Is it something I said (final chapter)?

In the original chapter of this subject, I wrote of Vince. This past Saturday, Vince died. Or should I say, Val. Val Hufft was his real name and he was an old and dear friend. That makes two down in two weeks. Eric, then Val. The creator must have something special in store for me. My Brother, my son and two of my best friends go before me. Wow.

I'll write more later. Now is the time for reflection...

Satellite systems up - 3... 2... 1  Reflection complete. Proceed to data entry...

"Welcome to the real world."

I said "Welcome to the real world."

Are we rushing like the wind?

Naked out and naked in.

"Welcome to the free world."

I said "Welcome to the me world."

Are we rushing like the wind?

Put your loving arems around.

Did you lose your faith in God, no?

Does your conscience always get you down?

Fall to pieces, rough and tumble;

Does your conscience always get you down?

These days it's all in the mind;

It's Elemental.

Don't say you're up when you're down;

Tears for Fears said it so well in the song, Elemental. Does your conscience always get you down? I planned to write about how Val and I celebrated Going through young adulthood and how we handled the onrush of adulthood. Val was a close friend and we celebrated many "firsts". Since I claim fifth amendment immunity in the majority of these situations, I can only say that there are some secrets that went with him when he passed.

Seeing him lie in the hospital bed, a hollow shell of what he used to be. Just Monday night I brought Karen over to meet him. He was alert and I was able to step around the nursing staff and bring him some ice water and a fresh straw. We talked in the language that, frankly, only he could decipher. Save a few sentences that made sense, but made no sense. I never got to say good bye for real. I stood at the door on Saturday, December 26th, and just watched him. His breathing labored as he took each breath as a strained gulp. My only thought was that he was going to die alone in this room. Little did I know that it would be in less than three hours... What a screwed up legacy he made for himself.

I hold it there. To one of my closest and dearest friends, I hope you've found peace. I know, first hand, the misery and the demons you kept tucked back behind the firewall you built out of your life. Your desperation showed. That's right, you could not fool me. Not about that. But it matters not now. You've moved to greener pastures and a better world. Hopefully, we shall meet again, my friend. I love you, Man. Farewell...

Please Come Home for Christmas...

It has been said, 'time heals all wounds.' I do not agree. The wounds remain. In time, the mind, protecting its sanity, covers them with scar tissue and the pain lessens. But it is never gone.

Rose Kennedy

Here we are on Christmas Day in the year of our Lord, 2009. For Christmas, I prayed to God that the events that took you away would somehow reverse themselves and that you would come back to the arms of the people who love you so dearly.

 

But, alas, as I sprang from the bed in the early morning hours, you were not to be found, cept in my heart. IT'S JUST NOT FAIR! IT'S NOT FAIR THAT FATE TOOK YOU FROM US! IT'S NOT FAIR THAT YOU, THAT'S RIGHT, YOU PLAYED SUCH A DANGEROUS GAME WITH YOUR PRECIOUS LIFE AND LOST! Now we are all destined to live out our lives in the shadow of what could have been. The hope of what you could have done. The love we all had for you, quashed.

 

My heart and soul are filled with those wounds. Bur scar tissue has yet to form. My sanity still walks a very fine tightrope. I still strive to catch a glimpse of you. In a shadow; in a dream; in a new picture that I've never seen before.

 

But no matter what, I still love you with all of my existence. You shall always live in my heart. May your Christmas be glorious, wherever you are, my son. I love you.

 

Funeral for a Friend (Love lies bleeding)...

I lost an old friend on December 1st. It touched me deeply because when I had tried to contact him after my second marriage, which it the last time I saw him, I was told that he had died. What a cruel trick to play on someone.

He went with a nondescript obituary and not a photo to go with it. Here is where I pine over lost photos in Katrina, as I had pictures of us together. He was a visionary thinker, and influential friend and one of the kindest people I ever knew. He was always soft spoken and gentle to those he came into contact with. I will miss the thought of him and deeply regret accepting the word of someone concerning his death when I should have verified it. To be absent in his last days seems like a betrayal.

This is my tribute to you, Eric Lugenbuhl. Great friend, never scared to take a risk, crazy SOB... May you rest eternally in a better place.

he would have been a man today...

Oh, how my heart hurts today. Twenty one years ago today we brought you into this world. We spent so much amazing time together, only to have it ripped away by careless individuals content to see your life's candle snuffed out; satisfied that what they did was acceptable in the eyes of God and man and able to live with the guilt knowing that they took you away. But we will never forget. We will never forget what happened and how you were taken from us. Justice will be served.

HAPPY 21ST BIRTHDAY, PIERCE

WE WILL ALWAYS LOVE AND MISS YOU

Someone I know is now someone I knew...

