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Cunning Linguist Nov 2013
Hella business
Got hella *******
Poppin double bottles
With a couple of mistresses
Stellar mistreatment
Here's the key
Lock em in the cellar
Forever their memory lies
But a troubling mystery

Hysteria erupting
Like waves gushing
From the tip of my *****
My genius is better
I'm the King here's my scepter
Now watch the teeth
You worthless Queen
Or I'll stifle them screams

I **** ******* on trampolines
Motion sickness?
Overdose on Dramamine

Slave to the magnitude
Of my impressive **** munching
Exploring deplorable nether-regions galore;
Can't touch me you got nothing
Broke *******
Grind your brain like morning coffee beans

Shame is a word just outside the boundaries
of my fabulous vocabulary

Oh, am I contrite?
How trifling
Check my charm I'm enlightening
Enigmatic and igniting sporadically like lightning
Magically radical voyaging down
                                                           down
                                                  down the rabbit's hole
Inciting excited riots to light fires spark fuses and chew on live wires
You do not frighten me.
Delivering excruciating asphyxiation to every pwn'd n00b
Is my modus operandi
And this is my magnum opus

I have Tourette's

Conceive these merriments of abhorrent mental abortions
Precisely concise and incisive concocting incoherent comatose monstrosities to flatten your lifelines
Conduct these ensembles of debauchery and narcotics -
I'm fascinating;
Crippling your mind like a lobotomy and tripping the light fantastic through bombarding planes of consciousness
I'm on acid thraxXx'd the **** OUT and faded
Levitating fading and oscillating in time while inflating my ego

But lets be realistic
the caliber of my linguistics is intrinsically aesthetic
but none too altruistic
Untrue!
Be reasonable lest I demand be-headings on grounds of treason
Its not hard for me -
It's profound, the sound of suffering;
I'll swallow your soul
'Tis the season!

Inference for instance -
****-hand upturned to oceans of incessant peasants
Pestering to ****** and fluster your festering ****-hole
Exact my revenge; begin phase mayhem
initiating total brain annihilation
interring bodies posthaste with skilled persistence
And sporting in poor taste
RESISTANCE IS FUTILE

You who peers through eye of the pyramid-
Would you be so kind as to interpret my footprint at face-value?
Do you take me for a fool yet seek prophets reaping profits?
Listen to them sleep, baaah-ing away like flocks of little sheep
My hearts not on my sleeve but I have a trick or two up there;

Now bow before my marvelous flow
As I behold my throne whilst throwing bows and exposing hoes.
The skies are laced with narcotics,
I am spinning, spinning out of control,
Lost in the vastness of the milky way.
I feel the nicotine rush with every breath.
I am a broken record, that you still listen to, over, and over, and over again.
I am your aesthetic, your cure.
But what you don’t see is the typewriter clatter in my brain.
You don’t see the scrawled handwriting of who I used to be,
You see a staged version of me. I select the nicest light for viewing.

The skies are laced with narcotics,
I am spinning, spinning perfectly in control.
Clutching the wheel for dear life, drowning in my eternal darkness.
Not even the stars light my night sky, not even the sun lights my days.
Just the light of a match, that ignites and falters all in one motion.
A burst of brightness in my otherwise dismal life.
You cannot see the darkness because you are the match.

You are a fleeting moment of beauty,
Painted on a celestial canvas,
My hands the brush and your skin the paint that we use to dot eternity.
Your eyes are my stars, two gleaming orbs of pure ecstasy.
As I peer into them my darkness is reflected
I look further and all I see is the haze of politics and cigarette smoke.

The skies are laced with narcotics
I am spinning, spinning out of control,
Lost within my own emotions.
I am your poison, your cancer.
My eyes are clouded judgment and disapproval.
You are the apple in my clouded judgment and my disapproval.
You are my aesthetic, my cure.

The skies are laced with narcotics,
I am spinning, spinning out of control,
Lost in the vastness of your eyes.
And I am unable to calculate our next move.
Unable to plot when we shall return to one another.

For, I am floating down a path,
Not the one of least resistance, but one filled with obstacles.
I am not neat, I am not pretty. The inside of my head is a thunderstorm.
My thoughts mere raindrops and my emotions rolling thunder,
Because of these things I cannot commit myself to you.
Because of these things I am lost.

The skies are laced with narcotics
I am addicted.
I appreciate all feedback, positive and negative; I very much want to become a better poet, so leave comments, please.
C A Nov 2012
We blanket our fears with silly defense mechanisms to shelter any shame we carry
From every angle we stand we are judged at first sight
We pretend we aren't critics but we are hypocrites everyday
As we seek the forgiveness we can't give in return
We make promises and sugar coat little white lies
As we defensively reassure the world we are mistunderstoond and unique
The truth is our narcissim reeks like bad perfume suffocating everyone around us
As we stand tall for whatever it is we believe in
It's just denial
Because inside we are tormented with insecurities and charachter defects
Inside our stomachs are fluttering with anxiety and secrets too painful to remember
Inside we are incarcerated with a plethora of misguided ghosts screaming for an escape
Inside bombs are bursting out gunshots and out hearts have bullet wounds to prove it
Our viles of happiness are never satisfied
We are always seeking more
But we are never sure what we are looking for
Some sort of accomplishment or recognition
Maybe validation
A sign that we are still breathing with a euphoria seeping out our pores into the air
A sign of greatness
Maybe we want that picture perfect dream that we fantasize about until we reassure ourselves we are lunatics for wishing
We feel debased because our choices keep the odds against us
We are incapable of managing our own lives
And maybe nothing will restore our piece of mind
It's insanity--our thoughts
I think its called delusional
Because in reality nothing goes as expected
We had learned to cope with self medication
Because all the doctors were wrong
Something had to fill our voids in our hearts
Something had to stop the brain from processing emotions
We chased after something invisible
A force that spiriled our lives down into the ground
We ran away like little children afraid of the dark
Because we thought the pain would be like daggers through our hearts
Stabbing us over and over again until we died from sufferance
The pain was too frightening to look directly in the eye
If it were easy or if there was a simplier way of figuring it out we wouldn't have wasted so many years battling the addiction that wears a shield of armor
If it were easy the grass would be green and we'd never have to water it
If it were easy we wouldn't be so sensitive to triggers and flashbacks
It's not easy
It is World War 3 every single day
There is a chip on our shoulder and a devil on the other jumping up and down eager to break us
He is whispering temptations;
Seducing us with our vices, pushing us to collapse like an avolance until we overdose
He is waiting patiently and constantly because he knows us so well
We were weak for so long and he is hungry for our failures
He wants us to throw our hands up and call it quits
And the worst part is just when we think we've won it gets worse
And we are forced to stand in the mirror and detect every flaw of imperfection we wish to erase
And then it comes back all our defense mechanisms
The way we present ourselves to the big whole wide world
Biting our lip in sufference
Haunted by a past of turmoil and depression
It is hard to communicate to those who don't understand our demons
We are looked down upon and there is another stupid burden to carry
Because everything adds up and we get tired of all the negative
We get stomped on and spit on and drug through hell
But then something clicks
And we look around the room and we realize we are not alone
We are brave, strong and somehow still alive
And there is a person to your left an another to your right starring right through you
But all you can do is hand over the keys to your self destructive behavior and pray that help is on the way
Because we are addicts batteling the same devils in different levels of the game
Because we were dealt with a bad hand
But we played with what we had
And suddenly everything was ok when we walked into the doors to our recovery
and said
Hello, I am an addict
oh me oh my Apr 2013
he tells me the
words she does
not care to read,
nor understand.

his words
are narcotics,
rolling thick
off the tongue,
fat and vain.

i tell him the
words she does
not care to read
nor understand.

my words
are flesh wounds,
festering and
upsetting
to the stomach.

he's a medical
overdose,
drugging
to numb the
brash and pain.

i'm an angry
hornet through
your heart
and your mind,
livid and
vindictively
stricken.

thick through
your veins,
eyes a blur
and head a fog,
he's a medical
overdose
with mind of
a syringe
and tongue
laced with
narcotics.
Michael Marchese Apr 2017
Prometheus ignites to spark this
Molotov to make his Marxist
On swine Fuhrer's Faux News tweet
Hashtag it #GorbachevWallStreet
'Cuz Putin's puppet Pinochet's
Whipped Creme de Kremlin's CIA  
From JFK to Allende
Like Russian roulette ricochet
I'll Trotsky through McCarthy's brains
Leave slain these ****** sugar Keynes   
Discred' the Fed’s six-figureheads
With strikes at dawn more red than Debs  
Still breakin' breads with Mulan Bouges
Makin' men of Khmer Stooges
Seein’ Rouge when Al Spans Greens
Potemkin loan wolf ponzi schemes
Who count the sheep like Philippines
Then Black Pearl Harbor GRANMA’s dreams...

Of Marilyn Monroes in store
Just off-shore ****** who **** the poor
A Glass of Steagall's broken trust
Half emptier than bowls of dust
In rust beltways still spewin’ fumes
As factories become Khartoums
No carbon footprint tax the hint
Of Amazon decays in Flint
Just pop the caps and drown in debt
Like Kent State drinkin' to forget
That cuttin’ class engenders race
Leaves glory, gold and God's disgrace
To slaughter Moor than Reconquista  
From Marti to Sandinista     
With Zapata sharin’ crops  
Till my Mexica heartbeat stops

I'm Pancho infiltratin’ villas
The Magilla of guerillas
In the midst of Congolese  
Same colonies, just different thieves
To me, my breed’s of landless deeds
So how you like ‘dem Appleseeds?
FReeducatin’ caves of youth
Fed Citizen’s United Fruit
‘Cuz now my open eye of Horus
Battle cries Grito de Lares
Che is centered in these veins
So my Ashoka takes the reigns
These Iron paci-Fists pack hits
Like Jimi on some Malcolm ****
Still Hajj mirages I barrage
The Raj with sheer Cong camouflage

Deployin' Sepoys on viceroys
And pol desPots’ in the employs
Of Tweedledums who run the slums
With country clubs of loaded guns
These Betsy Deez bear arms to school
Till no kids fly kites in Kabul
So gas-mask your Sharia flaw
I'll Genghis Khan Sheikoun it raw  
'Cuz refugees are rising
And we're anti-socializing
Subsidizing private party plans
Who take commands from ***** hands
These grand old klans coup klux control
Your diamond minds with mines of coal
An oil Standardized existence
Solar powers my resistance

******* sun of Liberty  
My fear itself is history  
Rewriting wrongs of Leo’s creed
In culture’s blood and vulture’s greed
An alt-right/all-white cockpile   
Stockpilin' human capital
In tricklin’ contests over spoils
Of the cotton-ceded soils
Jingos chained to Cruci-fictions
Swallowin' good Christian dictions
I spit Spanish Inquisition
Trippin' Socrates sedition
Droppin' Oppen's fission quest
For "now I am become death"
'Cuz G-bay pigs in-Fidel's sites
Flew U-2's into my last rights

These Saddamites, I smite Assad
Then spread 'em like Islamabad
Convert for-profit prison tsars
From Escobars to Bolivars 
Like currency in Venezuela
Current police-state favela
Where 9/10th's of your possession's
Worth less than your Great Depression’s
Upscale bail ‘em outs of jail
With Dodd-Frank banks too big to fail
Your FDA-approved psychosis
From Campos’ daily dose of
More defense? Here’s my two cents
These slave wages ain’t excrements
So just say no to Reaganomics    
Got us hooked, but not on phonics

Just that Noriega strain
Of Contras stackin' crack contain
Like MAD dogs who trade weapons-grades  
For Ayatollah hate tirades
On “don’t ask, don’t tell” plague ebonics
Drug crusAID Jim Crow narcotics     
Warsaw rats injected, tested,
Quarantined, and then arrested
Guess the J. Arbenz' lens
Still Tet offends their ethnic cleanse
Still Wounding Knees of Standing Sioux
Till Crazy Horses stampede you   
For Mother Nature’s common ground
My Martin Luther’s gather ‘round
Is hellbound sounds of Nero’s crown  
Let's burn this Third World Reichstag down

Vox populyin’ to remove ‘ya
Like Lumumba then Nkrumah
So some Pumbaa kleptocrat
Declares himself the next Sadat
To hide supply-side Apartheid
Increase demand for genocide
So check your factions in Uganda  
Tune into Hotel Rwanda
Come play pirates with Somalis
Then desert ‘em like Benghazis
Thirst for blood so French Algiers  
It boils mine in Trails of Tears  
My destiny unManifest-
Oppressive Adam-Smitten West
So pay your overdues to Mao
I’ll Mussolini Chairman Dow

Then flood this 9th ward Watergate
With killing fields of glyphosate
I'll redistribute IMF’s
With Left so deft you’d think it’s theft
I’ll My Lai massacre these lines
With sweet Satsuma samurhymes
I'll make these Madoff Hitlers squeal
With that Bastille New Deal cold steel
Now feel that Shining Pathos wrath
Drop Nagasaki aftermath
On Nanjing kings and dragon’s Diems
With ****** bodhisattva zens
To show you how I pledge allegiance
With razed flags still rapt in Jesus  
Laosy liars pogrom psalms
Can’t Uncle Phnom my Penh’s truth bombs

On heroes shootin' ******
My fix is un-American
Tiananmen democracies
To Syngman Rhee hypocrisies  
Theocracies drive me Hussein
With Bush league’s mass destruction claim
So I dig laissez pharaohs graves
With pyramids of Abu Ghraibs
Then nail their coffers closed like Vlad
I AM THE GHOST OF STALINGRAD
My hammer forged in winters past
My sickle reaps the shadows caste
By pantheons of penta-cons
Whose Exxons lead to autobahns
When liberal Arts of War and Peace in
Free speech teach my voice of treason
“Fascism will come to America wrapped in a flag and carrying a cross”
-Sinclair Lewis
heather leather Nov 2015
he is not heaven. he is not a deep breath of fresh air after being
trapped inside for so long he is suffocation. when his saturated fingers
touch me I am filled with a never ending fire that keeps me
awake until two a.m. and makes me question everything I've
ever believed. he likes to swear up and down on the metal cross
around his neck and pretend he is God when he looks at me.
his kisses are never filled with love they are filled with narcotics
and taste like a bittersweet kind of hatred. he smokes quietly and
slowly inhaling every toxic fume and making clouds
big enough to convince you that they are skies. everything about him
screams shades of cool he is blue he is black his smile is gold
his eyes are grey and he is the color spectrum at its darkest.
he speaks quietly and laughs loudly and cries silently when
he thinks nobody can hear him. I wake up every morning to the
sound of tiny bullets of water scorching his back but he
likes the burn so I do not say a thing. he loves the way I sing
and teases me endlessly and whispers ****** things when
our friends are around because he is an exhibitionist.
I do not know what this is. I do not know who he is.
but at the same time I do not know who I am either,
we are cataclysmic together and wreak havoc wherever we go
but there is something so beautiful about what a disaster
we are together that i do not want to say goodbye.
he is the lover I never have to worry about loving back
and that if nothing else matters

(h.l.)

11.25.15
"oh **** i think i'm falling in love again. someone pass me the *****, this is going to be one helluva year"

colors by halsey
LJ Chaplin Feb 2015
Inject me,
Pierce the skin
And it let it merge
With blood cells and
Bacardi,
Press your lips against mine
And slip the pill onto my tongue,
Don't pull away until each grain
dissolves
Stacks of cash
From selling love in bottles,
Capsules,
IV drips,
Losing our minds as we
Become entangled in unconsciousness.

