Pulsating throbbing wake up
Waking up to love, my love
Clothes thrown; off not on
Monday, June 21, 2010
Wednesday, June 9, 2010
Waking up Strangely
Chapter One
The wind was hot blowing across my face and the first thing I focused on was the little kid staring at me, poking my face with his dirty fingers. He looked confused. What the hell was going on? I asked myself. The last thing I remember was going to the commissary with Julie and little Ryan. He wanted me and Julie pick out the groceries; “he wanted to help.” Where was he now with his big blue eyes?
This kid here was not Ryan. He was talking to me, I couldn’t make out what he was saying. Sitting up, the humvee was on it’s side and demolished, looking down at myself I was covered in blood. “What had happened here?” There were other marines two scattered outside of the vehicle, their bodies almost torn in half. The little boy kept on talking to me, I could no longer hear him, my thoughts were swimming now.
“How did I get here?”
“What happened?”
This was barely a village we were in; “why would we come here?” My M4 was broken and lying in front of me the 203 grenade launcher attachment still looked usable. There was a large chunk of metal protruding through the bolt assembly on the rifle, usually a good indicator that it’s not going to fire. Trying to stand up I notice my balance is way off and I fall almost as quickly as I attempt to stand up. My helmet shifts to the side of my head and running my hand up to adjust it, it feels like a cracked and empty eggshell after you’ve taken all the egg out, but that gross skin still remains on the inside. I guess I must of hit my head pretty hard. Lucky I was wearing it.
“What the hell happened?”, was the only thing I could muster, my throat chalky and dry as if I hadn’t spoken in a long time. I took my eggshell hat off. Dried blood clumped in my hair. The little boy I could see now was dressed in dirty rags and he was talking and pointing all around the wreckage. This time I stood up well enough, even if I was a little shaky once I got to my feet.
Who were the marines outside the vehicle? I didn’t recognize them, they were Hispanic, two corporals. Inside the humvee was a captain. What the hell were we doing here and how come no one else was around? Looking down the dirt trail following the tracks I could see a seven ton that rolled while coming down the hill, most likely attempting evasive maneuvers because of what happened to us. The while cab was crushed under the weight of the truck. Secretly I hoped no one was alive to suffer through that. The little boy was tugging at the bottom of my vest, he was trying to pull me away somewhere.
“Rua! Emshee” the words just came out, and I knew what they meant. Go leave I said to him, that’s all that I could think to say, the Marine Corps didn’t teach us much in the way of communicating with children. Especially little boys who looked like they were trying to help. Walking over to the humvee I could see now the captain was crushed by the dashboard and the lance corporal that was driving nearly had his head taken off by the steering wheel. What was I?
Looking down, I saw two chevrons and crossed rifles, that meant I was a corporal. Myers was the other information that was on my vest. The letters were stained with blood, which I wondered if that would effect the digital camouflage. A pack had name tapes on it reading Myers. What the hell could I use here. The little boy was just sitting there on one of the tires that was once attached to this humvee. It must have been a spare. What could I use here? The captain’s sidearm. And there’s a m16 here with an acog reflexive scope on it; my pack had a book and some miscellaneous stuff in it. Some food, but nothing of any real value. A map, that could be useful if I remembered being in country at all. Or for that matter where my base was. I’ll take it anyway. Looking around I realized I had a lot of shit I had to take with me. I took off my 203 and attached it to the m16. Took the sidearm. Rummaged through the captain’s pack and took all the intel that I could muster. Everyone’s dog tags, some water, and a few mre’s; after I took the bolts out of the guns that I couldn’t carry with me. They were coming with me. No way is anybody going to get shot with our weapons.
It dawned on me and I laughed a little bit, I live a charmed life. Smiling well at least I’m alive, at least I have a chance to make it home to Julie and Ryan. I have a chance, that’s at least something. Looking back the little man was standing there quietly watching me, like an anthropologist from another planet. Just looking confused. I toss him an MRE, and he hugs it to his body like I just gave him a stuffed animal. I had to go check the seven ton now, maybe their radio would get better reception with that long ass antenna. After about twenty minutes of going through the seven ton, there was no way I could get into the cab, and no one was in the back.
I sat down on a box of MRE’s that must have been thrown from the back of the truck. What the hell do I do now? The little boy was looking at me, quiet now. He looked like he was trying to understand what I was doing.
“What do you want?” I finally asked him.
All he could say that I understood was “Mister!” And then he pointed to the small village with about four or five huts. No one was outside. Finally I stood up and followed him. He took my hand and led me to the village.
He brought me inside the first hut, and pointed at a woman on the floor. She was dead, along with every other person in the village I soon noticed. They had been dead a lot longer than the people with me. “What the fuck happened here?” I finally snapped. The little boy just looked at me, his big green eyes watering. I knelt down and all I could do was hug him. He reminded me of Ryan. They were about the same age.