I love Henry Rollins. He puts into feelings into the same words I would put feelings into. He's on my top ten list of people I'd like to meet. And I know Pierce liked his stuff. And that says a lot because Pierce was a perfickity little sucka. But we did hitch up on music. Music and Paintball.

So much loss
So much pain
So much sorrow
amd so much strain.
So much anger
So much rage
No the sadness never fades.
You're gone
I'm left to move on.
Seems like I'm saying good-bye again,
Seems like I'm saying good-bye again,
Seems like I'm saying good-bye again,
Seems like I'm saying good-bye.

So we continue to pound the ground every day. driving in the car, a song comes on and triggers a memory. My eyes well up with tears at the thoughts of how we shared that particualr soneg.  Watching Palladium and a concert comes on with Satch and I think instantly of you and how you worked so hard to learn to play the "Mystical Potato Head Groove Thing". The tears fall down. The tears fall down. Seems like I'm saying good-bye again. That's the most difficult aspect of losing you. Every time one of those wonderful memories comes to mind, it seems like I'm saying good-bye one more time. While it keeps you alive in my heart, it is painful. The only place I can express it all is here in this blog. They'd never admit it, but everyone else is mostly tired of hearing me pine over you. So I come here and pen my feelings. My own version of Pulp Fiction, except for one thing. You're gone and won't be back. There's no fiction there, only fact. I miss you so much. We all miss you. What will I do on Monday? What will I do with the Ying to your Yang. But a parent should never see the Yang of their child.

In the way you look, tonight...

All the things you did to endear them to you. As it comes closer to your birthday, Son, I think of all the photos that I have of you getting ready for or at a function. With all your friends surrounding you as you goof off and pull you hijinks. It nears the day when you entered this world back in December of 1988. My little Texan. I'm sorry that I couldn't afford to put the memorial in the paper this year. Things haven't exactly been fabulous in the financial department. But we do what we can do and we make it by as we can.

You were so happy on the day you graduated from Ben Frankilin. The time we spent at Mandina's and the pride we felt when you stepped up on that stage... Christ, I miss you. The pain will never subside. I know that now. I have almost come to accept it. I still have dreams where you are still here with us. They're SO damn realistic and vivid. But as I come from the dream world to the world of the awake, my heart sinks as I full realize that it is not going to happen. But it does not mean I miss you any less...

Wherever you are, I'm thinking of you. I always think of you. So if you can feel or hear my thoughts, you know that this is the truth. The reckoning will be coming soon. Those people who did you wrong shall feel the wrath of Bella'al and they shall get what they deserve. In time, my son... in time...

While Monday is your brithday, it is also a rebirth of sorts for your brother. He starts with the Kenner Police Department and is looking forward to a career in Law Enforcement. But you already know that... I know that when he grduates and stand tall on that stage, you will be there with him. In spirit and in soul; in heart and in feelings; you will be there for him. I only wish I could stand with you both with my arms around you. That would make it perfect...

Tomorrow the plow becomes the sword...

Well, I have something to be extremely proud of today. My oldest son, John, has passed the long and arduous hiring process of the Kenner, LA, Police Department and is scheduled to start with them on Monday. This is a great accomplishment for anyone to meet. Although that really wasn' the hardest part of the whole ordeal, it was in preparation for what is to come. As an ex-law enforcement officer, I know what to expect for him, in general. He will now enter the training academy to eart his POST Certification. This is a gruelling and character building ordeal that will shape his future and earn him the spot he has sought since beginning the process.

"I'd have to be a warrior,
a slave I couldn't be.
A soldier and a conqueror,
fighting to be free."

Wishbone Ash - Argus

CONGRATULATIONS TO JOHN, FROM YOUR DAD!

And catch the grey men when they dive from the 14th floor...

                                                       When Black Friday comes
I'm gonna dig myself a hole

Gonna lay down in it till
I satisfy my soul.
Gonna let the world pass by me

The Archbishops gonna sanctify me

And if he don't come across

I'm gonna let it roll.
When Black Friday comes

I'm gonna stake my clain

I guess I'll change my name.

Gosh. Our version of (ooooooh) BLACK FRIDAY has come and gone and there weren't many bodies left in it's wake, But in social conscience, the name should be changed next year. Call it something more condusive to business and shopping, please. "Shoppers Friday" or "Retail Sale Friday". Black Friday has the undertones of death. It conjures up visons of the Crash of 1929, which saw brokers jumping out of the windows of skyscrapers because the were finished.