But when I wake up you're gone.
Sweaty palms,
Goosebumps,
The fear of relinquishing control,
Or even losing my mind?
We become addicted to the visions
In our head,
The dreams we steal from dark corners
Of the brain
When we are intoxicated,
Yet with each passing of time
We rely on what numbs the pain
Of what we lost.
when God created love he didn't help most
when God created dogs He didn't help dogs
when God created plants that was average
when God created hate we had a standard utility
when God created me He created me
when God created the monkey He was asleep
when He created the giraffe He was drunk
when He created narcotics He was high
and when He created suicide He was low

when He created you lying in bed
He knew what He was doing
He was drunk and He was high
and He created the mountians and the sea and fire at the same time

He made some mistakes
but when He created you lying in bed
He came all over His Blessed Universe.
Fullfreddo May 2015
our love making is an  
amphetamine

coming together,
crack ******* this stunning pleasure

wilding dreams,
mescaline pretense too real

daily life,
the modulation high of a flotation device,
some call it cannabis-like

gentle drowsy,
a glass of tea and
she...
Death-throws Apr 2015
Slipping in my ear-buds,
To get my daily dose
Feeling so close to the sound that doesn't affect me
Flying over clouds only my mind can see
Bass wobbles, no duds

I'm addicted to the ripples,
My head lulls with a vengeance
"don't bother him man, hes gone"
Passers-by call to  me
So drunk on sound...
My cranium has better acoustics then the great theater
Rhythm's projected with shock waves and powered by hand grenades
I am a supernova charged by AUX
Watch anxiety writhe and burn in my wake
galio May 2016
her lips tasted like narcotics
and yet i felt the revolution
kissed her fingertips
and smelled marijuana

the dark eyes


and the reckless abandon
Once upon a time
there was a young adult
who spent time on the dark web,
Searching for the most obscure and exotic substances humanity could offer.

Late nights tracking down vendors with the most up-to-date wares:
Drugs.
Research chemicals,
Novel psychoactive substances.
Illicit pharmaceuticals and exotic materials.
Pills, powder, liquid, tabs, any material one could find.
Uppers, downers, dissos, deliriants,
Psyches, anti-psyches, stimulants,
Depressants, anti-depressants,
*** drugs, study drugs,
'noids, 'roids, and
even vitamins.

There was the standard battery of illegal narcotics,
******* knockoffs of more popular drugs,
Drugs designed to evade anti-doping tests
and then the more experimental stuff.

Suffice to say this part of the internet is a strange and lawless world.
Not like the Wild West, more like the backstreets of Seoul.

The goal was nothing more than knowledge
of this rapidly evolving-world.

One night a vendor's listing flagged their attention
and on an intuition they acquired
a batch of synthetic cannabinoids for nothing.
A few days later a letter arrived
containing several unlabeled bags of power.

It took many months to even partially identify them.
The vendor went dark before the results came in.

One compound was entirely novel. It did not have a name
so it was assigned one. It did not have a history of human use
but had entered the wild human populace.

After identification they were destroyed.
The properties of that novel compound remain unknown.
This is the tale an unregulated human trial which took place across Agora circa 2018. Those 'noids were part of a dangerous generation of RCs which claimed many lives. The chemists, vendors, and the proponents of prohibition all share responsibility for this disgusting affair.

Finally, the dim-witted among us might ask why not take part in this trial.
Well, the author values their life and despises those who do not value others'.

I pushed the boundaries of psychoactive substance use
in seeking knowledge about the world but any sensible person, even the most liberal or libertarian individual must draw the line here.

From knowledge comes ethics.
A story from the depths of the darknet.
Ocean Blue May 2016
A desert between us?
Only in your dreams.
Your longing?
Reciprocal, it seems.
Your heart ache?
Nothing compared to mine.
My promises?
Rare and always held.
Your smile?
Bright sunray
Throughout my day.
Your heart beats?
My earthquakes.
Your verses,
Daily narcotics.
My horizon?
Just to love you,
On and on.
Jacob Sanders Aug 2014
A dead end situation.
Stuck. Like brick to cement.
You'll do anything
for a hint of something.
It's been coming for ages;
building,
tumbling towards you
like a train on a track,
the damsel in distress,
tied down, downwards bound,
stalking around.
But you can't see,
it changes invisibly,
always going too fast,
momentum gathering;
letters,
beach shells,
names that would only ever have meaning
to you or her.
It was never going to last
always going too fast.
 
Past having a spark,
endlessly trying to relight.
Exhaust
all energy left,
find something to keep it fuelled,
to get you through the night:
caffeine,
narcotics,
late night television,
social networking sites,
talking to the ones you don't have the guts to in real life.
Real people. Reality TV.
What does it mean?
A blurred vision in which to entertain your life.
Surround yourself with
false dreams,
false hope,
fake plastic love
moulded into the form
that you want to see,
you want it to be
want it all to stop.
Go.
Any direction.
Forwards,
backwards,
mind spinning in circles,
turn it off.
Stop.

It's all a dream.
Awake,
to a new day, new life,
new home,
new car,
new wife.
Choose a diamond or pearl to cement these new found pleasures,
choose it all, self-absorbed in your own little world:
petty things,
the colour of paint on your bathroom wall.
Cream.
Chestnut.
Teal.
Another abstract way to cover up what is the simple truth.
Conspiracy everywhere;
newspaper, post office,
your local chippy, chips wrapped in ‘The Independent’
not ‘The Sun’.
Gossip,
front page
back page,
a wave of infatuation with the lives of people no better than yourself,
your image,
in the looking glass
see straight through.
This house,
this car,
this life,
it isn't you.
The radio plays through that knock off surround sound system you bought in a drunken haze,
and the cranking of your Ford Fiesta's deteriorating exhaust reminds you of her
as it pulls up on your drive.
It’s never going to happen now,
Still going to love her anyhow.

They're flying round your stomach again -
another one of those black, rainy days.
This isn't what you want,
not just another phase.
You read through 'Wilde',
'Wordsworth',
'William. Shakespeare';
Stolen tales
of life, love, loss,
lust,
loathing another man,
because he holds the pearl of your heart so dear.
They keep flying,
drumming, beating louder,
louder,
three words could change it all,
yet somehow it's your greatest fear.
Get-away.
A nice holiday to ease your mind;
Florida, Turkey,
Isle of Wight.
Another mask
to an already
covered over life.
Escape to your dreams,
anything that will get you there:
class a,
class b,
class c,
the class of '99,
the cream of the crop, you were just kids
and everyone’s heart
was just diddly dandy fine.
Move on, move out.
Wave
goodbye.
Find someone else,
grow old
in a nice little bungalow,
just the two of you,
lie in each others arms,
softly, quietly
fall to sleep.
I fell in love,
when I was about fourteen
with narcotics

****, pills, coke, lean
LSD and ecstasy
DMT and Ketamine

I love it all

Sobriety is a struggle
Because I don't know how to cope
If I can't get high,
I'm searching for the rope
To tie around my neck
and jump
to a short drop
With a sudden stop
Because I have to deal with everything
Or anything,
at all

I can't do that...
I'm not like you
I can't look past the rain clouds in my way
To get a little better view
The view has to be skewed
By acid or a mushroom
Or two, or three
maybe a few hits of DMT,
Then those clouds will move,
Maybe the world will gimme a little breathin room

I'm not even a addict
To one particular vice
I'm just an addict
For the vice of the night

what am I gonna smoke?
What am I gonna snort?
What will bring me back up
To where I was before?

I can't handle sober
It's just not in my genes
I rely on all these drugs
To make me feel like me

But you wouldn't understand
Your probably 30 years old with a 10 year plan
you're a family man, got a wife and two sons
Reading this saying "I hope they don't end up like this one"
Cause you know what?

I really don't either
I failed chemistry
But I can turn brake fluid
Into Ether

And that should tell you something
When I started this, I didn't know
About the bad world coming

Now I'm stuck so deep in this hole
I can't climb out, cause there's no hand-hold
I don't think there's a long enough pole
To reach down to the bottom and touch my soul

Now I just keep digging my self deeper
I found my love, and I know she's a keeper
But what's to keep her from leaving me?
I'm going nowhere fast and it's plain to see
Sometimes I just wanna die,
Hope a car jumps out in front of me
then I can die peacefully
Like I've always wanted,
I've put a gun to my head,
But can't pull the trigger
I'm just to cowardly...

I want to die
I want to die right now
With a rag over my face
Inhaling all the toxic chemicals
Kids found out about on Myspace
In my place,
Just my, my self, and I
Layin all up on my counter space

and I slip away
Keep messing with narcotics
And you will be left with nothing
Turn yourself around
Be someone and do something
Opportunity is always there
Just put your mind to it
You can achieve greatness
Never give up or give in
pale moonlight Sep 2013
i understand struggle
and i understand recovery is hard
but what i didn't understand
is why
you didn't recover
until you had to
until you were f o r c e d
and she is such
a beautiful reason
for you to be alive
but ****
did you not see what you did
your tainted lies
clouding my view on everything
and now i am changed
as a result of poverty
second hand addiction
and narcotics
Susan Hunt Jul 2012
CHAPTER ONE: THE DEMISE OF A YOUNG GIRL SEPTEMBER 1975


I had not seen my father in over two years when he showed up at my mom and step dad's condo. He had a slick knack of disappearing when laws were broken and he was wanted for questioning. He had an even better ability to re-enter when the heat was off.

My father owned three nightclubs in Oklahoma City. His first was the Silver Sword, and then he opened The Red Slipper. After he met his second wife, they together, opened the Jade Club.

All were successful, but the Red Slipper had a reputation. On a rare occasion, my dad would take me with him to open up the place. At first, it scared me. It was so dark in there. But as the lights came on behind the bar, I fell in love with the atmosphere.

Bobby Orr’s hockey stick hung on the wall, along with an endearing note from F. Lee Bailey. At six years old, all I knew was that they were the objects that made my dad beam.

I learned to play pool by standing on a phone book. I watched the colorful smacking ***** bounce around the most beautiful color of green I had ever seen. Chalking the stick was a chore, but after nearly poking my eye out once, I soon caught on.

It was a struggle to climb up on a barstool, but it was worth the effort. I sat at the bar and had lunch: popcorn, pretzels, peanuts and Pepsi.

As I grew older, I saw less and less of him, until he became a stranger, drifting in every once in awhile.  Every few weeks or so, I would come home from school, and see his car in the driveway.

This always shot fear and excitement through me. The air of unpredictability always made me want to ***. Unfortunately, most of the time, we were locked out of the house for a few hours, so I would have to *** in the back yard or at the neighbors. We waited on the stairs for the front door to open. And it always did, by my mom. She usually looked satisfied and serene but other times, I saw dread and sadness on her face.

Ever since I could remember, my dad had been a string of disappointments for me with a few indescribable moments of pure enjoyment mixed in between He could be kind, funny and like a real dad sometimes, that was the dad I missed. I tried to hold onto those experiences, even though he was such a mean ******* most of the time. But mostly, I just didn't know him.

Their divorce became final around the summer of 1972, but that didn't stop my mom from loving him. I don't know why, but she chased him frequently, going out to bars with her friends, trying to get a glimpse of him, and maybe more.

The last time I’d seen my father had not been pleasant. When I was thirteen, he broke down the door to our apartment and went straight to my mother’s bedroom. The noises were terrifying. The screaming, and punching sounds were followed by my mother’s whimpering, begging, groveling.

"How dare you do this to me, Patsy!? And behind my back! You could have at least told me!"

My dad had bailed himself out of jail that night. She promised him she would never seek alimony or child support again. Her lawyer was wrong. It wasn’t worth getting killed over.  

Shortly after, he had to leave the state. It had something to do with a low-level mob deal involving an insurance fraud. Too bad, it involved burning a building with someone in it. My dad became nothing but a memory, which faded away over time.

**

Alcohol and tobacco were constants in my family, so when my older brother, Tim, started smoking at ten years old, I don't remember much protest from anyone. I was seven and when my sister Abby, turned ten the next year, she also started smoking.  All the older kids were smoking cigarettes. I wanted to be cool, so I puked and coughed as I practiced. By the time I was ten, I too, was inhaling properly.  Around that time, I was introduced to *** by my sister's boyfriend. It did help my mood, somewhat, but it wasn't enough.

By 1974, I was using drugs from my sister’s boyfriend. John was a true drugstore cowboy. At first, he committed burglaries, which were easy at the time. There were no sophisticated electronics to stop someone from cutting a hole in the roof of a pharmacy. It took only minutes to pry open the safe that contained the narcotics. Then it took maybe another minute to fill a pillowcase full of every variety of amphetamines, barbiturates, valiums, etc.

It wasn’t long before I graduated to using morphine, ******* and then overdosed on Demerol. My stepfather sent me to a treatment facility in Tulsa Oklahoma, about one hundred miles away from Oklahoma City. The Dillon treatment center didn’t accept clients under age of sixteen but made an exception with me. I was a walking-talking disastrous miracle...or a miraculously saved disaster.

They figured that since I was fourteen, the sooner the better to start my road to recovery. Apparently, they didn’t condone sneaking *** and valiums in to the facility. I was kicked out of Dillon after about a month.

I came back home and laid low. I went back to Hefner Jr. High and enrolled back into the ninth grade. I quietly picked up where I left off, going back into business with John. My job was to sell the safe stuff; valiums, seconols, white bennies, ***, etc.


Summer came; I turned fifteen and had developed a tendency to over test my wares. I overdosed and nearly died in the hospital several times, which had led to my current predicament. Nobody knew what to do with me.

In August, I entered the tenth grade...for two weeks. I was expelled, (you guessed it) for dealing drugs. I was on homebound teaching twice a week with little supervision. My mother worked, my step-dad, **** ,worked, and I was home all day. However, I was not just sitting idly around. I was into enterprise.

**

In September, I overdosed again. I was quickly killing myself and my mother didn’t know what to do to stop it. That is why what happened was not my mother’s fault. But it wasn’t my fault either.

I never figured out how he knew where we lived. My mother moved over at least fourteen times in between the time I was six and twelve years old. Yet, here he was, at our front door, with his undeniable ‘ah shucks’ charm. His modesty was convincing. His timing was incredible. My mother stood frozen, her mouth agape. **** took the lead. He placed himself between my mother and father.

“You must be Gary Don, my name is ****; I’m Patsy’s husband." **** had never met my dad, but he'd heard enough about him to surmise who was standing at the door.

"Um, yeah, I'm Gary Don, it's nice to meet you ****", he said; as he offered a friendly hand shake to ****.

"I hope I'm not interrupting you, I was just in Duncan with my parents and they suggested I stop by and talk with you before heading back west. It's about Susie....

"Yes, Patsy said you called yesterday. We weren't expecting you this soon, but it's no problem. Why don't you come in and tell us what your plans are? Patsy, honey, would you mind putting on a *** of coffee?”

This unfroze my mother and she scurried to the kitchen. I was still in shock at seeing my dad’s face. I retreated to the staircase, but poked my head around and caught him glance at me. I flew up to the landing. I could easily escape up the rest of the stairs to my bedroom.
I was small enough to remain hidden on the landing, and heard the conversation between my mother, my dad and ****. **** was the classiest, most even-tempered adult I had ever encountered. I wished I could stop hurting him and my mother.  

My mother sat down two cups of coffee on the dining room table where my dad and **** sat. As she retreated a few steps back into the kitchen, **** politely probed my dad. My dad had the right answer for every question.

He swore he was a completely different person. He had changed. He had no hard feelings, instead he was back to help. He was remorseful for being an absent father and he wanted to make things right. He was back for a reason. He had heard that I was in trouble with drugs and school and he felt guilty for that. He had the answer to my problems. He was so convincing, so….humble, almost shy.

