HELP!!!!

[Shem]

So, this, this is something that has been coming together over the years I’ve been posting here, and many pieces have been posted (and some published in the anthology) and it is LONG, but I'm feeling...(drunk)…something..... tonight, and wanted to share what i have assembled. PLEASE, critique away! I want to hear how bad it is and what needs improvement. The whole thing is a rough outline at best at this point. GUIDE ME!



Birth of a Cynic or The Parable



He once had a small red ball. When he was just a boy, not any kind of special ball, just a plain red rubber bouncing ball. It was not an expensive or rare toy, but it was his favorite none the less. Wherever he went he brought his little ball. He brought it to the grocery store, to the movie theater even on family vacations, though his parents tried to convince him to leave it behind. “It will get lost in the car, or left somewhere,” they would tell him. He didn’t understand, or even care about any of that. He just knew that playing with his ball was fun so it should come with him. Then one day it happened. His ball was lost. He had been playing in the woods. He got back to camp. His ball was gone. He swears he put it in his pocket. Nothing is there. Tears. Begging his parents to go find it. But it is only a little red rubber ball after all, and adults cant be bothered by such trivialities. He could get another one when they got home. It might not have the same scratches from when he fell off his bike with it. The holes from his dogs teeth would be gone. But he could get a new one and it would be just as good. A new surface to mar, shinny and still squeaky-clean. So he reluctantly allowed himself to be calmed and went to bed. They returned home a couple weeks later and all he wanted to do was get his new ball. He never asked his parents to get it. They had said they would, and parents are very busy. Every day his dad came home from work he expected him to bring it. Parents are very busy.






The Crucifixion

His Father, in his daily morning rush of preparedness for work, had left him at a gas station one morning. It raised quite a commotion within the little word of the station. The owners and the customers where stirred into action. Everyone was rushing about, listing to every thing he said and trying to figure out exactly what he meant. Higher authorities where called upon, who of course, rushed in and took him away. They got him back to their fortress and figured out how to send him back to his father. Eventually everything was straightened out and two officers where sent to escort him home. He was reprimanded the entire journey by the officer’s who did not believe his story. When he finally reached home he was lovingly welcomed and reassured. His father then wrapped him warm in his blankets and put him to bed, reminding him that tomorrow he would not be forgotten. In the morning he was wakened by his mother and sister and prepared to venture out into the world once again.









Seventh Rhapsody

As a young boy of seven he had started noticing girls in his class, but one in particular had caught his eye. She was beautiful, more beautiful then any girl he had ever seen. Long dark hair and slender pale hands. He tried to talk to her everyday but never could bring himself to approach her. He tried to talk to his mother but she just clasped her pudgy hands and said how cute he was. He definitely couldn’t talk to his Father. His Father with his rough workingman’s hands. Hands he had driven a nail through and not even cried. No there would be no help there. So day after day he had to watch her from afar. Watch as she hung on the monkey bars. Watch as she jumped rope. Watch as she grasped the chins of a swing and described a graceful arc in the sky. For weeks he was powerless. Then one day he could no longer stand it and passed a rough, scratched out note down the row to her. He sat sweating as she read it and marked down her reply. His hands trembled as he opened the returned note and he was swept with ecstasy when he saw she had checked the “yes” box.
He ran home after school that day fast as he could go. Bursting through the front door he announced the news to his mother expecting her to share in his enthusiasm. Instead she stopped washing dishes, and pulling her gloved hands from the sink, laughed and called him “sweet”. He ran to his room and slammed the door. Why wouldn’t she take him seriously? Why didn’t she understand him in the least? Could this really be his family? It didn’t matter though. It really didn’t matter at all. Tomorrow he would see her and they could eat and play together. Tomorrow would be here soon enough.
In the morning he awoke and was out the door in record time. He covered the distance to school in what seemed a flash. The first bell rang after what felt to be hours of hanging around and class-time had begun. As they found their seats he tried to say hello to her but she passed by as if she hadn’t heard. He spent the whole first lesson in dismay. What had happened? He couldn’t wait till recess to find out and started another note but the teacher’s hand slapping a ruler on the desk brought him right back to the moment. When at last recess time arrived, he ran to her as soon as they where outdoors to see what was wrong and she looked like she was ready to cry. One small word escaped her lips.
Moving.
Her family was moving the very next week. Two days where all they had. Two days and she would be on the other side of the country. He was slow in coming home from school that day and as he shuffled through the door his mother instantly wanted to know what was wrong. He said nothing and headed for his room, she persisted so he told her. She sighed and held back a giggle as she patted him on the head and told him he would be fine. He headed for his room muttering “who are these people I live with”, and clenching his fists the whole way.