Yeah, right. Now we affectionately refer to this pigfaced and poor example of how we have turned into a society that can act like animals as fast as Pavlov's Dog. "Attention Wee Mart Shoppers! We have Rodeo Bob dolls, complete with testicular action for THIRTY-FIVE cents off! Get them while they're hot!" Meanwhile, two female shopping imbeciles slap and pull each others hair while their moronic husbands stand by and laugh at them. "Looks like Tuesday night ECW, eh Bra?" "HA! You is right, Boy! My Betty sorta looks like the Junkyard Dawg!"
                                                                

No one appreciates how our society is the luckiest, most productive and most advanced society in history. We have things now that would have gotten most people burned at the stake five to seven hundred years ago! A simple BIC lighter witnessed by the wrong person would have you at the guillotine for heresy. You make fire and Satan is the only one who can make fire at will, therefor you must be a relation to Satan. AHA! Kill him now. Televison - WHAT!?! You must be mad. Faces and figures in a box that talk!? By Hells Bells, this is demons in a box and only could be the work of Beelzebub! Stick his skinny white ass in the Iron Maiden! That will give him some "entertainment pleasure", courtesy of Mel Brooks and the Inquisition dancers.

The woman in the black and white shot with her two kids in the "dust bowl" was a stark example of pioneer spirit. She didn't give a shit about Barbie dolls or Malibu Mike and his kung fu shorts. In her eyes you can see desparation and the worry that only a mother can show when her children are suffering and she cannot alleviate that for them. It shows in the little girl's eyes; a faraway gaze with a side order of hopelessness. They sit with all of their worldly posessions around them. They don't care about Lord & Taylor and know nothing of any Blue Light Special. This is their Black Friday; their entire life at this point is a Black Friday. We are spoiled rotten and overgrown children and have no idea what it means to really do without. Myself included!

So how do we get out of this death trap we're in? We don't. People are inherently selfish and will never give up their comforts. End of story. No happy endings. Sorry.

BUT! All is not lost. Give what you can; help when/where/who you can; sacrifice something that really means something to you; deliver meals to shut-ins on a holiday; give of yourself. And above all, don't do it for the recognition. Humility is the key to Heaven...

She's a talented girl; She's got her head down tight...

With the week comes the day that strikes fear in the heart of every turkey in the United States. Well, not every turkey. Old bastards like the one shown at right are hiding their asses out deep in the forest. They are thumbing their combs at hunters who furtively don ultra-camo and use squeak box calles that are supposed to sound like a Miss Turkey giving her holler for fun. More like Miss-take.

Now at the turkey farms where the turkeys that are bred and live for the sole purpose of propping their asses in the middle of a family table for our celebratory Thanksgiving dinner. Hell, some may even get lucky and end up packed in styrofoam and delivered to some poor shut in as part of the local charity "Meals on Wheels". God bless them, for they give their lives to sustain the life of a higher being. Ya. Sometimes I wonder who the higher being is.

Enough about turkey. Let's talk about Pilgrims and Indians. They were both present at the first Thanksgiving. Let's do a quick study. We'll start by looking at a Pilgrim... Ladies and gentlemen, Mr. John Wayne. Now if he isn't the best example of a Pilgrim you've ever seen? Everyone reading this just HAS to be able to conjur up the mental picture of the Duke letting off a hearty, "Well, Pilgrim, it's about time we got along with them dogies! Hop Sing! Where's Mrs. McClintock? Well, find her now and tell her that her husband wants to see her! Chop-Chop!" Off runs the Chinaman to find an irate Maureen O'Hara in her Kelly green, looks-like-a-drapery, dress. Of course she's perusing the fabric at Smythe's General Store and Dry Goods and is supremely ticked off because of her lummox of a husband dared to summon her. She storms off to meet Wayne/McClintock; stumbles in the middle of a fight and ends up falling down the wash with Dukey, both of them covered in mud. Seems to me there was a customary toss over the shoulder, slap on the bottom, and walk to the bedroom. Well, Pilgrim, just what did you expect from Mr. Wayne?

Now we come to the guys who have worn many hats over the years since we came to these shores. Native Americans, Indians, Injuns whatever! They were here first and were quite right to be worried about our pale faces landing here. But instead, the story was made up about hoofy-hoofy Thanksgiving. Awwww. We all came together and made snoo-snoo and ate turkey and baked apples and they didn't slit everyones throat. But you can believe that our forefathers were eyeing up our native brothers and looking for an angle in which they could gain some kind of edge in this new world the landed on. Bottom line is that we were semi-civilized and came from a land with mud streets and plagues and unchilled meat. No refrigerators and no Gatorade; religious persecution and people who, although they came to a new world to escape religious persecution, would be more than happy to hammer the cross of their redeemer right in the forehead of these red skinned heathens. This would be necessary to prove God's point. Unfortunately, God had told the Native Americans a different story.