I sat down on a little half wall that was made out of clay, he sat down next to me. It was getting dark soon, and I needed to figure out what I would do. Do I walk to a base when I have no idea where it is? Or stay thinking that other marines have some idea where we are and would come to look for us. Do I go looking for glow sticks to make a trail? Or do I try to hide from anyone who would want to kill me or the boy? This sucks, I decided finally.
I checked out the huts for anything that would be weird or would of got them killed. I noticed a few things. They had pens for animals, with no animals in them. They had no cars or anything that could be used for transportation, the only thing that could tie them to civilization was the t shirt on the boys’ back and the soccer ball that looked like it had seen better days. I showed the boy that the MRE was food, and we ate dinner together. He seemed to actually like the country captain’s chicken. I wonder how long it had been since he’d eaten anything. He was too skinny.
It reminded me of me making “Daddy special” peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for Ryan. That seemed almost like a dream, here in this place. I guess I would wait out the night. I didn’t feel tired so I decided I would stay up in one of the villagers huts one of the ones with no dead bodies in it. I made a trail with glow sticks to the first hut. I had a clear view of it so as to give myself some time to react if it was someone bad.
I was dozing off when I started to hear something coming. The boy was sleeping against the wall next to me. It sounded like more than one vehicle. It was U.S. military, it’s always hard to tell in the dark. I’m guessing it was Marines because it was the right amount of people, the Army had the tendency to either send one or two vehicles or way too many. There was no happy medium with them. I wondered to myself, why did they do everything they could to make themselves a target. Why did we only have a humvee and a seven ton here? We must have been with some others, maybe we pushed out a bit to explore the area? I wish I could remember.
The next thing I knew the boy was pulling on my pant leg, There were two pick up trucks with what looked like Jundies but then again Jundies always looked like terrorists to me. They were decent enough guys. They poked around in the dark for a bit. I wasn’t ready to trust these guys without either a translator, or someone providing security on me. I’m watching them look around and they are about to leave, the next thing I know I’m sitting against the wall.
It’s daylight now and the boy is looking at me. No he’s shouting at me. I stand up and the men are gone. At least we are both still alive. I look out the window and I see army guys hooking up a wrecker to the humvee. I walk out with the boy, the Soldier doing security looks at me confused.
“Hey there, can you guys give me a lift?”
They all exchanged confused looks,
“You were dead.” The one closest to me says shaking my hand. I could feel the boy cowering behind my leg.
“Well you guys were wrong, it happens.”
“No we were here five days ago, and we checked everyone, you were dead.”
“Well I’m not, and I could use a lift. Everyone else here is dead.”
“What about the boy?”
“I’m taking him with me.”
“Alright, well your going to have to explain him.”
The base was nearly empty, taking three different convoys I arrived back to my unit. I didn’t recognize any of them. They told me that they were sending me home.
“Are you ready to go stateside?” Gunny DeShawn asked.
“More like ready to see my wife and son.” I said with a smile.
He looked at me with a look that defied description.
“Son, they died in a car crash three months before we left.”
Chapter Two
September
Living in Las Vegas, a new place to start fresh. I had to start my life over. I guess I should be use to it by now. A lot of things still don't make sense to me. I did my best to bring that boy home with me. I think about him some nights. He's still one of the clearer things I remember. Ryan fades from memory more and more each month. I barely remember –– Julie's name anymore.
New girls take her place. Scantily clad women, with perfect ten bodies and self esteem issues. Their weakness disgusts me. It's almost as if it mirrors my own weaknesses. Nothing can come of our sexual rough housing. They are dark illusions of the happiness that I can barely remember. I stopped cumming with them. Strippers. Why would I still want them if I don’t even have the vague desire to get off with them? I wish I could just do drugs, make the world fade away. Maybe I will. One day when I don’t feel like I’m better than that.
There’s a petite red head lying across my bed, shaved. She looks delicious especially because she’s not talking to me. The sex makes everything else fade away for a little bit. It gives me a purpose. They keep coming back, maybe it’s because I give them orgasms. Maybe it’s because I make them feel like they deserved to be loved. I don’t love them, at least not anymore than they love themselves. They spent thousands of dollars making themselves who they are, forgetting that no amount of gigantic tits will allow them to become a better person.
Something I learnt not to say to Lithuanian Kindergarten teacher that would fly up from Los Angeles on long weekends to strip at the Spearmint Rhino. A place I lovingly refer to as “The Spear”. She was a good girl with a great body, she actually was a good person, but she rubbed me the wrong way.
Then there was the punk rock atheist girl who had a tattoo of Satan. On the good side I met Mike. We were working security together, one of the funniest places I could of foreseen him working. He was a human caricature of what a skinhead would look like. Except at the heart of him, there wasn’t any hatred. He used his anger (or an appearance of anger) to cover up the fact that he was a little boy at heart, just looking to play. He was covered with Tattoos. He was one of the toughest bastards I’ve ever met.
