whiskeyfightpit

Wake up...merciless sun raking your eyes like a young badger figuring out the circle of life...your age is nine, ten, eleven, or twelve...walls crash, the bonds of desire, religion, and tradition snap apart around you...to you, parading around in that bliss, that god-like polaroid known as youth..you remain content to indulge yourself in fantasy...the fantasy quilt with twine of plastic soldiers...little overpriced molds of masculine fantasy condensed to educate young boys into their grand purpose...that of the unfeeling savage wasting away in the abyss of professional sports and ape-like gestures...but the time away from the toys is reality...some children in this land of plenty were blessed with a nest chopped full of nurturing, strength, understanding, discipline, and education containing positive measures of masculine and female...some didn't get anything in either direction...some, like me, only got a brick wall when it came time to express ones self. When I felt bored with the rigidness and ignorance of elementary school, I would entertain myself with some form of exuberance...random outbursts...acting...personal expression...Something to make time move ahead and be worthwhile to my development? Does that make sense? The sensation of being too much for the environment you're in? I've felt that way my entire life. That sense of outcast, loner, unwanted burden in a group setting. I've sat well in many groups of people. Jocks, Goths, Musicians, Nerds, Dweebs, Druggies, Fuck Ups, Preps, Greasers, Lame-os, artists...whatever...anywhere I've held court has always left me empty, unwanted, unuseful, and not being a part of what's going down. The brick wall that I would crash headlong into was that of discipline...when I would speak my mind or express myself as a youth..it was greeted with detentions, demerits, notes home, or poor grades. I was always the dichotomy of the juvenile delinquent...I scored high on tests and maintained Gifted Student type grades in most subjects, but my behavior... according to the overlords...was that of a reckless punk...so for every A I got in an advanced class...I got detentions or "behavior" progress notes sent home detailing my subversiveness...Unfortunately, I've got one of those "old school" southern style "working class" families...Not saying that people of these regions are all one particular way, but mine was a fair representation...when it was a family...We handled discipline differently there...I can remember some instances that I now see as horrowing viciousness that plague my personality, emotions, and dealings with other people to this day and that I have only begun to acknowledge now...In fourth of fifth grade, I used some random slang term in adressing our principal in the cafeteria...It wasn't anything vulgar...it was more in the vein of "How's it hangin' man" or "Chill out, dude"...very late 80s parlance, yknow? Well, he didn't appreciate any of it...probably a reaction to not being "down" with the times...So I got a few detentions and my parents were called..a little excessive right there, I think...My parents always thought any action on my part that was "negative" was a reflection on them as parents or as people...and that "negative" part had to be removed in some kind of Anthony Burgess "A Clockwork Orange" fashion...so my mom was there for me when I got home and proceeded to slap me up and down our ranch style house...and when I say "slap me up and down our ranch style house" I mean I got pulverised from one end of the house to the other until she was through getting her point across...this was sort of the hour d'oerve before the "main course" which would be my father's arrival from work...I can't really describe in words what planet of unending hell this man came from...All that eminated from him was unhappiness, abuse, verbal degradation, and a complete and total disregard for any living being occupying "his" personal space...I imagine he got it from his home but part of it stems from balling out 70 or so hours a week at the General Motors plant...So when this savage was done with his prison sentence at Chevy, he would need some kind of heavy bag to work on when he was done...problem with heavy bags is that they cost money...when you have an oldest son, with a mouth like Cool Hand Luke and the sass Lenny Bruce would admire...who needs the Nautilus corporation? His mouth never seems to close so you may as well beat him within an inch of his life...Hell, you get all of that assembly line agression out while teaching "valuable" life lessons...so after my mother's slap session, I had enough beltings to scare my friends into going home...see, they had to usually wait outside until my "crimes' were served with the proper punishment...He was smart enough to keep most of the belting to my lower back and buttocks regions to not scare the shit out of my teachers at school...never let it be said that American assembly line apes aren't thinking about the big picture...You get sort of a confrontational attitude with this kind of treatment...in your dealings with others and your siblings...at least that's my experience..so me and my younger brother argued quite often...one time, most likely in fifth or sixth grade, me and my brother came to blows over a situation...luckily, Chevy Ape was home and zoning out to the idiot box in the family room...so when he heard my brother and I doing the "man dance" this dominant ape was sure to make his presence known..he comes into the room..flips my mattress over with me on it...and proceeds to plummel the daylighst out of me with his fists and elbows while yelling some of the cruelest shit this side of boot camp...even though it was a mutual fight between me and my brother, I was always tied to that "Allman Brothers" whipping post to pay for everyone...My mother's best friend had just purchased a new house in Oregon with her husband and family...very rarely did my immediate family ever get together for holidays...and by immediate I mean the people living in the same house with me...anyway, that's a separate issue...They had just purchased one of those new fangled "Sega Genesis" systems, so you know how long ago this was...Sega had just released a new game called ROAD RASH...I had to play this mother..it had tire chains, bats, and motorcycle speeding...elementary school kid crack, basically...but my little cousin wanted to play really bad...but I kept holding out...so when my father was sick of hearing this kid justifiably whine, he proceeded to kick the snot out of me...He stomped on me like I was some kind of campfire in front of twenty or so people...My aunt gave him what for but the damage was done..I tried to hug and apologize to my father for being bad but he wouldn't even look me in the eye or acknowledge that I was there. His side of the family is some of the coldest, calculating, violent, and heartless people to walk this earth...but once every seven years or so, they like to size each other up at "holidays". So, my father's mother held a Christamas Eve party...WOW! I get to see all of the aunts, uncles, and cousins who's name's I don't know and we get to share stories unrelated to each others lives...Some of us cousins get together as adults and share abuse stories and mass quantities of booze but that's the extent of family cheer we have...anyway, my sister, brother, and I had been bickering all day...I don't remember why or when but we got back into it at my grandmas house...somehow my bro and sis got out of the picture but someone had to pay for these shenanigans and who else but the resident Hogan's Hero, Dusty Hill!! So, in the hallway of my grandmothers house, I was choked by my father like I had some kind of defense secrets that I was trying to share with the "invading Russians". But what I remember most is looking into the eyes of my "outer" family members and seeing absolutely nothing...no pity, no remorse, no concern...just another day at the office for them...I will never forget being choked against a wall and not seeing compassion in another persons eyes...I will see that untill the day I die.