MORE TO COME...

i hate it when i can't find the words

I hate it when I can't find the words to describe how I feel. I hate it when I cannot express myself without getting angry. I hate it when that anger is based on my inability to control my emotions. I loathe having my heart fall from my chest and hit the ground like a child tossing a water balloon. The most helpless feeling in the world is lack of trust. Why are there emotions and who and the Hell invented them? God? What a cruel display for a loving creator. Emotions are the root of all things evil. It's as though we live in the movie, "Seven". The Seven Deadly Sins are merely the excess product of human emotion. And at the root of it all lies love and anger. I hate myself when my anger consumes me and I can't bring it under control. I hate my anger when I can't control it long enough to realize that I am only making a situation worse. No matter who is at the center of it.

Is there anyone capable of controlling free will? That's also what fills emotions. I believe it's just how God and his Angels, not only test us, but create their amusement. Toss a bit of anger at the human monkey and see how he reacts. If he stands tall and handles his test with aplomb, then they leave him with a gold star in the Book of St. Peter. But just let him screw it up and they throw a couple of curve balls in there. The target of his anger turns round and pitches a pot full of teasing at him. Does he handle it well or does it make his blood boil and spew more anger from his heart? What's a man to do?

"But first, are you experienced. Have you ever been experienced? Well, I have..."

Despair is like forward children, who, when you take away one of their playthings, throw the rest into the fire for madness. It grows angry with itself, turns its own executioner, and revenges its misfortunes on its own head.
- Pierre Charron

The mass of men lead lives of quiet desperation. What is called resignation is confirmed desperation ... A stereotyped but unconscious despair is concealed even under what are called the games and amusements of mankind.
- Henry David Thoreau

D     E     S     P     A     I     R

To understand despair is to have never really experienced it. In the cycles of my days, my various maladies reach out at different points. What they are trying to do is a mystery to me. Today, despair is my companion. Through the events of yesterday and today, the obsessive-compulsive disorder built up inside me like air in a childs balloon. It fills and fills until the latex turns the color white on its way to tearing at one point with a characteristic, "POP"!

So just what does one do with this? It's a juggling act in your psyche; a walk down the balance beam with an off-weighted pole. When more than one psychiatric illnesses converge on you at one time, it can literally throw you off your feet. Bipolar Disorder; I hate that name and always did. Makes me feel like I've got a disease that places half of me at the North Pole and half of me in Antarctica. Manic Depression; now THAT'S a name for a disease that fits me.

Manic Depression's touching my soul,

I know what I want,

but I just don't know

(how to go about getting it).

Feeling, sweet feeling

drops from my finger, fingers

Manic Depression's captured my soul.

It's straightforward and right to the point. No mish-mash or pussy-footing around. You're MANIC or DEPRESSED or BOTH AT THE SAME TIME! WOW! Sounds like it needs more cowbell! "or", he said in a fit of piped blue edging, "you can rapid cycle which is pretty much self explanatory, I THANK you!". Not to be confused with, "IWANTOTHANKYOUFORLETTINMEBEMICELFAGAIN". Thanks to Mr. And the Family Stone. So now that we've established the fact that I live life in a ping-pong game. I never know who will be laying a paddle on me.

 

So we can go on to the next ugly ogre that haunts the space in my skull, OCD. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder. Yummy! This hits at various stages of severity, depending on the day of the week and the severity of my stress level. This is also one of the most misunderstood mental maladies that I have. That's my unlearned opinion, of course. I do know that it does get me in the most trouble with everyone and everything. I get in particularly hot water with my Honey. I also like the really stupid names they have for forms of OCD. Anal Retentive. What in great horny toads is that supposed to mean?

 

When I was much younger and before I had been diagnosed as having faulty circuits, I remember watching a Saturday Night Live sketch with Phil Hartman (RIP). He was cast in "Cooking with the Anal Retentive Chef". I can recall wondering what the shit was anal retentive? Some kind of butt trouble? Then I saw how he threw out all the little things that I was great at doing. Hand washing; obsessing over stupid things like PRINCIPLES; (Principles are good? Not when arguing with a Security Guard over your ability to park in a loading zone while he's handcuffing you!) The placement of objects; Cleanliness; a whole list of things that continue to drive me stupid in more ways than one. At the severity level that I enjoy it, though, it's called OCD.

 

Then there is the one that is the most mystefying to me, Schizoaffective Disorder. The DSM III says, "it represents one of the most confusing and controversial concepts in psychiatric nosology". Yep. That's me, alright. What I can determine is that you have schizophrenia and manic or depressive episodes all at one time.

 

Taggart: I got it! I got it!
Hedley Lamarr: You do?
Taggart: We'll work up a Number 6 on 'em.
Hedley Lamarr: [frowns] "Number 6"? I'm afraid I'm not familiar with that one.
Taggart: Well, that's where we go a-ridin' into town, a-whompin' and a-whumpin' every livin' thing that moves within an inch of its life. Except the women folks, of course.
Hedley Lamarr: You spare the women?
Taggart: Naw, we rape the shit out of them at the Number Six Dance later on.
Hedley Lamarr: Marvelous!  