As I listened, I began freaking out with fear and excitement. I always wanted my dad. The last time I tried to live with him, it didn’t work out; he sent me back to my mother’s after a month. Now my dad wanted me! He wanted to save me, take care of me!

He lived by himself now. He was the manager of The Palace Restaurant/Hotel in the little town of Raton, New Mexico. It was a refurbished hotel, built over a century ago The ground floor was an elegant bar and restaurant. He was making very good money, he paid no rent and he had an extra room for me.

With a population of 6000, it was not a place to continue a lucrative drug business. Also, he would enroll me into the little high school and I could get my diploma. I could work in the restaurant in the evenings where he would keep his eye on me. Then, there was the horse. He would buy me a horse. And on and on and on.

The logic and sincerity of his argument was convincing. So there it was. An hour later, my bags were packed. I was going to live with my father in New Mexico.

That’s how in September 1975, my father whisked me away from my home in Oklahoma City, under the guise of saving me from my own demise. I was stolen and held captive in Raton, New Mexico for what seemed like forever.

My dog, Baron was coming with me, I refused to go anywhere without him. He was a tiny black and tan Dachshund. I got him free when I was fourteen, when I got back from Tulsa. To me, he was priceless. He was my best friend. He couldn’t have weighed more than ten pounds, but his heart was huge.

I talked to him about everything and he consoled me by nodding, and licking me on the cheek non-stop…or he would admonish me through his expressions and demeanor. I had lived with Dachshunds since I was seven, so understood their language pretty well. Baron understood humans better. We developed a rare communication that worked well for both of us.
Herman, our older dachshund had greeted my dad cordially. Baron couldn’t figure this out, he expressed his apprehension. He looked at me and conveyed,

“Well, if Herman isn’t worried, I guess it’ll be Okay, right? Right, Susan?”

I was sorry I didn’t have an honest answer. I did my best to settle him.

“Sure, this’ll be fun, a whole new adventure!”

As we drove West, toward the Texas panhandle, Baron kept the conversation going by his curious interest expressed by wide eyes and attentive ears. My dad amazed him with his knowledge of history, geography, geology, astronomy, world geo-politics, weather, music on the radio, literature, mechanics, religion and countless other topics. I knew he was faking his fascination with my dad. He knew he was doing me a favor.

There was not a dead moment in the air. An occasional “really?” expressed by me was enough to keep my dad’s mouth running. I was thankful for that. It kept my attention away from my jangle of emotions. As we drove through the night, I was conflicted, scared, excited, happy and worried. I didn’t know where I was going, or who was driving me there.

My dad’s jovial demeanor comforted me. He made The Palace sound like the perfect place for his little princess.

When we arrived, it was late, after 10pm., Baron was exhausted. I stood on the corner and looked up. I gulped. The three-story building was like an old gothic castle. It was a huge rectangle with the front corner cut back with a fifth wall about ten feet wide. This provided the entrance with two giant oak doors. Baron was less than enthused by its foreboding appearance. I had to agree.

Dad ignored my hesitation. “Come on, you’re going to love this place!”

He pulled open one of the oak doors, which had to weigh at least five hundred pounds. I was hesitant, but thirsty. Baron’s squirming had started to annoy me. I went forward filled with adrenalin.

The initial entrance was a small round foyer with a domed ceiling of cut glass. It was about six feet round. As I stared up at the beautiful little pieces of color, I heard my dad chuckle.

“See? I told you, there’s no place like this!”

Then I saw the true entry to the bar, a set of small bat winged doors that swung back and forth. He pulled one of the doors back, beckoning me forward. He looked down at me with a tender expression.

“Welcome home, honey, this is home now.”

As we entered the bar, I was dumbstruck. Baron was not. I stepped back in time, to 1896, into The Palace Hotel.

The bar took up half of the first floor of the hotel. It was the most captivating centerpiece of the establishment. The mirror behind the bar was the longest continuous piece of reflection glass in all the states, the brochure proclaimed. A brass foot rail extended the length of the long cherry oak bar A few feet behind was a waist high railing just like the saloons in old John Wayne movies.

The carpet was a deep royal red interlaced with black swirly patterns. Bright golden paper covered the walls. It was smooth and shiny with raised curly designs made out of felt or maybe even velour. God, I just wanted to reach over and run my fingers across it!  

The wall opposite the bar had windows that were quizzically narrow and impossibly tall. Lush maroon velvet drapes adorned them, parted in the center to provide a view of the quaint town just beyond the sidewalk.

I looked up at the ornate ceiling, which seemed a mile above me. It was covered with tiles of little angels that all looked the same, yet different. The angels danced across the entire ceiling until it curved and met the wall. I got dizzy looking at them.

“You can’t find ceiling tiles like that anywhere! My dad grinned. “They’re covered in pure gold leaf!”

I didn’t know what pure gold leaf was, but the word ‘gold’ impressed me very much.

He introduced me to the staff. I l blushed when he said; “This is Susie, my favorite little girl!” I had never heard that before. The whole crew greeted me warmly, all smiles and friendliness.  

I always paid attention when Baron got nervous but I chose to ignore him. I jostled him in my arms. My stern look at him stopped his squiggling, but his look back conveyed that I was clueless.

I, however thought, Okay, I have died and gone to Heaven! I was enchanted. My fascination with this magical setting made me feel happy; I was in the neatest place I had ever seen. I’m going to love it here!

On the first night, my dad led me around the ground floor. The restaurant was as elegant as the bar. To the rear of the restaurant, there was a large commercial kitchen. Off the rear of the kitchen, he showed, me a short hallway to the back exit. To the right, a huge staircase led to the two upper floors of dilapidated hotel rooms. A manager’s apartment had been converted from several hotel rooms connected together on the second floor, just above the entrance to the hotel.

We ended up back in the bar and sat at a table for two. Crystal, the head bartender stayed on for a little while longer after the rest of the staff were allowed to go home.

Sitting at the table, he ordered Harvey’s Bristol Cream Sherry. I had never had Cream Sherry before, but it tasted like candy with nuts and I had no problem going through numerous rounds in a very short time. I was hungry but I was too nervous to eat.

Baron, however, was ravenous. My dad fed him little pieces filet mignon and French bread with real butter. He played cute for my dad, sitting up and begging. He jumped up, putting his paws on my dad’s leg, wagging his tail like crazy.

I was a little befuddled until I caught his sideways glance that said, “I do not like this guy, but I gotta eat, I’m starving. You’re the one falling into his into his trap, not me.”

Ouch. “Baron, sometimes I wish you would shut the hell up.”

After having his fill, he settled into a wary sleep on top of my feet. I never worried about losing Baron. Where I went, he went, period.

I wasn’t aware when the bartender left. The bottle was on the table before I knew it; he kept my glass full. I was five feet tall and weighed 106 pounds. I had a lethal level of alcohol pulsing threw my entire body…and I had my daddy.

I was in a haze. Actually, it was more of a daze than a haze. My vision was
Susan Hunt Jul 2012
CHAPTER ONE: THE DEMISE OF A YOUNG GIRL SEPTEMBER 1975


I had not seen my father in over two years when he showed up at my mom and step dad's condo. He had a slick knack of disappearing when laws were broken and he was wanted for questioning. He had an even better ability to re-enter when the heat was off.

My father owned three nightclubs in Oklahoma City. His first was the Silver Sword, and then he opened The Red Slipper. After he met his second wife, they together, opened the Jade Club.

All were successful, but the Red Slipper had a reputation. On a rare occasion, my dad would take me with him to open up the place. At first, it scared me. It was so dark in there. But as the lights came on behind the bar, I fell in love with the atmosphere.

Bobby Orr’s hockey stick hung on the wall, along with an endearing note from F. Lee Bailey. At six years old, all I knew was that they were the objects that made my dad beam.

I learned to play pool by standing on a phone book. I watched the colorful smacking ***** bounce around the most beautiful color of green I had ever seen. Chalking the stick was a chore, but after nearly poking my eye out once, I soon caught on.

It was a struggle to climb up on a barstool, but it was worth the effort. I sat at the bar and had lunch: popcorn, pretzels, peanuts and Pepsi.

As I grew older, I saw less and less of him, until he became a stranger, drifting in every once in awhile.  Every few weeks or so, I would come home from school, and see his car in the driveway.

This always shot fear and excitement through me. The air of unpredictability always made me want to ***. Unfortunately, most of the time, we were locked out of the house for a few hours, so I would have to *** in the back yard or at the neighbors. We waited on the stairs for the front door to open. And it always did, by my mom. She usually looked satisfied and serene but other times, I saw dread and sadness on her face.

Ever since I could remember, my dad had been a string of disappointments for me with a few indescribable moments of pure enjoyment mixed in between He could be kind, funny and like a real dad sometimes, that was the dad I missed. I tried to hold onto those experiences, even though he was such a mean ******* most of the time. But mostly, I just didn't know him.

Their divorce became final around the summer of 1972, but that didn't stop my mom from loving him. I don't know why, but she chased him frequently, going out to bars with her friends, trying to get a glimpse of him, and maybe more.

The last time I’d seen my father had not been pleasant. When I was thirteen, he broke down the door to our apartment and went straight to my mother’s bedroom. The noises were terrifying. The screaming, and punching sounds were followed by my mother’s whimpering, begging, groveling.

"How dare you do this to me, Patsy!? And behind my back! You could have at least told me!"

My dad had bailed himself out of jail that night. She promised him she would never seek alimony or child support again. Her lawyer was wrong. It wasn’t worth getting killed over.  

Shortly after, he had to leave the state. It had something to do with a low-level mob deal involving an insurance fraud. Too bad, it involved burning a building with someone in it. My dad became nothing but a memory, which faded away over time.

**

Alcohol and tobacco were constants in my family, so when my older brother, Tim, started smoking at ten years old, I don't remember much protest from anyone. I was seven and when my sister Abby, turned ten the next year, she also started smoking.  All the older kids were smoking cigarettes. I wanted to be cool, so I puked and coughed as I practiced. By the time I was ten, I too, was inhaling properly.  Around that time, I was introduced to *** by my sister's boyfriend. It did help my mood, somewhat, but it wasn't enough.

By 1974, I was using drugs from my sister’s boyfriend. John was a true drugstore cowboy. At first, he committed burglaries, which were easy at the time. There were no sophisticated electronics to stop someone from cutting a hole in the roof of a pharmacy. It took only minutes to pry open the safe that contained the narcotics. Then it took maybe another minute to fill a pillowcase full of every variety of amphetamines, barbiturates, valiums, etc.

It wasn’t long before I graduated to using morphine, ******* and then overdosed on Demerol. My stepfather sent me to a treatment facility in Tulsa Oklahoma, about one hundred miles away from Oklahoma City. The Dillon treatment center didn’t accept clients under age of sixteen but made an exception with me. I was a walking-talking disastrous miracle...or a miraculously saved disaster.

They figured that since I was fourteen, the sooner the better to start my road to recovery. Apparently, they didn’t condone sneaking *** and valiums in to the facility. I was kicked out of Dillon after about a month.

I came back home and laid low. I went back to Hefner Jr. High and enrolled back into the ninth grade. I quietly picked up where I left off, going back into business with John. My job was to sell the safe stuff; valiums, seconols, white bennies, ***, etc.


Summer came; I turned fifteen and had developed a tendency to over test my wares. I overdosed and nearly died in the hospital several times, which had led to my current predicament. Nobody knew what to do with me.

In August, I entered the tenth grade...for two weeks. I was expelled, (you guessed it) for dealing drugs. I was on homebound teaching twice a week with little supervision. My mother worked, my step-dad, **** ,worked, and I was home all day. However, I was not just sitting idly around. I was into enterprise.

**

In September, I overdosed again. I was quickly killing myself and my mother didn’t know what to do to stop it. That is why what happened was not my mother’s fault. But it wasn’t my fault either.

I never figured out how he knew where we lived. My mother moved over at least fourteen times in between the time I was six and twelve years old. Yet, here he was, at our front door, with his undeniable ‘ah shucks’ charm. His modesty was convincing. His timing was incredible. My mother stood frozen, her mouth agape. **** took the lead. He placed himself between my mother and father.

“You must be Gary Don, my name is ****; I’m Patsy’s husband." **** had never met my dad, but he'd heard enough about him to surmise who was standing at the door.

"Um, yeah, I'm Gary Don, it's nice to meet you ****", he said; as he offered a friendly hand shake to ****.

"I hope I'm not interrupting you, I was just in Duncan with my parents and they suggested I stop by and talk with you before heading back west. It's about Susie....

"Yes, Patsy said you called yesterday. We weren't expecting you this soon, but it's no problem. Why don't you come in and tell us what your plans are? Patsy, honey, would you mind putting on a *** of coffee?”

This unfroze my mother and she scurried to the kitchen. I was still in shock at seeing my dad’s face. I retreated to the staircase, but poked my head around and caught him glance at me. I flew up to the landing. I could easily escape up the rest of the stairs to my bedroom.
I was small enough to remain hidden on the landing, and heard the conversation between my mother, my dad and ****. **** was the classiest, most even-tempered adult I had ever encountered. I wished I could stop hurting him and my mother.  

My mother sat down two cups of coffee on the dining room table where my dad and **** sat. As she retreated a few steps back into the kitchen, **** politely probed my dad. My dad had the right answer for every question.

He swore he was a completely different person. He had changed. He had no hard feelings, instead he was back to help. He was remorseful for being an absent father and he wanted to make things right. He was back for a reason. He had heard that I was in trouble with drugs and school and he felt guilty for that. He had the answer to my problems. He was so convincing, so….humble, almost shy.

As I listened, I began freaking out with fear and excitement. I always wanted my dad. The last time I tried to live with him, it didn’t work out; he sent me back to my mother’s after a month. Now my dad wanted me! He wanted to save me, take care of me!

He lived by himself now. He was the manager of The Palace Restaurant/Hotel in the little town of Raton, New Mexico. It was a refurbished hotel, built over a century ago The ground floor was an elegant bar and restaurant. He was making very good money, he paid no rent and he had an extra room for me.

With a population of 6000, it was not a place to continue a lucrative drug business. Also, he would enroll me into the little high school and I could get my diploma. I could work in the restaurant in the evenings where he would keep his eye on me. Then, there was the horse. He would buy me a horse. And on and on and on.

The logic and sincerity of his argument was convincing. So there it was. An hour later, my bags were packed. I was going to live with my father in New Mexico.

That’s how in September 1975, my father whisked me away from my home in Oklahoma City, under the guise of saving me from my own demise. I was stolen and held captive in Raton, New Mexico for what seemed like forever.

My dog, Baron was coming with me, I refused to go anywhere without him. He was a tiny black and tan Dachshund. I got him free when I was fourteen, when I got back from Tulsa. To me, he was priceless. He was my best friend. He couldn’t have weighed more than ten pounds, but his heart was huge.

I talked to him about everything and he consoled me by nodding, and licking me on the cheek non-stop…or he would admonish me through his expressions and demeanor. I had lived with Dachshunds since I was seven, so understood their language pretty well. Baron understood humans better. We developed a rare communication that worked well for both of us.
Herman, our older dachshund had greeted my dad cordially. Baron couldn’t figure this out, he expressed his apprehension. He looked at me and conveyed,

“Well, if Herman isn’t worried, I guess it’ll be Okay, right? Right, Susan?”

I was sorry I didn’t have an honest answer. I did my best to settle him.

“Sure, this’ll be fun, a whole new adventure!”

