Indifference to one company

Living in Los Angeles; home to invalids,, show-men, homosexuals, deviants, dero's, murderers and all other current and former peripheral members of society, the tangential concept encompassing this lovely neighborhood that it is also home to some of the most average and boring people on the planet is somewhat dividing of the mind. Armed with an exceptional grasp of statistical concepts and an abnormally high sperm count, it didnt take long for me to discover that most of the highly attractive females i was after were, in fact, very unintellectual and demure people. This inwardly led to a panic attack.

My earlier Socratic dialogue with myself concerning what i wanted out of female and the nature of love had no Socrates to keep me logical. It was just me, bouncing between the poles of intelligence and outward beauty. There was of course no one to correct me, as i am just myself, and consequently no thought necessarily implied the next, in fact, a thought would often contradict its predecessor. I thought perhaps some drugs would force clarity on my confused logical state, but this only further disturbed my demanding sense of order.

Spending the night at yet another strange tattoo'd girls house, she struck me with an interesting question early on. "You up?" she asked. Obviously i was left with a diametric situation: pretend to be asleep and hence avoid any unintelligent questioning, or wakeup with the usual eccentric charisma and throw her off balance, causing her chemically enhanced brainwaves to skip a beat and forget the aformentioned questions she was ready to impose. Obviously it was a risky situation, maybe one i shouldnt have placed on myself in my fragile state.
I chose the latter.
"Im way up!" i said, dropping my charade of sleep, which i instantly realized was a lie with no purpose.
Her centre parted hair, long and oddly brown, sat over her shoulders as her eyes flickered in a manner that showed she had remembered what she wanted to say, but suddenly felt a hint of regret at motioning me into this impromptu discussion. Her gaze changed again and she went on, oblivious to the last several seconds doubts.
"I cant get a job" she mumbled, her eyes beginning to water.
She was definately still in a drug reduced state, the come-down slowly sinking its claws into her mind. I wondered if maybe she wanted something chemical from me, but as i cant remember her or me paying for anything the night previous, i wasnt about to relent from this mongreled stance i had started.
Of course she was an actor, and traversed into an all-out discussion on her latest part as a bagel girl for a law firm show.
"I put my heart and soul into it. I wanted to be a great bagel girl, one thatd be remembered, someone memorable" This has been haphazardly paraphrashed as the entire speil lasted over 10 minutes and included quick 30seconds rants about her brother and his ex-girlfriend, her landlord, and the current status of the local subway shops construction, all topics met with the kind of childlike candor that attracted me to her in the first place.

She kept talking, but id stopped listening, preferring to think about where id left my orange juice in the fridge, so i could grab it without looking whilst i read the LA weekly. She didnt even finish her last sentence; it just trailed off. I think the subject had changed in her head again while her mouth had continued on the old topic, not realizing it was out of supplies. She asked me how old i was. It wasnt long till i left and got into the Montero sport to head home.

I subsequently met up with homes from NZ (blake) and we travelled past several disturbingly similiar industrial neighbourhoods and stamp-like outdoor malls to arrive in San Diego. Surf, booze, coke and other assorted derivations of the previous 3 set the tone. I had now picked out an odd habit of doing a two foot shuffle into any bar we walked, somewhat to amuse myself at peoples vacant stares as they witnessed what they could only classify as quirky, and secondly to show the bouncers i wasnt inebriated to the point that such a maneuver couldn't be accommodated by my rapidly depreciating body. As there were only 4 people in the bar, i decided that there was to much ice in my whiskey and threw a cube at the guy behind me. He turned out to be gay, and a rapidly flaring argument and heated debate about gay-bashing and foreign civility was high on the agenda for the next 5 minutes before we got kicked out and someone kicked the dukebox. Megadeth was playing. Happy days.

I can say with all certainty that is the last thing i remember from the 5 days down south. 24hours sleep straight.

When i awoke a vibrant image filled my head. I am always amazed by what lies buried in the mind until one day for no particular reason it rears its head. That afternoon in bed, a vision of the tattoo girls face entered my consciousness, and i saw clearly that she had grey blue eyes, really amazing grey blue eyes. It was a small fact i hadnt realized id known, and one that will undoubtedly shape my life in the future.