One night we went out to the bars and such. Drinking and having fun. He was off talking to some girl, they were both drunk. He didn’t realize that some wild eyed nearly seven foot tall bastard would put the back of his favorite head against the wall. Mike just smiled and made the guy tippy toe via his testicles. Then later that night when we both went out to our motorcycles, four of them had a bone to pick. Mike smiled back at me, over his shoulder. Like it was some sort of movie that he was in. He took his helmet off and hung it from his hand grip.
“Who are you?” The leader asked in angry tones. He was much smaller than either me or Mike. I’ve learnt more often than not that someone who is smaller that can roll with a group like this is usually the worse than the rest.
“Mike” He said, “I’m not quite sure I got your name there bud” talking to him like a friend.
“What’s your last name” asked the small man.
“Oxabig.” Mike said. I chuckled to myself a little.
One of the bigger ones said to himself “Mike Oxabig?”
“You’re a silly fucker aren’t you?” The small man said while walking hastily towards him. Before he could even react Mike hit him with his helmet, I didn’t even see him grab it. I leaned forward on my handlebars. The other guys just looked at us and let us ride away. We didn’t go there for a while but besides that, smooth sailing. This was the first time I realized I could trust him in a fight. That’s something that you have to very careful with. I mean you’d like to trust all your male friends with that sort of thing but simply put, people are scared frightened creatures that react strangely when put to the test.
It was later that year that Mike got sick. In and out of doctor’s visits. He was still tough as fucking nails mind you. He started growing pot. He was pretty good at it after a while. He had a thousand watts fueling those bad boys. I wanted no part of it. He later got his medicinal card. It allowed him to grow up to ninety nine plants. Who needs ninety nine plants? I took off after he got the card.. Las Vegas wore out it’s welcome on me. I think I would go on to New York. It always seemed like a place that someone could start a fresh life for themselves. I went back to Philadelphia when I got back, to see my parents. It didn’t last long.
Chapter Three
February
The plane landed in Phili International, it was only five months since I got back. Medically discharged. Meant that I had no real future, the one thing they didn’t tell me when I got out that way is that a medical discharge meant that I didn’t get my GI bill. I would of gotten a Honorable discharge a month after that. It’s funny how this country can reward you for almost getting killed. Yeah I have a hundred percent disability, but how does that get help me with my life?
I talked to my Father on the phone before I flew back. He seemed nice enough. My Mom sounded strange, like I did die. I could always hear her in the background when I was on the phone. Saying over and over “ who much does this boy have to deal with.” He would always say “shush Charlene, maybe it’s better that he doesn’t remember what he lost. He can start fresh now.”
I always meant to tell him I remembered bits and pieces but it never came out. He picked me up in a old green pickup truck. As he pulled up I wondered if I should remember it? Did I use to borrow the truck for dates?
A chubby man got out with a balding horseshoe. His eyes were glassy, like oil on glass. He was fighting tears. He hugged me, and squeeze as if when he let go I would vanish. How long had it been since I had been home? He continued to do this until a rather mean TSA worker told us to move along. I secretly thought about grabbing him by the dreads and knocking the stuffing out of him. I threw my bags in the bed and got in.
“So you like the new truck?”
“Yeah it’s great. When did you get it?”
“A few months ago.”
The ride home was awkward. He kept on talking to me, telling me everything was going to be alright now that I was home. How could I believe that? I Prayed that he was right, but silently I always knew I would be on the road again.
Three days later, I woke up in the night. I nearly broke Charlene’s arm. It didn’t feel right calling her “mom”. She was pulling the blanket over me. I reacted, and I only woke up when we both hit the ground. She cried a lot after that. Burt never looked the same at me again either. After that week people heard that I was back I suppose because people started showing up. Girls. Guys. Old teachers saying that they were proud of everything I’d done. What bullshit I always thought. I began to hate people that would tell me that they were proud of me. People that would say “thanks for going over”. People think that it’s the polite thing to say, but it just leaves the both of you empty and awkward. A knowing nod did much more for that than words.
People came by and offered me jobs, told me that it was good work. I didn’t know who I was anymore, and I don’t think the label of a job is going to be the solution. Burt said I should become a cop or something. With my record, it should be no problem. That would be true if I were a blank slate, he didn’t know my problems though. The waking up crying because I missed something I barely remember having. How can I forget someone who was so important to me I wanted to spend the rest of my life with?
This was where we met. This neighborhood. I hoped daily that something would bring it all back, a flood of memories. Instead I was greeted with stoner guys that wanted to know what it was like “over there” and “did I kill anyone?” How do you answer these questions? Nothing you can or could say would be able to make them understand the depths of their own stupidity. How dare them ask me my business? A man’s past is his own business. I don’t know who I learnt that from, but it should be a rule. You don’t pry into people’s pasts. Something that is forgotten in this modern age of the internet and everyone being “connected.” I wish I could be lost in time most days. I sat on the porch looking out at the street and thought about the 50’s when if you wanted to start your life over, you pack up and move and settle down. People would let your actions from then on define you. That type of life is alien to this country now. I hated that I couldn’t escape myself.