As we drove West, toward the Texas panhandle, Baron kept the conversation going by his curious interest expressed by wide eyes and attentive ears. My dad amazed him with his knowledge of history, geography, geology, astronomy, world geo-politics, weather, music on the radio, literature, mechanics, religion and countless other topics. I knew he was faking his fascination with my dad. He knew he was doing me a favor.

There was not a dead moment in the air. An occasional “really?” expressed by me was enough to keep my dad’s mouth running. I was thankful for that. It kept my attention away from my jangle of emotions. As we drove through the night, I was conflicted, scared, excited, happy and worried. I didn’t know where I was going, or who was driving me there.

My dad’s jovial demeanor comforted me. He made The Palace sound like the perfect place for his little princess.

When we arrived, it was late, after 10pm., Baron was exhausted. I stood on the corner and looked up. I gulped. The three-story building was like an old gothic castle. It was a huge rectangle with the front corner cut back with a fifth wall about ten feet wide. This provided the entrance with two giant oak doors. Baron was less than enthused by its foreboding appearance. I had to agree.

Dad ignored my hesitation. “Come on, you’re going to love this place!”

He pulled open one of the oak doors, which had to weigh at least five hundred pounds. I was hesitant, but thirsty. Baron’s squirming had started to annoy me. I went forward filled with adrenalin.

The initial entrance was a small round foyer with a domed ceiling of cut glass. It was about six feet round. As I stared up at the beautiful little pieces of color, I heard my dad chuckle.

“See? I told you, there’s no place like this!”

Then I saw the true entry to the bar, a set of small bat winged doors that swung back and forth. He pulled one of the doors back, beckoning me forward. He looked down at me with a tender expression.

“Welcome home, honey, this is home now.”

As we entered the bar, I was dumbstruck. Baron was not. I stepped back in time, to 1896, into The Palace Hotel.

The bar took up half of the first floor of the hotel. It was the most captivating centerpiece of the establishment. The mirror behind the bar was the longest continuous piece of reflection glass in all the states, the brochure proclaimed. A brass foot rail extended the length of the long cherry oak bar A few feet behind was a waist high railing just like the saloons in old John Wayne movies.

The carpet was a deep royal red interlaced with black swirly patterns. Bright golden paper covered the walls. It was smooth and shiny with raised curly designs made out of felt or maybe even velour. God, I just wanted to reach over and run my fingers across it!  

The wall opposite the bar had windows that were quizzically narrow and impossibly tall. Lush maroon velvet drapes adorned them, parted in the center to provide a view of the quaint town just beyond the sidewalk.

I looked up at the ornate ceiling, which seemed a mile above me. It was covered with tiles of little angels that all looked the same, yet different. The angels danced across the entire ceiling until it curved and met the wall. I got dizzy looking at them.

“You can’t find ceiling tiles like that anywhere! My dad grinned. “They’re covered in pure gold leaf!”

I didn’t know what pure gold leaf was, but the word ‘gold’ impressed me very much.

He introduced me to the staff. I l blushed when he said; “This is Susie, my favorite little girl!” I had never heard that before. The whole crew greeted me warmly, all smiles and friendliness.  

I always paid attention when Baron got nervous but I chose to ignore him. I jostled him in my arms. My stern look at him stopped his squiggling, but his look back conveyed that I was clueless.

I, however thought, Okay, I have died and gone to Heaven! I was enchanted. My fascination with this magical setting made me feel happy; I was in the neatest place I had ever seen. I’m going to love it here!

On the first night, my dad led me around the ground floor. The restaurant was as elegant as the bar. To the rear of the restaurant, there was a large commercial kitchen. Off the rear of the kitchen, he showed, me a short hallway to the back exit. To the right, a huge staircase led to the two upper floors of dilapidated hotel rooms. A manager’s apartment had been converted from several hotel rooms connected together on the second floor, just above the entrance to the hotel.

We ended up back in the bar and sat at a table for two. Crystal, the head bartender stayed on for a little while longer after the rest of the staff were allowed to go home.

Sitting at the table, he ordered Harvey’s Bristol Cream Sherry. I had never had Cream Sherry before, but it tasted like candy with nuts and I had no problem going through numerous rounds in a very short time. I was hungry but I was too nervous to eat.

Baron, however, was ravenous. My dad fed him little pieces filet mignon and French bread with real butter. He played cute for my dad, sitting up and begging. He jumped up, putting his paws on my dad’s leg, wagging his tail like crazy.

I was a little befuddled until I caught his sideways glance that said, “I do not like this guy, but I gotta eat, I’m starving. You’re the one falling into his into his trap, not me.”

Ouch. “Baron, sometimes I wish you would shut the hell up.”

After having his fill, he settled into a wary sleep on top of my feet. I never worried about losing Baron. Where I went, he went, period.

I wasn’t aware when the bartender left. The bottle was on the table before I knew it; he kept my glass full. I was five feet tall and weighed 106 pounds. I had a lethal level of alcohol pulsing threw my entire body…and I had my daddy.

I was in a haze. Actually, it was more of a daze than a haze. My vision was
Willow Hadleigh Jun 2015
You sit there numb and nervous from unnecessary narcotics,
losing feeling of your body yet you move like you're on fire.
With each violent twitch comes a more comfortable comatose.
Letters jumbled,
you type as you are speaking,
mumbled.
Behind a dimly lit phone screen I watch you slip away.
About an old friend that I lost to a drug addiction
samasati Sep 2012
we always want to re-invent ourselves when we feel
rejected, unwanted, left to the side.
we dye our hair or cut our hair or style our hair
so differently, so drastically, so unrecognizable.
we pack on make-up or strip our make-up
or pierce our faces, belly buttons, get tattoos, choose a permanent mark
to remind us of something solid;
something that represents
self-sufficiency or this too shall pass,
because we know we are gonna feel
rejected, unwanted, left to the side again
(and again, and again).
we buy new clothes, give away old ones to our friends,
new shoes, new bags, new look.
and we’re always picking up new vices, new habits, new addictions.
cigarettes, alcohol, razors,
all the late night reckless binges on wine, narcotics, food, cutting ourselves.
sometimes we pick up healthy ones too,
like running, swimming, dancing, yoga, meditating, resetting sleep patterns, taking vitamins, treating ourselves to the spa, eating regularly, getting out of the house to see friends.
we either avoid intimacy at all costs because we can’t fathom
the concept of trust anymore
or we dive into it with practically anyone, just to feel something real
because we are so ******* lonely,
but we never really feel anything real at all.
we make resolutions, goals, plans for our next relationships
so that they won’t follow the same patterns as our last crumbling ones
(they usually still do).
some of us change what we like, what we want, what we need
to impress people so that they
fall in love with us and will never leave us.
we begin disregarding ourselves for another person,
or disregarding everyone else for ourselves,
both because we don’t want to get hurt again.

and then somewhere, somehow after weeks, months, maybe even years of
the full fledged wavering of
destruction meeting recovering meeting ignorance meeting shyness meeting loneliness meeting accepting meeting fear,
we start to see the intricacies of the pattern much clearer -
we make all of these sudden changes because
we just want to feel better,
we just want to be better;
that’s all.
it’s taking charge, which is healthy.
it’s also making fact and point that we need to change to deserve love,
which is unhealthy.
all of it is like learning algebra for the first time,
some of us take a bit longer to understand it all; the formulas, the variables, the balance.
and once we understand the formula, the variables and the balance,
then we can welcome back the beautiful,
real version
of ourselves we’ve been trying to
cover up.
Lyss Brianne Dec 2021
Today Snapchat reminds me
that a year ago you made me smile
and I feel a wave of sadness
for the happy ******* my screen
with tears in her shining eyes
I hear her say that she’s happy
and for a moment I’m envious
of her naivety of love

Today Snapchat reminds me
that two years ago we went
on our first date
but what it doesn’t show
is you showing up late in a ***** t-shirt
your eyes sunken in
and cheeks hollowed
from a night full of lines
and little white pills

Today I am reminded
that for you I didn’t have
rose coloured glasses
instead I had rose coloured irises
I was unable to take off
the admiration I had for you  
so I let myself believe that
what you gave me
was love

I still miss you
like you’re a word on the tip of my tongue
that I can’t quite spit out
and no matter how hard I try
you never show up when I need you to
—you only rear your head at night
long after my head hits the pillow
and my eyes finally rest
—only then do I remember you

I know you no longer think of me
I was never a fond memory for you
there was never a place in your mind
for my naive love stories
but you let me break my own heart anyway
maybe it made you feel something
to watch me shatter
and for a moment
you became addicted to hurting me
like I was your newest high
but like everything else
you grew a tolerance for me
and tossed me aside for the next drug
Life, and other drugs;
Feel the love, and stuff.
You've got the right to get
****** up. You think I'm out
of line? Don't worry, I feel fine.
For reals.

Urban tiger on the prowl,
"Welcome to the jungle,"
Where everybody's a night owl.

Nocturnal habits
of the after-party crowd.
"You're in the jungle baby".
T'survive here y'gotta be proud.

I want to touch sublime, surpass divinity,
Exceed apotheosis to new beginnings;
Extra-terrestrial narcotics binge.
Quotes:
Lines Seven and Eleven from Welcome To The Jungle by Guns N' Roses
501

This World is not Conclusion.
A Species stands beyond—
Invisible, as Music—
But positive, as Sound—
It beckons, and it baffles—
Philosophy—don’t know—
And through a Riddle, at the last—
Sagacity, must go—
To guess it, puzzles scholars—
To gain it, Men have borne
Contempt of Generations
And Crucifixion, shown—
Faith slips—and laughs, and rallies—
Blushes, if any see—
Plucks at a twig of Evidence—
And asks a Vane, the way—
Much Gesture, from the Pulpit—
Strong Hallelujahs roll—
Narcotics cannot still the Tooth
That nibbles at the soul—
MRR Nov 2013
Suicidal tendencies, alleged attempt in 2011
(National Scholar-Athlete)
Bipolar with psychotic features, meds necessary
(President of student government)
Anti-social features, deceptive, manipulative, lying.
(Captain of varsity athletics)
Qualifies as a pickup. Forfeits all rights. Police involvement if necessary.
(President of an all-star rugby club)
Extreme aggression. Any homicidal idealization should be taken seriously.
(Trustee Scholarship to a renown private college)
Narcotics abuse. Marijuana, LSD, Klonopin, *******, Alcohol, Painkillers
(3.7 GPA)
Masks and shields intentions. Deceptive with professionals.
(Active volunteer)
I advise that he be admitted to a hospital immediately
(Participant in community)
Drug abuse counseling, medication, extensive therapy necessary
(Leader of peers)

Diagnoses fly like a panhandlers love affairs

Your inexact science is a disgrace to what I've created

A philosophy based on your experience

Ignoring the dynamic of the human condition

****** for feeling to much

****** for not feeling enough
Marlo Cabrera Sep 2015
Baby,
You were the biggest hallucinogen
I ever took.
I see you everywhere.
mak May 2016
and he was like a drug to her
the more she took
the more she got addicted
Megan Pasnik Sep 2018
hand picked lovers
slide swords down my tongue
piercing pain spills
in my own solitude
narcotics don't help with the blood
swollen, I can't think.
pick the cotton out
piece by piece
until my head clears
until the bleeding stops
Lala Nov 2014
She's alone now
Eaten by her shadows
He only uses..
Together it lasts less
My mouth fills up
How can you touch another
Whilst feeling full?

My chest is Bursting
Your caresses are hurting
She is faithful
Time is collapsing
Spilling onto the floor
I will never find
What the darkness left behind.
Jess t Jun 2010
Heart beating, brain waves erratic
Depending on another to prove you can be loved
Over think like a new theorem
Numbers & symbols & calculations in your head
Try to look back through all the little details you missed
Are you kidding yourself?
Seeking for honesty
Hoping it’s in your favor
Everything seems fine
When you are together
Search for a sign, an inkling
Why do I try to reach out?
Stretching so far just to feel you energy
It’s so strong
Your lips, administer the strongest of narcotics
Paralyzed with your being
When we part, temporarily of course
My vitals change
And my heart & head battle
For reassurance
You make me delusional
The scent of you more powerful than a magnetic field
As you caress my body, stroke my face
I am no longer on this planet
I float with the spirits above
And sadly it cannot be bought
Release me from this paranoia
This addiction
Why so strongly do I fall into your force field?
Is my pull less intense?
Or is it that others just possess an energy more appealing?
You are nothing to be fooled around with
A different kind of beauty not in my realm
But in a parallel
To bring you into my circle would be an extra force in itself
But the lights around you shine so bright
That I’d gladly take the fall
Use my inner being to fight for you
But when it comes back to calculations and figures
One tight hold directly on another cannot compete with various forces in multiple directions
Even superheroes only deal with one villain an episode
Release me from this intangible pull
Because my revolving fire burns too bright
for this ill-distributed chemical bonding
Copyright Jess tallini, 2010.
Lana Leandoer Dec 2014
wrap me in your love,
then rip it away.
i've been feeling lonely these last couple of days.
i've gone to all my meetings,
and i promised to stay clean,
but there's something so intriguing about you,
you evil fiend.
it feels like I'm going psychotic,
but it's alright,
you're my narcotic.
and tonight, i shall OD.
Cory Ellis Jun 2013
Elevate the sound
Slowly and surely
you have to listen
smell, taste and touch
the music

Alcohol? Yes.
Drugs? Yes.
What kinds? All kinds.

60 people in a room w/ worn out walls
an unwanted male is followed by hecklers
the matriarchs have had enough
and bull him to the door

He doesn't want to leave
the party is just beginning
The clowns follow him
like wild hyenas

He fights like a lion
targets the clan of the matriarch
the young and weak

is it correct to aim the violence on the weak
because the strong is of the opposite gender?
Is it right to abuse the rule
Woman: the untouchable

People being to watch
w/ their dying spectators eyes

in another section a large male confronts the house owner
They begin their violent dance of limbs

Swarming bodies collide
violent outburst
chaotic music to accompany
I scream a devils scream
fighting everywhere

Another matriarch
she jumps on the crowd
using a whiskey bottle for a club
dancing on top of the twirling bodies of energy

A pit-bull barks aggressively
people start to jump out windows
everybody is way too high

The fighting stops
with the arrival of cops
nobody listens
their vision of authority thwarted
nobody is arrested

narcotics present
amphetamine fuel

We burned a cross in a large fire half an hour earlier
Bratt M Jones Aug 2015
Surrealism gone Awry


Watch, I open my skull on pneumatic hinges,you must have a hungry compulsion to peer inside and see the steamy tomato soup.
There is a certain blasphemy in believing.
See the dictator swill Avalanche in his mouth.
By decree the narcotics language
of surrealism  states, that in the hierarchy of apples
Those closest to the sun murmur the sweetest, and in dreams the diabolical devil is obliged to meet you, but a committee of angels will arrive with Uzis loaded with enthusiasm... In time!

Surrealism is the proprietor
Of flowers fervently whirling like dervishes until... It is a place where I narrate lovers melting like pennies at the sight of each other, where home appliances long for your touch.

My fetish is my imagination, wild, wild imagination extravagant as your birth child,
Gaudy and beautiful like a coach built  Cadillac by Saoutchick.

Where everything utter is true.

Welcome wide eyed wonder
To my simple things,
Fuel injected heart
Needle and thread
Enameled soul made from a French mind
Small animal pelts and bones for superstition
German precision
With the eye of a Xerox machine.
So one emphatically dream
Emphatically live
Emphatically believe everything uttered is true.
(1965) Transcript

Recorded December 12, 1965 (released 1971, produced by John Judnich and Frank Zappa)

Thank you, thank you, thank you.

Hahahaha, you like this? Be weird I have no pants on…

The ecumenical council has given the Pope permission to become a nun…just on Friday’s.