A dewy Mississippi path: Strange tales from the Great South

We were slipping down that dewy Mississippi path faster than our motor neurons could fire off proper orders to their soldiers to correct our balance. It was all laid out before us, but this ship had storms in its seas, which had started years ago, and our cruise was cursed from the start.

The curse on us all was this great entrapment called education. I was a victim of the trap for many years, suffering unknowingly in a form of purgatory where the pretty white haze ungulfed my Medula and the Serotonin was much too nice to ignore. It was the equivalent of putting a mine-victim into a morphine induced state and watching him drool and carry on in a thoroughly basic way whilst he was urged to follow the light at the end of the tunnel. The light at the end of the tunnel was ever so close and its warmth was beautiful, giving me hope for a nice retirement and a piece of wood with 4 walls and a roof which i loved dearly; my castle. Any form of uproar from the masses was quickly shot in the head; and besides, we were all civilised people weren't we? So act like it.

There was of course the dark little puddle next to me, flowing into a nearby drain; probably into some filthy cavern where nothing nice happens and all forms of life are extinguished with a swift clamp of the jaw. The wolves would surely get me if i dare fell into that hole, but why was it so alluring? It was like the proverbial temptation from the Devil. Except what was unknown to me then, and so many now, is that the Devil was actually the owner of the heaven we are always sold, it was just well disguised by Him; a dark, fascist, power hungry demon looking to lure you in under the guise of freedom and worthwhile. The average standardised IQ scores had dropped significantly, little did 'we' (and i use this sadly, as the sad truth of the matter is that no one will escape this end) know, and for the most part we were all just filthy vermin running amok on a giant piece of land, killing and maiming each other for our own little parcel of it. We had become nothing more than glorified apes. The microcosm below me represented the theme in it entirety. An animal kingdom hell bent on ripping its own limbs off and enjoying every last fucking minute of it. Why not? Lets maim ourselves for pleasure, weve got a whole year to recover till the next. All i could hear was 'Forget tomorrow, lets live now'. 

I looked down upon the world from our little embankment on the second story of the Tropical Isle Bar and Hotel. Woman below were quickly becoming a currency and i had yet to see anyone hold a linear path for more than 5 steps. The situation was deteriorating rapidly. We wouldnt survive the night said the little monkey on my back. Fuck, i guess theres only one thing to do then. 'Lets get down amongst the animals mate, i cant watch this anymore without being involved'. 

I took one step off the flight of stairs and was completely ravaged by noise and light, nothing made sense anymore. Huge woman were sweating in my face and men with large cups were screaming at me to drink from them. It was a social coliseum; i was scared, and the monkey on my back started screaming for HIS own safety. I didnt know he was male until this point, but the thought of a testostrone-fuelled guiding deity screaming for his own safety amongst us mere mortals had me worried. Any form of optimism left the room quickly.

A savage woman in a black trench coat grabbed my hand and pulled me towards the toilet area. 'Fuck, this isnt what i need'. I was close to bending over and thumping her with a stiff right jab before she could drag me into the dark pit, but the Bear somehow grabbed me and my stupid attached arm that had gotten me into all this trouble to begin with and pulled me out of the ring.

"Terrorists, Violators and Vermin, THEY ARE COMING FOR YOU!"

A man was screaming into a megaphone right by the door, leaning around the corner and angling the sermons straight into the live band playing up on the stage. I hadnt seen these musicians before, the lights had them hidden in a green haze; something toxic i wished i wasnt involved with on any level of general behaviour. Now it was 2.30am and i was feeling the beat beginning to drag me down with it. Some twisted mind that knew the frequency to unlock the control over our own willpower. This Pied Piper would get us soon enough.

The man at the door was still belting out incoherent rubbish about common civilities and the great lord when i took him down with a solid glass to the head. He hadnt seen it coming, and neither had god. The old degenerate hadnt listened to his own sermons, so the vermin he was warning us about was nice enough to show him a thing or two about general principles. 

