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I was trapped lured into lie by a clever evil mastermind .
Lost in a strange land locked away in a basement guarded by some twisted hamster on steroids known as a kangaroo.

Sure I had been tricked by evil means by the mastermind known as Helen hey look she told me there was a huge **** down in the basement with tons of strippers and ******* who wouldn't fall for that? Duh everyone knows you never let strippers in the good part of your house .

So here I was living in the basement like some sad nerd who probably posts on a web site everyday thinking they are totally awesome cause they have five hundred followers when in reality they'd be lucky if they had even one human friend in real life.

What ?
I was talking  about one of those star wars nerd sites cause everyone knows I'd never bash a site like Hello that is ruled by a evil cult leader who moved to the states after collecting money under guise to help the site when in reality it was for his *** change .

Yeah Id never pick on someone like that .
Frankly I'm hurt you'd think that  I'm kidding and as long as I'm breathing I will always be your favorite ruthless ******* slash ****** with a heart of gold.

I sat there in my new cell wondering just what the hell I was to do all the while kangaroo jack kept his beady little eyes locked onto me .
Yeah I knew he was sitting there mentally ******* me with his eyes I felt so naked course id probably feel better if I actually put some clothes on.
Duh who wears clothes at a **** *******?
Had I known this was all a lure I would have kept my clothes on and kept my trusty **** whistle and not got into this mess to begin with.

I was ready to scream for help when all the sudden I herd a sound .
Muffled as it was still I herd it the kangaroo hopped as it approached me oh dear lord man I was far to fragile to be assaulted by this weird *** overgrown rat .

The sound was so strange it sounded like the men at work song land from down under but where the **** was it coming from!
The Kangaroo was getting far to close it leaned over into my face and being a true man I did what any other true man would do.

Began to cry and beg this ****** up gerbil not to **** me.
Answer the ******* phone mate.
It said to me as I was stunned .

Hey ******* answer the ******* phone .
It said again  incase your to high or didn't read it the first time .
You ******* talk and what ******* phone I asked trying to hold back the tears let me tell you these animals were known killers they were like Canadians on crack with incredibly strong legs yeah imagine what nickel back could do with powers like these those heartless ******* would be unstoppable .


I was lost naked and afraid minus the camera crew and some ***** chick who smelled really bad and ******* at me for not having great hunting skills why not call that show what millions of people wearing clothes call it .
Marriage yeah now there's some scary ****!

Look **** for brains snap out of hit .
The kangaroo said as it kicked me upside the head .
Answer the ******* phone so we can get on with this story you *******.

I swear those kangaroos really had a mouth on them who knew such cute looking standing rabbit could be such a *******.

Okay so where the hells the phone and never kick me again you got it!?
I have no clue where your furry foots been.
Up your grandmas *** mate and where else would I keep my phone in my ******* pouch .

Look You can insult me how ever you like Gerbil but I'm not putting my hand in that pouch besides that is the oldest trick in the book you know how many times I fell for that with grandpa ?

What?

This steroid fed mouse asked as it looked at me like all other people and some who read this might think.
What the **** is wrong with me?

Yeah that's a whole other write in itself .

Answer the ******* phone in my pouch now *******!
Umm no .
Why not ?
Cause I don't want to .
Look you ***** if  I had long enough arms I would do it but I cant okay
you know how ****** up it is to have arms this short now you know why the T Rex was the most ******* dinosaur of them all .

Yeah I had to admit my new friend slash captor had a point imagine being a total badass that cant ******* boy that's some ****** up **** but enough with the foreplay hamsters.

After some back and fourth  debate I against great protest reached in this hopping *******'s pouch and found a cell phone .

Hello ?
Well Gonzo how you like your new digs mate?
I knew that voice anywhere .

Helen !

My friend turned evil super villain explained to me her evil plan to keep me hostage and force me to co write for eternity in this basement guarded twenty four seven by Ursula her trained evil kangaroo henchwoman .

It was clear all hope was lost how could I ever escape the clutches of such twisted evil?
Then it occurred to me I would simply bust the window in the basement and get the **** out of here .

I had to act fast cause it's almost happy hour at the bar kids and this hamster is thirsty.
  
Hey Ursula I really got to use the bathroom .
Well go ahead mate the toilets in the corner .

Yeah but you know I really like my privacy you know I mean I tell you those burritos are really talking back if you know what I mean but hey if you can stand the smell be my guest I mean sure the oder alone will strip the paint off the walls but I'm sure after you pass out from the fumes you will be fine.

Fine you stupid ******* just make it quick Ursula said as she bounced her grouchy *** upstairs .

It was my only shot and thank God they had left a trusty boomerang around so I could bust the window to make my escape its almost like it was planned that way being I'm writing the story.
No **** Sherlock!

I was free as a bird if a bird had a really bad drinking problem and twisted sense of humor and was totally naked .
I looked to the front gates but there was no way I could escape that way barbwire and flesh didn't mix that well besides without there draw bridge down the crocodiles would eat me alive yeah these Aussies were total freaks .

So like some naked ninja I made my way around Helens Compound of evil making my way upstairs I slipped into a room in hopes of finding just where my clothes had been taken to.

Hey help me .
I herd a mans voice say as I flipped  on the light to find a horrific scene a strange man chained to the wall no wonder this evil woman was such a prolific writer .

Hey mate help me please get me out of here .
I knew this woman was evil but after some deep discussion I learned this poor man trapped in this upstairs *** dungeon was secretly her husband  I know how weird who has there *** dungeon upstairs ?

I don't know what I'm going to do I'm never getting out of here Gonz .
I unchained my knew friend after he told me he knew how to find a way out of here and after finding my clothes and grabbing my trusty case of bourbon we put on some music caught a killer buzz and totally forgot  why we were trying to escape the clutches of evil to begin with.

The party was great we laughed we cried we watched some really freaky homemade movies once only made me love my knew Aussie brother more Shawn was ******* awesome a bit of a freak but ******* awesome.

The party was going full swing when the doors few open and there she was my evil long lost sister Helen and her demented *** evil henchwoman  slash house pet kangaroo Ursula who although a animal had some great legs I have to admit .


The gigs up Gonz it's off to the basement with you forever !
I looked at my new best friend thought about how sad he was when I found him and thought of the great times we could have roaming the wasteland looking for gasoline like in mad max just being totally drunk instead.

Yeah then Helen yelled in her outside voice inside and bout made me **** myself so I said **** this and left my brother behind and hauled ***  

I made it to the kitchen but was trapped by Helen and her evil **** minion .

Give it up Gonz  Helen said .
At that moment I grabbed a knife .

Oh cut the crap Gonz stop being silly what are you going to do with that ?

She thought she had me but I had one last trick up my sleeve .

I opened the fridge and grabbed her trusty box of wine
You ******* don't you dare hurt my baby!

Yeah you want this back I said as walked forward and out of the kitchen towards the veranda .

You get back Helen or I swear the box of wine gets it.

Oh  yeah you stab that box then I will drop this fifth of your bourbon over the rail Helen said with that devilish look in her eyes.

You heartless ***** !
She dropped the bottle I swear it cried daddy as it fell to the ground shattering to a million pieces on the concreate beside the pool wow I had to admit she really had a nice place.

I mean sure she was twisted evil heartless had a awesome husband she kept in a upstairs *** dungeon but enough about Helens  good quality's  .

I looked as my pour bottle lay shattered upon the floor  .
I laughed you know that wasn't my only bottle .

I know that mate then reached to Ursula grabbing yet another bottle from her pouch dam you Australia why must you have so many ****** up animals in one place its like a zoo on crack.

Helen went to drop yet another bottle over the rail when I cracked.
Okay enough!
I will put your box of wine down just don't hurt the bottle okay .

Deal mate Helen replied .

We both slowly put are true passions in life down .
I'm glad you could see things my way Gonz now time for you to get writing .

Yeah Helen I don't think so I said pulling the trusty boomerang from a location I rather not disclose hey I been to prison before you be surprised the stuff people smuggle in.
Dam that hurt.!


I threw the boomerang with all my might this was my one truly  last chance at getting out of here.
But like some Aussie ninja Helen just ducked the thing  as  it flew past her head went flying around the house and turned direction coming straight towards me hitting me in the skull.

As I fell to my death music played as I took that long dramatic one story fall .
I hit the pavement like Lindsey Lohans career.

I laid there broken my new best friend speaking to me no gonz don't leave me we could have are own spinoff if only you didn't die .
Shawn my brother I will never forget you but I have just one last thing to say to you are you listening .

Yes mate I am.

And at that moment of dire sadness I ripped the biggest **** .
Shawn busted up laughing as above Helen looked at Ursula
Men are so ******* disgusting .

And later as they all sat looking down upon me from the veranda Helen furious at her man slaves betrayal told her partner in crime slash killer kangaroo .

Ursula go fetch the battery out of the car and the ****** clamps someone is going to be punished .
Shawn's face lit up with joy yay he exclaimed .
Helen shoot him a look .

I mean oh no such horror please don't torture me mistress   .
But hey don't judge them there not freaks there Australian.

Ursula shook her head as she made her way to fetch the car battery .
Jesus Christ why couldn't I have been Mel Gibson's pet.

Helen looked down one last time at her dead brothers body .
But to her surprise he was   gone .
The dramatic Halloween music played as Shawn looked to his evil temptress slash wife .

Mistress was that the boogeyman?

She slapped the **** outta him **** no its just that lovable perverted misspelling ***** across the water everyone calls Gonzo.

She shook her head and laughed to herself .
We will meet again my friend .


Until next time kids or Helen finds and actually kills
me stay crazy.

Gonz
Titanic-Lover Aug 2013
"Olympic,what was my sister like?
Did the people make her grand?"
"Yes,my darling,she was fine,
The finest in the land.
No one else was like her,
No one had her creed,
I knew within my very heart
The life that she could lead!
I sent my best of wishes to her
On a tenth of April day
She sailed away into the sun,
Nothing stood in her way.
Oh,Brittanic,my darling,
I wish that you did know
The spark of pride she sent in the air
Where'er she did go.
The air around her seemed electrically charged
With her undeniable glory
I watched from afar,
Knowing she'd make a front page story!
I felt pride within my soul
When people would stop to gaze
My sister was so beautiful and bound for happy days!"
"Olympic,why did my sister die?
Why couldn't I see her face?
We wait among happy people,
She's in a somber place."
"Brittanic,my dearest baby,
I cannot tell a lie
You must put up with this old girl,
And know that I shall cry.
I cannot think of my sister
Without my vision clouding with tears
I have been without her for so very long,
So many pain-filled years.
The day I heard that horrible truth
Will be etched forever in my heart.
The day I lost my beloved sister
With which I never wished to part.
When I received news of her sinking
I raced across the waves
Hoping I'd be able to say 'good-bye'
On her very last of days.
Oh,but I didn't get there quick enough!
I didn't have enough speed!
The Captain ordered me to give up hope,
An order I didn't want to heed!
I had raced across the blackened surf
Pressing to see how fast I could go,
Now the Captain ordered me to stop,
I hope you'll know the love I did know.
I wanted to go to that very spot
Where my sister's life did end,
A glorious lady with a glorious heart,
All ended by a word called 'sin'.
He hurt me with his ruthless order
Ceasing my propellers purpose-driven churn
My anger at him burned in my soul
I didn't want to obey a command
He was forcing me to learn!!
But,he forced me to learn
Forced me to turn away
Forced me to live without saying
"Farewell"
Forced me to return to work that day.

"Olympic,are you mad at yourself?
Upset you never could say goodbye?
Upset you left her all alone?
All alone to die?"

"Oh,Brittanic,why must you ask such things?!
Such things that tear my heart in two!
But,answer you,I will,my darling,
Answer you,I shall do.
I have tried so vainly to forgive myself,
Yet,half my heart is plunged in grief,
It wraps around my very core
Like a strangling ivy wreath.
No one gave me a kindly look,
A sympathetic word they did not say,
Such as "Fair Olympic,you did all you could
To save your dear sister that day."
But I tried! Don't they know?
I tried to save her as across that ocean I ran!
I would of said good-bye
If not halted by a foolish man!
Yet,I never got to say 'good-bye'
Never let her know,
Titanic! My treasured sister!
How I love you so!!"

"Olympic,I hope you know I love you,
E'en though your heart is sad,
Forgive yourself,my dear mother,
You did not commit any bad.
Titanic knows you love her,
She knows you tried with all of your might
When love drove you across dangerous waves
On that perilous night.
You mustn't keep hurting a heart
That has dealt with so much bad,
Forgive yourself,Olympic,
And then you may not feel so sad.
I'm sure she is not mad
At the efforts you did make
You avoided danger the best you could,
Though your life was still at stake.
You acted with such bravery
On a night devoid of moon
You did all you could in hopes
To get to her so soon.
I love you,old Olympic,
I'm not angered at your ways
Concern for one you did love
Has lasted for years and days.
I'm sure you were the perfect sister
As you are the wonderful mother to me
I feel so proud when I see you come in
From a long,weary week at sea.
When I am old and wizened  like you,
I'll remember the pleasures I have known
From a grand lady named Olympic
Who hid a heart so alone.
I love you,my beautiful friend
And I'll recall a story behind the tears
Of perservering adoration for one
That you won't see for the rest of your years.
And,I'm sure,Fair Olympic,
When it comes time you too shall die,
You will be reunited with your sister,
For your kindness never did falter,nor lie."

