I can't remember how to do this, I was thinking. Is it the right hand over the left or... he reached down and was grabbing for my crotch. Oh, this isn't going to be good I thought. I was moving from side to side trying to keep the target away from his grasping hand. My choke hold was weak. He grabbed me by the top of my thigh thinking he had me somewhere else. Arrgghh! I moaned. I figured I would play along and let him think he had me where it really hurts.

"Let go."

"No, you let go first of me", he said.

I was getting tired. If this went on much longer he would have me for sure.

"Okay, at the same time. Than we quit. Okay?"

"Okay, we quit."

We let go of each other and he turned to face me. I took a step back. We scuffled a couple of times as we brought the level back down. Than stood breathing heavily and eyeing each other.

"You need to go."

"I'm not going."

Suddenly he sat down on the top step, and putting his head into his hands began to cry. Sobbing loudly.

"I sorry. My friend he die. I am drinking."

I listened silently. The sun would rise soon. In the light of day he would come to realize his face was bloodied. He would gain his strength and he would finish me. He was stronger than me and younger. I had given it everything. I was beat tired. I gathered my guitar and pack and walked down the steps leaving him there.

"Don't go", he said.

"It's okay. I'm sorry about your friend. Take care."

I walked off slowly in the sand, and left him on the steps. His fingers crawling through thick black hair as he stared out at the sea.

All Content Property of Ron Andrew O'Daniels.

18. Getting A Haircut In A Small Scottish Village: 1982

2009-04-10T19:22:00.000-04:00

You had to bend down a bit to get your head through the door. Inside was that musty smell mixed with over-sweet and alcohol. What was that? All the long combs standing in it. All the chairs have never moved. On the walls faded posters, post war, to feed the orphans. The men who came here worked down the street or up the road. They all went by first names that were mumbled upon entry with a "hullo" followed by the brief report of the family and where the boys or girls were these days. A bit of low key mumble followed about the terrible news followed by "Aye. Oh yes, aye," and other exclamations of agreement. Scattered were old copies of The Mail and others. Old mostly. Brought from home long after any current relevance. Breezed over and tossed quickly. The same ones from six months ago? No more than three would ever be waiting, but always one came in to fill the empty chair. Sometimes someone would be waiting with me at the door. I leaning against the building. These men never so, always standing rose cheeked, hands behind the back teetering on the toes, "Hullo."

He was always late. Arriving on a bicycle. An old model. With a basket and a bell. Black. A single speed. Back pedal brakes and all. He came from somewhere over there. Not to far as he was never winded. He had a pair of specs pushed low over his nose and one of those caps that always reminds me of a boy selling newspapers in the 1930's. He, and the men who were his patrons, always wore a coat and a proper shirt with a collar, and slacks. Ties mostly. Heavy creases permanently ironed. Afterward, they were put on hangers until tomorrow. A bit of old Grand Fatherly smell. The clothes didn't get to the cleaners much. Mixed though with a hint of spice. Him the same. Always upon arrival was an apology followed by quick acceptance as he hastily opened the door. Old keys. The light would come on, but it was always dim inside, as if the place was lit by a lamp.

The whole affair for me was pleasant. I looked forward to my by-weekly time spent here. About an hour or so when all was said and done. I always had few words and mostly listened. When my turn came He would talk while moving his head about my ears, between the clip clip clip sound, with Jock or Michael or Tom who had been making the short journey to this little room down two steps for years.

"Oh aye."

Sometimes the conversation would run through a few Gaelic words tossed in here and there. I was sure. It seemed so. They had this way of speech that clipped of the ends of words and ran some others together. I listened and relaxed in the pace. Clip clip Clip. Slow, leisurely and enjoyable.

Down the street was the bakery. They made 22 loaves of white, 23 loves of wheat, some rye, and some others. A few baguettes. If you came late they were out. They never made more. No need. Been making the same amount of bread since they "opened back in......oh when they built the.....around......right." No sign hung in the window for a sale. No coupons. They were very polite. Behind the counter they wore button up sweaters. Mostly in pastels. Smiling. "oh no, they would laugh, you have to come in earlier to get the wheat bread." Smiling to each other as if the undisclosed thought was "imagine coming for wheat bread at this time of day."