I can’t work with this thing..it’s a…isn’t that funny? Backstage I really loved it and I fooled around with it, but I can’t it’s too…uh…I’ll work around it.

Does it look religious? It looks sorta religious…

Yeah, heh heh…that’s it. That’s faith and goodness. And veneer.

There’s more Churches, and people that work for the Church then I think there are eh, courthouses. And Judges. So actually what it is, Catholicism is like Howard Johnson, and what they have are these franchises, and they give all these people different franchises in the different countries and they have one government and when you buy the Howard Johnson franchise, you can apply it to the geography, whatever’s cool for that area. And then you pay the bread to the Main Office, and you have to keep a certain standard. Which is cool. But it is definitely a government by itself, and I think that’s what we’re doing in Vietnam. Because the Communists are a threat to those jobs. That’s where it’s at, and I think that’s what it’s always been, that those two factions are always *******’ and fighting with each other, and so actually we have the Catholic government inside our government, and they have this ***** with the Communists because they’re always fighting over the work, you know, and when they take over they do them out of a gig, so what happens is that… because Catholicism is here, and the people who work for it are here.

And that’s another big problem, the people can’t separate the authority and the people who have the authority vested in them. I think you see that a lot in the demonstrations, because actually the people are demonstrating not against Vietnam, they’re demonstrating against the Police Department. Actually against police men, because they have that concept of the law that the law and the law enforcement are one, and it started:

“So we’ll have to have some rules, that’s how the law starts, out of the facts, let’s see. I’ll tell you what we’ll do, we’ll have a vote: we’ll sleep in Area A, is that cool? OK good. We’ll eat in Area B, good? Good. We’ll throw our crap in Area C.” So everything went along pretty cool, everyone is very happy. One night everybody is sleeping, a guy woke up pow got a face full of crap, and said, “Hey what’s the deal here, I thought we had a rule? Eat. Sleep. And crap. And uh, I was sleeping and I got a face full of crap.” So they said, well, ah, the rule is substantive. That’s, see, that’s what the 14th Amendment is, it regulates the rights, but it doesn’t do anything about it, it just says that’s where it’s at. We’ll have to do something to enforce the provisions, to give it some teeth. Here’s the deal, if anybody throws any crap on us, while we’re sleeping, they get thrown in the craphouse. Agreed? Guy goes, “Well, everybody?” Yeah. “But what about if it’s my mother?” You don’t understand, your mother will be the fact, it has nothing to do with it, it’s just a rule. eat, sleep, and crap, anybody throws any crap on us they get thrown right in the crap house. Your mother doesn’t enter into it, everybody’s mother gets thrown in the craphouse. Priest, Rabbi’s, they all go. Agreed? OK, agreed. OK, now going along very cool, guy sleeping, pow he got a face full of crap. Now he wakes up he sees he’s all alone this guy, and he looks and everyone is having a big party. He says “Hey! What’s the deal I thought we had a rule? Eat, sleep and crap, and you just threw a face full of crap on me.” He says “Oh it’s a religious holiday! And, uh, we told you many times that you were going to live your indecent life and sleep all day you deserve to be thrown crap on you while you’re sleeping, and the guy said “*******”. A rule’s a rule and this guy started to separate the Church and the State right down the middle pow. Here’s the Church rule and here’s the federalist rule. OK, everything going along very cool, and guy said, “Wait a minute, although we made the rule and…how we gonna get somebody to throw somebody in the craphouse? We need somebody to enforce it. Law Enforcement.” OK, now they put the sign up on the wall WANTED LAW ENFORCEMENT, and guys apply for the job. “Look, here’s our problem, see we’re trying to get some sleep and people keep throwing crap on us. Now we want someone to throw them right in the craphouse, and I’m delegated to doing the hiring here, and, so, here’s what the job is…They won’t go in the craphouse by themselves, and we all agreed on the rule now, and we firmed it up, so there’s nobody get’s out of it, everybody’s vulnerable they get thrown right in the craphouse, but you see, I can’t do it cause I do business with these ******* and it looks bad for me, you know…So I want somebody to do it for me, ya know, so I tell you what, here’s a stick and a gun and you do it. But wait til I’m out of the room, and whenever it happens see I’ll wait back here and watch you know, and you make sure you kick em in the *** and throw them in there. Now, you’ll hear me say a lot of times that it takes a certain kind of mentality to do that work you know and all that *******, but you understand that’s all horseshit, just kick em in the *** and make sure that it’s done. So it happens that…

Now comes the riot, or the marches, and everybody’s wailing and blopblopblopblop. And you got a cop there who’s standing with a shortsleeve shirt on and a stick in his hand, and the people are yelling Gestapo! at him! Gestapo? You *******, I’m the mailman! Gestapo!?

Now. What it is, I think that the people really want to beat the devil. Where that started was with the early, early missionaries. I think that they didn’t really…that’s why the people never could really separate the authority and the people with the authority vested in them. Because, you know with the savages they would teach them the religion, and after the speech the savage would go, “Well, are you God?” “Well, no…but heh heh, what the hell, you know…well, just never mind that, and eh, I can do you a favor, you do me a favor that’s all and, I think that’s the hang up in our country right now, is that, cause you always hear that kind of story about the peace officer who pulled the speeder over and the speeder turned out to be the governor, and he had the audacity to give him a ticket. So the fact that the people repeat that story, so much, that means the people don’t believe that the governor could ever get a ticket, man. So then it’s just the degree of the law that the governor could break. That means he can kick you in the ***, but it’s *******, it’s really not that way, cause everybody’s vulnerable, yeah everybody’s *** is up for grabs. It’s really a groovy, eh… groovy system, and I think that, well the problem I had a long time of understanding the law is because of the language in the law and the fact that instead of taking each word and finding out the case that the word related to, once when I get lazy, and I would apply common sense. And then I got really ******* up.

That’s really weird, I went to the Supreme Court three times trying to get a writ of mandamus, and they kept sending it back, the clerk, they kept saying what the language said append the copy of order in respect of which the writ is sought. And I keep sending this copy of the lower court, they keep sending me back in respect of which the writ is sought. Then I dug, in respect of which, They use the word “of” like I use the word “to”. And ‘respect of’ means this kind of respect. In respect “of it”. So what they wanted, the Supreme Court, we want our judgement that these cats should respect us.

Now the Supreme Court, right now there’s some ******* now with obscenity. There’s an obscenity circus that’s been going on for five years. And I think, I really can’t believe that it’s not settled yet. An illiterate view of the law is that, what’s obscene is ***** ******* and fancy *******. If a guy can tear off a piece of *** with class, then he’s cool. But if the author depicts factory workers, who are not expertise with stag shows, then it’s obscene. Which is just nonsense. A lot of the confusion maybe with the obscenity laws is this: it’s that, the judges who are confused just didn’t read.
Here’s how it works: if a guy gets busted, see, and he raises a federal question and the appellate court answers it, that answer is mine, and yours. That’s equal protection from the law that decision, that one court. So in 1933 when a judge got Ulysses trying to come in the country, you dig, and the customs and tariff people said uh-uh, you can’t bring that book in, you can’t come in the country, it’s obscene. So these people said, no we want the book to come in and we want to knock of the injunction to restrain and they move forward. The judge said OK I’m gonna read the book, but I’m not gonna apply this Hickman rule anymore. The Hickman rule says that, uh, we should judge this book by the part, the portion of it, to the guy who gets *******, quickest. The most corruptible mind in the community. I think, said this judge, we should apply to the average man, the reasonable man, the man with the normal, average *** instincts. To that cat. Then they add the balance, contemporary, to his average age, so to the guy, the average *** instincts, to his average age, his society, that’s all attested. So that means that that rule, when any judge has to judge any work, he always has to apply that rule first, and that was cool. Now goes, they said, well we better narrow it, because what’s happened here is that there is a lot of works of art, that may get people *****, and there’s a Los Angeles ordinance now in 1961 this guy got busted behind, and the judge said “I don’t need any art critics, I know what’s obscene.” But the judge didn’t know in that local court that that wasn’t the question this guy was asking. He said this ordinance is unconstitutional because it doesn’t have knowingly in it, and that’s the principle of the whole American law system, your intent. So how could I know it schmuck when these people told me in the book jacket that this is art. So it, doesn’t, the intent has to be there. So the lower court said *******, and the Supreme Court said ******* to the lower court. And that’s when I started getting into trouble. Because from ’61 on came the argument between petulant lower court judges and the Supreme Court and spoiled rotten D.A.’s. When they lost the case…the city attorney in Los Angeles, every time he’d lose in Washington, I’d get my *** kicked when he got home. Just *******’, *******’, *******’, and still freed the Supreme Court, they keep movin’ ahead, movie’ ahead, their gonna do it their way. Now comes the California legislature, 1961. And the legislature here are geniuses and they came up with some kappa words. They said, what’s the sense of making the artistic merit of a work the defense to a prosecution? Because after the guy’s busted his *** is in jail. Then he has to defend himself. Let’s take it out of the defense to a prosecution move it to an element of the offense. Now it’s a crime to be utterly without artistic merit. That means the guy who makes the complaint the burden is on his ***, to prove it. He’s got to schlep up 50,000 art critics. And after they, if they would accomplish that…You know a lot of people say, well jeez, can’t you find anything that’s obscene, is there nothing obscene? Why we have this desperate need for it now is so many lawyers lost their *** on it, that it seems only right that we should have it. I mean, can you tell me nobody can commit treason? I mean Christ, then to you nothing’s treasonous. No it’s very tough, it’s very tough to stop the information, that’s where it’s all it’s at. Because the word the guy says is of no consequence. What the Constitution forbids is any bar to the communication system. They want nobody to abridge the right to say it one time, and one time to hear it. Nothing in the middle, nobody to tell you before hand that this isn’t too cool, because the information makes the country strong. A knowledge of syphilis is not an instruction to get it. And only if the country can know about…that’s why the Church and the State have to be separated all the time because the Church only wants a certain kind of information from their government, but since we have a lot churches and a lot of different people in this country, we gotta know about all the bad, bad ****, the worst of everything. The knowledge of it to be protected against it. Because if you don’t have a knowledge of it, and you just know about the good, and they just let the good come through, seeping through what they think is good, you end up like ******, cause he really got ******* around by that. He kept saying, “Am I doing it right?” “You’re doing great, they love you.” “Don’t *******, they don’t like me” “They love you, don’t listen to those liars. **** him, who said that?” You really gotta separate the judicial, executive, and the legislative…and the most dangerous department, just the department itself, is the police, the District Attorney. Not the man, but the department is very dangerous for him. Cause it will gobble him up, and the whole reason for the Constitution was that there was like one King, he was the executioner of everything. So they said how we’ll do it now we’ll really make it safe, we vote on the rule, eat, sleep and crap, that’ll be the law constant, then if anybody busts us for eat, sleep, and crap, breaking the rule, they have to go first to the judge, the judge has to look up the book, and then he’ll make a round robin. Otherwise, no one guy. What happens, two hundred dollar police undercover girl investigation. Two hundred dollar call girls. Now there was no warrant for search. Now the Fourth Amendment and all those things because of a bad kiss *** newspaper have been turning into protection for thieves, but it’s not. It’s to protect the executive branch from becoming thieves. Because what happens, without judicial superintendents, in other words, if, if the executive branch can make any inquiry at all without a judge signing it, then he can go the ***** house every night, and he can spend two hundred bucks a night getting laid every night and when he gets caught, “What are you doing?” “I’m investigating.”

But if he’s got a ***** house warrant for search, then there’s no *******. Then when the crap rule comes in, you, you, you, you, and you, no I’m investigating, there it is, cool. Describes particularly what I was searching for, what the complaint was. Because what happens is that you’ve… the money spent on a two month undercover investigation of hookers…maybe $15,000 dollars,, no when you go to court, the ***** is on the stand she’s not gonna say she got $15,000, she’s gonna say “I didn’t get a nickel!” Cops gonna say, “Well, what do you expect from ******.” Maybe he didn’t get the fifteen grand. And that’s where, that’s always the desperate need to control vice. That’s what all the bull, that’s what all the ******* is. If you check the records, there’s not one citizen that bought a ***** book. Every case has been initiated by the police department. So it’s not literature they, just, it’s a big smokescreen. There’s money spent on those books. A fortune ****** away. How many copies of Henry Miller? And they don’t even read em, so it’s all *******. Uh, five dollars, OK, three dollars, certificate…then when it really gets dangerous is, see, what happens, it’s poor people who, like, get hung up with good and evil, except it’s like, right and wrong. It’s like Prohibition. Chicago is still crippled from that, from the disease of Prohibition. What happened is that the moralists who thought they were moral didn’t realize what was happening, they kept saying “yes keep the Prohibition on” meanwhile the cops are making bread on gamblers, and nafka’s and swinging. When it’s the law out in front, then nobody has any excuse. No priests can be in a *******, blessing, kissing them, saving them. No cop can be, no *******, everybody’s up for grabs, that’s it. Stay out of there, that means everybody, no protecting, no local home rule ******. My position is that, since the Constitution says that, there has to be judicial superintendents, that there, no peace officer has any place talking to anyone or making any inquiry whatsoever, search warrant is prerequisite to the inquiry. Because if he’s allowed to make any investigation, for a noise even, then he’s allowed to make determinations of who looks suspicious, and the only people who look suspicious to Jews are Irish drunks, so it’s all ******* conclusions. Who could look suspicious? So we got suspicious looking people, we got N i g g e r Town, ***** Town, ****** Town, **** Town. Yeah, it’s … you can’t hear the noise, unless he sees the crime, solid. Otherwise he can take the police car, and stick in two ex-convicts, friends of his, and say “Look, here’s the area that I’m sworn to protect. We’re gonna break in this warehouse and I’ll lay outside dead. We’ll haul the **** away in my car, if anyone comes on us, we’re investigating, and if we get caught in the interim, we just caught you. Alright, solid? Solid. Well the Sally Stanford thing for Christ sake, they had a different gimmick there, the guy was off-duty, he had an off-duty detective agency, so that gave him an excuse to carry a piece. Yeah, that’s really…that’s a lot of bread, a lot of money. What’s happening, the crime rate see has disappeared almost, and the task force that we hired, are getting bigger and bigger and bigger. There’s never any layoff in the Police Department. Well, here’s what I think happened to the crime rate. First thing, the basic need to steal is like for coal, you know, you’re hungry, alright, so now the economy is up, so that went disappear-o. OK, now there’s a second need to break the law was for some sign of, you’d have some status, there’d be some virility. OK, the fact that now we have health and safety, give these people analysis, that ******* that in the ***, cause no one wants to be sick. So as soon as it could be helped, that ******* up that whole scene. Now there’s just nothing left.