"Brittanic,my dearest one,
It is a reassuring thought,
I will be so glad to see her,
For love will perish not.
But,for now,I am nothing more than
For men to hurt and command
But I shall dream now
Of a far-off and distant land.
A land where my sister resides
Where she,perhaps,waits for me
On a big eternal expanse,
A grand,forever sea.
I am sure my time is coming up,
I am over 20 years old!
The humans will not want me much longer,
I am no longer eye-catching and bold.
Twenty years old and over is not a lot,
For me,my life did really now just begin
But the humans will not want me much longer
They will make my life end.
I am no longer the fashionable steamer
That people clamor to take
I am 50,000 tons of steel
One day that the ship-yard shall break.
That is our future,my darling,
No matter the life we had,
It has happened to a good many ship,
It is so brutal and bad.
Do not think false wishes
That I shall escape this fate.
No,my baby,I shan't,
It will be either early or late."

"Oh,Olympic! They cannot **** you!
You have such a life ahead!
How could they be so cruel
And with their blows,make you dead?"

"Brittanic,my darling daughter,
To them,we are naught more than machines
We have no life,no hopes,
They don't even think we have dreams.
I could tell you so much more,dearest,
There is so much more I can say,
But the humans want me to go somewhere,
So,I shall come back one day.
Be true,my darling,while I'm gone,
Make me proud of your ways
Strike out over life,
Rejoice in the sun's rays
I shall come back again,
Don't you doubt that twice,
I have much more to tell you
And your company is so nice!"

I watched her as she sailed away
Into the slowly setting sun
Thinking of all she had told me
And the life that she had run.
The first thing she had done in life
Were joyful sails o'er the ocean blue
Then,drafted into war she was,
And cared for the soldiers too.
I loved her so very dearly,
And dreaded when we had to part,
But thoughts of meeting once again
Gradually settled my heart.
Her Captain took her one way,
Mine took me the other,
I remembered everything I saw
So I could later tell my dear mother.
Not everything was exciting
In those future trips I took,
Months were passing,but I recalled
Everything like a reference book.
So much time was passing,
Now the time was nigh,
When I 'd wait for dear Mother to come in
From the waves she did ply.
I waited and waited that first day
Sought out on the open sea,
It would be a wonderful time
When it was just her and me.
She would tell of her trip,
I would tell of mine
How proud she was to carry the flag
Of the White Star Line.
I waited and waited to see the tugs
That would pull her back to shore,
Just her and I together,
Sharing stories once more.
She didn't come in that day,
Perhaps that she was late
Taking a little longer that
The time the humans did slate.
She didn't come in that next day either
And I started to fret!
Did she come into a different dock
Than what she'd normally get?
The next day came,and far way,
I saw quite a sight.
Something that looked like a ship,
Though didn't appear quite right.
I watched the tugs pull it closer,
Yes,'twas a ship indeed.
But,what in heavens happened
To give it this somber lead?
I could tell it was grand at one time,
Yet,that seemed so long ago,
Curiousity wracked my mind,
And I wanted to know.
This somber shell came closer,
Devoid of deck and stack,
I looked toward the starboard bow
And the name
OLYMPIC
stared
back.

I couldn't think at all that moment!
My heart welled up with pain!
Olympic! My treasured mother!
I shall never see you again!
You were right about the ship-breakers!
They ruthlessly tore you apart!
Not paying any heed to your
Loving,kindly heart!
How shall I survive,
Without your beauty and your truth?!
Those ignorant men killed you
In your 25 years of youth!
Oh,I hope they be cursed
For doing something so bad,
Now I am without you
And so terribly lonely and sad!
Olympic! Olympic!
I shall say your name over and over again,
Hoping it shall bring you back
From hard-hearted sin!
I watched as they pulled you away,
My vision has clouded with tears
Yet,I keep on watching
You endured such fears.
Melancholy feelings grip my heart
I no longer have interest in life!
I have seen the meaning full and complete
Of a word you did call 'strife'.
No more stories to be shared
On a night glowing with moon,
No longer shall I see you,
Gleaming in the sun of noon!
The men have done their worst,
I shall no longer hear your horn,
Such a proud note it had
That I've remembered since I was born!!
Olympic,Olympic,I love you,
I'm so happy you got to hear those words
I'll wait and watch and listen
As the lament is echoed by sea-birds.
Those tug boats are pulling away
Taking you to the last of your fate.
I love you so much,dearest mother,
But,the ship-breakers I hate!!
You pass so slowly before me
I gaze for the last time at your sleek steel,
So strong,once you were,
But that doesn't now seem real.
With barely a ripple the water glides
Across your red and black coat
The humans are so uncaring
Thinking you are only a boat.
Good-bye,my mother dearest,
Farewell and aurevoir too,
I hope so much you are with your sister,
In the heavenly,eternal blue.
I wish you the best of happiness
For you loved your sister so,
As soon as the ship-breakers broke your heart,
I know that's where you did go.
I am so glad I heard the stories of
The life that you did live.
I am so glad I knew the love
The heart of you could give.
I hear the echo of your voice,
The tales that you could bring
The truths of your soul,
And the love that you could sing........

"Brittanic,my darling dearest,
When I was torn into by a collision with the Hawke,
It wasn't exactly pleasant,
And I had to return to dock.
The gentle men,they repaired my ****
Made me as good as new,
Then I sailed out again
Into the ocean blue.
Then,I threw a propeller blade,
Humans called me an accident-prone sort,
But,back again I went,
To be repaired at Belfast port.
That was the last time,dear daughter,
Titanic and I would be side by side
I wished it would last longer,
Yet time did not forever bide.
People took a photo
That immortalized that day
The very last time we'd be together,
Forever together,they'd say.
I hold that glorious memory
In the chambers of my heart.
Under 'lock-and-key',
Never,ever to part.
My sister and I together
Upon the ocean's crest
Glowing in the sunlight
At our next-to-best.
Oh,that moment was so long ago
Our moment side by side.
The last time we'd be together,
Before she sadly died.
The Captain thought me foolish
To plough through icy sin,
Yet,if it meant to save my sister,
I would do it all over again......"

My mother's words echoed
As she drifted away from sight.
Now she was with the one she loved
And tried to save on a 15th of April night.
I said my last good-bye to her
When the tug boats pulled her away.
This memory emblazoned fiercly
On this unforgettable day.
I watched a little longer
Wondered if there was sadness in the sea,
The Olympic-Class was over,
Now there was only me.
My mother was a masterpiece
When she was under steam.
Like a picture-postcard,
A reigning Ocean Queen.
People once loved my mother,
They sailed on only her,
But then,there came a change,
And she became a bothersome burr.
No one sought to save her
From the scrappers filth and grime,
She was wanted no longer,
Her age and fashion,her crime.
The people remembered her little
After her scrapping day
No flowers were strewn
In her solemn way.
Did any one else say 'good-bye',
Or,was I the only one?
Bading farewell to her grandeur,
And those crimes she hadn't done.
No monuments were erected
In her grand memory.
She was the daughter of Belfast,
And her second love was me.
She filled 25 years with her riches,
And also with her pride.
Filling them with love,
The love that never lied.
I always thought my mother to be
An invincible sort.
Who had no fears,or,if she did,
She left them back at port.
Her haunting words echoed
Her fortelling of her fate:

"I am nothing more than 50,000 tons of steel
For the scrappers to break...."

She said it with a certain sadness
For that was her future path,
She didn't deny  it with falsehoods
That they would tear her heart in half.
I shudder at the thought
Of the scrappers fire and tools
Who looked at my mother so eagerly
With eyes bespeaking cruel.
The company wanted her no longer,
No matter the life she had had,

"Scrapping happens to a good many ship,"
she said,
"And it is so brutal and sad."

What had she endured
In the breakers waterless dock?
Did she think of me?
Was I her final thought?
I love you,dearest mother,
There shall never be another like you
Think of you often,I will,
Upon the bounteous blue.

I am always the daughter of Olympic,
Always shall be Brittanic,
Always shall remember the love of my mother,
And the bravery of one named Titanic.
I  will always miss my mother,
And our days together in dock,
The stories she lovingly told me,
Be also under lock.
I will probably not share my stories
With many others,true,
But if the time does arise,
Share them I shall do.

"Brittanic,what was Lady Olympic like?
Did the people make her grand?"

"Yes,dear friend,she was fine,
One of the finest in the land...."
Though I am very learned in the subjects of Olympic,Titanic and Brittanic,any one who knows the story will realize many details have been left out. The reason for this is because I made it more of a 'human-interest' poem,to show the three sisters in a different light other than engine-driven steel leviathan vessels. Placing Olympic as the mother of Brittanic makes it easier,in my opinion,to gain feelings towards the matter. Yes,Brittanic was sunk in war ages before Olympic was sold to the T.W Ward shipyard,but to mix the details around makes it more interesting. I aim this prose to  spark interest in RMS Olympic,a grand lady who is remembered little.  Put yourself in the position of Brittanic and imagine the fright at seeing the demolished and scrapped vessel as her mother. When all is said and done though,I dedicate this poem to RMS  OLYMPIC. Rest In Peace,dear lady.
1369

Trusty as the stars
Who quit their shining working
Prompt as when I lit them
In Genesis’ new house,
Durable as dawn
Whose antiquated blossom
Makes a world’s suspense
Perish and rejoice.
Aaron Mullin Oct 2014
The first time I truly stepped into the mystic
For a suspended period
Those close to me watched with amused
Concern

Later on I would find out that this place was called hypo-mania
A lower energy level than mania
Recognized by the p-doc's as a creative place
But also a place of warning

Cause what comes next?
Mania
For me it was spiritual; I was playing in the aether
I was living the Tao; I instinctively called it Source

I was studying to be a scientist at the time
So this didn't make a lot of sense
The data didn't support the hypothesis
Had I just eaten one to many mushrooms as a teenager?

I already had a psychiatrist
I was being treated for ADHD
He had prescribed something called Concerta
An amphetamine; a ******-stimulant

At many points along the journey
I cursed the day I ever heard of psychiatry
I'm sure that the neuro-chemical pathways opened up by Concerta
Had something to do with my awakening

Those first days near Source made me realize I needed some guidelines
Mine were informed by my indigenous heritage
Only take what you need (i.e. sip, don't gulp from the River Tao)
Find your foundation: my rock was integrity, eventually leading to authenticity

Even with these guidelines, I couldn't maintain the healthy place they were calling hypo-mania
I had too much toxicity in the relationships around me
I couldn't fully elucidate what I was seeing and feeling
And my 7 kettles were on a full rolling boil

I was draining myself
I drove myself into madness
I was trying to sip from source and live my truth
But I wasn't honouring the nature of the Tao

It was Helter Skelter:
'So you go back to the top of the slide
And you turn and you go for a ride
And I get to the bottom and I see you again'

Over the next 3 years
I would lay down what I now think of as my
4 pillars; four hospitalizations
Well over one hundred days in the Cuckoo's Nest

The first hospitalization I went happily
I was going to teach and inspire the sickies
It's hard to get healthy in a place of illness, though
I came out still a little hypo-manic but went into a deep, dark depression
After finding out what those around me really thought

The second hospitalization, I went against my will
The doctor's were inconsistent, I found flaws in their logic
They looked at me like I was a flaw
They tried to prescribe health at me; I told them to *******

At that point I was not happy with the Canadian health care system
Health, first and foremost, was a public good
This ******* the individual's rights
I wasn't a danger to myself or others but I was a risk so there goes 70 days of my life

I was fortunate to have the support of some important people
They made sure my finances, among other things, were maintained as I tried to make it back to the ordinary
After my second hospitalization I really began to delve into the idea of holistic healthcare

It was after my second hospitalization that I made my first Hero's Journey
I was playing the role of a white blood cell for Gaia
I had my first three sweats within a month of each other
I met many shaman and I'm pretty sure I began my own residency

I put 10,000 km on my trusty steed
Chasing windmills
Sancho Panza by my side
< --- -- - Vancouver, NYC, Los Angeles, 'da bridge - -- --- >

My third hospitalization was the third act of this Hero's Journey
I was pushing it, reckless; I stopped taking my prescribed medicine
I ended up in the City of Angels of all places
Straight outta Compton!

My fourth hospitalization (and final pillar) was last summer
This time I ended up in Billings, Montana
The American model places the onus of health on the individual
I could have stepped out of that hospital at any point but I now had the wisdom to know what I did and did not need

Even though I speak of four pillars
There is always a fifth element
Her; the one
She woke me up to my soul's purpose

We met shortly before my fourth hospitalization
(You've got to use the fourth, Aaron)
She was a stranger in many ways
Still is but why does she feel so familiar?