Bear knew the police were on high patrol: a young group of men were shot on site last night for a collective robbery of 10 dollars and a need to leave no witnesses behind. High alerts has been issued and i knew any act of savagery, no matter how logical, would be met with extreme prejudice and a massive collection of violence. I shuddered at the thought, and my little act commited before. "Foreign man killed viciously as police use neccesary force in face of certain death" the headlines would read. The media would be paid off, the police force would apologize for any sadness, my mother sent a large flag and the world would be one mad-hatter less. The natural order updated to bring us one step closer to draconian law.

'Maybe its time to go home Bear'.

'Listen! If we give in now, itll only add to our desperation out here, so carry on over there' 

He said back as he pointed to another bar with men stumbling around outside holding plastic moulded jokers with green liquid inside. It looked interesting so i jumped into the queue to get inside the door. We ordered drinks, the joker mug ones, and sat back as the woman lent into a box under the bar, pulled out 2 moulded mugs, and poured a pre-made concoction into them. Nothing about this was organic. Even she had a green tinge to her, that toxic glow that had the band in the past bar straying me towards a madness i didnt need right now. Fuck, what is it about New Orleans that seems so inorganic, when everything about its history is pure and righteous. I knew it was the coming of the modern era, but i didnt expect it to all begin so suddenly. Another city succumbing to the bright light of modern education and strict umbrella control by the big wigs. They kept the rain off of us as they took our souls. I looked at Bear: 'This is the beginning of the end my friend, we're only in it for ourselves from now on, no one else is going to help us'. 

If i could even help myself right now id be happy. The green drink had me beyond words. I lit a cigarette and took in everything i could. I needed one last hit of this goodness before i sank away in the green haze of 'heaven'.

BANG. A huge din rang in my ears and hands grabbed me from all angles. "Never! You fucking vermin, fuck off and unhand me!"
"Quiet you idiot" Bear scowled as i looked up and saw his massive hand on my shoulder dragging me outside. He told me i had passed out and fallen onto the bar, breaking several glasses and arousing serious suspicion. He had slapped me back awake instantly and grabbed me to usher me outside. Both drinks were in his other massive paw, held with safety. They were our tickets to saviour after all. 

Brothers in arms, marching on towards calm.

Hunted for innocence: Strange tales from the great South (Part 1)

We had managed to convince my new friends mother to give us her credit card and keys to a brand new Winnebago Luxury model , for a full expenses paid plus salary excursion into the heart and soul of the American nightmare. Alabama through to the south, and then a psychotic all-holds-barred free wheel through some of the most barren and boring landscapes known to the modern homo-sapien, a land where even the most degenerately twisted minds couldnt conjure up a reason for staying more than 2 hours, let alone our 2 day high speed pursuit of the setting sun.  We were locked into something we would wish we werent, but our excitement for escapsim of the current situation marred our current levels of common sense, so we took it in our stride and agreed to all conditions imposed. Flights were booked, and we left San Diego the next day with the hordes of routine driven robots on their way to Houston for some kind of convention where they are told what to do and when to do it, all under the illusion of a 'fun' time.

What i hadnt considered was the fact that Mardi Gras was due to kick-off in strict accordance with our arrival in New Orleans, and this would mark the beginning of our descent into times of savagery and violence, times that would be set with overtones of extreme manipulation and a desire to rid ourselves of ourselves, which wouldnt have been possible without the help of ridiculous per-diems and massive quantities of cheap and nasty alcohol.

Of course, our rules for the journey were too strict, and we decided via a vote of no-confidence that these be sent to the bottom of the trash bin, only for use in times of extreme desperation and self-loathing. 

Im not sure on the current census figures of those that have experienced Birmingham, Alabama, but it is a dreary and sad little city which experiences its share of natural disasters and horrible weather, and about 50% of its population would not rate above an IQ score of 10. We were lucky to get out of there with our wits intact after a horrible hour spent debating with the Large vehicle storage yard owners that we had rights to the large Winnebago Luxury model sitting in the corner. My foreign accent didnt help, and my friend Bear had little in the way of a good looking demeanour about him; unshaven, shirtless and eyes blood shot red from a serious vacuum injection of California's best hydro.