I hate sob stories. Everyone's got the cross they gotta carry till the mortician slams that fuckin' lid home. I was born a white male, in an era of American dominance of the world, with plenty of food on the table and clothes on my back. So child abuse under the guise of discipline should be the least of my concern. But this story I remember clearest. I will never forgive my father for not showing me the things one needs to be a man and be accepted by your peers. This culminated during my fourth grade year of elementary school at our summer field day...there was a contest for who could through a softball and a baseball the farthest...Now, my father was an All-American Athlete in Baseball and Football at Waite High...His brother nearest his age played farm team ball for the Cincinnati Reds before passing away in a car crash in 1979. So sports aren't some kind of foreign language to these guys...but I couldn't throw that ball forward...I didn't know how to propel a fucking baseball at the age of ten...although my father was probably some form of local Golden Glove recipient...I remember looking at all of the parents and my classmates and watching them laugh hysterically at the oddly dressed, pudgy boy who couldn't throw a baseball FORWARD.

So when you find that it's a time that I have nothing to say and that I need to leave a particular place a little earily...it's because I'm dwelling on stuff like that. All of this madness has cursed me in all aspects of my life...friends, careers, college. The worst being trying to get the women in your life to love you when all you can be is disgusted with yourself and all you've been through. It makes life long. It makes it really tough. Drugs? I've tried them. Drink? I've been there. None take the edge off. I could be orbiting the moon with opiates and whiskey and being choked would still be there...waving hello...I can't escape it. But I try to be congenial...I try to be witty...I try to make people like or fall in love with me...but it's never enough..maybe they can see these things I try to hide...cause who wants to get bummed out?

Life is cheap...it's a gift...relish what you can of it...try to find safe harbour in what good there might be...Hopefully, those in charge of the afterlife won't send me back here in a situation like that...I hope they don't fucking send me back at all, in any situation...and I hope they take me from this as soon as it's feasable to whatever the MASTERPLAN might be...it's the best I can hope for. You don't get very far down the road with no engine, transmission, fuel, or air in the tires. I have none of those.

Thanks for paying attention to the drunken post...I recommend Richard Pryor's "That Nigger's Crazy" to get your mind off of what I just wrote.

Stay Classy

SOUNDTRACK OF THE DAY

The Zombies "Odyssey & Oracle"
Dead Condors "John Bowman's Underpass"
Dead Condors "Son, Give In To Darkness"
Dead Condors "Oxidated Pennies From The Glove Of A Prince"
Dead Condors "Anything For Production"
Dead Condors "Honor Your Dead"
Dead Condors "Southern Mind Free At Last"
Dead Condors "Owls Eyes On The Frame Of Medusa"
Dead Condors "John The Baptist"
Dead Condors "You Have No Right To Love In Any World"
Dead Condors "The House Of Passionless Regret"
Dead Condors "The World Is Not My Home"