She walked me through Dante's Inferno
She had spent time in her own non-ordinary reality
She left behind a map and published it
Through her bravery, I was able to find my way out of the inferno

And through her bravery, I was able to publish my map
http://www.bipolarorwakingup.com/
Tom McCone  Mar 2014
the catlins
Tom McCone Mar 2014
dunedin. friday, three, afternoon.
set from home under a blue sky
with full& prepared pack,
a somewhat empty stomach,
and a necessity to get away from the city.
hiking boots tread asphalt down to the depot,
where, in thirty-seven minutes punctuated
by plastic seats grafted to a wall
and a mildly disjunct group of small or
big-time travellers, the naked bus
pulled in, a hematite centipede
crawling into the lot. it was a bus,
no complaints. all others' bags
stowed, twenty seven bucks outta pocket
and swung into the front-right-window seat,
bid a farewell to the beat-down
pub across the road and onto the one-way
merging into a highway and outta
town the dark bug skittered, on
schedule or something resembling it.
behind the driver, the sun came through
around the beam in the window. warm patterns
laid on skin, the countryside's broad expanse:

cylindrical bales of hay scattered about
paddocks, dark late-autumn florets of flax
on roadsides, plumes of white smoke from
bonfires in townships as small as a thumbnail,
hedgelines of eucalyptus, pine; russet streaks
through bark of single gum trees stood
off-centre in fields. sticky-wooded hillsides
punctured by fire breaks roll almost forever
and back. the rushing sound of passing cars
through the 3/4-golden ratio of the driver's
ajar window; twenty-first century mansions
verging on out-of-place. saplings emerging,
bracketed, through verdant grass patches.
museum abbatoirs. toitoi like hen's plumage
lining drainage ditches. another Elizabeth st-
(how many could be counted out by now?) tidy
front yards and milton liquorland through this
small town. an everpresent tilting sun. fields
of flowered nettle. s-bends through pancake layers
of hills. a delapidated gravel quarry at stony
creek. deer farms, sheep farms, bovine farms, alpaca
farms (favourite); another bonfire seen down a
long gulley; a power substation, all organized
tangles. a two-four 300m before the bridge into


balclutha. 4.40pm.
across the road into the i-site
two friendly ladies circle locations
to make (got a car) or try to make (on foot),
offering a ride in half an hour,
leave it to chance.
across another road, drifter's emporium
(that's the name, no joke) got a knife
to open up cans- bought no cans, brought
no cans, still nice to have one anyway.
down the road, 200ml from unichem, waste
no time, turn ninety degrees, cross a
railway, then outta town in a sec. first
photo: half highway, half clutha river. fine
shot. sit down, watch the water couple mins,
head down the road. red-black ferns radiate
under willows down the riverbank. metal
bumper-bars keep legs on, the road rolls
gentle turns, diverges from the river. stick
to the former, faster that way. no intentions
of hitching. just wanna walk. and walk. and
walk. guy yells out a car window. envy,
likely. who cares. apple tree hangs over
a dry ditch. pick a small one, gone in
a minute. probably ain't sprayed. been
eating ice-cream dinners more often'n
not the last coupla weeks- isn't much
the stomach won't or can't handle anymore,
anyway.

odours of decay from the freezing works.
seagulls sound out nearby.
typical.

down the road, the reek of death fades
out. back to grass. sit in some of the
tall stuff, under a spindly tree. put down
some ink, a handful of asst. nuts. 'bout
thirteen fingers of daylight left. no idea
if the coast is further than that. little
care. down the road the land flattens out,
decent sign. the junction was a fair bit
past reckoned, though. flipped a chunk
of bark (too lazy to get a coin out) to
figure whether the coast was worth it. bark
said no, went out anyway. gotta see the sea,
keeps you sane. past a lush native
acre or two- some lucky ******'s front lawn-
changed mentality, slung out a thumb (first
time). beginner's luck, kid straight outta
seventh form pulls over in a mustard-yellow
*******' kinda beach-van. was headin' out
to the coast, funnily enough. had been up
in raglan (surf central, nz), back down with
the 'rents now, though. out kaka point, only
one of his age, he reckoned, no schoolhouse
there, just olds. was going to surf academy,
pretty apt. little envious.

the plains spread out and out, ocean just
rose up out of a field. there's nothing
more perfect. gentle waves stroke the sands,
houses stare intently out at the mingling of
blues. one cloud hovers so far away it doesn't
even exist. down the other end of kaka point,
back on solid ground, walking into a gorge, laments
about not choosing the coastal route. but owaka
is the new destination, bout 11ks, give or take
(5ks later, sign says another 15.. some give). nothing
coulda beat that sight anyway, stepping outta
a van onto that pristine beach.

entry: gorge route to owaka. seven.
late light painted the tops of hills absolute
gold. thought maybe this way ain't so bad. beside a
converging valley, phone got enough reception
for dad to get through. said in balclutha coulda
got a room with a colleague. too far out now. lost
him in the middle of a sentence about camera film.
surprised to have even got that far. road wound
troughlike through the bottom of the gorge, became
parallel to a cute little stream. climbed down chickenwire
holding the road in place, ****** in it (had to).
clambered back up, continued walking as the occasional
campervan rolled on by. took a photo of the sun perched
on a hilltop, sent it to mel. dunno why. anxieties
over the perfect sunrise picture came frequently,
a goal become turmoil. the gorge flattened out,
and soon in countryside my fears allayed. round
a corner in picturesque nowhere, found my shot.
sat in long grass. stole it. sighed. ate a handful
of nuts. moved on. {about eight}

dark consumed the surrounding gentle-rolling hills,
nowhere near owaka, which was probably the tiny bundle
of lights nestling a little below the foot of a
mountain in the distance (not too far off, in
reality). near the turnoff to surat bay (was heading
there, plans change) a ute honks. taken as friendly.
a right turn instead of a left, farmsteads lit
up in fireplace tones, the sound cows make at
dusk. it got colder. would one jersey be sufficient?
hoepfully. stars began pinpricking the royal blues of the
night sky in its opening hues. eight-fourty-ish slugged
back about 3/4 of the syrup, along with half of a box
of fruit medley (so **** delicious), in light of dull
calf aches becoming increasingly apparent. needed
to walk a helluva lot more. ain't one for lettin'
nothing get in the way of that. lights in the distance
became the entry sign for a camp-site. no interest,
head on. past another farmhouse, stars came out in
packs. three cows upon a slight hilltop. next junction
pulled left a good eighty degrees and was on the
straight to owaka. less than two minutes later,
a dog-ute pulled to a halt and offers up a ride down
most of the stretch. didn't say no.

still stable, as two pig-hunters tell
of their drive back from picking up a couple
pig-dogs somewhere north. they were heading
out bush to shoot, thought they'd seen
another guy they'd picked up a couple weeks
ago, who'd taken 'em out somewhere they
couldn't remember. paranoia grips, but
the lads are fairly innocuous. they say it's
dangerous out here, gotta be ballsy walking
middle of the night, no gun, no dog,
all by yourself. wasn't worried, got nothing
to lose anyway (still, this sets helluva
mood). by a turnoff a k outta owaka, dropped
off. said probably all that'll be open there
is a pub, if that. bid luck and set their way.
above, the whole sky is covered with shining
glitter. down a dip and turn, **** in the
middle of the road. an ominous sign indicating
the outskirts of

owaka. approximately 9.40pm

my head loosens as i approach. the lights
form across a small valley i can't verify
exists or not between dog barks i mistake
for the yells of drunkards and lights
pirouetting from cars behind me. i slow
down i don't want to do this.

owaka is terrifying. plastic.

the street corners thud like cardboard. i
walk past a garden of teapots, a computer
screen inside the house glares through the
window pane bending breathing outward. there
is nobody here, still there is a feeling
like there's people everywhere, flocking
in shadows. a silhouette moving in a
distant cafe doorway. the sound of teeth,
of darkness fallen. thick russian tones
sound from a shelf of a motel. eyes
everywhere, mostly mine. i stop only round
a bend and down near a police station, yet
feeling no more safe, sitting in a gutter to
send mel my plans, to tell myself my plans.
i want to be nowhere again. i am soon nowhere.


out of breath, out the other end of owaka,
the sick streetlights fade into comforting
dark nestled between bunches of indistinct
treelines. the feeling of safety lasts but
twenty minutes, where another dip in the
road leads through a patch of bush, in which
gunshots ring periodically and laughter and
barking rings through. breaking down, it takes
five minutes to resolve and keep going. ain't
got nothing to lose, anyway. boots squeak like
diseased hinges all down the road. hadn't
noticed beforehand, the only thing noticed
now. an impending doom hangs thick like fog,
the thought of being strung up like an
underweight hog. walking faster and
not much quieter, the other side of the
bush couldn't have come sooner. the fear
lasts until the gunshots are distant nothing.
still alive, still out of breath, still
fairly ****** up, there's no comfort like the
sound of nothing but the occasional insect's
chirp. vestiges of still water came around
a corner and just kept coming as the golden
moon sung serenity all over. finally, a peace
came to rest over the landscape. sitting by
the road with a clear view of the moon's light
sheathed in the waters, the stars above wreath
a cirrus eye to watch over the marshland
plants leading into the placid waters of

catlins lake, west. ten fifty-one.
crossing a one-way bridge over a river winding
its way into the lake, another turning point
decision arose: continue down the highway
along the river, or head straight out and
toward the coast again. having resolved to
make it to a waterfall by dawn, and the latter
offering a possibility of this, the decision
made itself. turning back around the other side
of the lake, the road wound a couple times
up a gentle ***** out and up from the valley
at the tail of the lake, and into a slightly
more elevated valley. the country roads ran
easily and smooth, paved roughly but solid.
not a car came by for kilometers at a time.
lay on the road past a turnoff for quarter
of an hour letting serenity wash over, the
hills miniscule in comparison to home, the
sky motionless, massive thin halo about the
moon. walking on, night-birds called from
time to time (no moreporks, though. not until
dawn), figuring out how to whistle them back.
a turnoff to purakaunui bay strongly
considered and ultimately ignored; retrospectively
a great call, considering the size of the detour.
hedgerows of macrocarpa, limbs clearly cut
haphazard where once they'd hung over the
road. occasional 4wd passing, always a 4wd,
be it flash new or trusty old. you'd need
one out here. have no fun, otherwise.
monolithic pine-ish hedge bushes, squatting
giants. once, a glimmering in the sky, a
plane from queenstown (assumedly) almost
way too far to make out. the colossus of
the one human-shaped shadow cast down
from the moon to my boots. how small
a thing in this place. swamped out by
the beauty of this neverending valley.
breathless.

the road turned, not quite a hairpin,
but not entirely bluntly, a welcome
break from the straight or gentle
sway, and five minutes turned to dirt.
had to lay down again- legs screaming
by this point for rest. still, they
had nothing against pressing on. dad
taught me to just keep going. that's
the thing about walking. stop for a
little bit and you're good to go
again. pushing for the fall was probably
overkill, but no worry now. dirt road
felt so right after a good 20+ks of
asphalt, only infrequently punctuated
by roadside moss or thin grass. it
was as if beginning again (well,
kinda, if only with as much energy).
having downed only a litre of water
(leaving only half a litre more), a
litre of fruit juice and about 100
grams of assorted nuts since more
than twelve hours ago by this point,
it should have been a shock to
still be going by this point. don't
really need that much anyway, though.
gone on less for longer. hydration,
anyway, was the least of all worries,
the air being thick with water, ground
fog having been laid down hours ago.

up the dirt track, more cows. they make strange
sounds at night. didn't know anything yet,
though. that's still to come. a ute swang past
going the other way, indiscriminate hollers
from the passenger-side window. waved back
cheerily. so far from anything to be anything
but upbeat now. not even the heavy shroud of
tiredness could touch that, yet. the track wound
on forever. was stopping every half-kilometer
to stand and stretch, warding off the oncoming
aches. the onset was unwieldy, though. didn't
have long. past a B&B;, wondered whether anyone
actually ever stayed there (surely would, who'd
not revisit this place over and over once they'd
discovered it?)- certainly would've, having the
cash (apparently parts of "lion, witch and the
wardrobe" were filmed here. huh). further on, the
road turned back to seal, unfortunately, but
with small promise- surely, at least fairly
close by this point. turning a corner, a small
and infinitely beautiful indent against the bush,
a small paddock bunched up against it, stream
wound against the bases of trees, all lit by
the clear tones of a now unswathed moon, sat
aside the road. it was distilled perfection.
it was too much, just had to keep goin' or
risk shattering that image. next turn was
a set of DOC toilets, an excellent sign. must be
basically sitting on the path entry now. searched
all 'round the back for it, up the road, nothing.
not entirely despondent but bewildered, moved
forward and found a signpost. the falls were now
behind? turned around and searched even more
thoroughly, quiet hope turning to desperation
by the silent light of the moon. finally,
straight across the road from the toilets,
was the green and gold sign, cloaked in
darkness under clustering trees, professing
a ten-minute bushwalk to the

purakaunui falls. saturday. 1.32 am.**
venturing into the bush by the dull light
of a screen of a dying phone, the breeze
made small movements through the canopy. it
couldn't have been any more tranquil. edging
way through the winding cliffish track through
dense brush, the sound of a trickling stream
engorged into a lush symphony of water. crossing
a single-sided bridge across an unseeable chasm,
twinkling from the ferns behind became apparent.
turning off the dull light, the tiny neon bulbs of
glow-worms littered the dirt wall risen up about
half a metre, where the track had been cut out.
my heart soared. all heights of beauty come
together. continuing down the path, glow-worms
litter the surroundings and the rushing of
water comes to a roar. at a look-out platform
above the falls, nothing can be seen save a
slight glisten. down perilous steps (wouldn't
be too bad if you could actually see 'em) the
final viewing platform lay at level with the
bottom of the falls. they stood like a statue
in the dark, winding trails of thin white wash
through the shadows hung under trees. left
speechless from something hardly made out, turned
around and back up the stairs to where the
glowing dots seemed their most concentrated.
into the ferns above, clambered through and
around moss-painted tree trunks and came to rest
a couple hundred metres from the trail, under
a fern, under a rata. packed everything but
a blanket from nan into the bag, laid it out
on curled leaf litter and folded up into it,
feet too sore to remove 'em from boots, curling
knees up into the blanket and tucking a hand
between 'em to keep it warm. only face and
ankles exposed, watched the moon's light trickle
through canopy layers for a few hours, readjusting
tendons in legs as they came to ache. sleep (or
something resembling it) set in, somewhere
around four.

some time slightly before six, the realisation
that my legs had extended and become so cold that
they'd started cramping all the way through hit,
coupled with the sounds coming through the bush.
thank you, if you made it all the way through :>
What would You do when you can't have someone you want?
Would you
lift a finger and whisk it like a wand
wishing everything would fall in place
the way you'd want it to
in a tick of the clock ,
or,
would you struggle with your brain
between finding a solution
and living inside your head, dreaming of
perfection?