Further down, was a butcher shop. Now the second choice for most. This one had a bad reputation. Coming to the counter with a cigarette hanging from the mouth and a bloody apron we were shocked once to have him cleave a chunk of meat and toss it into the grinder. A hand grinder. Now tossed to the white paper cigarette still in mouth. He would flirt with my wife with a devious eye, this butcher in his grey stone shop.

All his business was going to the new brightly lit shop down the road with it's new building and wide open space. The butcher there was a young man fresh from the Isle of Skye soon to be married. Bright and happy with tossed red hair piled upon his head. He had never been south of Inverness. He came and took all the business with his smile.

There were other new shops coming, another Market, a Gas Station with the new style pumps; this wasn't the edge of the world, but it was still the little grey stone buildings with slate roofs that dominated. On the main road a group of girls would stand in the long summers facing a group of boys on the other side. Of various ages, they would taunt each other until finally, upon reaching the age of overwhelming curiosity for the opposite sex, one would have the nerve to cross to the other side and later would be seen walking hand in hand, having abandoned the group forever.

My daughter was born here in this village. In a hospital that looked like a small castle into the loving arms of midwifes working for the National Health. She was handed to me flush with color and I remember. She later would lay bundled in blankets, blue eyes wondering at the sky, parked in a pram in front of bright colored doors against the grey stone. Rows of babies sat safely here, outside and unattended, while Mothers purchased groceries for a day in the small shops that lined this main street.

In the mornings milk would sit in the snow in bottles with cream formed on top. Delivered by a man with his two sons who would jump and laugh and run from the truck while he yelled for them to be careful and not break the bottles. The same every morning. He than would yell "hurry boys." Down the street again could be heard, "hurry boys". There was a Fish Monger too, and the best was the Fish and Chips Wagon, with greasy deep fried chips and haddock steaming hot.

My haircut was finished with a light dusting of talc and a quick pinch about the shoulders that tingled and left me slightly embarrassed. I would tip. Always a bit confused in doing so. The money so colorful. The coins so big. I the American sailor living abroad, walked down the cobblestones admiring the day.

Everything is gone now and I can never go back. My daughter grown. I lost her. Her mother too. My sons as well. I am only a shadow. My memories fall out to paper in black and white. No calamity befell them other then myself. They now reside away forever. There is no forgiveness for the man who brings destruction upon his own life. I cry at the sound of Bagpipes. Heavy tears that fall down my face in streams.

All content owned by Ron Andrew O'Daniels

17. A short History on Religion: A lifetime.

2009-04-09T09:40:00.000-04:00

Once upon a time, when I was sixteen years old, I held my nose and fell back into a clear cold pool of water. I was caught by a preacher who raised me up from the water. "Amen," he said. I so wanted to believe. Everyone clapped for my rebirth. Everyone blessed me afterward, and congratulated me.

She was there, as was her mother, father, sisters, and brothers. I carried a bible for awhile. I read deep into the depths of demon possession, walking dead, threats of hell, and the assertion that faith - to believe - is more important than all else. I got confused.

The deeper I got, the less it made any sense. I grew to believe that I simply had become caught in the collective emotional conscious that is religion. Through the constant reinforcement of behavior by friends and companions exhorting the benefits of the god (little g for emphasis) that takes a personal interest in my life, like Santa Claus, like the Fates, I had become desirous of having my own bestower of presents. This god that leads his flock to purchase the right car after prayer. This god that wants me to seed faith my money. The god of the well dressed preacher. A god that uses Angels and demons to do battle over my life. How exciting.

This was not my first journey into the comfort of religion. My Grand Mother had taken me to the Catholic Church as a small boy. There I met bloody Jesus in full color hanging emaciated upon the cross, and bloody Jesus glowing in candlelight in Mary's arms. Dead people buried in walls and other fond remembrances of the Mission Church in San Luis Obispo.

Deep in the pages of my bible I thought there must have been a Jesus who was not born of a virgin, did not rise from a grave, did not ascend into heaven, and did not sit at the right hand of the father in an eternal hierarchy in the sky not unlike the hierarchies that came before. The father that tortures his children eternally with fire no longer appealed to me.