Colloquy of the Crows


“These crows are getting gigantic,” he muttered to himself as he walked down the paths of his thirteenth year. It was an overcast day that gleamed dully off the train tracks he was following. Another trip to the library and it looked like rain. He pulled a joint out of his pocket, lit it and took a big hit, Shielding it from the wind with the lapel of his trench coat. He was going to look for the “Odyssey” he liked the idea of the blind poet Homer. The first line in the copy there was “ Little or nothing is known about Homer the man.” He could relate. His classmates constantly mocked him and his parents thought him strange and couldn’t understand him. He thought his parents where doing well for who they where and he constantly mocked his classmates, in private of course but it all came out even in the end. The solitude was the only thing. If it wasn’t for that.
The crows where flocking to garbage spewed around wherever the tracks crossed one of the busier streets. Fast food wrappers and beer cans with an occasional cigarette pack thrown in. Just for variety. The crows tore through it all looking for the rare french-fry or piece or burger bun. Their whole lives spent moving from one trash heap to the next collecting sustenance by sifting through all the shit people threw into their word.
He spent a lot of his time reading books by people widely considered wise more then a century ago but he was starting to wonder if it was just more shit to sift through. He threw a rock into their mists and they scattered to the winds. Blown away from all they lived for by a single pebble. The pebble was they key. To become a pebble, that was where the secret lay. Shattering preconceptions with a quick word or well-turned phrase. They circled on the wind and immediately returned to their trash; hard to destroy ideals deeply buried. For that brief second however, he had set them free.



The Nine to Five

The alarm clock erupted in a flurry of noise tearing apart the stillness of five A.M. Groggily he slapped at the clock sending it crashing to the floor, still screaming.
Moaning, he rolled over and felt around the floor till his hand hit cold plastic and he was able to silence it. Slowly he drug himself out of bed, grabbed a dirty crumpled pair of pants off the floor and slid them on as he stumbled into the kitchen. Water, he desperately needed water, he filled a glass and drank it down in one gulp with eyes still tightly shut. His head hurt and he couldn’t remember if he had been drinking the night before or not. Most likely he had been, what else was there to do in this shit hole town but drink. Finally opening one eye to see what time it was he realized that he only had fifteen minutes before he was supposed to be at work and it took at least ten to get there on foot. Pulling back the shade over the kitchen window to see what kind of day was dawning outside, he saw that it had snowed heavily the night before and everything was covered in a thick layer of white that would be blinding if the sun decided to show its face. Yawning he shuffled back to his bedroom and dug through the laundry on the floor till he found a shirt that didn’t smell too bad and pulled it on. Next, to the bathroom where he found no running water. Fucking roommate must not have paid the damn bill again so he had to scrape off three days worth of beard with a dry razor.
The bite of the air out side caught his breath and the effort to trudge through two and a half feet of freshly fallen Colorado snow soon had his blood pumping. The fog that had been hanging over his memory all morning began to lift. He HAD been drinking the night before. One of his friends had wanted to score some H so they had driven up to Denver to see a guy he knew. When no one was home they stopped and bought a bottle of So-Co 100. He remembered that. Remembered drinking quite a bit of that bottle actually, but he didn’t remember getting home. Ah, shitty, he couldn’t remember any thing else and his head still hurt. Not just a lingering pain of a hangover but a dull throbbing ache like someone had hit him.
He arrived at work ten minutes late, shoes incrusted with dirt and ice, eyes red and puffy with lack of sleep and the lingering smell of booze about him. Luckily the manager was a cool English lady who liked him and was willing to over look his tardiness and all too obvious partying. It was beyond him why she kept scheduling him to work in the mornings when she knew he wasn’t worth a shit until after noon when he had fully sobered up.
- Hard night of partying I see.