ME

I would get up,
trek to a forest with my trusty machete
and hack away at the thickest bushes I could find.
I'd hack away, hack away,
and ignore the sag from my arms, the stress on my back,
the sweat pouring down my face like water off a cliff,
the unsteady footing caused by wet mud and unsteady, unsure legs.

I would keep hacking until I reach the end of my arduous quest,
where I would come upon a clearing--
A clearing with an aisle made of rose petals
that lead into the center,
surrounded by white chairs and sunflowers.
And Someone would be there,
in a white dress and veil, waiting for me.
“It really is,” I whispered, “It really is a beautiful world."


     “This really doesn’t feel safe,” Jamie said, her voice holding just a hint of fear. She was probably right. By anyone’s standards, this was straight up stupid, and here I had convinced her to come along with me.
     “Nah it’s totally fine. I wouldn’t do anything to put you in too much danger.” I said this without a hint of doubt in my voice, confident as usual. I had to keep the fearless and confident image or she might change her mind. I hoped the risk would be worth it in the end, but I couldn’t really be sure. How could I know unless I tried? If I didn’t try, I would just be left wondering how great it might have been.
     “We are really freaking high.” This time Jamie said it deadpan, more of an emotionless observation than anything else. Again, she was right. I looked down the long white ladder past her. It was probably 80 yards to the ground from where we were. Above us was another 20 yards of ladder, leading up to a narrow platform. We were climbing a water tower. The platform above us circled around the tower just below where it began to bulge outward into a spherical shape at the top. There was no safety cage around us, nothing to break our fall except for the climbing harnesses we wore. Each harness had two straps, each with a clip on the end. One clip would be snapped onto the first rung, then the next clip to the second, and so forth until we reached the top. It wasn’t fool proof but it was better than nothing.
     “But seriously my hands are getting tired. How much further is it?” Jamie was great, but complaining was one of her most annoying flaws. Most people wouldn’t have made it this far anyway. The fact that she had was just a testament to the athleticism and strength she had underneath all that complaining.
     “Close. Maybe fifty rungs. Hang on for another five minutes and we can sit down and rest.” Yet again she was right. My hands and forearms were burning like crazy. I had long ago learned that climbing with gloves on a slick painted surface was asking for trouble, so today we had no protection from the narrow rungs pressing into our skin.
     For the next fifty rungs, the only sound I could hear above my heavy breathing was the clink and snap as each clip was removed and replaced. It was surprisingly calm this evening, the sun not quite finished slipping below the horizon. It was late August, so the temperature was still somewhere in the 70s this time of day. The backpack on my back seemed to get heavier and heavier the higher we went. I could feel the straps digging into my shoulders and trying to tip me over backwards. This bag was far too big for what I was doing, but I needed some way to bring a sleeping bag and blanket up. Finally, my hand left the last rung and found the top of the steel platform. I unclipped from the last rung and snapped on to the hand rail that went around the outside edge before I reached down to take Jamie’s hand.
     “Thank you sir,” she said, “I see chivalry is not dead.” Her hand brushed a few loose strands of long blonde hair out of her face as she stood upright next to me, looking out over the edge.
     “Ok, you were right. This is worth it.” She said in a matter of fact tone. I laughed softly.
     “This isn’t actually what we came for,” I said with a grin, “We aren’t done climbing yet. I just didn’t think you would actually come if I told you how far we were going. But the view is really nice here.”
     “You can’t be serious. I didn’t see anything going up any further.” She sounded rather incredulous.
     “We have to follow this platform around to the other side. There is a set of stairs going up to the very top. At least it isn’t another ladder.” I tried to sound confident, like it had already been decided that we would go on, but I couldn’t stop a tiny bit of a pleading tone from leaking in. I knew there was a small chance that she would want to stop here, but I also knew that going just a bit further would be completely worth it. I had scoped this tower out from the ground several times, using my trusty binoculars that I bargained for at a neighbor’s yard sale. When I discovered the stairs going up past the platform, I used an online satellite map to take a peek at the very top of the tower. From what I had been able to tell, at the very top there was a completely level platform, twelve to fifteen feet in diameter, with a secure looking rail around it. Amazing what a person can find online.
     My hope was to spend the night on that platform, hence the sleeping bag and blanket in my massive backpack. Tonight was supposed to be the brightest and most active meteor shower of the year in North America and the weather had decided to be kind to us star gazers, leaving a clear and cloudless sky for the evening. It would be perfect. Perfect if Jamie would go along with it, that is.
     “You are the worst kind of person,” she said. She wasn’t facing me so I couldn’t really tell how she felt about it. Finally she turned around and rolled her eyes. “Ohhhkaaaay. Let’s go. We’ve already gone this far.” She was used to situations like this. I was the one who always wanted to push the limits, go a little further, risk just a bit more, and she was the one who always asked me to reconsider and then went along with it anyway. I always felt bad for a little while, but I got over it pretty quick. It’s not like she didn’t know me well.
     “You are the best kind of person,” I said with a wink and a grin, “But let’s rest for a bit. My arms are tired now.” We sat down and I took off my backpack, setting it on the platform beside me, digging through a side pocket. I pulled out two bottles of water and a box of Poptarts.
     “Poptart?” I offered, “Snack of champions. All the professional water tower climbers eat them I heard.”
     “How are you not fat,” she replied, taking a delicious cherry snack from the silver wrapper. It wasn’t a question really, it was more a running joke between her and I about how much I should actually weigh. She’d usually joke that one day all the junk I eat would hit me at once and I would wake up weighing 400 pounds. Even though she joked, she wasn’t beyond being bitter about my eating habits since she worked hard to keep a perfect physique.
     Next I pulled out two plain white pieces of paper and handed one to her. I began folding mine delicately into the perfect paper airplane, using the flat section of the water tower for some of the more delicate creases.
     “I don’t know why I hang out with you. You are literally so freaking weird. Like who the hell would bring paper up the side of a water tower just to make a paper airplane.” She laughed even as she criticized. I knew she didn’t really mind. She had on multiple occasions told me that my “quirkiness” as she put it definitely made me more interesting to be around. I guess I was a little odd, but I didn’t really think that was a bad thing. I did what I thought to be amusing or entertaining. It wasn’t my fault the rest of the world didn’t seem to feel quite the same way about life.
     “In fifty years don’t you want to be able to set your grandchild on your lap and tell them all about the time you tossed a paper airplane off the side of a water tower? Grandkids don’t want to hear boring stories. I would know. I was a grandkid once.” Jamie just shook her head with a grin and started folding her airplane. Mine was finished and ready to be launched into the great unknown.
     “This is Air Farce One to ground station Loser, requesting permission to take off.” I did my best Top Gun impression, trying to remember how cool Tom Cruise sounded when he said it.
     “This is ground station Awesome to Air Farce One. Ground station Loser could not be located but we can go ahead and give you permission to launch. Have a nice flight.” Jamie still had at least a little bit of a child left in her. I tossed my paper airplane over the side, watching it glide several hundred yards before landing in the low branches of a tree. Mission complete.
     “What perfect throwing form you have,” Jamie said sarcastically, "You were probably one of those nerds who just made paper airplanes in class all day as a kid." Ouch. Yea, that had been me. Jamie wound up and threw her airplane with all her strength. She had made more of a dart than a glider and it flew fast, eventually landing in a tree considerably further than mine had.
     “You win this round,” I said with mock disgust, only barely able to hide a smile, “Let’s keep going.” I removed my clips from the rail and began walking along the platform. The bulb at the top of the tower was much bigger than it looked from the ground. I could just imagine the thousands of gallons of water above and beside me.
     Eventually we reached the stairs. It was nice of the designers to have taken pity on the poor inspectors who had to climb this far up. A ladder going around the outside of the bulb would have been terrifying. The stairs curling around the side felt much more secure. Reaching the top, there was a narrow platform leading from the edge of the bulb where the stairs ended to the flat space in the center of the tower. There was only a handrail on the left side so Jamie and I were sure to snap our harnesses on. The sun had almost fully set by now, the last tendrils of light just enough to see by as we made our way to the center.
     “Okay this is cool. You know what we should have done? We totally should have brought an air mattress up here and slept or something,” Jamie thought aloud. “I’ll bet the stars look amazing from here. Oh and look you can already see the city lights over there!” I loved seeing her excited. She would take one hand and play with her hair while the other would point at things. It was kind of weird when I thought about it, how she always pointed at things when she was excited. But that was just Jamie being Jamie.
     “You read my mind.” I pulled the sleeping bag and blanket out of the backpack and laid them on the flat steel. I probably should have realized how cold that steel was going to be. Oh well.
     “We are so in sync right now,” Jamie laughed. “This is awesome. You were right.”
     “Wait so what did you think was in the bag?” I asked. She hadn’t mentioned it before and I never said anything about it.
     “Honestly I thought it was a parachute or some **** and you were going to try jumping off the edge,” she laughed, “I would have tried to stop you but I decided I really won’t feel guilty when you die doing something stupid.”
     “Brilliant!” I exclaimed, “I am so going to try that next time!” I wouldn’t really. I liked doing risky things, but I wasn’t suicidal. We spent the next few minutes getting the sleeping bag and blanket situated. I loved the fact that Jamie could be spontaneous sometimes and that she was totally okay with just camping out on top of a random water tower on a Wednesday night. How many people in the world would have been okay with that? I was lucky to have her as a friend.
     We had everything settled by the time darkness fell completely. The climbing harnesses had been stuffed into the backpack and the backpack had been strapped to the railing on the side of the platform. With the sleeping bag laid completely open, there was still at least five or six feet of open platform on all sides of us. It felt secure enough.
     “I also forgot to mention that tonight is a huge meteor shower.” Jamie and I were on our backs, looking up at the infinite blackness.
     “I love shooting stars.” She said softly. Her eyes were wide and I could see her making fake mustaches out of her hair. She had kicked off her shoes and socks and was wiggling her toes in the night air. There was only a sliver of moon, just bright enough that I could see the glow of it on her cheeks.
     “It makes me feel small,” Jamie whispered, “I feel like that should bother me, feeling small, but it doesn’t. It’s weird because it’s almost comforting to me. Here I am, this tiny speck of dust, floating around on a larger speck of dust in the middle of infinity.” She wasn’t usually one to enjoy philosophy, but on the rare occasions she spoke like that, her point of view and opinions usually inspired me. She had a beautiful mind. She just didn’t often care to open up and share it like this.
“It makes me feel like it can’t all be an accident. Some people say that we got here through a series of random and fortunate events, that there is no great plan or design. But I just don’t see how that can be. How can mere chance create something like this? Of all the possibilities, of the infinite infinite possibilities, I just can’t believe that people, that you and I or anyone else were put here by accident. I don’t think that life could be an accident.” She spoke softly the whole time. Her voice never raised or quickened. Words seemed to flow forth effortlessly, as if this all were prepared and practiced. She was able to speak without doubt or hesitation, with such certainty that even the greatest cynic might have stopped to listen.
     She continued on, weaving words as though spells, playing ideas as though harp strings. She talked about her life, telling me things she never had before, teaching me things even I didn’t know. Jamie didn’t seem to be Jamie for the next while. Instead, she seemed to have become a font of wisdom, ideas, and genius. At least, that is how I saw her. She was able to take a single idea, and examine it from all perspectives. It was as though she held it in her palm, slowly rotating it to peer closer. She made connections that I had never thought of, inspiring me to think even deeper, loving the moment. All the while she lay there, watching the stars, wiggling her toes, and making pretend mustaches out of that long blonde hair. Eventually, she turned silent.
     “But what if it is an accident?” I said. My voice was unusually soft. “What if it was all an accident? What if there is no plan, no fate, and no reason for anything? What if there is no beginning or end and we are just insignificant bits of space dust? The idea of it not being an accident just seems so conveniently comforting, almost too convenient.” Jamie was silent after I finished. My heart was beating fast and my mind was alive. I didn’t feel close to being tired.
     “So what if it is,” she said eventually, “What difference does it make? Even if it is all an accident. Even if there is no meaning to life at all, it seems like a beautiful accident to me. Here we are, you and I, able to share this with each other. That seems like a beautiful accident to me. Here is this great big world, all the adventure, all the excitement, and all the love that it is filled with. That seems like a beautiful accident to me. Here is this infinitely huge sky, filled with stars that are incomprehensibly far away. If this is all an accident, it is the most beautiful I can imagine.” She paused for a while longer. “I feel that whatever you believe, it doesn’t really matter. Perhaps you believe there is a supreme design and plan, or maybe you believe that life is an accident filled with chaos. It doesn’t matter. We all live in the same world. We all see the same beautiful sights, we are surrounded by it. It is only our perception of it that differs. I choose to believe that such an incredibly beautiful world cannot be an accident.”
     I was quiet for a long time. Jamie had, for all intents and purposes, rocked my world. Hers was a perspective I had never thought of before. I, who believed I had thought it through from every angle. I, who believed myself smarter than the world. I realized then, at that moment, laying on the top of a water tower in late August watching a meteor shower, that maybe I was not a genius. Maybe I did not have the world figured out like I had believed. Maybe, just maybe, I was just a cynic; a cynic blinded by the misfortunes I had seen and suffered; a cynic disappointed in a world that had not treated me well.
     Jamie took my hand in hers, interlocking her slender fingers within my larger ones. She turned her head to the side and looked at me, still sporting a fake mustache. The sliver of moon was reflected in her eyes just so that I could not really look into them. Her lips were curled into just the slightes
Does it really matter whether or not this world,
Is made from some divine blueprint?
What beauty is lost in either idea?
It doesn't matter if this is an accident.

