Quick Stop On Duckner Street

          I hadn't seen him sitting there before when I came in for my morning coffee. He sat there, legs crossed, reading some polish novel. His shoes were colored an odd red, his tie an even grey. I locked sight on him as I walked passed him towards the Quick Stop on Duckner St. As I reached the door, he evenly tilted his head up from his book and nodded to me. I thought he was lost at first. Why would such an odd character be seated in front of a normal store such as the Quick Stop on Duckner.  I wondered if anybody inside knew who he was. I doubted it. So I stood there with my hand of the handle of the door pausing for a second, snarling at what I saw. I saw that his fingernails were cleanly cut. His hair had been freshly cut which pleasantly laid to rest on the collar of his black coat. His shoe laces were evenly tied. He dabbed his lit cigarette with care. Something was wrong here. Not long before my surveying of this unlikely customer of the Quick Stop of Duckner Street, Evan, owner of the Quick Stop, yelled to me from inside. "Hey boy, it's says PULL, not PUSH.' I slipped out of my concentration. I swung the door open to hear a piecing ring above the door. 'Ah jeez, whats with that crap Ev?' I tilt in pain gripping my ringing ears. Evan chuckles 'I kinda like it.' I shake it off and walk into the Quick Stop.

          The Quick Stop doesn't have much, but the people inside it serve as the reason I keep coming back. Its been here for 6 years now and has been on a steady decline ever since its doors opened. The smell of the place is quite comforting. It was once explained by a disturbed first time customer as smelling like a dead cow wrapped in a burning rug. I didn't understand it but it sounded right. It's a homey store. Right where we belong. I start to my left where the front windows are, when I see a good friend scurry across the floor. 'Hey Rattus!' He looked well groomed today, something was different in his stride. 'Aye pal! Nice to smell ya! Samantha's doin her thing again' Samantha, another regular, comes to the Quick Stop to play the jukebox and memorize the info on the albums. I chuckle as I glance at Samantha across the store then back to Rattus. 'Has she... You better stay out of it this time Rus.' Samantha has always had an odd talent. She described it vaguely one morning, saying she can feel and alter power sources. We all shrugged it off as some experience she once had in the 60's... She's a solid chick though. 

          I passed the magazine shelf that lay across the front wall. I usually take a look at whats new but today I had a different item in mind. Bullets. Thankfully Evan was able to pick them up from a local supplier. I couldn't find any decent stores on Duckner St that could supply me with my need. Many letdowns when living in such a small town. I neared the end of the isle when I notice the back of the freezer doors resemble a red tint. I saw her precious feet sit snug into bright red high heels through the glass. She wears them well. Her milk white colored legs travel far and dense up into a burgundy skirt that rests calmly against her upturned hip. 'Hey Gabby.' She smiles at my request for her attention. 'Hiya doll, how are you?' I look up and down once more to collect the moment. 'Im alright, bit hungry. But puttin' along. How's the freeze treating you?' The freezer, her favorite spot, is lined with sale slogans for drinks all over the glass. Her upper half is covered by a bud light stamp that she placed there for a mysterious effect,my favorite freezer girl. 'The Boondocks of this spot always keep my calm inatct.' She lands a wink and slowly closes her eyes to her default pose. 

          The sight is inspiring but I'm quickly pulled from my concentration by Willy, he's been her since the opening as well. Every day I find him in front of the muffin tray seeking the perfect one to eat yet never finds it. He screams 'I've found it! My thoughts can finally rest!' He startles Evan who looks up then shakes it off. I had forgotten it was Wednesday, the day Willy usually comes close to finding the one. Such an intimate seeker of the perfect muffin. I've learned much from him. I learned how to pick the perfect car. A 1998 red Chevrolet Minivan-Pickup with the speakers blown out, hub caps tossed, steering wheel torn to bits with one side mirror. A perfect fit for the Duckner St asylum. I turn down  isle 4 toward the middle of the store and find what I've been looking for. What I came here in the first place for. Sweet British Mark Sevens. They roast the best, slide down the pipe the best and release the best. I spot a big 7 on a white box on the middle shelf, just about to tip over the lip. I grabbed a full case of British Mark 7 .303, Full Metal Jacket. They are the ones that go down easier. 

          As I hold them in my hand the lights in the store growl a quick dim. Then again. They start to return with a pace that suceeds the normal brightness. They start to squeal with electricty. 'Damnit Samantha! I told you, stop screwing around with my lights!' With my reward right in front of me, my attention squints towards the front of the store. Evan has Samantha suspended in the air by her throat with his hand. She's hysterically laughing. Tears run down her cheeks. The lights dim again. I see Rus run through the isle towards the front where they are. Willy, gripping tight his muffin, never loses concentration of his catch. Rus gains the center of the floor. He gazes up at Evans strength, Samantha's shaking body in Evan's grip, 'That damn fool, she's gotten better ya know.' Rattus seemed scared at what he knew could happen yet contempt with what he saw, what he had been waiting for. Both Evan's physical strength and Samantha's mental strength can give quite a show when challenged. Nobody knows why she does it but she loves to press Evan on his poor wiring throughout the store. 