Now. My despair isn't gone yet. But it's taken a back seat for a few hours. See you soon...

STROP GOES THE RAZOR AND THE RAZOR GOES STROP

And the whip comes down. How could I not expect it? When all the Social Security mess started out, I was advised to do two things; First, pore over the paperwork and forms that the SSA sent me and read all the fine print. Then do everything within the time schedule laid out for me. Second, get an attorney capable of handling the complicated SSA/ALJ System.

I did both. First, filling out and delivering the forms within the ten day window that kept my benefits from stopping. Second, I enlisted a large and high profile law firm that specialized in Social Security cases.

Now, the forms I sent in were specific about the SSA examiner not securing an evaluation from my current psychiatrist. This, I felt, was the biggest reason for them cancelling my benefits. I was quite thorough in completing the forms and adding my own information. I also wrote to my U.S. Congressman, Steve Scalise, who ran some interference for me. His office is a great help when you're backed in a corner in a civil matter.

Forms in, it was time for the attorney. WAY back when I was a claims manager, I was still a compugeek and communicated with people over a network called the FIDO echoes. One of those people was a up and coming attorney whose specialty was Social Security. As any new barrister would do, he asked for any clients I could swing his way. I had no problem with that. I also answered a few questions about how he would set up the web site for his practice.

Years passed and he became a big, multi-partner firm. I continued to refer people there, saying that he was the best.

Then I needed help. The only one I could think of going to was him. I made an appointment and came across the lake to meet him. After being shuffled around, we finally ended up with a legal assistant-attorney. He took all the info and gave us the scoop on timelines, fees and details. I told him I would be paying a lump sum amount instead of a monthly extraction from my check. He was confused, but said that it was OK. I asked that he just tell me when he needed it so I could make the arrangements. He told us that the time line we should expect is a reconsideration hearing at four to six months. But don't worry; no one ever wins that. The ALJ hearing would take place in a year or more. We left feeling confident that we were in good hands.

I went to my doctor, shortly thereafter, and found out the info about SSA NOT getting an evaluation. I called the law office and was told that it was allright. They were just gathering information from doctors and getting it all together.

On November 17th, I got a letter from SSA reinstating my disability. Up until this point I had NOT heard anything from the attorney's office. I did call them to let them know and faxed them a copy of the letter.

Later in the day, I got a call from Now Big Attorney, personally. Of course he didn't remember me. He was interested in how I got away with not paying the fees and wanted to know how I was going to pay the $118*.00, lets just make it $700.00. He took me completely aback, as I was unaware that they had done ANYTHING on my case, since I had not heard or been contacted by them in two and one half months. Social Security sent the letter to me without even a CC: to his office. Had they even sent a letter of representation to the administration? I asked him on whose correspondence and information had the SSA made their decision. He said he would like to think that it was a combination of both of us... "teamwork". I'm sorry, I need to see some proof of his end of that "teamwork" before I shell out any of my money. I KNOW how much hard work I did trying to get the paperwork straight. I gotta pay $700 for someone generating a form letter to a doctor's office and securing a DVD from the SSA on my file? And on top of it, what about the clause in HIS contract and in the SSA letter that says ANY fees must be approved before he can collect it. I guess I need to make a phone call...

Something is rotten in Denmark... And I never go down without a fight. Fair is fair. More to come...

AND OH, WHAT HAPPENED THEN WAS RICH!

Slowly I moved, inch by inch, step by step; Fearing for what would happen in the future should the Government rule against me and deny my benefits by declaring me fixed. Playing the waiting game was such fun.

I had done all I could do. I met with the attorneys and gave them every bit of information I had. They reassured me by saying that they'd be in touch. Right. Between August 27 and November 18th the only contact made was by me calling them to find out what was going on.

But yesterday came news of such stunning proportions that it almost knocked me off of my feet. A letter from SSA at my Parents home, for me. After leaving the shop, I made hot tracks, as fast as I dare. When I got there, I grabbed the envelope, said a prayer and calmly opened it with my knife. I was vindicated! I had been declared disabled again! Thank God! Now I could go on with life without the fear of having no medical coverage or pharmaceuticals that make my life easier and tolerable. And the people around me, too!

Is it all "A Wonderful Life"? Hell no. But it IS a pretty damn tolerable one. I thank the Lord and the Blessed Mother for prayers answered. And I thank my family and friends for prayers delivered up. My girl loves me, my family loves me, my friends like me a little (LOL), and my cat & dog are pretty damn cool. We've even managed to adopt "Porch Kitty", a stray who really appreciates those bowls of cheap food and a heating pad in an old ice chest, fashioned into a warm bed for really cold nights. Does God smile upon mortals who take care of his small beasties? I sure hope so, because we've been doing it for as long as I can remember and should have a tab built up.