Excerpt from my book of short stories, Fictional Truth.
I was awoken far to early it was dam near seven o clock in the evening .
The noise was insane then I finally turned off the music .
****** my four legged amigo truly needed to lay off the death metal
besides who wants to wake up to the spice girls really?

It was then I herd the crash as bottles flew from the wall.
****** did a big girl ****?
I looked outside trees were falling the wind was blowing worse
than some teen age girls backstage at a Justin Bieber concert .

**** my ******* neighbor went flying by and was impaled on a tree hey this ****** up weather wasn't all that bad .
I went outside to see if I could help or finish him off and see if he had any money on him.

Duh like I'm going to help that *****.
He? wakes me up every morning going to his silly job and calls me a drunken pervert cause I hit on his girlfriend look telling someone they have awesome **** is a compliment okay.

Hey Chris how are ya bud .?
Well being I'm impaled on your tree and have a garden gnome up my *** pretty ******* bad you idiot!

Well somebody's in a grouchy mood and Chris you can keep the gnome amigo hey whatever kind of ***** ***** your into is okay I'm mean sure your a ******* freak and I will probably tell all the world about you
But hey that's cause I'm a drunken perverted ******* .
But enough about my good quality's.

What the hell are you doing here you idiot!
Don't you know there's a mandatory evacuation going on cause of the hurricane?
I was confused by what this strange ***** impaled on my tree was saying.

That and I didn't know what mandatory meant maybe it was some strange ****** term ******* ****** .
Look man I don't swing that way okay that was just something I did for money once okay don't judge me.

What the **** are talking about you crazy ******* !
Honestly Chris sometimes I don't even know **** man its real windy out today .

That's cause there's a hurricane coming you idiot .
Oh well that would explain the wind You know Chris your a real ***** but besides that you really are observant .
Well nice talking to you amigo I got to have a couple cocktails
watch some ***** movies I like to think of it as part of my creative
process have fun hanging around.

I was walking away as my annoying ******* neighbor called out .
Aren't you forgetting something you crazy *******.!?
****** I really was slipping I thought to myself as I pulled out my trusty knife .

What the hell Man!
Look Chris I got to **** you or you'll turn its only right duh
haven't you seen the walking dead ******* ?
Hey by the way being your going to be dead and all can I have your girlfriend ?

What the hell is wrong with you I'm not a zombie you idiot
I'm alive I'm just impaled on your ******* tree .
Yeah that's what they all say then next thing you know you have turned
and we got you and all your zombie buddies trying to bite my *** .

Please .
Was the last thing my ******* neighbor said well that and ouch as I plunged the knife into his skull I really felt bad he was not such a a bad kid.
I'm kidding he was a **** and now that the end of the world was coming you had to look out for yourself .

But enough with the foreplay children.

Me and my loyal talking dog slash whatever the **** he was were about to light up a joint and pour are first round when everything went black.

Much like radio these days.

It was then it hit me what Chris had said.
The wind him flying through air ******* ****** a hurricane is
coming.

I screamed a manly scream and did what any strong male writer would do cried and hid under the bed with a bottle of Jack Daniels and my talking dog ****** .

**** man why didn't I ever watch the news ?
Cause your always watching **** ******* .
****** spoke .
Why the hell didn't you tell me this was happening if you knew ******?
Cause I have to watch what you watch ******* I don't have any hands .
Now stop being a ***** and lets get out of here .

What !
Have you lost your mind there's a storm out there .
Yeah and half the people have left this place and wont be back for awhile its party time you scared *****.

I thought to myself its hell being talked down to by someone who eats crap out in the front yard but he had a point .
This hurricane was terrible people had to abandon there homes .
And all there awesome stuff and it was simply going to go to waste duh
why not break in and enjoy it for them It's what Jesus would do.

I don't mean that guy in the book I mean that dude who works down at the garage and drives a low rider .
Course he was a ex con  once meant he really knew a lot about life
and how to hide things up his **** true wisdom .

Me and ****** were off we drove around till we found the most awesome house that just happened to be sheriffs house .
It was totally kick *** we drank kick *** top shelf whiskey smoked some good **** and other drugs that ***** had taken from me over the years .

Not that I do drugs I'm kidding I'm ****** up now how do you think I come up with this ****.
We went through house after house eat real food something actual writers can seldom afford duh like this **** pays.

The storm raged through the night .
Trees fell but being I was higher than Jesus I could truly give a **** hamsters.

It seemed like days bled into weeks we drank and lived as kings .
Played fun games like indoor target practice .
I was bout ready to call it a night and curl up with my favorite girl
Evan Williams .

When all the sudden some strange man was yelling at me in my own house .
What the **** are you doing here and why did your dog crap in my bathtub.

Excuse me Larry this is a simple misunderstanding Cindy may I say you have a marvelous rack I said to the woman standing at his side .
How the hell do you know are names ?

Duh cause of those awesome home movies you made on that video camera that was still charged up after you left.
The woman's face flushed red.

Oh my God Larry I told you we shouldn't have filmed that!
Hey I have to say miss the way you handled that three way with the two dwarfs well it is truly ******* awesome man you two people are freaks .

My new buddy Larry must be so happy cause he couldn't even speak he just shook with happiness .
His wife didn't even look at me well I have that effect on women .

Hey I was thinking you know I love the arts myself I'm thinking Cindy me some drinks that kick *** hot tub not the other one ****** took a crap in sorry bout that he just lacks culture unlike myself .

It was then Larry flipped out using his outdoor voice indoors he grabbed me by the throat I screamed **** cause I yet again forgot my trusty **** whistle dam you hurricane!

I was thrown down the stairs I was beaten I swear you housesit without asking go through peoples home ***** movies and your dog takes a crap in there tub and they blow it all out of proportion .
Guess I wasn't going to be getting a tip ungrateful ******* !

The Hurricane had torn up this small island were I lived and apparently vandals had broken into peoples houses and stolen most all the ***** in there houses how terrible.

I made my way back to my trusty bar poured me a drink and sat on my favorite stool.

**** Gonz you made it out of there I was truly worried for you.
****** said as he turned on the blender .
Yeah he couldn't change the channel but he could talk and mix drinks something just wasn't right with that picture course he was from Kentucky .

Yeah no thanks to you .
You little ******* !
Hey boss don't be mad I got something for you as he placed the the video camera on the table.

I had to lighten up the power was back on we had stayed drunk through such harsh times and got some freaky home movies from those weirdos we house sat for.

I took a sip of the margarita toasted my little friend.
Well bud we made it after all.

We spent the night as all others before drinking are livers silly
cutting bad jokes telling ****** up stories like these that make you wonder when the **** they will ever end .

Until next time  hamsters .

Stay Crazy

Gonzo
If from the public way you turn your steps
Up the tumultuous brook of Green-head Ghyll,
You will suppose that with an upright path
Your feet must struggle; in such bold ascent
The pastoral mountains front you, face to face.
But, courage! for around that boisterous brook
The mountains have all opened out themselves,
And made a hidden valley of their own.
No habitation can be seen; but they
Who journey thither find themselves alone
With a few sheep, with rocks and stones, and kites
That overhead are sailing in the sky.
It is in truth an utter solitude;
Nor should I have made mention of this Dell
But for one object which you might pass by,
Might see and notice not. Beside the brook
Appears a straggling heap of unhewn stones!
And to that simple object appertains
A story—unenriched with strange events,
Yet not unfit, I deem, for the fireside,
Or for the summer shade. It was the first
Of those domestic tales that spake to me
Of Shepherds, dwellers in the valleys, men
Whom I already loved;—not verily
For their own sakes, but for the fields and hills
Where was their occupation and abode.
And hence this Tale, while I was yet a Boy
Careless of books, yet having felt the power
Of Nature, by the gentle agency
Of natural objects, led me on to feel
For passions that were not my own, and think
(At random and imperfectly indeed)
On man, the heart of man, and human life.
Therefore, although it be a history
Homely and rude, I will relate the same
For the delight of a few natural hearts;
And, with yet fonder feeling, for the sake
Of youthful Poets, who among these hills
Will be my second self when I am gone.

     Upon the forest-side in Grasmere Vale
There dwelt a Shepherd, Michael was his name;
An old man, stout of heart, and strong of limb.
His ****** frame had been from youth to age
Of an unusual strength: his mind was keen,
Intense, and frugal, apt for all affairs,
And in his shepherd’s calling he was prompt
And watchful more than ordinary men.
Hence had he learned the meaning of all winds,
Of blasts of every tone; and oftentimes,
When others heeded not, he heard the South
Make subterraneous music, like the noise
Of bagpipers on distant Highland hills.
The Shepherd, at such warning, of his flock
Bethought him, and he to himself would say,
“The winds are now devising work for me!”
And, truly, at all times, the storm, that drives
The traveller to a shelter, summoned him
Up to the mountains: he had been alone
Amid the heart of many thousand mists,
That came to him, and left him, on the heights.
So lived he till his eightieth year was past.
And grossly that man errs, who should suppose
That the green valleys, and the streams and rocks,
Were things indifferent to the Shepherd’s thoughts.
Fields, where with cheerful spirits he had breathed
The common air; hills, which with vigorous step
He had so often climbed; which had impressed
So many incidents upon his mind
Of hardship, skill or courage, joy or fear;
Which, like a book, preserved the memory
Of the dumb animals, whom he had saved,
Had fed or sheltered, linking to such acts
The certainty of honourable gain;
Those fields, those hills—what could they less? had laid
Strong hold on his affections, were to him
A pleasurable feeling of blind love,
The pleasure which there is in life itself .

     His days had not been passed in singleness.
His Helpmate was a comely matron, old—
Though younger than himself full twenty years.
She was a woman of a stirring life,
Whose heart was in her house: two wheels she had
Of antique form; this large, for spinning wool;
That small, for flax; and, if one wheel had rest,
It was because the other was at work.
The Pair had but one inmate in their house,
An only Child, who had been born to them
When Michael, telling o’er his years, began
To deem that he was old,—in shepherd’s phrase,
With one foot in the grave. This only Son,
With two brave sheep-dogs tried in many a storm,
The one of an inestimable worth,
Made all their household. I may truly say,
That they were as a proverb in the vale
For endless industry. When day was gone,
And from their occupations out of doors
The Son and Father were come home, even then,
Their labour did not cease; unless when all
Turned to the cleanly supper-board, and there,
Each with a mess of pottage and skimmed milk,
Sat round the basket piled with oaten cakes,
And their plain home-made cheese. Yet when the meal
Was ended, Luke (for so the Son was named)
And his old Father both betook themselves
To such convenient work as might employ
Their hands by the fireside; perhaps to card
Wool for the Housewife’s spindle, or repair
Some injury done to sickle, flail, or scythe,
Or other implement of house or field.

     Down from the ceiling, by the chimney’s edge,
That in our ancient uncouth country style
With huge and black projection overbrowed
Large space beneath, as duly as the light
Of day grew dim the Housewife hung a lamp,
An aged utensil, which had performed
Service beyond all others of its kind.
Early at evening did it burn—and late,
Surviving comrade of uncounted hours,
Which, going by from year to year, had found,
And left the couple neither gay perhaps
Nor cheerful, yet with objects and with hopes,
Living a life of eager industry.
And now, when Luke had reached his eighteenth year,
There by the light of this old lamp they sate,
Father and Son, while far into the night
The Housewife plied her own peculiar work,
Making the cottage through the silent hours
Murmur as with the sound of summer flies.
This light was famous in its neighbourhood,
And was a public symbol of the life
That thrifty Pair had lived. For, as it chanced,
Their cottage on a plot of rising ground
Stood single, with large prospect, north and south,
High into Easedale, up to Dunmail-Raise,
And westward to the village near the lake;
And from this constant light, so regular
And so far seen, the House itself, by all
Who dwelt within the limits of the vale,
Both old and young, was named The Evening Star.

     Thus living on through such a length of years,
The Shepherd, if he loved himself, must needs
Have loved his Helpmate; but to Michael’s heart
This son of his old age was yet more dear—
Less from instinctive tenderness, the same
Fond spirit that blindly works in the blood of all—
Than that a child, more than all other gifts
That earth can offer to declining man,
Brings hope with it, and forward-looking thoughts,
And stirrings of inquietude, when they
By tendency of nature needs must fail.
Exceeding was the love he bare to him,
His heart and his heart’s joy! For oftentimes
Old Michael, while he was a babe in arms,
Had done him female service, not alone
For pastime and delight, as is the use
Of fathers, but with patient mind enforced
To acts of tenderness; and he had rocked
His cradle, as with a woman’s gentle hand.

     And, in a later time, ere yet the Boy
Had put on boy’s attire, did Michael love,
Albeit of a stern unbending mind,
To have the Young-one in his sight, when he
Wrought in the field, or on his shepherd’s stool
Sate with a fettered sheep before him stretched
Under the large old oak, that near his door
Stood single, and, from matchless depth of shade,
Chosen for the Shearer’s covert from the sun,
Thence in our rustic dialect was called
The Clipping Tree, a name which yet it bears.
There, while they two were sitting in the shade,
With others round them, earnest all and blithe,
Would Michael exercise his heart with looks
Of fond correction and reproof bestowed
Upon the Child, if he disturbed the sheep
By catching at their legs, or with his shouts
Scared them, while they lay still beneath the shears.

