stories

A Day in the Life (4)…

The famous Socratic adage rang clear and true every day, every year. Deep down he had never changed. He had remained faithful to his love and devoted to his dreams and child-like joy for approaching the world with open eyes and open arms.

Unlike his child-like joy his wise adult self succumbed to the child’s surprise. It succumbed to the strangest things. Slavery instead of freedom, whispers of trapped prisoners in dark cells instead of the glorious screams fresh air, fields, and sunshine. He ran on a treadmill instead of country paths. But all the while he fed the small child in the gilded cage inside his mind.

He was older now, if not wiser he was more aware. He realized that courage did not come at a high cost. It required honestly and nothing else. Acceptance was the real expense and he had paid. Always knowing, he had paid. Even after the debt was freed from his shoulders he had paid. Even after…

But now he was loosening the chains from the gilded cage and freeing the small curious child that had waited patiently in the darkness for his freedom.

A Day in the Life (3)…

He had bought into the cheap stories and the tales of “how things are.” He had accepted the drug and watched his hand, as if he were a stranger, slide the needle into another stranger’s arm. He had bought the hype, the judgement, the promises, the normalcy, the consumer-ridden meat that he had been offered.

He had fought it in his own way throughout the years, enjoying the grimaces and frowns of disappointment from the courts of social righteousness but he had always conformed. He had twisted his dreams just enough to keep him in with the in-crowd. He had given in to the pressures of the expectations just enough to get a disapproving nod from strangers.

Looking back now he realized that he was ashamed. Had had been ashamed of who he was; of being creative, of being curious. He wanted to learn and wanted to see and understand intellectually. He wanted to know how. These were considered strengths in theory but truly he was ashamed that he pursued these things.

He had been ashamed of who he was and had instead bowed to the wants of strangers for nothing more than acceptance and even the occasional smirk. It had not been worth it but he didn’t know then what he knew now.

Mistakes, Misgivings, and Motivations: I

face roadmap

Throughout life mistakes will be made, but perhaps the more important, more helpful truth is why those mistakes were made.  There is a story, perhaps…

In the search for the good, for a truth, a man went on an adventure; where to was not known and neither was the motivation: only the misgivings.  And so, with the misgivings the man started off, one foot at a time.  From the one step came another and before he knew it his adventure had begun.  In fact even without him knowing, long before he considered it, the adventure had already begun.  And without him knowing it, mistakes had been made.

The path started straight, wide and sunny, but as the weather will the clouds soon came and the path became muddied with doubt.  The man sat under a tree and pondered his predicament.  His bag wet from the rain and his coat soaked from the worry of the day, he wished for the straight, wide and sunny path and so he soldiered on.  There was no decision to be made as that had been made, and so it was with mistakes.

After a fitful night’s sleep (and soaked and sore feet) the man donned his soaked coat and wet bag and went on his way.  As paths will, the way curved and climbed with hills hiding what was ahead.  “Such is the future.”, the man thought.  And so was his life, motivated by fate or future or adventure, or whatever the man called it at the time.

His happiness wained and waved as the sea might do on a beach, but as the water will, his happiness washed upon the beach and sifted through the sands.  The years went by as will the days, as will the minutes and the man thought to himself: “Such is the life I lead.” Throughout his life the man met others and those fell away around the corners of the path the man was on, and soon the man found himself alone.

Motivated by sheer will and some curiosity mixed with a dose of virtue and the endless misunderstanding of truth the path became home.  The roots he had dug up so many times, he carried in his bag which was by now old and worn by the mistakes that he’d made.  And it was with these misgivings that the man turned around and considered his past for the first time in his life.

Stories From the Road: Beer, Blues and the Backseat of a VW Beatle

lone star

The beer had to come which meant that the passenger seat must come out; which meant that George was to sit in the backseat with his feet propped up on the white cooler that took the place of the passenger seat.  Everything had its place.

I never knew that the seats of my 71’ VW Beatle (that I had christened ‘Hitler’s Revenge’) were stuffed with straw.  Springs hold the straw in place under the black vinyl.  George didn’t know this either, but was soon to find out.  For the time being, however, he sat comfortably with his feet propped up on the cooler.