We had agreed that our best bet to remain morally sound was to pick up hitchhiking travellers, with the rules of engagement being no arguments taken and no destination as important as our own. I knew somewhere down the line there would be trouble, but with the current issue of finding our way out of the god-foresaken state being priority numero uno, we had more pressing matters at hand. Such things could wait till we were dealing with them in-situ. I hadnt had any whiskey yet, and cigarettes were hard to find on Motorway B20, so i had to settle for a small order of a healthy smoothie option. Healthy being the operative word, and most likely the last time i would see those 2 syllables for the next few days. 

I forgot to mention (forgot? i think i was just wrapped up in the moment) there was a 3rd passenger on this mission, and it was most defintaly a mission: a surgical strike into the psychotic depths of the American Nightmare, to source a sentiment from the most ignorant and justifiably savage of all American people. Stephen wasnt equiped to take on anything this twisted, and it showed in his under-confidence and lack of suitable clothing for the mission. Me and Bear both knew that he wouldnt survive till the end. But we needed a scapegoat we could use under the guise of a martyr, so we ignored his pathetic attempts to stop for water and passed him the bottle of whiskey instead.

It was, after all, our trip, and Aggresive manoeuvres and unjustified liberties would be the norm. God knew we werent here to sweep the locals off their feet, but he probably let it all float under the table as he knew it wasnt going to last long. We wouldnt survive to claim any fame for it, so he would let the madmen finish themselves.

Whistle blowers taking their time in the cold streets of the South

'Take a knee and Bow, and let your tongue express that JESUS CHRIST IS YOUR LORD!'

The sign above me stated. Maybe he was our Lord. I wasnt in a mood to say 'Hell No you scum' and beat him with his own placard. Hours were spent by his lovely god-fearing wife putting that thing togethor, and i surely wasnt going to rob him of his fun. That would be a horrible thing to do. Id much rather come back sober and play with his belief system, perhaps even introduce him to the monkey hiding in his lounge, the one that proves evolution was the true story behind Human Model v.10, our current state. Darwin was his name, and whilst The little guy couldnt say much, its what he represened that counted. And i would sit and flaunt his symbolism.

But that was another time, maybe next year, when ive recovered from this cycle of affairs. Cigarette, whiskey, green tinge, pass out. Rinse and repeat with more violence. I did want to play games, but id stagger through anything i thought and come out confused and anxious, looking like I'd just coorindated a failed drug sale and had lost eveything. That wasnt the kind of look i wanted to be fronting in a place like this, with police hiding at every corner under extreme vigilance, hiked up on pure dopamine and looking for the nearest excuse to shoot someone right between the eyes. Under the hidden veil of a peaceful religious chant, the status quo was carefully kept in checķ by the police. The sideways glances of the bigots had them looking for any sign that they had better leave the party pronto, or they would be maimed or be killed under a hail of gunfire and police batons with sharpened edges. Blood was an easy colour to clean off the red bricked monolgue of buildings that made up the French Quarter, but Black spraypaint and the Ash of the dead Souls that were sucked into the kerosene burnoff these religious fanatics had started was not.

"On Fat Tuesday, revelers in New Orleans jam the streets with non-stop partying. The atmosphere is charged with drunkenness and unbridled sexual activity and perversion. In the French Quarter, homosexuals have costume contests before audiences of thousands. Women lean over balconies and openly expose themselves to anyone who will give beads to them. The practice of revelers engaging in sex with strangers is common."
The real truth magazine.

It is, quite beautifully, a massive power base of free speech allowing anything that constitutes pure right wing religious movements to speak their mind and drag anyone and anything that slips into their vacuum down into the dark cave with them.