     And when by Heaven’s good grace the boy grew up
A healthy Lad, and carried in his cheek
Two steady roses that were five years old;
Then Michael from a winter coppice cut
With his own hand a sapling, which he hooped
With iron, making it throughout in all
Due requisites a perfect shepherd’s staff,
And gave it to the Boy; wherewith equipt
He as a watchman oftentimes was placed
At gate or gap, to stem or turn the flock;
And, to his office prematurely called,
There stood the urchin, as you will divine,
Something between a hindrance and a help,
And for this cause not always, I believe,
Receiving from his Father hire of praise;
Though nought was left undone which staff, or voice,
Or looks, or threatening gestures, could perform.

     But soon as Luke, full ten years old, could stand
Against the mountain blasts; and to the heights,
Not fearing toil, nor length of weary ways,
He with his Father daily went, and they
Were as companions, why should I relate
That objects which the Shepherd loved before
Were dearer now? that from the Boy there came
Feelings and emanations—things which were
Light to the sun and music to the wind;
And that the old Man’s heart seemed born again?

     Thus in his Father’s sight the Boy grew up:
And now, when he had reached his eighteenth year,
He was his comfort and his daily hope.

     While in this sort the simple household lived
From day to day, to Michael’s ear there came
Distressful tidings. Long before the time
Of which I speak, the Shepherd had been bound
In surety for his brother’s son, a man
Of an industrious life, and ample means;
But unforeseen misfortunes suddenly
Had prest upon him; and old Michael now
Was summoned to discharge the forfeiture,
A grievous penalty, but little less
Than half his substance. This unlooked-for claim
At the first hearing, for a moment took
More hope out of his life than he supposed
That any old man ever could have lost.
As soon as he had armed himself with strength
To look his trouble in the face, it seemed
The Shepherd’s sole resource to sell at once
A portion of his patrimonial fields.
Such was his first resolve; he thought again,
And his heart failed him. “Isabel,” said he,
Two evenings after he had heard the news,
“I have been toiling more than seventy years,
And in the open sunshine of God’s love
Have we all lived; yet, if these fields of ours
Should pass into a stranger’s hand, I think
That I could not lie quiet in my grave.
Our lot is a hard lot; the sun himself
Has scarcely been more diligent than I;
And I have lived to be a fool at last
To my own family. An evil man
That was, and made an evil choice, if he
Were false to us; and, if he were not false,
There are ten thousand to whom loss like this
Had been no sorrow. I forgive him;—but
’Twere better to be dumb than to talk thus.

     “When I began, my purpose was to speak
Of remedies and of a cheerful hope.
Our Luke shall leave us, Isabel; the land
Shall not go from us, and it shall be free;
He shall possess it, free as is the wind
That passes over it. We have, thou know’st,
Another kinsman—he will be our friend
In this distress. He is a prosperous man,
Thriving in trade and Luke to him shall go,
And with his kinsman’s help and his own thrift
He quickly will repair this loss, and then
He may return to us. If here he stay,
What can be done? Where every one is poor,
What can be gained?”

                                          At this the old Man paused,
And Isabel sat silent, for her mind
Was busy, looking back into past times.
There’s Richard Bateman, thought she to herself,
He was a parish-boy—at the church-door
They made a gathering for him, shillings, pence,
And halfpennies, wherewith the neighbours bought
A basket, which they filled with pedlar’s wares;
And, with this basket on his arm, the lad
Went up to London, found a master there,
Who, out of many, chose the trusty boy
To go and overlook his merchandise
Beyond the seas; where he grew wondrous rich,
And left estates and monies to the poor,
And, at his birth-place, built a chapel floored
With marble, which he sent from foreign lands.
These thoughts, and many others of like sort,
Passed quickly through the mind of Isabel,
And her face brightened. The old Man was glad,
And thus resumed:—”Well, Isabel! this scheme
These two days has been meat and drink to me.
Far more than we have lost is left us yet.
—We have enough—I wish indeed that I
Were younger;—but this hope is a good hope.
Make ready Luke’s best garments, of the best
Buy for him more, and let us send him forth
To-morrow, or the next day, or to-night:
—If he could go, the boy should go to-night.”

     Here Michael ceased, and to the fields went forth
With a light heart. The Housewife for five days
Was restless morn and night, and all day long
Wrought on with her best fingers to prepare.
Things needful for the journey of her Son.
But Isabel was glad when Sunday came
To stop her in her work: for, when she lay
By Michael’s side, she through the last two nights
Heard him, how he was troubled in his sleep:
And when they rose at morning she could see
That all his hopes were gone. That day at noon
She said to Luke, while they two by themselves
Were sitting at the door, “Thou must not go:
We have no other Child but thee to lose,
None to remember—do not go away,
For if thou leave thy Father he will die.”
The Youth made answer with a jocund voice;
And Isabel, when she had told her fears,
Recovered heart. That evening her best fare
Did she bring forth, and all together sat
Like happy people round a Christmas fire.

     With daylight Isabel resumed her work;
And all the ensuing week the house appeared
As cheerful as a grove in Spring: at length
The expected letter from their kinsman came,
With kind assurances that he would do
His utmost for the welfare of the Boy;
To which requests were added, that forthwith
He might be sent to him. Ten times or more
The letter was read over, Isabel
Went forth to show it to the neighbours round;
Nor was there at that time on English land
A prouder heart than Luke’s. When Isabel
Had to her house returned, the old man said,
“He shall depart to-morrow.” To this word
The Housewife answered, talking much of things
Which, if at such short notice he should go,
Would surely be forgotten. But at length
She gave consent, and Michael was at ease.

     Near the tumultuous brook of Green-head Ghyll,
In that deep valley, Michael had designed
To build a Sheep-fold; and, before he heard
The tidings of his melancholy loss,
For this same purpose he had gathered up
A heap of stones, which by the streamlet’s edge
Lay thrown together, ready for the work.
With Luke that evening thitherward he walked:
And soon as they had reached the place he stopped,
And thus the old Man spake to him:—”My Son,
To-morrow thou wilt leave me: with full heart
I look upon thee, for thou art the same
That wert a promise to me ere thy birth,
And all thy life hast been my daily joy.
I will relate to thee some little part
Of our two histories; ’twill do thee good
When thou art from me, even if I should touch
On things thou canst not know of.—After thou
First cam’st into the world—as oft befalls
To new-born infants—thou didst sleep away
Two days, and blessings from thy Father’s tongue
Then fell upon thee. Day by day passed on,
And still I loved thee with increasing love.
Never to living ear came sweeter sounds
Than when I heard thee by our own fireside
First uttering, without words, a natural tune;
While thou, a feeding babe, didst in thy joy
Sing at thy Mother’s breast. Month followed month,
And in the open fields my life was passed,
And on the mountains; else I think that thou
Hadst been brought up upon thy Father’s knees.
But we were playmates, Luke: among these hills,
As well thou knowest, in us the old and young
Have played together, nor with me didst thou
Lack any pleasure which a boy can know.”
Luke had a manly heart; but at these words
He sobbed aloud. The old Man grasped his hand,
And said, “Nay, do not take it so—I see
That these are things of which I need not speak.
—Even to the utmost I have been to thee
A kind and a good Father: and herein
I but repay a gift which I myself
Received at others’ hands; for, though now old
Beyond the common life of man, I still
Remember them who loved me in my youth.
Both of them sleep together: h
I was at the bar big ******* surprise I know .
The pub was empty well aside from a few selected drunks but really there more like a modern art display that has to **** more than a toddler .

I sat there good Irish coffee in one hand laptop upon the bar my normal morning ritual
No I wasn't looking at **** I'm kidding of course I was duh what goes better with coffee then watching total strangers ******* a circus ****** but enough about family programming.

I had decided to take a change of pace no I wasn't watching barnyard babes instead get your mind out of the gutter you ******'s who do you think I am the owner of this site?
No I decided to swing by my true stomping ground the true home of Gonzo Hello .

I as always stopped by to check the tombstones of my amigos now long since passed .
They were all there on full display a reminder of a past I truly cant forget.
Then I decided to check out the new who's who of the new Hello .

There poems about Mom and Dad and that first crush and other assorted high school horseshit
that was as about as interesting as watching a marathon of twilight backed up by that closet case
Harry Potter honestly I thought that was a great **** name .

Just then I herd a school bus with it's annoying *** air brakes come to a halt outside the Pub
The doors flew open and fifty or so hobbits came wandering in the bar dear lord was it some sort of strike?

Hey there Gonzo I'll take a Bud Light and a bag of chips please.
Want a coloring book to go along with that Bilbo?
Hey look grandpa just do your dam job and get me a  beer okay?

This strange little hamster must have fallen out of his crib and cracked his skull on his power ranger if he thought I was some sort of man servant I swear do these little ***** get there manners ?
I looked at the group of micro mini people thinking deep and long  and sort of ruff with a slap on the **** before I dared to reply.

Okay you little ******* I'll bite but not that hard just who the hell are you and what in the **** are you doing here?
Were the new in crowd of the site were poets father time!

After almost laughing myself to death I decided to entertain the little hamsters .
Okay short stack but before you ask we don't serve milk and cookies and nap time is whenever you hit the floor.

Hey what's with this stupid *** jukebox there's nothing but music on here done by people who actually play music duh what kind of **** is this.
I believe it's actually called music or as your generations rappers like to call it three mile.
Samples to talk over to your generations ****** music.

Hey old man you better watch it what you hate rap?
No I don't hate rap I hate your rap  by the way number seven your banana split is ready.
Hey I got to pay the bills somehow people I haven't had costumers in like five years .

Look Gonz the leader of the diaper gang  spoke up.
I know were younger but we have a right to be here as well were just trying to express areselves and share are work is that so wrong.

The Jim Jones wanna be had a valid point but I honestly didn't care for my mind was on a much deeper subject the music played as in the corner four little mini ******* hotties in school girl outfits
danced away to some sort of teenage ***** they called music.

I was lost in my thoughts of um like deep poetic **** it's to deep for you to grasp .
I'm kidding I was just watching the show thinking hey I don't have to pay for this?

Gonz hey Gonz earth to Gonz  .
Well everybody I tried I guess we better leave I don't think he's interested  in us having a
open mic  poetry night.

The music had stopped and the mini ***** were almost out the door but like some perverted ninja
I stopped them before they reached it.
Hey what's this I don't want to hear a open mic night duh I'm all about hearing your poetry
especially these little stripper poetry were do you all work I just love your costumes .

Um there are school uniforms pervert the one replied .

Hey look Gonzo It's  cool man we'll just be gone I mean you don't want to serve us and all.
I had to think  fast there leader was talking them almost out the door and I really couldn't afford
another kidnapping charge yet again don't ask.

Hey wait gang I was just ******* with you hell drinks on me what's your name Brittney Veronica Kelly hell it doesn't matter just pull yourself up a high chair and name your  poison.
What will it be beer wine crystal **** I know how you kids love that **** Brittney maybe you'd like a smooth roofie margarita I make the best in town just ask Lily .

Hey man what about that jukebox ?
I pulled out my trusty 38 the everyone hit the floor   as the sound blasted through the room worse than Justin Bieber getting **** ****** in county.
Oh baby baby Nooooo but enough with the foreplay children.

Honestly I never knew a power wheels could go that fast .

***** that jukebox amigo that's what mp3 players are for  .
I blasted some sort of strange music and poured the drinks as the hobbits began to
lose themselves in sort of twisted movements they called dancing dear lord man
they could really hold there drugs .

Then came there spoken poetry crap slash wet T shirt contest .
The party was a mad mad scene  like MTV's real world except with actual humans .

The mini strippers slash go go dancers were just about to get on the bar when all the sudden the doors flew open and the dark Lord himself once again stood in pub.

The room went as silent as when a semi  insane hillbilly on a **** TV show does a interview
and people find out he really is a backwards dip **** .
The dark lord spoke Gonzo!

A voice from under the bar spoke up he's not here *******.
Gonzo get your drunken *** from under that bar before I make my man servant come get you.

I popped up faster than a seventy year old man on ****** .

Hey boss how's it been dam you look great can I get you a drink hey have you been working out?
Look you halfwit clean this party out right now I could ban right this very moment .
Hey now look Adolf I was trying to connect with the hip new younger crowd is all because
I believe that a young mind is a terrible thing not to be totally wasted .

Seize him the dark lord called out to his staff of four halfwits .
I fought hard but eventually feel to the powers of those lady truck drivers let me tell you
those ******* fight ***** it was almost like getting *****  ****** if only I hadn't forgot my whistle.

Beaten shaken without my speak being slurred I was handcuffed and taken away .
And as I was being taken out the door a young little hamster spoke .
Hey Gonzo can I have your laptop yeah kids there real wise ***** sometimes.

The young hamsters all sat outside the pub as I was loaded up in the pinto hey poetry doesn't pay kids.

Goodbye Gonzo we'll miss you said one of the stripper students whatever the **** they were.
Goodbye little ***** I'll think about you often well I mean as long as I can remember.

I watched as the kids were scattered to the wind and my Pub was destroyed .
As I was taken away riding into the sunset like some outlaw in the back of a really ****** car.

Was this the end for are brain dead hero?
Would Hello finally see the demise of the legend slash guilty pleasure of Hello.
Would Timmy finally get out of that well to question his own sexuality?

Would this write ever ******* end?

Tune In next week for the exiting conclusion kids.

We now return you to your regularly scheduled programming .

Stay Crazy.