The Circle Expanding

Another hour of doing Zazen gotta be going. People waiting back home. Tree’s a tree again, ground, ground. Went deep that time, good stuff. Have to hold on to some, meteor showers this weekend. Good timing. Carefully back to the bus, still strange peripheral visions flitting by. Bus still in one piece, surrounded by other oddly painted vehicles. Tie-dyes and dreadlocks everywhere, blast some Mingus on the way out,
Meditations, that’ll show em. Real music.
Hi-way cruising, sixty, warm window open evening. Sun starting to sink, shadows stretched to the breaking point. Magic light. Best part of the day in the best kind of way.
Everything will be good for the next month or two, sell fifty make ninety bucks, get about a month’s worth of film and paper, add workaday pay should be able to pull this off. Can’t wait till Friday, head up to the top of Evans with Leeman. Meteor showers on this stuff should be intense. Five apiece enough? Probably not, have to make him buy his dose, keep ten for private use. Call him first, what he doesn’t want sell at home. His roommate might want to come, Red, cool guy wouldn’t mind, get him to drive. Almost home, call then.
Three more dull school-daze to go down, fore the weekend rolls around, spannazz da skiez is what we’ll do, acid eyz to look fer you. Higg’s had bought out five ol’ tabs, and Red had bought up six. Damn good time was good as had. Sit back enjoy the trip. Hell yeah, should be a good one, up to Evans get real high, skies of fire into huge upturned pupils can’t wait.
Three more long days passed through in a dazed fog. Formula and technique, everyone else here is ready to go sell themselves to the first bidder. Not artists, fucking whores, what the hell is a commercial artist? Oxymoron. Rare is the artist that can live by their art. Some few, but hard to do in this sad old harsh lit world.
Friday night rolls around at last. Off from work and time to cut. Check in hand, quick trip off to the LQ, get some boose. Sixer of good stout and a bottle o’ rum. Head home; grab a quick meal, raid the fridge, OJ and fruit, get the trip box from under the bed. Stash everything under the bench in the back of the VW and head out. North, downhill to the mile high city, out of this piss-ant town. Escape, for tonight at least, have to get the hell out of here permanently though, soon, soon enough.
Pull into the lot at the hive. Six flights, fast dizzying stairs, burst out the door and down the hall to Leeman’s cell. Bang on the door, opened by not Leeman but Red.
- Hey,
Slide in shove a beer into his hand. Drop the bag on the counter, chill the boose. Into the living room and down on the couch. Feet up and crack a tube. Red comes out beer in hand, and flops down in a Lazy-boy across the room. Journalism major, losing his idealism already but always up for a good time, probably end up shooting sports forever.
Leeman shuffled out of his room and sank down into the other end of the couch.
Another misplaced pupil, Forensics. Came across three states to end up here, in the wrong spot. Doubt if he’ll make it, had a hard time last quarter.
“So Higg’s you set for tonight? Not going to end up whining all night right? ‘Tis
bitter cold up on top of that mountain, so make sure you’re good for it.”
Had to listen to his whiny ass the whole weekend last time, too cold, too far, not enough oxygen to keep going. Damn flatlanders. This stuff will keep him occupied, shouldn’t have to listen to much.
“ Yeah man got all I need packed up and a big blanket in the trunk of Red’s car.”
“We’re all set, we just need to stick you’re beer in the cooler and we’re ready
when you are. We should get going soon though, it’s over an hour drive
and it’ll be dark soon.”
“Well, I suggest finishing off the brew, divvying up the tabs and heading out. I would
suggest we take one now to warm up then s’ fair game up on the mountain.”
Don’t know their tolerance, have to watch Red careful. Ride and all. Hate to be stuck up there all night. Right around fourteen thousand feet, freeze to death in no-time.
Leeman and Red grabbing heavy weight parkas and gloves. Grab my old pea-coat and wool cap, could snow, never know. Be cold no matter what, worth it though, a meteor show from above the light pollution of all the cities and towns around here should be something else. Red driving, Leeman up front. Plenty of room to sprawl out in the back, perfect. First thing to come out of the trip box, music. A little light, far-east inspired music was a good way to start. Guide their minds for the next four or five hours want to start slow and easy. Winding up I-70 to the foothills and mountains, into a little mining town. Big gold mill, ARGO, looming large over everything. Stop at the local brewpub pick up some more bottles, best anywhere right here in this tiny town, best pizza too, strange.