Mardi Gras is never prepared yet always a willing accepter of the inundation, even downright swamping above the National Defence emergncy level, of all forms of gibberish, hearsay, lies, truths and psuedo-religious bullshit. Over 4 days it is a non-stop assault on all 5 senses that begins to manifest itself in every innocent bystanders mind in a very unstablely controlled violent tenure. And if it all turned against itself by the briefest lighting of a match the local law enforecment would have very little ability to quash the civil unrest before it reached a fever pitch. I have no doubt the Souths biggest party would quite quickly become a Master class in the civil guards ability to enforce martial law and return the city to a state of civic peace, even if extreme violence and death were the means to an end.

The main reason for the massive pilgirmage to New Orleans was a wealth of new and fertile minds ready to be harvested for their own viscious needs, gathering humans like crops in the local feilds. And they fell quickly too. A mindless mixture of alcohol, loneliness and well-directed and powerful dialogue could turn even the most straight-lined minds towards the dark cave in the extreme corner of the beautiful golden beach. I had seen it on several occasions right before my eyes, as i staggered from bar to bar in search of my friend Bear. I had lost him only minutes before and i was starting to get lonely. I had ticked off 2 of the 3 ingredients for sublimation into the vortex, but id be damned if i was going to let one of these vermin get ahold of me for any amount of time. I had my bottle ready and held my stature with intent.

Its quite hard to run at the moment, there's a wolf on my ankle

She strutted into the room with a confidence and smile that only people of the roaming variety find utterly inescapable. My boredom levels had reached new lows, and even the pleasure of masturbation had reached a dreary end several days ago in the dark, rank room i called home. So the twinkle in her eye that hinted at unwitting fear yet a strange fondness for what she saw took me to a sordid place that scared even myself. I lit a cigarette.

The distinct lack of self-preservation and a motivation to escape reality led me to a place that only a few know. I ended up viciously savaging her against the wall in the room, as her own morbidly innocent soul watched on. 

As we lay under the umbrella of release, the rain showers of shame and regret began to pepper down harder and harder, threatening to break through the thin veil we had created over ourselves in those moments of passion. As she asked my name, a lingering urge to run suddenly to became hard to ignore. And so i did just that.... ,

Running came naturally to me, as im always on a vector to escape. Not in any drug sense where im looking to move on from reality for a while, but in that there is the generic nomad in my heart looking to move back into the permanent chase of something i didnt know i was looking for. Woman were a distraction through time and usually for money spent, all for the greater cause of keeping me lucidly sane in this sickeningly sordid world we live in post-2000 AD: The great millennium of our lord, as any religious zealot may hint at.

My deepest dream

This is my deepest dream, yet i still remain. Do i remain as my own, or do i follow? I hadnt yet discovered anything that truly held me on a single line, my magnetism wasn't north or south; one days pleasure became the nexts pain. It wasn't much of a stretch then to see i was diverging from my own reality trying to appoint myself onto a line I couldn't quite find, or even name. I was beginning to feel that things would drift away from me faster and faster the longer i put things off. A friend had told me once that 'joyous be the man that earns from his hobby'. Stupidly i had laughed at this little antiquated piece of wisdom, not seeing it as wisdom in the moment. I had only remembered this one amazing piece when i began to reach my lowest. Pain and wisdom were the worlds purest symbiotic relationship, one doesn't exist without the other. Pain experienced in reality outputs wisdom through abstract or lessons learnt, and wisdom causes pain in its transit to giving its greatest gift: peace. Peace is founded on love, and love is our greatest treasure. Something which we have to go to battle to earn.

Ever since my Birthday all those years ago i had woken during nights, struggling with my breath, anxious that the next day would bring something else to give me pain. Now i would wake in fear of letting go of all i had been given and achieved, to give it all up and chase something i didn't even know i wanted to chase! Am i still breathing while i believe that this is all it can be? 

And so, i live in the fear that my masterpiece can start with a single stroke, or die with one.

How can i just keep breathing...

Understanding the masterpiece that we can never grow to be

Its hard to establish, but everyone has a Treasure to search for. Trying to take it, it slips from our grasp; trying to look for it in front of us, it moves to our periphery; trying to run after it, it becomes a singular point of the horizon line. A treasure is something to imagine, enjoy in abstract. Very rare is it for a person to win their treasure. Most chase and reach it, to feel it at their finger tips, only to give up at the point of contact. Its is a humans greatest fear, to attain what they've always wanted. 