I spent less and less, and I let the VA deposits store up in the bank. I could survive on so little these days. People were going around buying stuff, that’s all that people lived on these days. Possessions. I didn’t even own a phone. I was reading Kerouac. Simpler times. Burt and Charlene let me be. We sat at dinner almost every night, pretending that things were the same. They weren’t. They would start talking about a time I was feeding the goats at a petting zoo, or the time we went to disney. I could feel myself looking at them with a dead stare. While they were in tears laughing, that was until they looked at me. A few months later, and more incidents than I care to count, I bought a Harley and decided to give the road a try.
Maybe I would find a home out there, somewhere that was perfect for me. Like a square block in a child’s toy. They told me I didn’t have to leave, but secretly I thought that they were glad to get the house back to themselves.
Chapter Four
October
3,600 miles from Las Vegas to New York. Sleeping on the side of the road. I kept no money on me, just a knife, tire checker and a bed roll. I slept on the side of the road. It wasn’t safe, but then again I don’t think I was trying to be safe. I just made myself as scarce as possible. It’s not always smart being a free rider. At crossroads people will look at you.
A “Free Rider” is defined as a motorcycle rider without any sort of affiliation.
That’s just what I mean to do. Free myself both from the bonds of memory. From the things I should be, and the society that tells me what I should be. Every once in a while I’ll be riding, a long stretch. I’ll see these people in their cages. Passing me, the husband looking at me with envy, the kids in the backseat looking at me in awe.
I wish that husband knew that I was the one who was jealous. I would give up everything for that cage. I realized that I was a new rider. But I had nothing to prove and I was in no rush to get anywhere. Which showed in my riding. When you rush you make mistakes. Something that I would venture to say has saved my life countless times. All thanks to the Corps.
It’s amazing all the different things you see when your looking just to look. No one pays attention anymore. Everyone has time on their mind. The past or the future. I lost my past. I gave up knowing the future. All that I had left was the now. The first night I slept on the road I pulled the bike under an overpass off of that road through the Mojave. I fell asleep to a campfire, and Keat’s Brightstar. That was a man who knew love. Love is pain. Pain is how we define love. What made their love so awesome and undisputable is that it was an unsquelched love. One that burned bright that regardless of time and distance it would never fizzle. They always had one thing to drive them on though. The memory of each other. I thought of Mike. He would of rode with me had I asked him.
I quoted Keats on the wall with some spray paint left there by somebody that took refuge there some other night. Or some teenager looking to create art. Someone will read it one day and understand what it means better than I ever could. Twenty nine palms wasn’t far from here. I always felt at home near a military base now. I always felt like if they knew who I was they would invite me in to have a bite to eat and stay for a while.
They always said Joshua trees grow in two places on earth. The entrance to heaven and the entrance to hell. At least that’s what I heard in the Marines. I have now been to both places that they grow. Iraq and the Mojave desert. I’m not quite sure which entrance is which. I’ve been to where the tower of Babel was said to of been built. It was in Iraq, strange how we forget that. Now they built that tower to get closer to God. I don’t know how accurate that is. I’ve never been a religious man, maybe a pious one. But I would never say that God doesn’t exist. I’ve seen my share of miracles after all.
The wind was hot blowing across my face and the first thing I focused on was the little kid staring at me, poking my face with his dirty fingers. He looked confused. What the hell was going on? I asked myself. The last thing I remember was going to the commissary with Julie and little Ryan. He wanted me and Julie pick out the groceries; “he wanted to help.” Where was he now with his big blue eyes?
This kid here was not Ryan. He was talking to me, I couldn’t make out what he was saying. Sitting up, the humvee was on it’s side and demolished, looking down at myself I was covered in blood. “What had happened here?” There were other marines two scattered outside of the vehicle, their bodies almost torn in half. The little boy kept on talking to me, I could no longer hear him, my thoughts were swimming now.
“How did I get here?”
“What happened?”
This was barely a village we were in; “why would we come here?” My M4 was broken and lying in front of me the 203 grenade launcher attachment still looked usable. There was a large chunk of metal protruding through the bolt assembly on the rifle, usually a good indicator that it’s not going to fire. Trying to stand up I notice my balance is way off and I fall almost as quickly as I attempt to stand up. My helmet shifts to the side of my head and running my hand up to adjust it, it feels like a cracked and empty eggshell after you’ve taken all the egg out, but that gross skin still remains on the inside. I guess I must of hit my head pretty hard. Lucky I was wearing it.