Drop another tab, load up, head out. Thirty minutes to the summit, dusk already, should be able to see the show right away. Second thing out of the box. Electric laser gun with flashing lights and warfare sound effects, machine gun, grenade launcher all kinds of strange electronic noise. Only source of light besides the car, should prove entertaining. Toss it up front for Leeman to play with. More music, fast, tribal drum based tunes, for the dark and twisting mountain road. Faster, it’s all about speed, never stop moving. Someone bitching about lack of guardrails, Leeman most likely always worried about something, poor bastard just doesn’t get it. You have to grab life by the balls and squeeze until it screams. Vita brevis carpe diem, no regrets. Ah well to each his own, few want to experience life in its immediacy anyway. They’re always building “security” in the way of possessions. Just more things to worry about, where’s the security in that? Those tribes that burn all their stuff yearly have the right idea. Let it go. Finally, end of the road, just in time for the last rays of light to fade into the deep black of night. Climb out of the warm city night of the car into the darkness of void, ears still echoing with the sound of drums. It’s freezing standing at fourteen thousand feet, almost three miles above sea-level, but the cold will pass when the sky starts to burn.
Get everyone dug in; back wall of some little museum type information booth, sleeping bags and pillows, bottle of rum for the chill. It wasn’t long before the first star-trail rent the blackness of the night. A rainbow streak tearing across the dark of space, then another, more brilliant then the first, soon it was raining, raining down the golden light of the gods, celestial fireworks. Two hours passed in stark amazement. Pondering the vastness of space, the concept of time and the foolishness of the whole idea. Time? Nothing but an arbitrary set of standards placed on eternity in an attempt to standardize freedom. Time, HA, time to take this experience to the next level. Nudge Red back into reality for a second
“ Hey, how ya doin? Allright?”
“Yea. Fuck man, it’s unreal, so many, Fireworks! Fireworks from the heavens! Wild!”
“ Yep yep, I’m starting to level out I’m going to drop a couple more how bout you,
Wanna go fer it?”
“ I got nothing going tomorrow, what the hell.”
“Get Higg’s, see if he wants to join us.”
“Alright, hey leem-Hey! He’s not there, where the hell’d that bastard get to?”
Sudden figure out of the darkness, flashing Christmas lights and crazy electronic noises, laughing hysterically. Knew he’d get a kick out of that thing. Doesn’t need any more at the moment obviously, lucky if we don’t get in trouble with him running around like a madman. Ah well, let him enjoy his moment of ecstasy, they seem to happen to him so rarely. Won’t be long till restlessness sets in and then what? Too cold to wander up here, back into the car and the bright lights of the city, hit up some clubs or something. First see if we make it off this mountain. Should be an interesting drive down. Wait another hour or so, if no one says anything gather ‘em up and head back. They’ve got to be getting cold by now, stop by Herb’s and get some drinks, warm the belly and calm everyone’s nerves a bit. Leeman definitely needs something to calm him the hell down. Must think he’s a bird or something running around flapping that damn blanket. Better go get him under control before he freaks somebody out and the dial up the cops or something.
“ Hey! Get the hell back over here boy, you’re scaring the help.”
“Man, it’s all cool man, everything is cool, it’s all good it really is man, don’t worry,
it’ll all be good. I think I need a drink man, yea I’m sure I do, is there any
of that rum left or did you and Red drink it all? Or some juice man, I would
just about kill for a tall glass of O.J. Come-on man, hook me up.”
“All right just calm the hell down we’re getting ready to head back down and you can
get whatever you need then. We’ll stop at Herbs and get some drinks, you can even
sing if you want.”
Damn that shit got all over him, hope he can calm down enough to take into public, we all could use a drink that’s for damn sure. Still have five tabs, Red and Higg’s probably each have two or three might have to continue this trip. Get to Herbs just about closing time then five more hours to sunrise. See how they’re feeling at that point.
“No man, no way in hell I’m gonna sing, All those old jazz guys are you’re area, I just
want a nice cold brew or three. I just wanna look, look at everything its all so
fucking cool. Everything just fits man, know what I mean, it’s all just right.”
“All right man, lets get Red and head down. Come on ya damn fool, stop acting
like an idiot, you don’t want to fall off that edge, we’d never find your body in
this dark and we sure as hell ain’t gonna lay claim to your ass. Let’s go.”
This boy’s done gone. That’s a big ass cliff to be skirting along, his ass wouldn’t be anywhere near there if he was sober. Never could handle his damn intoxicants, even just drinking ends up making a fool of himself half the time. Ah well, makes for interesting nights and exciting times.