This blasphemy removed me from conversations at the dinner table and a quiet silence seemed to follow me at family gatherings. I abandoned this strange Santa Claus god and wished it to be dead. Yet I still found myself from time to time screaming out for assistance from the Jesus who was simply murdered on the cross and thrown into a hole somewhere. I still talk to the Jesus who was born a bastard like me, and raised by a kindly old man who took his poor Mother in, and said everyone is a child of God. They killed that Jesus.

In Hawaii for awhile, I found myself back with that other Jesus, hands raised like an idiot, wearing my mighty armour to protect me from Satan and his armies of demons who are everywhere. When my immediate problems of poverty and self loathing remained I again snapped myself free and abandoned my new acquaintances as quickly as I found them. This process has repeated itself and twisted in it's rebirth on several occasions.

In Christianity I have attended the Baptist church, the Catholic church , Episcopalian, Presbyterian, Evangelical Free, a few so-called non-denominational mega corporation's, Pentecostal (best for entertainment value), Lutheran, Unitarian Universalist, church of Christ Scientist, and maybe one or two that I have missed. When I had thought I had buried Jesus for good I switched my path.

My borderline obsessive compulsive behavior traits again kicked in to full swing after purchasing and reading the Quran. I would lay on my floor in Texas listening to recitals that fell direct from the mouth of the Prophet with full stereophonic echo added for effect. The sound of the Quran being recited is truly beautiful. The art of Islam is beautiful. The act of prayer is an art. The movement of a mass of people in unison is compelling like nothing else. I attended two Mosques in Texas.

I began to pray on my floor head down pressed into the carpet. I wanted to feel Islam. I liked the way the Arabic sounded coming from my lips. Pictures of throngs of people circling the Kaaba reminded me of ravers huddled against giant speakers like bee's listening to the drone.

I sat and talked with two Imam's with a translator. "Is hell a real place?" I asked. Even though I had a translator, I looked direct into the Imam's eyes. He never looked into mine. The second Imam was kind. He held and patted my hand when he spoke. His hands were soft. Everyone in both Mosques were very friendly. Just like Christians. As I began to question my behavior of laying around listening to Recitals of the Quran and praying in Arabic, I began to think I may be going crazy and decided to give it up. The compulsion of Islam began to frighten me. I put everything away. I discovered something else.

I met a lot of nice Jews in Texas. I fell in love with Jews. I loved everything about Jews. I loved the way Jews talked. Not that they all talk alike but they all do seem to have a wittiness about them. As friends they have a certain politeness. These same traits show up everywhere in other people as well but I am talking about Jews now.

Super Jew Dave, I called him, lived in my building. He wasn't religious. He didn't understand any of it. Didn't want to know. He just like being Jewish. He liked to where an Israeli Air Force T-Shirt. I liked Super Jew. He liked being called Super Jew. He was a can do kind of guy, and had supreme confidence that I admired. We painted pictures with oil while we drank rum and smoked till we couldn't smoke anymore. Unlike myself, he was unconcerned with Judaism.

I bought and read some books about Jews and Judaism and pretty soon was convinced that I should become a Jew. I looked for an Orthodox shul to attend. They didn't have one in Austin. I had to drive to San Antonio. While I was there. I practiced greeting the Sabbath and walking backwards and forwards and turning around and I even tried to daven a bit. The Jews never laughed at me.

Afterward, I was invited to a Shavuot dinner. I asked if I should ritually wash my hands. "Do whatever you want", the Rabbi said. It seemed like there were a lot of Rabbi's here. They were located in a Suburb and everyone there was Orthodox. We walked to their home. I wore a kippah inside. The food was all delicious and prepared in advance and in accordance with all the rules. There are a tons of rules in Judaism. I drank some wine and discussed things of importance with other visitors. I was treated well with great hospitality. I felt a kind of peace about being around families, but when I left a sadness hit me.

I could never be a Jew I thought. How could I be a Jew if I have to move to San Antonio. What would I do in San Antonio? How would I get to the Shul. They wouldn't let me live in their suburb. It would take me years to become a Jew. I started to grow a beard anyway. Eventually I kind of freaked out and decided to sell everything I owned and move to the streets and play guitar. How exactly this is all tied into Judaism I'm not sure. I think I needed to escape everything so I did. I gave all my books away. I put everything in a backpack.