“What the hell happened?”, was the only thing I could muster, my throat chalky and dry as if I hadn’t spoken in a long time. I took my eggshell hat off. Dried blood clumped in my hair. The little boy I could see now was dressed in dirty rags and he was talking and pointing all around the wreckage. This time I stood up well enough, even if I was a little shaky once I got to my feet.
Who were the marines outside the vehicle? I didn’t recognize them, they were Hispanic, two corporals. Inside the humvee was a captain. What the hell were we doing here and how come no one else was around? Looking down the dirt trail following the tracks I could see a seven ton that rolled while coming down the hill, most likely attempting evasive maneuvers because of what happened to us. The while cab was crushed under the weight of the truck. Secretly I hoped no one was alive to suffer through that. The little boy was tugging at the bottom of my vest, he was trying to pull me away somewhere.
“Rua! Emshee” the words just came out, and I knew what they meant. Go leave I said to him, that’s all that I could think to say, the Marine Corps didn’t teach us much in the way of communicating with children. Especially little boys who looked like they were trying to help. Walking over to the humvee I could see now the captain was crushed by the dashboard and the lance corporal that was driving nearly had his head taken off by the steering wheel. What was I?
Looking down, I saw two chevrons and crossed rifles, that meant I was a corporal. Myers was the other information that was on my vest. The letters were stained with blood, which I wondered if that would effect the digital camouflage. A pack had name tapes on it reading Myers. What the hell could I use here. The little boy was just sitting there on one of the tires that was once attached to this humvee. It must have been a spare. What could I use here? The captain’s sidearm. And there’s a m16 here with an acog reflexive scope on it; my pack had a book and some miscellaneous stuff in it. Some food, but nothing of any real value. A map, that could be useful if I remembered being in country at all. Or for that matter where my base was. I’ll take it anyway. Looking around I realized I had a lot of shit I had to take with me. I took off my 203 and attached it to the m16. Took the sidearm. Rummaged through the captain’s pack and took all the intel that I could muster. Everyone’s dog tags, some water, and a few mre’s; after I took the bolts out of the guns that I couldn’t carry with me. They were coming with me. No way is anybody going to get shot with our weapons.
It dawned on me and I laughed a little bit, I live a charmed life. Smiling well at least I’m alive, at least I have a chance to make it home to Julie and Ryan. I have a chance, that’s at least something. Looking back the little man was standing there quietly watching me, like an anthropologist from another planet. Just looking confused. I toss him an MRE, and he hugs it to his body like I just gave him a stuffed animal. I had to go check the seven ton now, maybe their radio would get better reception with that long ass antenna. After about twenty minutes of going through the seven ton, there was no way I could get into the cab, and no one was in the back.
I sat down on a box of MRE’s that must have been thrown from the back of the truck. What the hell do I do now? The little boy was looking at me, quiet now. He looked like he was trying to understand what I was doing.
“What do you want?” I finally asked him.
All he could say that I understood was “Mister!” And then he pointed to the small village with about four or five huts. No one was outside. Finally I stood up and followed him. He took my hand and led me to the village.
He brought me inside the first hut, and pointed at a woman on the floor. She was dead, along with every other person in the village I soon noticed. They had been dead a lot longer than the people with me. “What the fuck happened here?” I finally snapped. The little boy just looked at me, his big green eyes watering. I knelt down and all I could do was hug him. He reminded me of Ryan. They were about the same age.
I sat down on a little half wall that was made out of clay, he sat down next to me. It was getting dark soon, and I needed to figure out what I would do. Do I walk to a base when I have no idea where it is? Or stay thinking that other marines have some idea where we are and would come to look for us. Do I go looking for glow sticks to make a trail? Or do I try to hide from anyone who would want to kill me or the boy? This sucks, I decided finally.
I checked out the huts for anything that would be weird or would of got them killed. I noticed a few things. They had pens for animals, with no animals in them. They had no cars or anything that could be used for transportation, the only thing that could tie them to civilization was the t shirt on the boys’ back and the soccer ball that looked like it had seen better days. I showed the boy that the MRE was food, and we ate dinner together. He seemed to actually like the country captain’s chicken. I wonder how long it had been since he’d eaten anything. He was too skinny.
It reminded me of me making “Daddy special” peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for Ryan. That seemed almost like a dream, here in this place. I guess I would wait out the night. I didn’t feel tired so I decided I would stay up in one of the villagers huts one of the ones with no dead bodies in it. I made a trail with glow sticks to the first hut. I had a clear view of it so as to give myself some time to react if it was someone bad.
I was dozing off when I started to hear something coming. The boy was sleeping against the wall next to me. It sounded like more than one vehicle. It was U.S. military, it’s always hard to tell in the dark. I’m guessing it was Marines because it was the right amount of people, the Army had the tendency to either send one or two vehicles or way too many. There was no happy medium with them. I wondered to myself, why did they do everything they could to make themselves a target. Why did we only have a humvee and a seven ton here? We must have been with some others, maybe we pushed out a bit to explore the area? I wish I could remember.