It was hot!  It was Texas, and it was in the middle of July.  Hitler had no air-conditioning as it could barely pull itself without having to run a compressor.  Stevie Ray Vaughn was playing in Dallas, and we were hell-bent on being awash in his amazing prowess with a guitar.  We were also hell-bent on drinking the two cases of Lone Star beer we had brought.

We bounced in the downtown traffic, stopping at traffic lights and sweating like whores in the Texas heat.

“Goddamn, it’s getting hot!” yelled George over the blaring blues we had going.

“No shit, Sherlock!” I yelled back.

“No! I mean I think I’m on fire.”

We sat at the light and George began bouncing around, getting more and more anxious, yelling all the time about the heat.

“What the fuck are doing?!” I yelled.

“Dude! I think there’s a snake back here and I think I’m bit!”

“You’re crazy…”

George wasn’t crazy, but there was no snake.

We were parked on a four-lane piece of cement under a bridge some ten minutes away from beer and blues and George began trying to crawl out the side window, yelling and screaming.  I saw smoke wafting from ass of his jeans as he fell out of the car and began running around under the bridge, smoke making a curly tail as he ran.  Then I noticed the billowing smoke coming from the back of the car.

The car was on fire, and so I screamed and threw the keys (Yes, threw them.  I don’t know why) at George who was still running around cussing and screaming at the side of the road.  Smoke billowed out of the car door windows and traffic began backing up from us.  I reached in the car and pulled the backseat out.  By the time I had the seat out the straw had made a nice inviting flame.  The cars around us continued to back up at a more and more alarming rate.

It was really easy.  I just threw handfuls of dirt in the backseat and the flame went out.  George finished with his sideshow dance and showed me the newly burnt hole in the ass of his jeans.  I put the backseat back in, but George sat on the cooler for the duration of the ride.  After some searching I found the keys and we started the car up, having the road to ourselves for the time being.  Stevie Ray never sounded so good with an ice-cold Lone Star beer in hand.

From the Collection: Stories From the Road

chaos

#1

Join me on my travels on that Monday, that day in the van in October, driving like freaks on speed. This can’t fucking be right! No human driving mad crazy. What am I doing with all of this? The proof is in the pudding, the pride, and the persistence to show. The price is driving with this crazy motherfucker; barreling down the Pennsylvania hills, pissing in my pants, puppy-dog shit. This son of a bitch is the devil himself and we shall all die in Satan’s arms. It is inevitable.

The van is already dying, etching out the last of its pitiful life, the picture of American pride. Fuck it! Some fuel additive and gas and we’re on our way to the pace of porn, pot and poetry. We shall succeed at any price. Hell shall have its way! Quite a popery of prophetic prose to be put upon the priceless piece of pummeled paper. The proposal was put forth that in Pennsylvania and properties around those words like “prick” and “pussy” must have precedence in the propensity of profound poetry put forth.

Of course, this is only a prelude to the pretense that we shall actually play; watching the palpitatious patterns of people plunder the peace of palatable portions of epiphany.

#2

In the last moments, those final bleak hours, in the dark, in this fucking car. So goddamned tired and greasy. So close and the road just won’t end. My eyes are on fire and this constant moving doesn’t give a hairy apes ass! All I want is my home, that dream world I use to know before I took off on this fucked up ride. It’s like that park in Massachusetts where the operator fell asleep. The ride never ended and we were screaming at the end, sick as dogs, wanting to die. He must have been on dope or perhaps, just didn’t give a damn.

My mind knows there’s a place where I belong but shit, where is it? This is insane. All these cars, all this night. This whole, unending night, the numbers on the clock move, we move…so what’s the fucking problem? Give a man some peace; I’ve got a wife, I’ve got pets for god’s sake. They’re probably dead and I wouldn’t know it. I can’t do this. This is nuts; the same name on every sign, on every exit. It’s all the same.

We don’t turn, we never turn. No wonder this car is dying, it’s tired too! The same stretch of snot to roll down. I feel like a fly. Fly? Fuck that! Who’s got time with all this road? I don’t ask for miracles, just to sit in a chair that happens to be mine for a while. This moving has got to stop. Enough is enough. It will drive anyone insane. I know, I am fucking mad!

It’s all a spinning nightmare at this point. Who cares? We’re all going to die. No end in sight and we’re all acting like its normal, an enigma, a traveling savant, a fucking idiot. This is life in the fast lane, burning the oil, all of it. Fuck it! Let’s go…