Johnny has made me prouder than I can say by going through a series of tests that are most difficult for anyone to take. But he came through and is only days away from beginning a career in Law Enforcement. My daughter has brought one Taylor Andrew into this world. He is beautiful and cute and healthy. And then there's Barack Obama... I heard that a carving of his face was found on the Mayan Calendar for the year 2012. I wonder if they found Pelosi yet?

One more year, Pierce, we are without you. The pain is as severe now as it was in the beginning. I pray to the Lord that you are at peace, wherever you are.

In any case, I look forward to Thanksgiving this year. We have much to be thankful for...

It's the Time - Of the Season

IN THE ROOM WHERE THE GIANT FIRE PUFFER BLOWS, THE TORTURE NEVER STOPS

What's your name?

(What's your name?)

Who's your daddy?

(Who's your daddy? He rich?)

Is he rich like me?

Has he taken

(Has he taken)

Any time

(Any time to show)

To show you what you need to live?

Oh Sweet Jesus, it is about to begin. One of those periods in time that occur twice a year; the time when we are subjected to physical and mental torture of the utmost, compliments of Mother Nature. Actually, it han not one thing to do with Ma Nature. It is a whim of governmental creativity that supposedly keeps the cows from being miked in the dark hours of the morning; Keeps kids from standing at a dark bus stop waitng to go to school; You know what I'm talking about - DAYLIGHT SAVINGS TIME; Specifically, the lack thereof. People like myself, android mutants with bodily and mental goofistrations, go into complete spasm when DST ends. Mother Naturee gives us the Autumnal Equinox. That was back in September and signaled the beginning of Fall. But this DST crap is not hooked to anything. In fact, they change it around as they see fit.

Now, here's the rub. I LOVE DST! The extra hour of power flowing sunlight is a boost to the system. Why not just KEEP it 365? Why screw up everyones face by switching on and off? If it wasn't so damn cold, I'd just move to Alaska or Greenland where they have days, even months, of sunshine. And the downside of the same amount of time in the dark. Pfftht. Oh my God, Taylor... What a world you are coming into. A president whose very citizenship and qualification to be president is being questioned, with some success, in the Federal courts. Crime, drugs, crazy people, cats & dogs sleeping together! Well, cats & dogs aren't so crazy. Sounds like my house!

In other news: Bradford Wade - fifteen years plus six supervised probation... worm. I hope and pray that Leroy Largethang finds a special place at the head of his line for you and yourself.

Here comes the holidays. On us before we know it. God, please blank my mind out so I don't have to see any of it. Wake me in January...

The Sweet Indulgence of Good Nature

My younger brother loves to refer to our family as being directly descended from the Biblical Job. I must admit that most of our maladies and malcontent seem to originate from some power greater than we could ever control. And it has an axe to grind with an ancestor! But for now I have nothing but glad tidings and great news. Lirette has delivered unto this world an 8 pound, 2 ounces beautiful baby boy who shall go by the name of Taylor. I thank the Blessed Mother for her intervention in the delivery and extending her protection and love on mother and child.

And now, without further adieu, I present Taylor for your enjoyment...

"Taylor,  you are my first grandchild and hopefully not the last. Karen said that your little face is the most perfect face she has ever seen on any baby. I believe I have to agree. You're pretty damn cute. I'm praying for you. It's not in my character right now, I know. But we all need all the help we can get. And you're a huge step in the right direction. Growing up, take your own road; Keep your own counsel; Don't let anyone pull you down and out; Remember that family is the most important thing and that your Mother loves you more than anything in the world. And most important, never, never, ever burn the bridge that carries you back home..."

We'll talk again soon...

Dude Looks Like a Lady...

 

 Nah na na na - Na na na na - Heh heh hey - Good Bye!

Ah, if I was only satisfied at the results of yesterday... Since no one really reads this blog, 'cept me-self, I post my most inner, cynical & sarcastic thoughts. If someone really DOES read it, then I make no apologies; navigate elsewhere or stick around for some of my truth.

The "victory" was hollow as Judge Feldman spoke the words that we had waited so long to hear. Mr. Shanon Frank would be going to the federal penitentiary for tweve long years. And with a little "icing on the cake", he added six years of supervised probation.

Now that, my friends and readers, is a good old fashioned piping up the roto-rooter. Twelve years in jail is a long time. But the six year supervised probation is a more joyous torture than I could have ever hoped for. For the uninitiated, "supervised" probation means that when he gets out of prison, butt hole several sizes larger and wearing an apron for underwear, he will have to return home and report to his Probation Officer within 72 hours.