For two weeks I lived in a tent. I got the tent at Walmart. It was a kids tent but worked out perfect for about $20.00. I camped in fields and under bridges and lots of places. I played guitar on the street. "My friends asked me what are you doing? You quit your job? Are you Okay?" I was fine. I was playing guitar on the street. I didn't tell them I was trying to break my cycle of religious compulsion by replacing it with my other compulsions of moving from place to place and and playing guitar. That is what I was really doing. It was part of my cycle of death and rebirth. I guess. After two weeks I decided I wanted to be a Jew again and that the best way for me to be a Jew would be to go to Miami because they have lots of Jew's in Miami. I had a couple hundred in my pocket, a membership to a couple of gyms so I could shower if I needed along the way, a backpack and good sleeping bag. I stuck my thumb out one day started hitchhiking to Miami.

I took me about a week to get to Miami. I started working for a Jew at one of those beach stores. I met Jews everywhere I went. I bought lots of books. For the first time I met some Jews I didn't like. Overall, I still liked Jews. I changed my mind a few times. Rabbi's wouldn't talk to me about being a Jew they just convinced me not to be a Jew. "Why do you want to be a Jew? Being a Jew is hard work. Too many rules. Be a Righteous Gentile", they said. Eventually I forgot about being a Jew.

About a year later, I lost my Apartment because a Jew didn't pay me the money he owed me when I was telemarketing for time share vacations. I was sitting in front of a closed down theatre in a Jewish neighborhood in Miami Beach. I had slept there the night before. The cement was very clean so I liked it there. I was tired and wanted to get back to the beach from 44Th where I was at. I think they call that Arthur Godfrey Road. I was tired because I was carrying around all these Jewish books. I was carrying the Torah, A History of Jews, Some commentaries on the Talmud, and a prayer book. collectively probably the weight was about twenty five pounds or so it felt like. I had to get rid of these books. I couldn't just leave them there. I walked down the road about four blocks until I found a synagogue. Inside I found a Rabbi.

"Rabbi", I said. "I was trying to become a Jew, but for now I've changed my mind. It's complicated, but I can't throw these books away. I would like to give them away, but I need money to eat, and I'm homeless at the moment. I don't want to ask you for a high price. Would you be willing to give me some small amount for all these books? They all are in excellent condition.You can consider that you are rescuing them from a Gentile. I am asking only that you give me a token of their value. Is that okay?"

The Rabbi gave me Twenty Dollars for the books. A fair price I thought. I thanked him and he wished me well. As I walked down the street I felt so much better for finally getting all that Judaism off my back. I have never gone back to Judaism. I still love Jews. I still think Islam is beautiful. I still have reverence for the devout catholic, and the Pentecostal preacher in a poor church who looked like Elvis and fed the poor with pot luck every Sunday.

I have also added to my list. I have been to a Buddhist temple and the monks are the happiest people I ever met. I have been to a Hindi temple. The elephant god was there, as was Shiva. I think that today I am following an unseen force spoken of by Lao Tzu. For the moment. What I believe doesn't matter.

All content is Property of Ron Andrew O'Daniels

16. Now 235am

2009-04-08T02:35:00.000-04:00

It's 235am and I don't know what I'm going to do. My eyes burn. Large chunks of ice are falling into the sea. Fish are migrating differently and bees are disappearing. Years ago I read the frog populations are down. More frogs without reproductive organs are being born. I've been in this chair for hours waiting for money to fall from the sky. It hasn't. Some Island Nations have opened discussions with the United Nations about where to move their populations after the sea rise. We all buy plastic stuff that has no meaning. People are blowing themselves up and there is some kind of weird epidemic of violent madness that is crossing the whole land. Kids are shooting up schools at an alarming rate but no one has noticed yet. Each ten kids or so that go down leaves a stupid question in the air. The Aztecs had an angry god that demanded blood. Art reflects life. Every thing I do serves a fat cat. In the morning they talk about things I'll never afford and try to make me a better shopper. The world is watching. The epidemic is being watched. The last hold outs. The remaining few clutching our right to take yours. I'm going to sleep now. I'm going to dream of the sea. Strange jelly fish that don't belong will swim along side me. They will take me to the bottom. Ice will float above me.