Some see what they want to see, others hear what they want to hear. Perception in a heartbeat, a sole shift to believe in our own thoughts. This is why we cannot find our treasures. But they lie not in the abstract world that is full of dreams, yet in the very real void we cannot fill completely. To follow an abstract so completely, yet to remain grounded in reality; this is our saviour, and yet will be our eternal dilemma.

My friend Joseph didnt seem to mind sitting around saying nothing. Hed just sit on my couch, doing a crossword or sending messages to girls he was trying to scam in on. He always seemed to have one that was of interest...and in spite of him saying very little while he was with me, he seemed to have an amazing grasp of vocal interaction on the occasions i had seen him chase a female around. Maybe that was the trick, save the few meaningful words you had for something important, instead of wasting them on trivial social matters.

Despite the lack of communication, we seemed to get on rather well, given that i couldnt talk, and he wouldnt talk. Most things were done in a poetic manner, lunch was decided by a flick of a finger, bar visits usually prescribed by a flick of the head to the door and any acknowledgment of a good looking female was left to a raising of the eyebrows followed by a smile by the receiving party. I was beginning to think that our covert communication was developing an almost criminal element to it, given how discrete and unassuming it was. Little did we know.

A day late in May, Joseph and i were sitting in our favourite little bar, when a couple of men walked in, rather unassuming looking, though in hindsight it would seem the worst people usually are. They have made an art of looking nonchalant about their indiscretions. Joseph was a good friend to have in this town because he was the main marketing man for the local newspaper. Everyone knew him by name, everyone liked him and everyone trusted him. He knew a lot of things before they became public knowledge, if they ever did, and as such i was also always privy to them. Hed send me mail with all manner of ridiculous happenings in the nearby counties.

As closed knit was our bubble in the world, i always felt that i had a connection to hidden things that linked our bubble with others. When my hands became dirty, i could wash them in the knowledge that other people had experienced similar things. These little treasured thoughts made me feel as if i was part of something bigger. I never communicated my desire to search for something outside of the bubble i lived in, and never heard my friend Joseph say anything similar. These men walked in a manner which said they were different, they were hunters. Not in the strict sense of the word, more in the sense that they were searching for something that was always just beyond their grasp. Like all people driven to achieve something from an early age, they were never satisfied with their catch. One benchmark begets another. I could see it in their eyes. 

Walking down streets i knew so well, i would often see people i didn't know, but they all had a familiar look of sadness. It would only form in little registers: a passive turn of the lip ,a vagrant flick of an eye, a downcast look. I had seen the same thing in my own face when looking at myself. Sometimes i would spend hours looking into the mirror, wondering what kept my sadness so well hidden, but let it escape in moments of lapse. Was i really just another pained human walking around with no idea what my treasure was, or if id ever find it.

We all wanted to be something when we were younger, floating through the easy phase of life with a wisdom beyond our experiences, a wisdom that we would never be able to express. And as age slowly grips us, and society expects us to be a reality, we find we cannot love as we really were made to, with intent. And we lose our desire and our capability to be the abstract we wanted to be. The abstract isn't even a profession or a position in society. Its more arcane, its uniquely primitive and sophisticated at once. Its what we describe as love.

Most people believe they have it. They give their souls in the name of it. People will sacrifice their own well-being and lives in the name of it. They will destroy the chance to find their treasure in the name of it. But they dont have it. How can any man expect to take care of others, if they cannot take care of themselves. 

This love is a mask, these people wear a mask of love. The face value is the same, and it tastes just as sweet. But like all candy, its taste disappears as time goes on. The sweetness becomes boring, and boredom reflects itself with sadness. Even under our umbrella, as we try to love, and be loved, we are destroying what we wish we had. We give up on our treasure, and we become another crack in the mirror we look through.

We destroy our masterpiece with a single stroke, the stroke we laid first.