Once he gets registered, he'll need to report for a pee test every week. No drugs and no alcohol or it's the express bus back to bein' Bubba's bitch. If he gets sick, he'll have to report whatever prescriptions that he gets to his PO. If they test him and the levels of whatever drug he has is too high for their comfort... what's that ZZ Top song? "Waitin' for the Bus"? He'll live with a curfew and someone looking over his shoulder. He'll have to maintain a decent job. We all know how easy that is for a convicted felon...

His feeble and insincere attempt at reading an apology letter made my stomach turn. I sat and watched as this bottom feeding piece of shit read a contrived, and probably required in the terms of his plea bargain, apology that mean nothing to us, much less him.

His attorney ranked right down there with Frank as he made excuse, after pitiful excuse as to why "Poor Shanon" was a victim of his upbringing and Katrina and vomit, ad infinitum. I watched as the Judge grew weary of his inane ramblings and grew angrier by the minute. Without saying, Mr. Attorney was arguing with fervor against the Judge going outside the sentencing/plea bargain guidelines and adding time to his sentence. He did have the power to do that and he knew that the Judge was very close to that very same thing.

Your new pals waving a welcome to you...

The Probation Office had been kind enough to give the Judge a copy of the letter I was asked to write for them to consider in recommending sentence. It seems that the letter had a profound effect on the way the Judge felt.

If you would like to read it, I have it posted in this Blog. Ripples in the Surface - Rocks in Their Heads (Letter)

He read it more than once. I guess it gave him a little more insight on how Shanon's actions had impacted a large group of people who loved and cared for Pierce. What was even more comical was that a convictee, who stood before the bench earlier, tried to bullshit the Judge into thinking that he really just needed a rehab program and that he was another "victim". The Judge explained that his present plea bargain of eleven months in jail was not sufficient for him to complete a drug rehab program. So the Judge went outside the sentencing recommendation and sentenced him to TWO YEARS in jail, just so he would have ample time to complete a rehab program. Boy was that guy pissed!

The thought came to me of Richard Pryor's Mudbone character when he visits the Voodoo Lady with Toodlums to shrink his feet from the hex his girlfriend gave him. Mudbone was watching all the things she was doing to him when her pet monkey, or spider jumper on him. He said, "That's when I pulled out mah knife!"

That same thought hit, as Frank had been goofing around and laughing and smiling with friends and family in the courtroom. When the Judge did this, he sat erect and all traces of a smile left his face pronto!

I'm sure his little brown-eye did a twitch in his seat. His own attorney, whose name I'll refrain from posting here for fear of ruining my Blog totally, slapped his stack of files and made a disgusted comment concerning the Judge. I thought it funny that it bothered him so much. I could even bring a trace of pity to bear when Shanon's Father went to the lectern and proceeded to apologize to every person he could think of. I was beginning to feel a slight tinge of embarassment for him when he stepped over the line; at least in Judge Feldman's opinion.

He said that "he knew how our family felt". The judge said "NO, you don't". He said it again and the Judge repeated himself in a more firm manner. That did it. To pay for the sins of your child for something you didn't do sucks pretty bad. But then the saying does state, "Train up a child in the way he should go, and when he is old he will not turn".

SO, off we go, or he goes; Off to his requested prison facility in Oklahoma where he will spend his next twelve years. I hope he cries himself to sleep every single night and lives in constant mortal fear for his life. I hope that every gang member that CAN get close to him and intimidate him, DOES get close to him and make him feel very small. Make him feel as small as I do when I wish and pray with all my heart that I could hold my son and tell him how much I love and care for him. But I am robbed of that... robbed by thieves who stole his life... stole his soul... But as more of these these carrion come to face their judges, I gain a very small dot of satisfaction. But the only way I'd be totally satisfied is to have Pierce standing next to me. And God won't let that happen. He's gotten him and is holding him hostage... hopefully until I can get there. Until then, have fun...

Is it something I said (in a previous life)?

I don't think I've been so prolific with my writings in quite a long time. But then I haven't had such a wealth of internal pain to write about. Don't get me wrong; there's always the regular old daily grind. But lately there's been a lot more added to the funk bucket.

Last night I got a call from a very old friend. We're talking high school old. I spent a great deal of my sixteen through thirty year old days and nights with him and or his brother. I had basically lost touch with him. However, I maintained contact with his brother and spoke to him by phone every one to two weeks.

Now the second brother we'll call, Vince. Vince and I had gone through some amazing times together growing up. We graduated high school in the mid 70's and spent a good ten years straight living the wild party life. Sex, drugs & rock and roll. The seminal birth of the "new wave". I was entranced by it and with the help of Vince's brother, I became emerged in it, beginning what I thought would become a lifetime career as a rock and roll technician.