The next thing I knew the boy was pulling on my pant leg, There were two pick up trucks with what looked like Jundies but then again Jundies always looked like terrorists to me. They were decent enough guys. They poked around in the dark for a bit. I wasn’t ready to trust these guys without either a translator, or someone providing security on me. I’m watching them look around and they are about to leave, the next thing I know I’m sitting against the wall.
It’s daylight now and the boy is looking at me. No he’s shouting at me. I stand up and the men are gone. At least we are both still alive. I look out the window and I see army guys hooking up a wrecker to the humvee. I walk out with the boy, the Soldier doing security looks at me confused.
“Hey there, can you guys give me a lift?”
They all exchanged confused looks,
“You were dead.” The one closest to me says shaking my hand. I could feel the boy cowering behind my leg.
“Well you guys were wrong, it happens.”
“No we were here five days ago, and we checked everyone, you were dead.”
“Well I’m not, and I could use a lift. Everyone else here is dead.”
“What about the boy?”
“I’m taking him with me.”
“Alright, well your going to have to explain him.”
The base was nearly empty, taking three different convoys I arrived back to my unit. I didn’t recognize any of them. They told me that they were sending me home.
“Are you ready to go stateside?” Gunny DeShawn asked.
“More like ready to see my wife and son.” I said with a smile.
He looked at me with a look that defied description.
“Son, they died in a car crash three months before we left.”
Chapter Two
September
Living in Las Vegas, a new place to start fresh. I had to start my life over. I guess I should be use to it by now. A lot of things still don't make sense to me. I did my best to bring that boy home with me. I think about him some nights. He's still one of the clearer things I remember. Ryan fades from memory more and more each month. I barely remember –– Julie's name anymore.
New girls take her place. Scantily clad women, with perfect ten bodies and self esteem issues. Their weakness disgusts me. It's almost as if it mirrors my own weaknesses. Nothing can come of our sexual rough housing. They are dark illusions of the happiness that I can barely remember. I stopped cumming with them. Strippers. Why would I still want them if I don’t even have the vague desire to get off with them? I wish I could just do drugs, make the world fade away. Maybe I will. One day when I don’t feel like I’m better than that.
There’s a petite red head lying across my bed, shaved. She looks delicious especially because she’s not talking to me. The sex makes everything else fade away for a little bit. It gives me a purpose. They keep coming back, maybe it’s because I give them orgasms. Maybe it’s because I make them feel like they deserved to be loved. I don’t love them, at least not anymore than they love themselves. They spent thousands of dollars making themselves who they are, forgetting that no amount of gigantic tits will allow them to become a better person.
Something I learnt not to say to Lithuanian Kindergarten teacher that would fly up from Los Angeles on long weekends to strip at the Spearmint Rhino. A place I lovingly refer to as “The Spear”. She was a good girl with a great body, she actually was a good person, but she rubbed me the wrong way.
Then there was the punk rock atheist girl who had a tattoo of Satan. On the good side I met Mike. We were working security together, one of the funniest places I could of foreseen him working. He was a human caricature of what a skinhead would look like. Except at the heart of him, there wasn’t any hatred. He used his anger (or an appearance of anger) to cover up the fact that he was a little boy at heart, just looking to play. He was covered with Tattoos. He was one of the toughest bastards I’ve ever met.
One night we went out to the bars and such. Drinking and having fun. He was off talking to some girl, they were both drunk. He didn’t realize that some wild eyed nearly seven foot tall bastard would put the back of his favorite head against the wall. Mike just smiled and made the guy tippy toe via his testicles. Then later that night when we both went out to our motorcycles, four of them had a bone to pick. Mike smiled back at me, over his shoulder. Like it was some sort of movie that he was in. He took his helmet off and hung it from his hand grip.
“Who are you?” The leader asked in angry tones. He was much smaller than either me or Mike. I’ve learnt more often than not that someone who is smaller that can roll with a group like this is usually the worse than the rest.
“Mike” He said, “I’m not quite sure I got your name there bud” talking to him like a friend.
“What’s your last name” asked the small man.
“Oxabig.” Mike said. I chuckled to myself a little.
One of the bigger ones said to himself “Mike Oxabig?”
“You’re a silly fucker aren’t you?” The small man said while walking hastily towards him. Before he could even react Mike hit him with his helmet, I didn’t even see him grab it. I leaned forward on my handlebars. The other guys just looked at us and let us ride away. We didn’t go there for a while but besides that, smooth sailing. This was the first time I realized I could trust him in a fight. That’s something that you have to very careful with. I mean you’d like to trust all your male friends with that sort of thing but simply put, people are scared frightened creatures that react strangely when put to the test.