Narcotics, now they finished with ******. I think in 1951 there was like about seven thousand dope fiends in this state and 50 narcotics officers. Today there probably about 15,000 narcotics officers and four dope fiends. 1500 nihiling, testing stations, lupometers…and they got four ***** junkies left. Old time, 1945 hippies. One guy works for the county, undercover, the other guy works for the Federal heat. OK, so finally they went on strike. “Look we don’ use dope anymore, we’re tired.” “C’mon out, we’re just after the guys who sell it.” “Schmuck! Don’t you remember me, you arrested me last week. I’m the undercover guy for the Federals.” “Uh, I thought he was the county guy.” it’s like ***** running around the tree. He works for the Federal, he works for the County. “Look we’re after the guys who sold it to you, OK” “Nobody sold it to me, I bought it from him, I told ya.” “Um, well we…just point out one of the guys.” “Don’t ya know him? There’s four of us, I told ya that.” “Just tell us the names of the guys, cooperate now. Tell us everybody.” “OK, he was a Puerto Rican. He drove a Green Buick.” “OK, we’ll wait for him, OK.” Three days of that schmucky investigation…”Is that him?” “Well I think it’s so an so…I think he was Hawaiian anyway..” “OK, don’t forget, if you hear from him.” “OK, I’ll call you the first thing.” OK, now they finished up with that nonsense, and they says, “Let’s see now, we’ve got all these hospitals, you mean to tell me you guys are going to ***** up that rehabilitation program? You mean to tell me that you’re, if you’re not using any dope, you certainly know some people that need help.” We don’t know anybody, we don’t know anybody, please…I can’t use anymore dope, I don’t like it.” Well, you really are selfish, that’s really, you really don’t care about anybody but yourself. You know we have a center to rehabilitate people with 1500 empty beds?” “I know I’m ****** that way. I’ll try, but…OK.” OK, so now they’ve got dangerous drugs. Now the insanity in that area, is that the reason that ****** is verboten it’s no good for the people. Its…it destroys the ego.
And the only reason we only get anything done in this country, is that, you wanna be proud of it, and build up to the neighbors, and if the ****** schleps all that away, and the guy goes, the top comment he’ll come up with, the guy who builds the building, is “Hey that’s cool..” and that’s it. So it’s no good. It’s no good for everybody, and that’s why it’s out. But that’s…the Source is no good. That’s where it goes right to the source. But dangerous drugs, the connection is Park-Lilly. It’s Olin Mathieson. The source is not bad for the people, so the only difference between the felon is the guy who can’t afford a prescription. So they legislate against poor people, which is really schmucky. Marijuana…I don’t smoke ****, I’m really glad that I don’t smoke it, I’m really gonna…in five years it’ll be legal. But then no one will smoke it anymore, you’ll see. Most of the law students I know smoke marijuana, that’s why it’ll be legal. Yeah.

You know what I’d like to investigate? Zig-Zag Rolling Papers…Yeah, bring the company up on that. Now we have this report Mr. Zig Zag, certainly it must’ve been unusual to you that Zig Zag papers have been in business for 16 years and Bugle tobacco has been out of business for five years. This committee comes to the conclusion that the people are using your Zig Zag cigarette papers to roll marijuana tobacco in it . Aww, ****, that’s right. Lot’s of it. Rolling it and smoking it. You know, I really felt sorry for that cat, what was his name, Wallen….Grand Kleagle cause it’s a repeat of the Communist witch hunt. The fact that the Ku Klux ****, one guy lynched people, that means that anyone who ever belonged to it and knows about it lynched people, which is *******. So what they do, and it’s really… when your *** is on the pan like that I’m sure it’s really frightening, especially when they take you…did, they didn’t…where did they hold that investigation? Oh, that’s really outrageous then, cause they can’t do that, it has to be in the district, he has to be tried by his peers, no matter what, in his district. Because when you take him out of his district, there’s one trauma, cause you take him in a whole different geography, and Southerners are, they’re people of the Earth, they don’t…they’re…it’s a different country. Religious people, and the talk is different then North, and they’re rappin’ questions at him, and he like hears one out of every ten words. And he just, is really frightened, just… Dig those schmucks, they’re ******* – “You’re really not real Ku Klux ****, you’re not spending the money on rope. You’re having good times with it.” Is that ridiculous? This poor cat didn’t want to admit that he was an American citizen. He kept saying I refuse, I refuse, I decline, and that ******* Time magazine, really make always make it seem shabby, the Fifth Amendment. he declined so many times, he mumbled it, and declined, declined. naturally the cat didn’t want to admit anything cause the last time he admitted anything at the Constitutional Convention the carpet baggers ******* his grandaddy ***, that was it, bye-bye, so he’s very weary and wary of the North, because he knows it’s a whole different scene.

And it’s amazing that the Southerner, has no hostility for the *****, the same way as the court has no hostility for me, they have the hostility for the people that defend me. That’s why they yell all that ****/play drop the n i g g e r, to bug them. So it’s the banner fighting between those two people. Oh. Lotta dues. Lyndon Johnson, they didn’t let him talk for the first six months. It took him six months to learn how to say knee-grow. Nig-ger-oh. OK, let’s hear it one more time Lyndon, now… OK, let him pose again, ok..neig-ar-oh…no…can’t you say, look, say it quick, knee-gro! like that. N i g g e r-oh-oh n i g g e r-oh…I can’t help it! i can’t say it that’s all! I can’t say n i g g e r-oh, ******’ in bed and everything, stuttering, I can’t, what the hell, big n i g g r o-oh nahg-raw…let me show em a scar…no no no. Just say it, and say it, that’s it…yeah, he’s completely confused. Well, really, that family is so…that’s really…there’s a certain kind of non-Jewish look, that, they could pass any test. They are the biggest non-Jews in the world. No question they walk right through the line. The wife with the white flannel satchel, a zipper up the front, with red nail polish…she’s beautiful. She looks at home in a trailer park. Yeah. Dig.

There’s…here, it’s so strange. Not the people necessarily involved with the religion but the religion itself, Catholicism. A genius religion. Three years ago I was wondering, I used to do a bit, four years ago, Religions Incorporated, so my view at that time was here’s a rich church, Catholicism, next door is poverty, so it’s hypocrisy. Obvious view, So I started digging, digging, reading really getting into it, and I realized, the reason for the baroque Church, the grand Church in the poverty neighborhood, is that, what the Church is is a school, it’s a method of instruction. And people who have no understanding, who need instruction, don’t know about Philosophy, they can only understand material things. So a raggedy *** guy won’t go into a raggedy *** temple. “I live in a *******, why’d I gotta go in one for?” But if you show him something nice he can understand then you can instruct him. So the ecumenical council really are geniuses and they make some tremendous moves. So I figure there’s a group looks to undermind them. Somebody talked Lyndon Johnson’s daughter into converting. That sent the religion back two-thousand years. That dress she had on, she looked like a Guatamalen slave. Real Philomena at the wedding there, with it’s, terrible, looked like a National Geographic picture. He’s-uh…yeah he’s it’s…showin’ his scar is beautiful, that’s just-uh, that’s just where it’s at, he’s a **** kicker. He’s just a….Yeah, it’s a…it was a mistake. Yeah, cause the presidency is a very sophist….Kennedy was just, yeah just a genius at organization, a sophisticated man, and sophistication just means knowledge, learning a lot of background there. And the other guy is, uh….I’d like to get some tapes of those people, what goes on…yeah, that would really be a treat to hear them. I was just thinking of the guy, you know the picture of Oswald when he got shot. That’s Lyndon Johnson’s relationed face to the other guy, with the big, you know that guy with the hat on? Like a big Texan, “Oh ****”. To be that obvious, to be able to react, “OHHH EAAHHHUH”. Check out that practice, so you don’t get yelled at. “UHHHH UH EAAAHHHUH” You know, why Ruby did it, uh, this is subjective, but….cause he was Jewish, and uh….You know I really wanna…I’d really like to tell you that, I wanna tell Christians that…that….Why I can tell it to you because it’s all over now, ya know. I wouldn’t cop out when it was going on, but it’s, it is all over now. Up to about six-seven years ago there was such a difference between Christians and Jews that, but maybe you did know. But…you…shewww…forget about it, just a line there that was just…And the brotherhood of Christians and Jews was like some fifth column *******, I dunno, it was like a phony dummy board. Yeah, because…No, I don’t think so, I don’t think the Christians did know it, because only the group that’s involved…it’s like the defense council knows it because he has a narrow view, where the D.A., he’s hung up with a bigger practice, so it’s the same with the Jew is hung up with his **** and maybe the Christian…because, uh, when the Christians say, “Oh is he Jewish? I didn’t know, I can’t tell when someone’s Jewish” I say well that’s *******. But he….can’t, because he never got hung up with that ****, you now, who is he Jewish, and Jews are very hung up with that all the time. Why Ruby did it, see…when I was a kid I had a tremendous hostility for Christians my age, the reason I had the hostility is that I had no ***** for fighting, and they could duke. So I disliked them for it, but I admired them for it and there was a tremendous ambivalence all the time of admiring somebody who could do that, you know, and then disliking them for it, and the neighborhood that I came from, there were a lot of Jews so the problem, there wasn’t a big big problem, and my elders were not concerned with punching. But Ruby came from Texas, and a Jew in Texas is a tailor. What went on in his mind, I’m sure….”If I **** a guy that killed the President, the Christians will go ‘Shewww…boy what ***** he had! We always thought the Jews were chicken **** but look at that. A Jewish Billy the Kid rode out of the West!'” And the Christians will hug him and kiss him, and love him, and boy they’ll say ‘Oh boy he saved everybody’. But he didn’t know that it was just a fantasy….from his grandmother, telling him about the Christians, who punch everybody. Even the shot was Jewish, the way he held the gun, it was a ***** Jewish way. Ha ha! Real d’Artagnan. He probably went ‘nah’ too, that means “there” in Jewish, “nah. Nah” Yeah, it’s…and Belli didn’t um…he forgot the geography. No, it’s the same kind of law, it really is in the words, you just have to speak them slower in that area and you have to dress…there’s just a few kinda changes, but they don’t change the substance of the law, it’s like, as good a case as I can have with you, if I pick my nose, although it’s not dishonest, it’s just gonna lose it, ya know. So Belli didn’t wear the right suit, because anybody who’s suit fits em good in the South looks like a **** ****. And he should have known that but the fact that he was offended with the judge chewing tobacco, see, cause that’s the natural thing down there. There was like a ***** picture I saw going around and it said “This is your local Police Department” and it showed some kinda cops in a Southern place, and they were laughing and the guy, oh, smoking a cigar, that’s was it. But that’s just the behavior in the Southern court, and the fact that everyone was laughing they don’t know that Southerners are just…they’re child-like in that area, they’re not sophisticated with picture taking. They see a picture, you smile. That’s why they’re always smiling in the pictures , they’re not arrogant, but they’re just, you’re supposed to smile when you take a picture. And the Northerners are just hipper, they do the cool…So Belli trying to sell those jurors anything, the voir dire must have just broke their *****, you know. That qualifying must have really got ’em good and crazy, you know you have two days to…whadda ya….yeah any attorneys here forget that, the…If I was an attorney I would grab the…here is here’ll be my pitch to the jury. First place, no qualifying, I pick… no challenges at all. First jurors come up, there the jurors. “You jurors, you people think a lot of the community because you vote, and that’s why you’re jurors. Give’em all a hundred bucks a piece and get ’em laid, and that’s it.” I’d be a terrible Law Professor, “What’d he say at the end there?” “Give’em a hundred bucks and get ’em laid.” “Professor, can we talk to ya…the conclusion that you made there, give ’em a hundred bucks and get ’em laid” “Yeah, yeah get ’em laid, it all counts.” “But that don’t fit with the beginning of the conversation.” “Well it’s all *******, you gotta figure round.” “Ah, he’s bottled out, get him..” Yeah, Belli talking to those people, he sounded to that jury like the Southern attorney would sound to Greek-Irish-Italian Northern jurors. “Look here now Jurors, I like Italian people, that’s first off, I see we got some Italian people here by the…I’m gonna take you, a little story now, this buck n i g g e r and this Jew boy wahhhhhh! “What’d the hell everybody get so hot for?” “Just shut up, don’t say anymore.” “What’d I say, it’s a cute story, everybody gets a kick out of it.” “No they don’t, just shut up….I can’t explain it. You look South, you’re hairs wet, I don’t now what it is. Just dummy up, that’s all.” uh-huh….F a g g o t s….Dig, isn’t the argument against ******* that, what the pornog–selling the *******, making it available to the public, is that the man is happily married, or he’s just a happy cat, and you come along now with some matter that the main ****** of the matter, the predominate appeal is to his prurient interest, and what you’re doing is entrapping him, you’re inciting him, something that the guy wouldn’t be thinking about ordinarily, you’re getting him *****. You’re getting it up, and you’re not getting it off, and you’re creating a clear and present danger and it’s worthless…and so that’s the objection to it, and that’s a valid objection. But the consistency necessarily follows that the guy who–when I hear about f a g g o t s who get arrested in toilets, and I say, “How’d you get arrested in a toilet?” “Well, I accosted a peace officer.” Well, ha-ha, that’s certainly no concept of reality there. “Well I didn’t know he was a peace officer.” “Whaddaya mean?” “Well, he didn’t have a uniform on.” “Well he wasn’t wearing a costume was he? He wasn’t wearing a low-cut gown, because what a low cut gown to a f a g g o t must be is tight Levi’s and a padded basket, like uh…I mean, he wasn’t wearing Levi’s and leaning up against the ****** like sultry like that…cause if he was that’s *******. Because he was appealing to your prurient interest, and entrapping you. You can’t do that. It’s a funny thing all the different stages that we’ve all…my generation was, well…me, I’m amazed by any guy who can go into a public toilet and do anything but **** and leave. Guys who can wash their hands are amazing to me. I just go ehuhehuhwwwshhhupout. Don’t ‘I want to talk to you’ “Not in there, are you kidding?” Yeah, cause if someone says, “What are you doing in the toilet?” “I don’t know…” “The hell are you doing in there? Did you make?” “Yeah, I did it…” “Alright, now hang around here, okay..”