I worked at the local music store and mixed sound for local bands. Vince partied with me on the weekends and worked in a stable, responsible job that he had held for several years. One thing that I always admired in him was his ability to be responsible and his unwavering convictions. Money, work, cars... He always had it together. While I went from gig to gig; barely had a running vehicle; traveled all over the country with bands that were always "almost" going to make it big. When I finally got a respectable gig with a well known band, I was so sick of the scene that I actually refused a job with Alabama as their road sound engineer. What a dumb ass I was. But that life is hard on anyone, especially on with morality and mentality as weak as mine. Toss in the bipolar mix and you have a recipe for disaster and wreckage. And all the while, Vince remained stable, worked at his job, earned promotions and did all the things a normal responsible adult would do.

I ended up married and a father. I tried to go the responsible route and ended up in San Antonio. We still kept in touch, long distance. When I came back to New Orleans, he had bought a home with a pool and was living with his long time steady girl, (we'll cal her LSTG). He had changed jobs to a more responsible and stable position and was working himself up the ladder. But he had developed physical problems with a bout of diverticulitis that almost killed him. For the gastrointestinally uninformed, a diverticulii is a pocket that forms in the wall of the lower intestine. Most are minor and annoying. His was large and had collected enough "matter" to be toxic and start to kick his ass. After surgery and removal of his gall bladder, he made it through and returned to his normal life.

Here, I have to admit that I admired Vince more than any of my friends because he was able to beat the outside world and hold a steady & responsible job and buy a home with a pool and, for all practical purposes, maintain a normal life. All things that I found incredibly impossible to do. And now he had beat this physical thing and was on the road to recovery.

After some time I divorced and remarried, still trying to hold on to some semblance of sanity and responsibility. Everyone hated the new wife. Deservedly so. She was off by a hinge or two and grated of most peoples nerves. What I found in her I can't explain. I visited Vince at his new employer a couple of times. That was before I moved to the Northshore.

Once on the Northshore, I developed a phobia for the South and came across as little as possible. But our love for cutting edge music kept us in contact and we met up and attended the Tubes show at, (gasp!) Kenny's Key West in Metaire. With a crowd of about ten people, it was an almost private show. I'll never forget how incredible that performance was and how much fun we had.

In opposite manner, Robin Trower came to the House of Blues and we agreed to go. Wife Two just HAD to go along. We picked up Vince and travelled downtown. As the opening act was burning up the stage, W2 had a sudden attack of "imanassmossis" which required that she INSIST that I bring her home to Mandeville. Sullenly and embarassed, I explained the situation to him and offered cab fare. In his usual manner, he blew it off and stayed to enjoy the show while I grew another resentment on the ride across the twenty-four. He later told me that LSTG had picked him up. I never felt so horrible in my life.

THEN CAME KATRINA...

His home was devastated and he lost LSTG. My home was devastated and I divorced W2.

His health went on the fritz again. He needed a kidney. He managed to roll the lucky dice and get one. His home was rebuilt. He was again enjoying life. I found my most wonderful love. We continued to talk every couple of weeks, vowing to get together very soon.

Over the last few times we spoke, he had found a girl who he cared for. Details are unimportant, but he sounded happy. We spoke a great deal about Social Security, as he was scheduled to get it and they had taken mine away. When very last we spoke, he sounded bad. I asked what was wrong and he blew it off to a cold.

His brother suprised me when he called last night. He said he had gotten my number off of Vince's cell phone. Vince is in the hospital in an induced coma. Through circumstances that they're still trying to ascertain, Vince took a couple of falls at home. One of those falls fractured his shoulder. He failed to go to the hospital or call for help and ended up with pneumonia. Other things he'd done had lowered his resistance and compromised his immune system. The drugs they're giving him to bring his resistance back up may damage his new kidney beyond repair. He may never come out of the coma.

Again, God. Thanks so much. I know you do what you do for a reason. But this guy worked his ass off and was responsible and all the crap he was supposed to be responsible for. Put him through all this stuff then give him another chance at life, only to yank it away? I need to see him. I need to see him pull through and come out of this! Please! For a change... Or is it his destiny to fail?

DEAR GOD, PLEASE BRING L'IL JESTER BACK...

We all miss you so much... Won't you please let him come back home, God? Was it that bad? Did he not make amends in the time hes been gone? Had he not built up enough credit in St. Peter's book to warrant a return trip? Yeah... Whimsical dreams and unanswered prayers of a father torn asunder by a loss that will not release it's icy talons from his heart. Every picture, every song, every time I repeat the same thing as an expression of my grief brings only more grief. It does NOT go away. Time does NOT cure the pain. My mind is a scrambled mess of WTF and I can't seem to move away form it. I think that those who say that our time on Earth is really Hell are probably correct.