It was later that year that Mike got sick. In and out of doctor’s visits. He was still tough as fucking nails mind you. He started growing pot. He was pretty good at it after a while. He had a thousand watts fueling those bad boys. I wanted no part of it. He later got his medicinal card. It allowed him to grow up to ninety nine plants. Who needs ninety nine plants? I took off after he got the card.. Las Vegas wore out it’s welcome on me. I think I would go on to New York. It always seemed like a place that someone could start a fresh life for themselves. I went back to Philadelphia when I got back, to see my parents. It didn’t last long.
Chapter Three
February
The plane landed in Phili International, it was only five months since I got back. Medically discharged. Meant that I had no real future, the one thing they didn’t tell me when I got out that way is that a medical discharge meant that I didn’t get my GI bill. I would of gotten a Honorable discharge a month after that. It’s funny how this country can reward you for almost getting killed. Yeah I have a hundred percent disability, but how does that get help me with my life?
I talked to my Father on the phone before I flew back. He seemed nice enough. My Mom sounded strange, like I did die. I could always hear her in the background when I was on the phone. Saying over and over “ who much does this boy have to deal with.” He would always say “shush Charlene, maybe it’s better that he doesn’t remember what he lost. He can start fresh now.”
I always meant to tell him I remembered bits and pieces but it never came out. He picked me up in a old green pickup truck. As he pulled up I wondered if I should remember it? Did I use to borrow the truck for dates?
A chubby man got out with a balding horseshoe. His eyes were glassy, like oil on glass. He was fighting tears. He hugged me, and squeeze as if when he let go I would vanish. How long had it been since I had been home? He continued to do this until a rather mean TSA worker told us to move along. I secretly thought about grabbing him by the dreads and knocking the stuffing out of him. I threw my bags in the bed and got in.
“So you like the new truck?”
“Yeah it’s great. When did you get it?”
“A few months ago.”
The ride home was awkward. He kept on talking to me, telling me everything was going to be alright now that I was home. How could I believe that? I Prayed that he was right, but silently I always knew I would be on the road again.
Three days later, I woke up in the night. I nearly broke Charlene’s arm. It didn’t feel right calling her “mom”. She was pulling the blanket over me. I reacted, and I only woke up when we both hit the ground. She cried a lot after that. Burt never looked the same at me again either. After that week people heard that I was back I suppose because people started showing up. Girls. Guys. Old teachers saying that they were proud of everything I’d done. What bullshit I always thought. I began to hate people that would tell me that they were proud of me. People that would say “thanks for going over”. People think that it’s the polite thing to say, but it just leaves the both of you empty and awkward. A knowing nod did much more for that than words.
People came by and offered me jobs, told me that it was good work. I didn’t know who I was anymore, and I don’t think the label of a job is going to be the solution. Burt said I should become a cop or something. With my record, it should be no problem. That would be true if I were a blank slate, he didn’t know my problems though. The waking up crying because I missed something I barely remember having. How can I forget someone who was so important to me I wanted to spend the rest of my life with?
This was where we met. This neighborhood. I hoped daily that something would bring it all back, a flood of memories. Instead I was greeted with stoner guys that wanted to know what it was like “over there” and “did I kill anyone?” How do you answer these questions? Nothing you can or could say would be able to make them understand the depths of their own stupidity. How dare them ask me my business? A man’s past is his own business. I don’t know who I learnt that from, but it should be a rule. You don’t pry into people’s pasts. Something that is forgotten in this modern age of the internet and everyone being “connected.” I wish I could be lost in time most days. I sat on the porch looking out at the street and thought about the 50’s when if you wanted to start your life over, you pack up and move and settle down. People would let your actions from then on define you. That type of life is alien to this country now. I hated that I couldn’t escape myself.
I spent less and less, and I let the VA deposits store up in the bank. I could survive on so little these days. People were going around buying stuff, that’s all that people lived on these days. Possessions. I didn’t even own a phone. I was reading Kerouac. Simpler times. Burt and Charlene let me be. We sat at dinner almost every night, pretending that things were the same. They weren’t. They would start talking about a time I was feeding the goats at a petting zoo, or the time we went to disney. I could feel myself looking at them with a dead stare. While they were in tears laughing, that was until they looked at me. A few months later, and more incidents than I care to count, I bought a Harley and decided to give the road a try.
Maybe I would find a home out there, somewhere that was perfect for me. Like a square block in a child’s toy. They told me I didn’t have to leave, but secretly I thought that they were glad to get the house back to themselves.
Chapter Four
October
3,600 miles from Las Vegas to New York. Sleeping on the side of the road. I kept no money on me, just a knife, tire checker and a bed roll. I slept on the side of the road. It wasn’t safe, but then again I don’t think I was trying to be safe. I just made myself as scarce as possible. It’s not always smart being a free rider. At crossroads people will look at you.
A “Free Rider” is defined as a motorcycle rider without any sort of affiliation.
That’s just what I mean to do. Free myself both from the bonds of memory. From the things I should be, and the society that tells me what I should be. Every once in a while I’ll be riding, a long stretch. I’ll see these people in their cages. Passing me, the husband looking at me with envy, the kids in the backseat looking at me in awe.