So I saw, dig what I saw, a beautiful change. I went to…Phil Spector had like a big rock & roll jamboree at Tammi’s, filming it, so I went there and I see this ten year old kids there all kids, like nine and ten years old, with no parents. So my first thought was like, what the hell, unattended, but I saw it’s like a whole different generation, everything was very cool. Nine and ten year old kids! It’s ten o’clock, eleven o’clock at night…My generation, children out at night, lurking in the bushes….I would never have the nerve to talk to any strange chick. She’s a really beautiful chick, I’d never have the nerve to hit on her. In a house, somebody introduce, solid. But guys who can like drive past in cars and go hello even, the reason I have never had the nerve is that my mother and my aunt, the way they reacted to guys, the way they told me, everyday they would come home and tell me stories about some guy that was behind the bushes exposing himself. There was a band of dedicated perverts who spent their whole life in trick positions…”Ok jim, whoo-hoo hello lady there, eh bup-bup the bushes there, ok aging seven you’ve got your position by the book, eh the newspaper, you flash, the hat, ok…you-hoo here we are here! Find the schmuck in the bush. Yeah. invidious discrimination. All waiting for them. So I know what everything is. I said “Nema, you’ve got the market cornered! We’ll film these guys, I mean they’re amazing how they…the elevator doors open up “Whoo-hoo here we are!” How do, when they separate my mother and my aunt, one’s running and so and heh, and pocketbooks, and they’re ready, boy. That pocketbook. I figured that after all these years they were really ******* stories, like little guys always telling about, “And I said you big ***** you.” Those little guys will always tell you about they knocked the **** outta this big guy, so it’s my mother and my aunt telling me this nonsense story about a pocketbook ‘and I give a hamayoupow.” Maybe that was a ***** lie, telling me they were good women everyday, right. Missed a guy, and I give em a good pocketbook, a ***** ******* pocketbook at everybody. With a good parrot scream byeahhh!! Eh-heh! I know my aunt never did it to anybody. Ever. I just know it, I know I know I know. She was bald. My aunt was bald, the bald headed lady. Little teeny teeny hair. And wrinkled. And a cameo. A little little lady, she was very neat. And go “krinphkrinphkrinph” like that all the time. Krinphkrinph. There aren’t those kind of people with tics anymore, someone who go, guys really like, drive across country with those guys you’ve really had it. Ticcers, heh-ha. They’re gone all those. I think midgets are gone. And they’re only certain kinds midgets who are real midgets. They’re are no Jewish midgets. A true ****** is, he’s got ***** blond hair, and neat as a pin. Little brown shoes and they’re this big. I wonder if….are Pygmies midgets? Colored midgets. Wonder would a colored cat get offended, listen any relation between Pygmies and midgets? Wouldn’t Governor Wallace ****? Demonstrating, a bunch of Pygmies. Ahhhhgh! Give em salt, give em salt, that’s all, that’s a, yeah…yeah, it’s really…Little teeny midgets, those kind I’m talking about, they’re really patties. And where do they get they’re bread from? Who supports them? They don’t pay any income tax at all. There’s a lot of people ******* our government. So don’t be too nice to them. Cause we’ll drag you up before the House of Un-American Activities Committee. Just by encouraging them, by omission. It’s your duty as a citizen to bust their ***, and demand, “Where are you getting your money from?” They hate to be picked up, they hate that. That’s why I hate them, they don’t want to be hugged. Heh-heh, I picked one up, see, and he got mad. “Put me down!” “Ok, but you’re so cute, I pick ya!” They comb their hair with soap. Bela Lugosi’s son is an attorney. Is that weird, he passed the Bar. He must hear those ***** jokes all the time. I loved that, when he got arrested, he was a dope fiend, Bela Lugosi, I almost ****. The Monster. He was the worst advertisement for rehabilitation, he was a dope fiend for seventy years, he cleaned up and dropped dead. The scene is…I was gonna relate him to Christ. Did you read that in the paper? Was it geologists, this is a vague recollection I have of it. That it was the custom at the time, Christ was crucified, for Jewish women to give the people who were about to be crucified a drug that would put them in a death like trance, and that this happened, that Christ’s mother gave him the drug, and that he was…that’s, wow. That’s amazing if that’s true. Ruby gets paid back. How the ***** and the Jew got into Show Business. The ***** had a boss that worked him twenty hours a day. So he wanted to get off a couple of hours, and the guy “Get back to work.” “I don’t feel good today.” “Don’t mind that ******* get back to work, back to work.” He kept coming up with different gimmicks, “my kid’s sick” “back to work.” Couldn’t–kept trying to come up–how can I “Hmmm hmmm ohhh Lord” “Hey! I didn’t know you guys could sing.” “Ohh oh Looord ohohhh Lord.” “Hey, put the *** down, come over here, lemme hear that again.” “Llooord oh my Lloorrdd” “Can he sing? He sings” “Ohhoh Lloorrdd.” “Hey get some wine, this is ok.” They partied, and the weeds went over everybody, right? And sang their *** right off the farm. Now the Jew had a hipper boss. You couldn’t ******* the Egyptian that quick. No. Jew kept working at it, working…”Never mind the horseshit, thank you, we’ve got the pyramids to build and that’s where it’s at. We’re gonna get it up, it takes your generation, next generation, you do a nice workman like job, here.” “Oh thank you.” “Get outta here with that horseshit, now stop it now. Becoming very fine, very fine.” What a gig, right, you know you got another forty years on the job, shewww…what, that’s a, shewww…you still can’t get a piece of straw through there. So the Jew kept working at being charming, working at it, even though he never carried it off, but he got so good at it that was his expertise. “Hey, let’s go watch the Jew be charming. Hey Jew, do that charming bit for us there. We know you’re bullshitting, but you do it so good we get a kick out of it.

So now the Jew has got theater. He’s the actor. He’s the charming actor. Now he has the show business industry knocked up. He has the film industry, he controls it, he’s writing the pictures, making the images that people are the good people and bad people.

Now you never see any Jewish bad guys in movies ever. Ever, ever. And you see a lot of pictures about Christ, a ton of religious pictures. In the most respectful position. And the reason that is, I’m sure, the way of the Jew saying “I’m sorry.” That’s where it’s at. And I wanted to do a film showing, because I’m sure that day in the cell, it’s just like, it’s in the tank, you know like four, five, six people in the cell there, and there was Gestas, Dismas, and okay they’re gonna get crucified, this guy was probably crapped out in the corner, Gestas and uh…”OK, you two.” “What?” “You’re gonna get crucified today.” “Oh, get my file down here, that’s *******.” “Ok, get ready all you guys, you’re all getting crucified in this cell.” “Look, I’m the good thief, what are you bullshitting me for, I’m in here for checks!” “C’mon you get ready, you’re getting crucified.” “Heh-heh, I’m not getting crucified, get my file down here. I’m the good thief, I’m here for petty theft, you understand? Checks. I’m not gonna get crucified now. I don’t know what the hell this guy is doing, but, uh, good luck to him.” OK, now he sees their getting them all ready and they’re moving him. “Hey! What the hell are you kidding with this ****? I’m not getting crucif–hey, mister, do me a favor, there’s a mistake here, they think that I’m with you for some reason here. Christ says, “Don’t worry you’ll be with me.” “C’mon with that, I’m not with you, now tell em, c’mon it’s no joke now, we’re going up the hill here.” He’s praying, and everybody’s praying and pushing him. “Hey c’mon wit—get the Public Defender. C’mon this is ******* now!” Now they’re up on the cross. “Hey mister, please before it’s too late, do me a favor, ok? Tell em?” He says,”Don’t worry, you’re with me…” “Stop saying that, will you? I’m not with you, ok? I mean I’m with you, I like you, but stop telling these ******* that I’m with you. They think I’m with you means that I’m with you, that I conspired with you, I don’t know. Look, don’t be pushy, I like you, ok? I don’t know what you’re talking about, I woke up I’m getting crucified, I’m here for checks, I can’t get crucified. I’m being denied due process, I’m entitled to do my time for checks first. And I don’t wanna get crucified, I can’t go now, ok? I’ll meet you later. C’mon, don’t be pushy now, okay? Okay, mah? they all went. And the guy came back…”Hey? You’re right. I knew you weren’t bullshitting, but heh-heh, I had a lot of faith in you, but you meet a lot of weird people in the joint, you know? You relax, I’ll talk to the press, that’s all. Then he started to wonder about if the Messiah is gonna come back. Moses is hanging it up. They tried to get him back like five times already and he will not come back because he’s embarrassed. Charlton Heston is 6’3, he’s 5’1. And he’s vain. “I can’t I’m a schmuck…” “It’s what ya got up here” “Nah…I ain’t got no clothes anyway, I’ll look weird. And I’ll get my teeth fixed.” “Nah” The Pope is too much. He looks like the Birdman of Alcatraz and Eichman combined, yeah. He waver…”Arrive arrive…” He’s really cute, he’s a little bird, bloobloobloo….I wonder what was goin’ on in his head there. Spellman looks like Shirley Temple. That’s what I got in trouble for in New York, for saying that. Heh-heh…but a Priest told me that! That’s what burns me up. Ha-ha! That’s what really ****** me off. That’s a spynce Shirley Temple. Ha! That’s funny Shirley Temple, that’s good imagery, right? The Post Office. Do you know how much I love the Post Office? I love the Post Man so much. I really feel that’s the only place where the authority and the man are one. That’s the man, they’re incorruptible. I don’t know anybody who knows the Post Man’s name. They’re really snotty man, it’s a…who’d have the audacity, “Come on over have a drink, leave the truck there..” I feel that the Post Man, the people that work for the po–and it’s amazing, no, there’s no, they’re maintaining any order there, no police authority, just cool Post Office. There’s always a Japanese guy behind the registry window and zaszu…Heh, it’s a trick thing to have a treaty, one ***, one szchupbupup, heh! I know, that they’re the true Law, because with the Law, the Law’s not concerned with your purpose, with how noble it is. And the Post Man wouldn’t let a package go three cents light for the Rabbi’s Priest’s ***. He won’t get off it jim. “Are you kidding you want all those people to die for four cents?” “Sorry, knupk” Who would have the audacity to ever to try to cross that line? “Look I know where the package is..” You kidding me with that? “Open the box up right now, it’s mine…” hmm-hm. No one would even say that to him. Even if he had a gun, hmm-hm. There’s always a certain kind of wait, always somebody…if I ever heard of a theft at the Post Office I’d die. “What?” “Oh yeah, they opened up the mail and they’ve been reading letters, and…” “Nyaugch” Like that, Post Office, going through snow and sleet. But they don’t like when dog’s bite them. That’s one thing they won’t put up any ****. The dog bites? That’s it, we’re not delivering anymore mail to you. Dig what ***** the Sheriff in Sacramento county had. His dog bit the Post Man, Post Man said no more mail, he said ******* we’ll give you no more protection. Haha-ha. Schluffa they don’t need it. They got the stamps hidden.

I have a book here I want to show you. Debby is a Nun. It’s another trick, a little Lyndon Johnson trick. This is a Bess magazine. What if he catch me reading this **** all the time? “This is your reading material?” “It certainly is. Photoplay, are you kidding?” “You’ve got guts!” Editorial page, ayda-eda look at the ads, Cutex, World’s Most–oh it’s all lady kinda ads…Adjustable Dress Form…I didn’t finish the story about uh, the Nun story here, lemme find it…there’s no more movie stars. Doris Day. Rock Hudson. Why Elvis locked himself in his bedroom for three days. Patty Duke. The few: There’s too good to be true, that’s the end of the two stories, now the fold out Post Man, heh-heh. Smart. The Study of Art. Hudson. Blew it, there’s not an interesting thing, I can’t lie to you. Try one more time. Okay, let’s see…Dorothy Malone’s First Interview After Her Brush With Death. Frozen. Look at that balcony up there…hope none of you guys are doing your usual chicks in the balcony. Don’t bring any heat on me, you know. Do your pervert stuff in the newsreel theater, but not…no, ya gotta time and a place you know…..heh. Ok, oh ok, I Increased My…With The Fabulous Mark Eden method I increased my bust measurement from a 34-B to a full 36-D i just eight weeks. They always give you time limits right? Just so you know you got something to look forward to. Ding-boom. Barbara Hayes received her Mark Eden Bust Developer and course on April 1, 1965, on which time her bust measurement was 34-B and eight weeks later n May 20, 1965 her bust had increased to a full and lovely *******! A lovely 36-D! That ***** is hunchback. But we kept our promise we didn’t say it was comin’ here somewhere. The Mark Method just builds your back up. This amazing increase–I know that they put–they, the guy that makes the copy for these must know that these are gonna be read in jail because that’s the onlybody who’s got time to read all of that ****…hah. Just forever and ever and ever. This amazing increase in bust size and contour is achieved solely through the faithful use of the Mark Eden bust developer and of course during that time Barbara was adding these firm and lovely inches to her bustling, her weight did not change, her eating and living habits did not change, the only change she made in her life was to spend a few minutes each day practicing the fabulous Mark Eden method. Her bust line developed in the privacy of her own home. As you can see from her after, in quotes, photo, she has certainly achieved a most attractive, full, and shapely bust line for her efforts. She wants real numbers like that, hunch over, elbows pushing forward there, and standing on her head. Uh, Barbara Hayes is one of the many many hundreds of women across the United States who have ordered the Mark Eden Bust Developer and who through its use, are reporting gains–that’s good devious writing. Barbara Hayes is one of the many many hundreds of women across the United States who have ordered the Mark Eden Bust Developer comma and who comma through its use comma are reporting gains of two three four and even more–that one letter we got was tough. She says “You name it, it’s not stopping.” We get letters from women who were flat chested and now feel like real women for the first time because of Mark Eden…Who are you Mark Eden? A **** rascal, you, hah-hah.” Are there any real **** left? **** your silicone. Are they real? I told you they’re real. How will I ever know though? Will you take a lie-detector test that those are your own ****? Yes, I told you. I can’t believe, you can’t….they’re too real to be real. Here’s the thing, this-this, I don’t see any chicks that turn me on anymore, ya know…but think, I ah-h, here’s how I now I’m getting old, cause I really did go through, I says, I haven’t seen any girls that really stimulate me, that look good to me. And you, it’s really corny, but dig what I miss: lipstick and powder. Is that weird? I like em with paint on em, ha-ha! To smell like ladies. Lily, lipstick, and powder. Now if I really get ****, pancake makeup. And a cheap, black, crepe dress that’s low-cut. Make a book up, see, and the book on its face will look like….it’s one of those very erudite How To Make Out, Same-*** Marriage, those kinda nut books, ya know. But if you follow the instruction of this book, you never make out at all. Ever. Really constructed so that’s a zero no-score. Sell it for $45 in plain wrapped brown paper. Now in it says, it says, Instructions: Always go over the house for dinner and meet the folks. And don’t forget when you go over the house and meet the folks, you compliment, and it’s just the dialogue the guy is supposed to use, say, say to the father, you know, “Oh Mr. Johnson, boy your daughter’s got a terrific shape on her, ha. God bless her, boy she gotta a body I’m telling ya. And your wife has got a nice shape on her too.” Then, when you’re out on a date, they like little jokes, it’s, then there’s a certain kinds, maybe not for this generation, my generation, certain kinda things that you just couldn’t say, just verboten, that just cringe, embarrassing things, that no one ever, here’s a kinda….stab your heart joke. Just keep saying’, “Whaddaya got the rag on?” Keep saying that, they like that, they get a kick, they like people who are frank, “Whaddaya got the rag on? Whaddaya got the..” keep saying’ it all night, that’s ah okay. And then, when you’re in the car, if you just ask them in a nice way for it, just say, and be cute about it, use euphemisms, double entendres. Say, “Oh, I wonder if I could get some nookie?” That’s very cute. “Oh boy, I wonder who’d give me some nookie, boy I wonder.” And they just think that’s so cute, and you’ll get it right away. And just say extra things, like “Boy I would, would I appreciate it, hah, that always, boy I’d appreciate that boy. I’d tell everybody what a nice person you were too.” I think that, a lot of marriages went West, ya know they went split up, uh, my generation, ladies didn’t know that guys were different, I mean different…it’s very tough for chicks to realize that although we speak the same language, that yer, you can have babies that’s j-j different ya–your so, it’s like, no guy ever cheated on his wife, ever. But ladies….would get hurt and wanna leave the husband because they thought the husbands cheated and they never did cheat because what cheating means I know. To a lady, it means kissing and hugging and liking somebody. You have to at least like somebody. Guys that doesn’t enter into it, all the time, no. Ladies are one emotion, and guys detach, not consciously detach, but they just do, detach. Like, a lady can’t go through a plate glass window and go to bed with you five seconds later. But guys can have head on collisions with Greyhound busses. In disaster areas. Everybody’s laying dead on the highway, not in the hospital, in the ambulance, guy makes a play for the Nurse. “How could he do a thing in a time like that.” “Well I got *****” “What?” “I got hot.” “How could you be hot when your foot was cut off?” “I don’t know.” “He’s an animal! He got hot with his foot cut off.” “I guess I’m an animal, ess-es-eh…” “What didja get hot at?” “The Nurses uniform..” He’s a *****, that’s all, he’s just an animal, he’s a…. No it’s…guys detach, and has nothing to do with liking, loving. You put guys on a desert island, they’ll do it to mud. Mud. So if you caught your husband with mud, some how you could get over seas there, “Mmuudd!! Don’t talk to me, that’s all….you *******, leave me alone, that’s all. Go with your mud, have fun. You want dinner? Get your mud to make dinner for you” that’s all. That’s-a it’s just that’s you can’t get angry at them, you can’t wanna leave them for that at all, no, it’s hum…You know, and that’s just subjective, in retrospect I really got a kick out of it.