          Chuckling, Samantha struggles but whispers 'I can't change your strength darling.' Evan smiles with pride. His arm, popping with bloody veins, slowly lowers Samantha towards the ground. Her feet catch the tiled floor yet Evan's grip holds tight. 'My lights dim again without me touching a switch, you'll need Ruttas here to change your diapers hourly. Understand?' Samantha's grin slowly changes from a giggle to a thwarting stare. The lights in their sockets above us all being to vibrate in a impressive fashion. The light above the bathroom towards the back suddenly breaks from the ceiling, crashing to the floor. Two placed over the magazine windows crash to the tiles underneath, turning the whole isle dark. Evan growls, Samantha's throat still in the spectacular grasp of Evan's hand , 'I will devour every bone.' The light above me explodes with such force it blasts me to the floor. Bullets everywhere. I can't hear anything. I can see Rus still gazing up, his fearless gaze has gotten him into trouble before but this time, he doesn't have a choice, he must see. I scramble back to my knees from my back and start to crawl towards the front. My knees press hard into bullets lying on the ground, my hands show blood streaming down from my arm from somewhere I cannot identify. The lights that  follow me down the isle continue to vibrate and explode one by one. I am yelling at full force. I drop to the front of the isle. My forgotten senses from the explosions rush to me in an instant. Loud forceful screeches of electricity blind my sight with bursts of sparks flowing from the ceiling. Samantha's body has risen several feet over us. Evan has unhinged his jaw in preparation. His neck has grown two feet in diameter. The complexion of his skin is unrecognizable. Samantha lets out a demonic howl that turns her eyes blood shot red. Her hair has frozen in sight, stretched out towards the heavens. I can no longer hear, see or feel. The sounds and sights coming from the front of the store has truly crippled me. All reality is lost. 

          Only my mind is compatible with this mess. I remind myself of Gabby. She must be dumbfounded with terror; in total anguish of this happening, trying to contemplate everything with no comprehension of what is going on through the glass. I turn around and crawl down the isle. I search my front, waiting for the numb touch of the freezer doors. I can feel the ground thundering through my knees and the palms of my hands. Gabby must be close. I reach an opening and gather the freezer doors are close. I turn to the left and reach far out in front of me. I feel soft skin, rich silky, soft skin. It is Gabby. She's crawled out of her door and fell to the ambush of events. I push myself towards her to shield her from the hot searing sparks coming from the ceiling. I can feel her racing heart pounding against my chest as I hold her. Everything happening around me settles into madness. Vision lost. Hearing Lost. Everything is lost. I can no longer provide meaning nor reasoning from what's happening. Samantha and Evan have lost their bearings. They have finally met their ends. It has always come close but never this close.

          I suddenly hear the ring for the front door. Silence. It stops all action within the store. I open my eyes to a tiled floor littered by bags of chips, vitamin bottles, soda bottles and bullets. I feel Gabby holding me tight. Who is it? I find my knees and start to gather Gabby to hers. I pull her up and she's heard it too. We both look down the isle, afraid to look further. We both find our feet and slowly peer over the shelf of cookies towards the front door. The man in the black coat has entered. The man takes a few steps into the store and softly asks, 'Sorry to disturb you but, would you happen to know the time?' . I see the man has an average height, slim, medium build. He has an average chin, neck line, ear shape and eye shape. Willy looks up from his muffin towards the far wall which holds a clock. Blinking tenderly '3:45P.M. Sir.' The odd man surveys the store which has surrendered all normalcy, groceries scatters every inch of the tile, some isle separations have fallen over, an angered man with his large arm and jaw controlling the body of a girl who's fiery red hair sways in the breeze coming in from the opened door. His scan of the store stops at the front, down towards the floor. A rat scurries towards him a few steps. 'Is that all?' The man smirks at the greased rat and evenly nods. 'That'll be all, Good day.' The man turns and leaves the store continuing his stride down Duckner Street. Rus turns to Evan and Samantha who haven't moved an inch in shock, Willy and his muffin, Me and Gabby and shrugs, 'What a creep huh?'  

Soundless

           I hear something. It's close I can tell. It's sound is faint but loud in its proximity. Each day I wake up and it greets me with a blast. My room is dead silent; a silence that would cripple the agile mind. It makes me crazy; crazy to think I hear something that isn't there. My fan stands still with nothing to do. It should be on, but I've shut it off ever since this sound has crept upon my mornings. An unknown green light splatters the darkened room with such gravity, my head boils inside. Still, the sound continues. It has kept me awake all night, without awaking me. I know it'll come soon as I sleep. It slithers through my dreams, always a deafening obedience in it's presence. I sit here in complaint of the so called unknown.