                                                         ­           Fin
By this, sad Hero, with love unacquainted,
Viewing Leander’s face, fell down and fainted.
He kissed her and breathed life into her lips,
Wherewith as one displeased away she trips.
Yet, as she went, full often looked behind,
And many poor excuses did she find
To linger by the way, and once she stayed,
And would have turned again, but was afraid,
In offering parley, to be counted light.
So on she goes and in her idle flight
Her painted fan of curled plumes let fall,
Thinking to train Leander therewithal.
He, being a novice, knew not what she meant
But stayed, and after her a letter sent,
Which joyful Hero answered in such sort,
As he had hope to scale the beauteous fort
Wherein the liberal Graces locked their wealth,
And therefore to her tower he got by stealth.
Wide open stood the door, he need not climb,
And she herself before the pointed time
Had spread the board, with roses strowed the room,
And oft looked out, and mused he did not come.
At last he came.

O who can tell the greeting
These greedy lovers had at their first meeting.
He asked, she gave, and nothing was denied.
Both to each other quickly were affied.
Look how their hands, so were their hearts united,
And what he did she willingly requited.
(Sweet are the kisses, the embracements sweet,
When like desires and affections meet,
For from the earth to heaven is Cupid raised,
Where fancy is in equal balance peised.)
Yet she this rashness suddenly repented
And turned aside, and to herself lamented
As if her name and honour had been wronged
By being possessed of him for whom she longed.
Ay, and she wished, albeit not from her heart
That he would leave her turret and depart.
The mirthful god of amorous pleasure smiled
To see how he this captive nymph beguiled.
For hitherto he did but fan the fire,
And kept it down that it might mount the higher.
Now waxed she jealous lest his love abated,
Fearing her own thoughts made her to be hated.
Therefore unto him hastily she goes
And, like light Salmacis, her body throws
Upon his ***** where with yielding eyes
She offers up herself a sacrifice
To slake his anger if he were displeased.
O, what god would not therewith be appeased?
Like Aesop’s **** this jewel he enjoyed
And as a brother with his sister toyed
Supposing nothing else was to be done,
Now he her favour and good will had won.
But know you not that creatures wanting sense
By nature have a mutual appetence,
And, wanting organs to advance a step,
Moved by love’s force unto each other lep?
Much more in subjects having intellect
Some hidden influence breeds like effect.
Albeit Leander rude in love and raw,
Long dallying with Hero, nothing saw
That might delight him more, yet he suspected
Some amorous rites or other were neglected.
Therefore unto his body hers he clung.
She, fearing on the rushes to be flung,
Strived with redoubled strength; the more she strived
The more a gentle pleasing heat revived,
Which taught him all that elder lovers know.
And now the same gan so to scorch and glow
As in plain terms (yet cunningly) he craved it.
Love always makes those eloquent that have it.
She, with a kind of granting, put him by it
And ever, as he thought himself most nigh it,
Like to the tree of Tantalus, she fled
And, seeming lavish, saved her maidenhead.
Ne’er king more sought to keep his diadem,
Than Hero this inestimable gem.
Above our life we love a steadfast friend,
Yet when a token of great worth we send,
We often kiss it, often look thereon,
And stay the messenger that would be gone.
No marvel then, though Hero would not yield
So soon to part from that she dearly held.
Jewels being lost are found again, this never;
’Tis lost but once, and once lost, lost forever.

Now had the morn espied her lover’s steeds,
Whereat she starts, puts on her purple weeds,
And red for anger that he stayed so long
All headlong throws herself the clouds among.
And now Leander, fearing to be missed,
Embraced her suddenly, took leave, and kissed.
Long was he taking leave, and loath to go,
And kissed again as lovers use to do.
Sad Hero wrung him by the hand and wept
Saying, “Let your vows and promises be kept.”
Then standing at the door she turned about
As loath to see Leander going out.
And now the sun that through th’ horizon peeps,
As pitying these lovers, downward creeps,
So that in silence of the cloudy night,
Though it was morning, did he take his flight.
But what the secret trusty night concealed
Leander’s amorous habit soon revealed.
With Cupid’s myrtle was his bonnet crowned,
About his arms the purple riband wound
Wherewith she wreathed her largely spreading hair.
Nor could the youth abstain, but he must wear
The sacred ring wherewith she was endowed
When first religious chastity she vowed.
Which made his love through Sestos to be known,
And thence unto Abydos sooner blown
Than he could sail; for incorporeal fame
Whose weight consists in nothing but her name,
Is swifter than the wind, whose tardy plumes
Are reeking water and dull earthly fumes.
Home when he came, he seemed not to be there,
But, like exiled air ****** from his sphere,
Set in a foreign place; and straight from thence,
Alcides like, by mighty violence
He would have chased away the swelling main
That him from her unjustly did detain.
Like as the sun in a diameter
Fires and inflames objects removed far,
And heateth kindly, shining laterally,
So beauty sweetly quickens when ’tis nigh,
But being separated and removed,
Burns where it cherished, murders where it loved.
Therefore even as an index to a book,
So to his mind was young Leander’s look.
O, none but gods have power their love to hide,
Affection by the countenance is descried.
The light of hidden fire itself discovers,
And love that is concealed betrays poor lovers,
His secret flame apparently was seen.
Leander’s father knew where he had been
And for the same mildly rebuked his son,
Thinking to quench the sparkles new begun.
But love resisted once grows passionate,
And nothing more than counsel lovers hate.
For as a hot proud horse highly disdains
To have his head controlled, but breaks the reins,
Spits forth the ringled bit, and with his hooves
Checks the submissive ground; so he that loves,
The more he is restrained, the worse he fares.
What is it now, but mad Leander dares?
“O Hero, Hero!” thus he cried full oft;
And then he got him to a rock aloft,
Where having spied her tower, long stared he on’t,
And prayed the narrow toiling Hellespont
To part in twain, that he might come and go;
But still the rising billows answered, “No.”
With that he stripped him to the ivory skin
And, crying “Love, I come,” leaped lively in.
Whereat the sapphire visaged god grew proud,
And made his capering Triton sound aloud,
Imagining that Ganymede, displeased,
Had left the heavens; therefore on him he seized.
Leander strived; the waves about him wound,
And pulled him to the bottom, where the ground
Was strewed with pearl, and in low coral groves
Sweet singing mermaids sported with their loves
On heaps of heavy gold, and took great pleasure
To spurn in careless sort the shipwrack treasure.
For here the stately azure palace stood
Where kingly Neptune and his train abode.
The ***** god embraced him, called him “Love,”
And swore he never should return to Jove.
But when he knew it was not Ganymede,
For under water he was almost dead,
He heaved him up and, looking on his face,
Beat down the bold waves with his triple mace,
Which mounted up, intending to have kissed him,
And fell in drops like tears because they missed him.
Leander, being up, began to swim
And, looking back, saw Neptune follow him,
Whereat aghast, the poor soul ‘gan to cry
“O, let me visit Hero ere I die!”
The god put Helle’s bracelet on his arm,
And swore the sea should never do him harm.
He clapped his plump cheeks, with his tresses played
And, smiling wantonly, his love bewrayed.
He watched his arms and, as they opened wide
At every stroke, betwixt them would he slide
And steal a kiss, and then run out and dance,
And, as he turned, cast many a lustful glance,
And threw him gaudy toys to please his eye,
And dive into the water, and there pry
Upon his breast, his thighs, and every limb,
And up again, and close beside him swim,
And talk of love.

Leander made reply,
“You are deceived; I am no woman, I.”
Thereat smiled Neptune, and then told a tale,
How that a shepherd, sitting in a vale,
Played with a boy so fair and kind,
As for his love both earth and heaven pined;
That of the cooling river durst not drink,
Lest water nymphs should pull him from the brink.
And when he sported in the fragrant lawns,
Goat footed satyrs and upstaring fauns
Would steal him thence. Ere half this tale was done,
“Ay me,” Leander cried, “th’ enamoured sun
That now should shine on Thetis’ glassy bower,
Descends upon my radiant Hero’s tower.
O, that these tardy arms of mine were wings!”
And, as he spake, upon the waves he springs.
Neptune was angry that he gave no ear,
And in his heart revenging malice bare.
He flung at him his mace but, as it went,
He called it in, for love made him repent.
The mace, returning back, his own hand hit
As meaning to be venged for darting it.
When this fresh bleeding wound Leander viewed,
His colour went and came, as if he rued
The grief which Neptune felt. In gentle *******
Relenting thoughts, remorse, and pity rests.
And who have hard hearts and obdurate minds,
But vicious, harebrained, and illiterate hinds?
The god, seeing him with pity to be moved,
Thereon concluded that he was beloved.
(Love is too full of faith, too credulous,
With folly and false hope deluding us.)
Wherefore, Leander’s fancy to surprise,
To the rich Ocean for gifts he flies.
’tis wisdom to give much; a gift prevails
When deep persuading oratory fails.

By this Leander, being near the land,
Cast down his weary feet and felt the sand.
Breathless albeit he were he rested not
Till to the solitary tower he got,
And knocked and called. At which celestial noise
The longing heart of Hero much more joys
Than nymphs and shepherds when the timbrel rings,
Or crooked dolphin when the sailor sings.
She stayed not for her robes but straight arose
And, drunk with gladness, to the door she goes,
Where seeing a naked man, she screeched for fear
(Such sights as this to tender maids are rare)
And ran into the dark herself to hide.
(Rich jewels in the dark are soonest spied).
Unto her was he led, or rather drawn
By those white limbs which sparkled through the lawn.
The nearer that he came, the more she fled,
And, seeking refuge, slipped into her bed.
Whereon Leander sitting thus began,
Through numbing cold, all feeble, faint, and wan.
“If not for love, yet, love, for pity sake,
Me in thy bed and maiden ***** take.
At least vouchsafe these arms some little room,
Who, hoping to embrace thee, cheerly swum.
This head was beat with many a churlish billow,
And therefore let it rest upon thy pillow.”
Herewith affrighted, Hero shrunk away,
And in her lukewarm place Leander lay,
Whose lively heat, like fire from heaven fet,
Would animate gross clay and higher set
The drooping thoughts of base declining souls
Than dreary Mars carousing nectar bowls.
His hands he cast upon her like a snare.
She, overcome with shame and sallow fear,
Like chaste Diana when Actaeon spied her,
Being suddenly betrayed, dived down to hide her.
And, as her silver body downward went,
With both her hands she made the bed a tent,
And in her own mind thought herself secure,
O’ercast with dim and darksome coverture.
And now she lets him whisper in her ear,
Flatter, entreat, promise, protest and swear;
Yet ever, as he greedily assayed
To touch those dainties, she the harpy played,
And every limb did, as a soldier stout,
Defend the fort, and keep the foeman out.
For though the rising ivory mount he scaled,
Which is with azure circling lines empaled,
Much like a globe (a globe may I term this,
By which love sails to regions full of bliss)
Yet there with Sisyphus he toiled in vain,
Till gentle parley did the truce obtain.
Wherein Leander on her quivering breast
Breathless spoke something, and sighed out the rest;
Which so prevailed, as he with small ado
Enclosed her in his arms and kissed her too.
And every kiss to her was as a charm,
And to Leander as a fresh alarm,
So that the truce was broke and she, alas,
(Poor silly maiden) at his mercy was.
Love is not full of pity (as men say)
But deaf and cruel where he means to prey.
Even as a bird, which in our hands we wring,
Forth plungeth and oft flutters with her wing,
She trembling strove.

This strife of hers (like that
Which made the world) another world begat
Of unknown joy. Treason was in her thought,
And cunningly to yield herself she sought.
Seeming not won, yet won she was at length.
In such wars women use but half their strength.
Leander now, like Theban Hercules,
Entered the orchard of th’ Hesperides;
Whose fruit none rightly can describe but he
That pulls or shakes it from the golden tree.
And now she wished this night were never done,
And sighed to think upon th’ approaching sun;
For much it grieved her that the bright daylight
Should know the pleasure of this blessed night,
And them, like Mars and Erycine, display
Both in each other’s arms chained as they lay.
Again, she knew not how to frame her look,
Or speak to him, who in a moment took
That which so long so charily she kept,
And fain by stealth away she would have crept,
And to some corner secretly have gone,
Leaving Leander in the bed alone.
But as her naked feet were whipping out,
He on the sudden clinged her so about,
That, mermaid-like, unto the floor she slid.
One half appeared, the other half was hid.
Thus near the bed she blushing stood upright,
And from her countenance behold ye might
A kind of twilight break, which through the hair,
As from an orient cloud, glimpsed here and there,
And round about the chamber this false morn
Brought forth the day before the day was born.
So Hero’s ruddy cheek Hero betrayed,
And her all naked to his sight displayed,
Whence his admiring eyes more pleasure took
Than Dis, on heaps of gold fixing his look.
By this, Apollo’s golden harp began
To sound forth music to the ocean,
Which watchful Hesperus no sooner heard
But he the bright day-bearing car prepared
And ran before, as harbinger of light,
And with his flaring beams mocked ugly night,
Till she, o’ercome with anguish, shame, and rage,
Danged down to hell her loathsome carriage.
Dorothy A May 2012
Trish had an uncanny ability to pick all the wrong ones. Like a friend once told her, “You always try to make a silk purse out of a sow’s ear!”  If there were a hundred available guys in a room, she always managed to zone in on the worst one there, not the kindest one, not the one with the greatest character or honor. It's like she had a special gift for finding a man—a cursed one—yet she had only herself to blame—not  fate for it—like she tried to point her finger at for her troubles. In this regard, Trish was often her own worst enemy. And none of her bad experiences seemed to deter her from her defeating patterns, for it seemed that having a ****** choice of a man in her life was better than having no man at all.