Getting divorced, the only true get even device, because I’m really convinced that no guy ever leaves a chick, you know. When chicks get cold, they really get cold, sshwooo…That’s, it’s over, really, when it’s over with them it’s really over, and guys can’t ever figure that out, they always figure there’s one more time there. And the guy is like, ss-I can’t-ss, well, I boump-boump-boump. Yeah, cause-eh, here’s what I figure it is, you always hear chicks say, ya know, “Oh I wish I could meet a man, someone with some dignity, a guy I can walk all over, you know, can really be a man-a man” but chicks don’t know that, it’s, guys are like dogs. You know you take a dog, you beat the **** out of him pow! ” Keep a “NEUUH-NEUUH-NEUUH”. Pow keep coming back. Ladies are like cats, you yell at a cat once, Siamese cat, shhhht their gone. So that kinda quality that ladies are looking for, you really want a guy to act like a lady. Cause those are lady like traits, that kinda ***** and they don’t need anything. I forgot what the **** I was talking about…heh. I blew it completely. Where was I? I went up to za-zuh…hum…hah. Those television shows, really. Once in a while if I lose it you know and then try to ******* and do this a while but then if it’s really gone it’s gone, so….Ya see, that’s where, the problem of being a performer, and a Judge can get away with that ****, ya know. “Hmmmmmnnn”, you know just completely dunked out, ya know. “That’s, I’ll take that under consideration” yeah, yeah. Let’s see I was here….oh, oh yeah I got it, good. I won’t lose it again but I’m trying to think where the thread of it was…oh yeah, OK. The Get Even. So the only Get Even you can have with a chick, cause they leave you, are the kids. That’s the only Get Even, that’s the sweet revenge: Get the kids. But you can’t be that obvious with it, you know, just get the kids because I want to get even with you, you ******* you. So the, all the struction, the foundation is “I went over there the kids wet” heh. Schmuck, then all of a sudden “The kids, I’m not gonna, the kid’s not gonna live like that, every time I go over the kid’s wet, the kid’s wet. Everytime, the kid she don’t take care of the kid, the kid’s wet, and uh that’s it. I’m taking that kid away from her because the kid’s wet. She’s having guys over there. “You saw any guys?” “No, but, when the kid’s are wet, that’s it. Take the kid, I got custody of my kids now, I love my kids. You’re not gonna be with that ***** anymore, blah-blah-blah…” “Where are the kids?” “With my grandparents.” Very good, uhm-hmm-hm….Now it’s, usually what happens is break up time, just like the first…if you’re gonna break up with your old lady, and ya live in a small town, make sure you don’t break up at three o’clock in the morning cause your *******, there’s nothing to do. You sit in the car all night, park somewhere. Yeah. So make, at least, ya know, make it about nine in the morning so you can go to the five and ten and ******* around and, worry them a little and come back at seven at night, ya know….”Oh, yeah never mind….I’m getting an apartment, that’s all, that’s eh..” Yeah because if you, eh, a bad break up then it’s like a long time break up. If you’re married seven years then you gotta kick for two. Oh yeah. I think there must be a mitzvah time. i think if you’re married fifteen-eighteen years, you get divorced, then you must lose your mind. Yeah they get senile, then they people, they get whacked out. There’s a certain critical area they’re married about seven-eight years where you really throw up for a couple of years. No really just “ORGHJK-YKKGGHH”, you know. And, the weird, if you broke up and you go anyplace alone, there’s always mamzers who ask you about you’re wife. “Where’s your old lady?” and I said, Chinese restaurants, “Where’s Momo? How come you don’t bring Momo in here anymore? Such a beautiful girl, where’s Momo?” “Look, I’m divorced.” “Oh, you better off. You don’t need her.” Where’s Momo…Now if you, go back together, the danger time, and here’s back to the religion again. There’s only one person you’re supposed to confess to. They are. Not anybody else. Priests, solid. But not husbands. They have no authority vested in them to hear any truth. So don’t listen to any of their ****, ya know, because what happens, when this–go back together, guy calls up, “Hello Vera, the only reason I called you, you left some of your crap over here. I don’t know a handkerchief, a gloves. Listen I wanna come over, we’ll shoot the ****, let’s see. Pay the tax bill.” Alright, back together, maybe kissing time, hugging time, in bed time. After bed time. “Hey Vera, uh, when we were broken up, didja make it with a lot of guys? Don’t be silly, said I don’t mind you can make it with anybody, don’t ******* me….what the hell, it’s good for the goose, good for the gander. We were legally separated, I made it with a lotta lotta chicks, you’re entitled to make it with a lot of guys. I’d just like to know, for the hell of it, didja make it with a lot of guys? Howmanynanac’mon don’t ******* me, I’m not gonna hit you now, I wanna know! I’m not gonna get mad, just for the hell of it, who did you make it with?” Don’t tell him, don’t cop out. Never cop out, if they got pictures deny it. Flat out. Just tell ’em it was some *** hair dresser, that’s all…thatsezya. Because if you ever do cop out, oh yeah, shih-shooo! “C’mon I’m not gonna get mad, tell me, I’d just like to know for the hell of it.” See, that’s what chicks don’t know about guys, that they…it’s that entrapment. Maybe it’s because their father’s did that to them. “Just tell me, who? Him? Pfff…I don’t give a **** but, but this is….that’s a shocker, that’s heh…heh, that’s the only thing is that it shocks me, I’m not mad but it, sfyeh what a kick in the *** that is, like…how the hell could you…you know what, you know why it shocks me cause you told me that you didn’t like him, you told me you didn’t want him over to the house, and ya go…how could you make it with him? That fat, disgusting piece of–you **** pow. There’s a Peace Bond, schlepping away time, ah yes, with the Jewish mother in the middle with the teeth flying out vah-vah-vah!! The chenille robe, and uh…Yeah, that’s a…ha-ha. Wouldn’t this be, always wondered if ya get married again, the only problem with ever getting married again, if ya go, you have to go to some country where pfshhh…you have to marry somebody who speaks a different language and doesn’t speak any other language. Cause just in case, no but you’d always be afraid cause when your with the second old lady then you might say something in bed, and your wife would jump up behind the bed, “You aaa—-you said” oh god, “how could you say that to her when you said it to me?” “I just ******* her, I don’t love her…I just said that cause I knew you were behind the bed, that’s all.” Uh-huh…Jewish mothers, there are none that’s the expose. Oh another expose, I really want to confess to you one thing you never knew about me and….I have a pen name. Ralph Gleason. I’m Ralph Gleason. And I always wanted to uh, and you’re taking it good, I always thought you’d get ******* at me for that. In fact I wrote the column for years and just drifted into this and decided I’d like to do a little comedy on the side and uh, you liked me and I thought I was doing good, so what the hell a few write ups don’t hurt anybody. And uh…you’re taking it good, that’s lovely. I want you to know that, another thing too that I’ve never been in jail, never been arrested, that’s all borshit. What it is see, I got a publicity agent that’s dynamite, and we have nine phony cops that work for Pinkerton, and we go from town to town the same *******, ya know. I get busted, I write the column the next day, and that’s where it’s at…heh. A few words now about Alaska and their stupidness…and ind-a…Alaska, don’t know if you know it or not, there are people up there that we’ve given a lot of money to and try to help them. Given a lotta lotta money to Alaska, to create some kind of image, we gave them statehood and they’re morons. They got one image, after all these years, some schmuck in front of a shack holding a fish knock. That’s all they’ve come up with, and some other nonsense fantasy that hookers get two-thousand dollars a minute for talking to people. If you probably go up there there’s ten-million stranded ****** waiting to talk to somebody. “What’s the deal I thought there was supposed to be some talking, or…we just got *******, right, there’s nobody? Just hookers up here….and Admiral Byrd. Heh-heh, he don’t go for a nickel. Now here’s a thought, I-I-I’ve….this is hearsay. Somebody told me–see they were using–the report was monkey glands on people, so you know, rejuvenate them, they live longer. Ok, now somebody told me they came back from Mexico, that they’re using human glands. “So-oh yeah? Well where do they get them?” “Has to be from live people.” Well people, there was–dying, and uh…it’s very expensive. So that’s what I said, what does it costs about a thousand dollars ya now…so I got hip, a lot of people are dying a lilschip-schzzch that’s uh, oh yeah, the hospitals a lil-bop-plah-bup, yuh, he’s dead, he’s almost dead, the hell is-uzza….Sure you’re gonna see is the more demand, the first place the state insane asylums are gonna be emptied out quick psshhhh! Yeah, that’s the first thing, all the nuthouses emptied out. All died very quickly, oh yeah, definitely. Because, all we have to do…see our moral concept is what’s–what, it’s–what’s accepted, what we will agree upon, that’s what the moral concept is. We–if we agree, that…killing a few will save the biggest, then we’ll agree on it. Like that’s–that’s was the objection that Catholicism had for many years, that contraception is ******. It doesn’t matter the degree of the ******, but-but since we all agreed on it now, contraception–*******, it’s cool. So it’s just the degree. So..if it comes right down to it, if we wanna live a little longer, it won’t-it won’t be accepted, just the sophisticated class, the gentry will cook with it first, ya know. Yeah, “Listen, I know a place and it’s ya now…” Yeah, and as soon as–the first time the government control–then they’ll have the farms. Yeah, raising people to, uh, to live. It’s a good liver, good heart, yeah. You’ll accept it, yeah, you’ll see. When it comes right down to the go-you go bye-bye, “These people don’t know anything, they’re raised for that purpose.” “Yeah, ya sure?” “I’m telling you…they like that.” Heh-ha! OK. “I wanna paper saying that he gave it up…oh and I can’t take the guys liver and his heart and his *****, all that stuff?” “Sure, are you kidding, he’s better off without it. He gets it the next time, don’t you know that? Nine thousand years I’ve been living now, it’s a…yeah, it’s a…schhhwoo….”
Blue R Lake Mar 2014
a Survivor with a Second chance not a wasted soul laying in the gutter.
Maybe letting go will forever be a challenge.
An addict for life, with  to a word of temptations.
All i Want is to be seen without my past maybe just on my merit.

Really can't  forget what i have seen in my using life. Im seen Intimidating to most, like a grizzly bear that stands six foot four.
I can only forgive because there is to much pain in holding onto anger.
Will always help those that surround me.
Chosen friends are usually seen as my real family.
Brought back to life multiple times only because I am loved.  
Won't judge another even if its socially acceptable. In my eyes its just unforgivable..
Selfless user that always got used for a honest heart...that won't go out and use again...
Billo Feb 2013
No, it's not voices that I hear

There are no muttering whispers of
hate or fear or sadness, guilt or regret
fluttering into my ears (yet)
- as romantic as that may have sounded
to you

I am not ignorant
to the fact that my restless habits
draw attention to me
with drawn conclusions
...and you
outdrew me

Sadly
there are more than walls that drift into
my line of sight
to my chagrin I find myself spied by those
with more curiosity than any sane person knows

(There is some overbearing self-entitlement
that accompanies the search for
a sign of light
in the face of another)

When I make eye contact, it is simply to feel grounded in reality
and I bet I project this desperation unwaveringly
when my eyes flicker briefly toward those of a stranger

They may sense something mysterious in my shiftiness, though I do not suffer
from the ennui that great artists
are compelled to quell
with narcotics

Nevertheless
folks wonder what my great art could be
what I am in touch with
that renders me unable to be at peace
with the world, as they are

So far I am no great artist
- narcotics would thus drive me further from peace -
instead I'm a poor scientist
synthesizing faulty chemicals

All these molecules my body loves to make
keep me scanning the surroundings
I hurl my horrible hormones at
obsessively

This alone causes me little grief
I've learned to I live with it - in my own way
I've grown detail-oriented, though so have noticed where some issues develop

The real problem arises in that unlike other harmless strangers
with their pleasant perfumes and caring colognes
the charmless hormones I assault the world with are compromised
like all of my chemicals
which (like you) have come to be this way
simply by my being alive

So along comes a compassionate soul
glimpsed through the eyes of a passionate fool
wishing to uncover what bothers me
to discover a potential lover
or to learn what leaves me turning
from them

Some end up pursuing a friendship
or become determined to prompt a long stare
for the deep longing that should come with it
brave the frigid winter or save this timid author?

Not wishing to hurt or offend them
I spend time in their company
yet fail at the delivery
of what should have been progress toward
shared shivering feelings
experiences with meaning

They leave me, seething

No, I hear less and less voices
it's a wordless taunting that haunts me

It's the sound of someone behind me shuffling into a jacket
as if we have just caught up over coffee and said all we could

If I turn toward the sound, it's gone
there is nothing there
and if I don't, I hear the wretched entirety of it

Arm into sleeve
jacket over shoulders
across the back and
the next arm slides in
Zip, snap
That's that

I've felt compelled to face the departing presence for so long
as if to clear my throat and acknowledge or protest its inevitable departure
but it leaves anyway
(...you did)
Jo Hummel Aug 2014
I really want you to love me.
Or maybe it's just 3:33am.
Julius Jul 2011
Whirls of smoke have sidled our brains
Leaving emptiness
Nights of withering inconsequence
Tinted with ghastly strokes of melancholy wit
As we grasp for more, addicted
Believers in merriment, but to no end

Fooled. The past has gone
Ah! But we are stuck, bitter nostalgics
Laughing at the times past, when we strove
Happy, for entertainment,
And stumbled'pon narcotics
I feel I have seen the failures in our ways

We've no love like we did once
But you each remain
Staunch defenders, heads spinning  
Single minded in your quest
Sober you are morose, reticent
But what merriment is brought?

Why did I take this rending smoke?
For these tired looks, into nothingness
As we recede into bubbles of self-indulgence?
We disconnect, and throw away all reciprocity
As weeds paucity causes faces to turn yonder
Or to themselves in sadness.

Is it that we are dying?
Or will be be forever stuck, in this eternal stupor?

What can stir us from these technological wonders
That light our faces in our self-absorbed, transfixed stares?
With comfort paramount, and misery found
In repressed echoings of a warmer, better place, away
From the throes of competition fought with tooth and claw
For meaningless aspects

Far from the yelps of laughter
The endless, choked machinations
The giggles and dreams of helpless schoolboys
They are only found to us when **** is plentiful
Those days have receded, like us
Away from our sight and our thoughts

We don’t embrace the life we give eachother in company
As we could, no,
Stinginess and selfishness are first
We don’t create a sound
As much as we engulf others
In our stream of subtle consciousness
Is this what you wish for?
A world of these faces staring, cold, tired
Is this what you think of?
When you dream of some stoner’s Utopia?

Or does malice engulf us too much to look upon ourselves as we do others
With phased memories that act as barriers to progression
And our life.                                                            ­                                         My friend
Your flat face may turn from this to silent, personal mutterings
Of cursed levity
As you are cursed with a ghostly heart.
You should not utter a word of revile
Or turn yourself up in sneers

Trust in what I tell, with honest roused from my soul
And do not take it in passing
Like you so turgidly and heedlessly do all things
Crying hope shattered in these passing moments
With evil beyond compare,
Incarnate in your expression,

Do not, my friend
Look upon me with the icy malice of derisiveness
Nor with the shallow, empty eyes of hedonistic senselessness
No, brother, instead realize
With momentary individualism, the gravity, at least to me
Of these words. I speak morbid
Of my, our humanity, in our restless silence
And our uttered oaths and in our artifice of the tongue
And in all things that shiver my blood to even think of

If it is so that our acquaintance is founded on a passionate whim
On a fairy’s wing, on the smothered apparition of a dream
And not grounded in earthly brotherhood,
Reposed of efforts of the mind
Then this is the end for us, brother
For I will no longer cut my heart across this herb, turncoat
As you have, in its infirmity
And cold infer’nality

— The End —