I wish that husband knew that I was the one who was jealous. I would give up everything for that cage. I realized that I was a new rider. But I had nothing to prove and I was in no rush to get anywhere. Which showed in my riding. When you rush you make mistakes. Something that I would venture to say has saved my life countless times. All thanks to the Corps.
It’s amazing all the different things you see when your looking just to look. No one pays attention anymore. Everyone has time on their mind. The past or the future. I lost my past. I gave up knowing the future. All that I had left was the now. The first night I slept on the road I pulled the bike under an overpass off of that road through the Mojave. I fell asleep to a campfire, and Keat’s Brightstar. That was a man who knew love. Love is pain. Pain is how we define love. What made their love so awesome and undisputable is that it was an unsquelched love. One that burned bright that regardless of time and distance it would never fizzle. They always had one thing to drive them on though. The memory of each other. I thought of Mike. He would of rode with me had I asked him.
I quoted Keats on the wall with some spray paint left there by somebody that took refuge there some other night. Or some teenager looking to create art. Someone will read it one day and understand what it means better than I ever could. Twenty nine palms wasn’t far from here. I always felt at home near a military base now. I always felt like if they knew who I was they would invite me in to have a bite to eat and stay for a while.
They always said Joshua trees grow in two places on earth. The entrance to heaven and the entrance to hell. At least that’s what I heard in the Marines. I have now been to both places that they grow. Iraq and the Mojave desert. I’m not quite sure which entrance is which. I’ve been to where the tower of Babel was said to of been built. It was in Iraq, strange how we forget that. Now they built that tower to get closer to God. I don’t know how accurate that is. I’ve never been a religious man, maybe a pious one. But I would never say that God doesn’t exist. I’ve seen my share of miracles after all.
Saturday, March 13, 2010
What is Steampunk
Steampunk / Dieselpunk are closely related topics often interchangeable. Steampunk is Victorian era + fantasy. Simple equation. Fantasy can come in the form of Odd machines, crazy fantastical one or just a juxtaposition of new age inventions in a time that they didn't exist.
Diesel punk is similar but the time period is slightly later, when they had fully converted from steam to diesel fuel. This simple formula can lead you to understand a genre of movies and film under their new categorization. If there was a movie back in the day that you enjoyed and it was just called Sci-Fi it may be called Steampunk now.
Where does the Punk come in? The punk comes in the case that it is out of the norm, there can be sometimes a lack of punk attachments to something that is totally steampunk. Confused yet? Well join the club. There are tons of people who enjoy things like this but don't know how to look for new stuff that suits them.
I enjoy The Adventures of Brisco County Jr, which by all accounts was and is a horrible show. I however bad it may be love it, for all it's tainted goodness. It is one of the best examples of steampunk.
What is Cyberpunk then? Cyberpunk is the forefather of Steampunk. That's were the roots of it's title came from. Bladerunner seems to be the begining of the title of that genre. Cyberpunk was big in the 90's. Steampunk seems to be conquering the current age.
Diesel punk is similar but the time period is slightly later, when they had fully converted from steam to diesel fuel. This simple formula can lead you to understand a genre of movies and film under their new categorization. If there was a movie back in the day that you enjoyed and it was just called Sci-Fi it may be called Steampunk now.
Where does the Punk come in? The punk comes in the case that it is out of the norm, there can be sometimes a lack of punk attachments to something that is totally steampunk. Confused yet? Well join the club. There are tons of people who enjoy things like this but don't know how to look for new stuff that suits them.
I enjoy The Adventures of Brisco County Jr, which by all accounts was and is a horrible show. I however bad it may be love it, for all it's tainted goodness. It is one of the best examples of steampunk.
What is Cyberpunk then? Cyberpunk is the forefather of Steampunk. That's were the roots of it's title came from. Bladerunner seems to be the begining of the title of that genre. Cyberpunk was big in the 90's. Steampunk seems to be conquering the current age.
Steampunk videos
League of Extraordinary Gentlemen
City of Ember
Van Hellsing
Golden Compass
Wild Wild West
Sherlock Holmes
Hellboy
Hellboy 2
The Prestige
Sweeny Todd
Treasure Planet
The Mummy Returns
Back to the Future III
The Time Machine
UP
Disney's Atlantis
Indiana Jones 3
Pirates of the Caribbean 1,2&3
The Adventures of Brisco County Jr.
City of Ember
Van Hellsing
Golden Compass
Wild Wild West
Sherlock Holmes
Hellboy
Hellboy 2
The Prestige
Sweeny Todd
Treasure Planet
The Mummy Returns
Back to the Future III
The Time Machine
UP
Disney's Atlantis
Indiana Jones 3
Pirates of the Caribbean 1,2&3
The Adventures of Brisco County Jr.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)