Didn’t take too long to get em’ loaded up, good sign, get some nice calm tunes on the radio, Alice, cause it’s dreamy weather, Ha, that’ll work. That was truly great, never seen the sky on fire like that, like some kind of biblical prophecy come true or something. Well let the world end, soul’s in good shape. Tell god to fuck off face to face.
Fairly clam drive down, only one moment of panic when Red decided headlights where just a bad thing and wanted to see if there were more meteors visible. Soon convinced him otherwise and continued on, back down to the poor, sad bourgeois city.
Get em’ to stop at Herbs, need a damn drink, throats all dry and scratchy. Beer’s all warm by now, save it for latter. Only quarter after one, plenty of time for a couple brews, calm the nerves just enough to continue later. Be good to listen to a little jazz piano too. House singers not too bad, probably gone by now though, ah well, long as it’s not some really drunk fool, it’ll all be good









Hack it, Chop it, Burn it down

He put his pen away and could still hear, decided to watch the voices and the evening screams of past. Thus far encounters echoing had fallen with in his skull. More then as not, the ones whimper and he on their own hopped to yet salvage the night. They usually had more cash too. He needed cash. He had smoked up his last bit of medication earlier and now that night had fallen it was time to seek out a fresh supply. As the last rays of the hated sun melted away he emerged from his threshold shelter and began the hunt by minutes then stop, totally oblivious to think. Maybe order the danger lurking in a drink and in the perpetual resume. The twilight. The entire time he did notice had sat there, him saw nothing. A band had more then been setting up strung out bum, on the postage stagnating in his stamp sized stage, own filth and at the back urine hurried off the room. Bye. Then at ten where no good-o’clock they started; he was to play when at heart he noticed the coward and knew a blind keyboard player. It. Physical. He put altercations aside made him his paper and panic. To stretch after his first and waver as round out came the cool air, the tools of evening moved his trade, in across the time to sound. It was work. It was almost his time, long before he had needed, caught the tail to find of an idea mark. He managed to watch them, watched them chase it down. Them all as. He wrote rapidly they moved past his pen and his doorway, the paper dancing with beautiful girls in the gin and their expensive clothes, tonic in front with their powerful lust of him. Men at their side he would write. They for a few passed him He huddled in John St. Sat in the dark recesses alone at the doorway crowded bar of where at least a small local a little of pub. His night never dies, had come to waiting, watching and the pub not waiting for night only to drink, to come again. But to find his inspiration. It was a creature of small, the night; the dark, smoke filled glare of the room, packed the sun off to overflowing. The hot, gray sidewalks perfect place that was almost blinding think. The story to his sleepless eyes were thick as the smoke in shadows where already the air was starting.

[silent woman]

Their whole lives spent moving from one trash heap to the next collecting sustenance by sifting through all the shit people threw into their word?



I wish my bits and pieces were coming together so well.

[stilltrucking]

I wish I had more guidance to give you but it seems to me I could take some guidance from what you have done with yours so far.

Other than the possible typo word for world I got no criticism. I was very taken with how you had moved through time. And man if ever two lives were out of sync in time it is mine and yours, I was struck by how much faster your consciousness had bloomed than mine.

I started out slow I suppose.

Sorry about the user names, it is some idiocy of mine that makes it even more confusing to me as I try to pull all these thousands and thousands of random text boxes into some sort of sequence.

I would wish I was even half as far along as you have come with your efforts.



Kerouac so much more smarter than me, he would have rather been thin than famous, I weigh over 250 pounds and I am getting shorter every year that I continue to potter around with this compulsive scribbling of mine.

why do I potter, why do we bother to pull it all together, Kerouac said he wrote to redeem himself.

thanks for writing.



I never was very visual during my tripping days, but I do remember once when I was reading Nietzsche the words crawled across the page like thick black worms and fell off the edge.
Also I remember it was a hell of an aphrodisiac, wonderful sex, exquisite orgasm. But with tragic consequences. I think about calling that episode my three scarlet letters.
Maybe it is the difference in our ages, but I remember I would feel burned out for a week after every trip. But it was worth it. Just had to be careful because back in the seventies it was cut with a lot of speed. please pardon this long ramble.

[Shem]

What do you read my lord?
words, words, words!
or worlds.....
Thank you for the kind worrrddssss, but pottering pottering pottering and scribbling is all I do as well. I’ve been trying my hand at editing! Something I've never done much of, and of course that second to last bit is to too to long it must be broken up in some way, or parts and sections excluded. But yes, even in the anthology it should have been world (my bad) though word works awfully well to my taste as well... And there is my ramble, a month late and who knows how many dollars short but the best I can pull off at this particularly distressing time.



Oh and Nietzsche, YEEESSSSSSS!