A Friday night without any date was something she desperately wanted to avoid. At the age of fifty-six, trying to meet men was getting old, as old as she was feeling, lately.

At Pete’s Place, a local bar down at the end of her street, and two blocks over, Trish could at least feel like she was among friends. It was an old hangout that always felt like a safe haven to turn to, familiar territory that she could call her own turf, her home away from home. Often, Trish encountered regulars, down-to-earth faces who have been going to the family-like establishment as long as or longer than she has. Drinking really was not her thing, not more than one or two, at the most. But if anything, if worst came to worst, she could say she was not home alone and left out while the world seemed to go on its own merry way without her.  

Pete’s Place was far from a glamorous hangout, but it had a cozy charm to it that made it irresistible to Trish. In the back were a pool table and a dartboard that provided some harmless enjoyment. With a couple of flat screen TVs, there usually was some sports game to watch. And every other Saturday, there was a DJ conducting Karaoke that always attracted a regular crowd. Trish couldn’t sing a note, but she loved to watch and cheer everybody else on. She just felt so welcome here, so at home, that even if she felt depressed or lonely, the atmosphere eventually lifted her heaviness of heart.  

Entering the bar this time, Trish hardly saw a familiar face at all—that was except for the bartender, Henry, who worked this job since forever. For a Friday night, business seemed surprisingly slow. There was only an older couple watching a baseball game that was at Pete’s Place, a couple that she did not recognize.

“Where is everybody?” Trish asked Henry.

Henry smiled. “Hey, Trish! Good to see ya! Yeah, it is like a ghost town tonight, isn’t it? I guess there are too many good things goin’ on down in Buffalo. I think there are some big boat races goin’ on. And, for sure, there is the jazz festival”.

“Well, I’m here, Henry! Look out, everybody! Let the fun begin!” she said jokingly as she sat herself up at one of the barstools. She looked around. Even the wait staff wasn’t around, obviously gone home early and not needed.

“Would have been nice to go somewhere fun like that. I mean the jazz festival. I like jazz”, Trish said to Henry.

Henry was trying to stay busy by wiping down the bar, cleaning every nook and cranny behind the counter. “You should have called up one of your girlfriends to go over there. I am sure someone would have gone with ya”.

Trish rolled her eyes. “What girlfriends? They are often too busy with their own husbands or men in their life to care about what poor, old Trish Urbine wants to do!”

Henry felt bad for her.  The more she frequented Pete’s Place, the more he knew she was all alone, was in between having some man in her life. And, lately, she was coming quite often to the bar by herself.

“You are not old, Trish! Hell, I am older than you!” Henry exclaimed.

Trish just frowned, not convinced at all by what Henry said. “Not old?” she asked. She pulled a small mirror out of her purse and looked at herself, giving herself the inspection of a drill sergeant. “That is a joke! Look at those bags under my eyes. Look at those crow’s feet, for pity’s sake!  Look at that droopy skin in my neck! Horrible! I am trying to save up for a face lift. I really need it! Been needing it for a while now!”

Henry shook his head. “All you women are alike. My wife does the same, **** thing, the same putdowns to herself. Says she’s fat. Says she’s getting old and ugly. Says this and says that. But let me tell you Trish, after thirty-six years of marriage, I still see her as my sweetheart. I’d have it no other way than with my Bernadette. He patted his belly and added, "Hell, look at me. Believe it or not, with my job, I don’t even drink that much beer. But look at the gut I am getting”.  

Trish scoffed at what he said. Henry looked nearly as lean as he did the first time she met him. He was just being nice. .Under better circumstances, she would have found what Henry said as endearing and charming. To say he still loved his wife as his “sweetheart” was incredibly adorable and rare.

“Hey”, Henry said. “Enough of my jibber jabber. Pardon my manners. What can I get for ya, dear?”

“Just a Diet Coke for me, Henry. I have to watch the calories myself. You know me—don’t want to get frumpy, lumpy and dumpy. At least not more than I am!” Trish smiled. She thought that her self disparaging remarks were a cute way of getting her point across with humor, but Henry couldn’t see anything funny about it.

He filled her glass of pop from the tap and handed it over to her. “Hey, how’s that daughter of yours doing? Is she still living in Albany?”  

Trish cupped her hands up to her forehead and rested her head on them. “She is still in Albany, but she might as be on the moon for all we ever talk to each other”. She looked up at Henry and he could see the frustration written all over her face.

“I didn’t mean to upset you”, he said.

“Oh, you didn’t”, she returned. “I appreciate you asking, but you know the situation with Patti and I. It is either that we are at each other’s throat or we just don’t talk. Truth be told, we haven’t really got along since she was a girl. Once she hit those teenage years—oh, man they were a nightmare! I wouldn’t relive those years for anything!”

Henry rested his elbows up on the bar counter. “Oh, I know what you mean!. My second son, my boy, Steven, and I had a terrible time once he hit about fifteen. Man, him and I bucked heads all the time. Yes, indeed! It could get ugly, and it sure as heck did! But now I’m proud of him! In Afghanistan, fighting for his country—that is somethin’ that makes me glad! Now, I say that I couldn’t ask for better sons. I’m proud of him—of all four of my boys as good, strong men that they are!”  

Trish sipped on her coke, a hurtful look upon her face while reflecting on her daughter, a daughter that she named after herself.  Both were named Patricia, but the same name did not mean two peas in a pod, actually far from it. Trish definitely preferred her name, short and sophisticated—so she had liked to think—and the name, Patti, seemed cute and carefree. But Patti seemed anything but cute and carefree, not like she was when she was very little. But the name stuck with her, as she preferred to be called

“Yeah, but Patti still lives in the past” Trish said. “She still blames me for everything wrong in her life. Nothing has changed, and I am still the bad guy. Trish thought for a second. “Well, her dad, too. He’s bad, too, in her eyes. She always says she raised herself, that she never had real parents. That’s crap because I raised her and I was around—unlike her useless father!”

“Sounds bitter on her part”, Henry agreed. He thought to say that Trish sounded a bit like that, too, but he did not think it was his place to say it out loud.

“Bitter is right”, Trish said in disgust.  

Bartenders have always been seen as good listeners, like the working man’s counselor. People, like Trish, often came in for a drink to try to forget their troubles, and wanting to lean on a trusty soul in need. Henry has seen plenty of this in his twenty-four years on the job, and he has honed the skill quite well, the skill of providing a listening ear. Sometimes he had good advice, but he knew he was no psychiatrist.    

Frustrated, Trish went on. “I mean who else was there for her? When her dad and I divorced, she wanted to stay with him just to spite me! But would he have her? No, he only wanted to be with his under aged, ***** wife!

“And who else would do what I did? When my step dad died, and my mom couldn’t handle my little brother anymore, who was it that took him in? It was me! He was eleven and I was almost twenty-two and living with my boyfriend. I helped to finish raising him, kept him at my place right up to the day that he was grown—and more! And I did it because it needed doing, and nobody else was stepping in! When my sister moved to Colorado, and one of her kids, my nephew, Craig, wanted to stay here to graduate here from high school, I agreed to take him in for two years until he finished high school. And yet I am such a bad, selfish person in Patti’s opinion! It makes me sick to think of how she sees me as her mother!”

Henry poured her a refill of pop in her half empty glass. He knew that Trish was on bad terms with her daughter, that their relationship was shaky and strained. Patti was Trish’s only child, and it troubled him that they didn’t have much of a relationship. Yet Trish did not need pity. She needed to refocus and find a new direction. Henry knew that she has needed a new direction for quite a while now.    

“Well, you know I love my daughter”, he replied. “I know your heart must be achin’ bad—real bad. I couldn’t imagine my life without Jocelyn or me not talkin’ to her. She’s the apple of my eye, ya know!  And my boys know it and get that she’s special to me—Daddy’s little girl. With four older brothers, she has always been outnumbered. And myself and the Mrs. never expected her, neither. One—two—three—four, the boys all came right in a row! She came way after, Ben, the last one—a big surprise, I tell ya! But I was tickled pink and couldn’t have been happier to have my little girl”.  Henry smiled warmly, and added, “No matter how old she gets, she will always be my little girl.”

Trish’s mood wasn’t influenced by what Henry said, not for the good. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”

Henry looked a bit embarrassed. “Oh, I ain’t tryin’ to rub it in to ya! No, no Trish!  I’m just sayin’ you should see Patti as someone special, no matter what it is like now. She still is your daughter. And ya lover her! You know ya do! Try to get through to her. Keep on tryin’ and don’t give up hope.”

Trish didn’t look convinced by his little pep talk, so he said, “One day she will have her own children, and realize she will make mistakes, too. You sure will want to see those grandkids. Trust me! I live to see all of mine! ”

Patti sniffed at that comment, putting forth a laugh that seemed so phony and snarky. This behavior was not like her at all, not the bubbly Trish that Henry used to see coming into the bar. “Grandchildren? Are you kidding me? Patti wants nothing to do with men! She avoids them like the plague! Says she doesn’t want to end up like me…married and divorced four times…she says there is no excuse for it. But she uses me all the time as an excuse! I think she is just scared to death of relationships with guys!”

“I thought you were married three times?” Henry asked. He had a surprised look on his face, but then he tried to think differently. “But I don’t want to **** in on your life. It’s your business, not mine to judge”.

“No, Henry, it’s ok. My last marriage lasted only seven weeks”. She turned red in the face now, but she wanted to set it straight. “Patti thinks it is disgusting that I married all those times. My last husband tried to clear out my bank account, and I left him. Patti says she will never marry. She won’t touch a man with a ten foot pole to save her life!”

She paused as Henry stared intently at her, listening. “She does not want to end up like me”, she added, her voice throaty. Tears welled up in her eyes.  

Patti was the product of Trish’s first marriage to a man named Earl Colbert. When Patti was six, her father divorced her mother. Since then, Patti had seen plenty of men come and go. In between her other three husbands, there were too many boyfriends to even keep track of. Trish was also engaged twice, but the engagements were eventually broken off.    

She sat in silence as Henry was still thinking of the right thing to say to comfort her. Soon, two young couples had entered through the door, dispersing the air of awkwardness, and stopping the conversation between Henry and Trish.  Henry continued to clean up around the bar as he waved to them and welcomed their presence. One of the guys came up and ordered a pitcher of beer before joining his friends at a table.

It was no more than a few minutes later that another customer approached inside Pete’s Place. It was Jake. Trish rolled her eyes at Henry. He was a regular here, too, like she was, and about the same age as her.

Jake immediately came up to Trish and put his arm around her. “Buy you a drink, darlin’?” he asked. His breath already smelled of alcohol.  

“Oh, Jake, get away!” Trish scolded him. “You know I don’t accept drinks from married men, so move on!” She waved her hand in the air to clear the bothersome odor of his ***** away from her.

Jack just laughed, and moved to the other end of the bar, his usual spot. Henry kept his calm although he did not like Jake acting like a fool to Trish, or to any of the women who came here. He had to do his duty and serve Jake, but if he had his way the guy would be just a step away from being told to leave. Henry always kept a close eye on how much Jake was drinking, and he often cut him off when it seemed he had his share.

“Whisky, Henry”, Jake ordered. They both knew the routine.

With his whisky in hand, Jake smirked at Trish and asked, “How come you ain’t at that big jazz festival downtown?”  

“How come you ain’t?” she echoed him, sarcastically

“Cuz I don’t have a sweet lady to go with me and keep my company”. He winked at her, and downed a gulp of whisky.

“Oh, you mean like your—wife!” Trish said.  Jake and Trish often bantered like this to each other. “You will never change, Jake. You are a rude and obnoxious flirt, and you ought to be ashamed!”

Jake just laughed her off.  “Sweetie, my wife knows I’m a big flirt. She’s OK with it! She says ‘as long as you are peeking and not seeking, who cares what you do!’”

The two young couples that came in a while ago overheard Jake’s conversation and started to crack up in laughter. It seemed that he was the entertainment for a lackluster evening at the bar, a court jester of sorts. Trish looked at the four, young faces that were laughing at her expense, glanced at Henry in silent agreement that Jake was an idiot, and quickly turned red in the face.

“Jake, shut your big mouth!” Henry intervened. “You lie as much as you belt them down!”  When Jake was more sober, he seemed pretty reasonable, but he was nauseating when he was on a drinking binge.

Henry exited into a room behind the bar for a moment. Jake whispered loudly to Trish, like an impish, little boy who knew he might get caught, but loved the thrill of it. “Psst. Hey, Trish! Look! My wife’s no fun at all! Won’t go out with me no more. The festival is going on all weekend. Just give me your number and I’ll call you tomorrow and pick you up to take you there”.

Trish pretended like she did not hear him, still rattled up a bit, but trying her best to hide it, and Jake soon devoted his mind to his drink.

She turned herself around in the barstool and pretended to watch the baseball game. The scene in the room was still practically the same way since she first arrived. Only now there was an edgier atmosphere with the four younger people in it. The older couple was still sitting together in the corner, intent on watching the ball game. The two younger couples were drinking down their pitcher of beer and talking away. One of the young man had his arm around his girlfriend, gently caressing her back, and the other young couple, that was sitting across from them was holding hands.  

In longing, Trish looked on at the young couples. How she m
the cool wind in my hair
as you and I glide across
the cement jungle.

You make my life tolerable
in this crazy urban landscape,
my trusty metal steed that
helps me duck and weave in
stand still traffic of the Nation's capital.

nothing like flying through the city on you, my bicycle,
on this beautiful spring day.  I know you can't speak,
but if you could, you would also say "wheeeeee" with glee.

— The End —