          I sweep the blankets off my body in one swift movement. It continues. I swing my legs over and lift my head to a leveled position with the green light. I walk to and open the door for the release of my bowels when it suddenly stops... I pause in observation. The grip I hold against the door drops. My heartbeat strengthens. I hear the attic creek. No reason to double think that. I give my room total concentration.

          I turn around and enter the center of my room. Shades drawn, sheets spread a mess. My clock slowly clicks to 6:32 AM. I hold my breath to silent my innards. I close my eyes and search for total solitude. The sound starts again. It begins to thump. Louder and louder. My arms reach for something to catch, only nothing. I give my thoughts a rest. I complete total silence. I am naked of all inner distractions. I am outside my own body. I swim around the room with reliance on the dream I had earlier that night. I can see what I saw. A ravage sight.

          Gauntlets of sludge filled with mud and grime surrounding my bed, only the impression of my body lay clean. The sludge builds and builds with a furious skill. All is silent. I see a fine stray of light piercing through the shade. It's the rising sun. I walk through the sludge, towards the window. I open the shades and find the light ending at my chest. A loud crashing sound. My shirt burns through, opening my bare chest to the sunlight. I rip the burnt pieces off my body and stare at my chest. My hairs seize up in flame. The sun still spearing my chest. I try and look the sun in the eye. I become dizzy and look down to see a shape flaming through my chest. It burns in the shape of my heart. The sound becomes brilliantly loud. It seems to be coming from my mind, from my torso, inside my chest. The shape protrudes through my chest. It violently morphs into my heart, bleeding. It falls on the floor. I pick it up to find the sound severely loud, coming from my pumping heart. I stare at my bloody organ. I search for a reason why. How am I alive? I crave an end to this.

          I pick at my heart to find the source of this piercing sound. I find a pen on my desk and rip my heart in half finding a golden shine bursting through the middle of my chambered heart. I grab it in my hands and squeeze til my fingers bleed with pressure. My eyesight begins to wither, my arms seem weak, but my hands still tightly gripping the mass. I feel my body heating up, my veins expanding, the roundness of my skull imploding, my chest bleeding with fire. The sound screams through my entire body without remorse. I squeeze one more time and collapse to the ground.

          From the ground I crawl to my bed. All of my bones seem to have left me. All strength gone. The sound so strong my ears begin to bleed. I reach my bed, hold myself upwards in a slop of skin, blood and rotten tissue. I gather the strength to spread myself among the sludge that's engulfed my bed. It's covering me quickly, with an evil revenge of darkness. I look over to the green flickering light which spreads a bright shine of light throughout my room. I slap it hard. 5 more minutes until the next snooze.

My Place In Time

          I'm pretty bored nowadays so this is where the last string is. To write bullshit that wraps around the epicenter of, whatever. Great start. I'm not going to delete anything I write from now on because what I usually write first is what I really mean and want to say. It'll be weird and not constructed well but who cares? Maybe you, maybe me, but definitely not 'them'.

          I'm in Miami and a hurricane is approaching. That's fantastic because yesterday, Friday, August 24th 2012 was the 20th anniversary of the lovely Hurricane Andrew that I was also in Miami for. I was a grand total of 3 years old. I don't remember anything until I was 5, but I remember when I was 3 on August 24th 1992. I was locked in a closet with my brother, my cousin, probably my mother, and my dad. Sorry Mom. I should have remembered you but the memory is faint. Your heavenly comfort as a mother has always been a given so it sometimes blurs. But my father, I saw. I remember seeing him at such a young age because he was, literally, holding up the wall. It was jumping up and down while the roof was separating from the top of the wall which seemed to be laughing without rhythm.  The only words I remember speaking was to my brother which was: 'Hey, my ass is wet.' Yea, it was that intense.

         Hopefully Mr. Isaac will be just as entertaining without the bs. I want a real show. You can't expect me to be satisfied by showing yourself when I was 3, the cartoons I was watching were just as fascinating. What the heck happened to Barney? Drug trafficking?

         As I look around my room I notice the outside shutters I closed an hour ago. It's a sealant. An enclosed prison shielding me from God knows what. Maybe if I do enough push-ups, strap myself to a tree, I'll be able to show who's really the boss; Mr. Rick Ross. Why does my 60 lb less brother wonder how many push-ups I can do? I think it's an ailment to decide whether he's fit or not. I've shown him a great example of the failure he's running from. God bless his skinny soul.

         What an optical allowance beer labels are. Anyway. Given my state, I believe writing this should give you a glimpse of where I'm at in my life. BLAHBLAHBLAH Today I saw a dinosaur, a tyrannosaurus rex to be exact, throw a first pitch at a baseball game on tv. Before that I was nonchalantly enjoying some bogus highlight reel of first pitches. I saw famous people throw 30 feet to the left of the plate, I saw the Kardasians throw hard sliders, I saw Keith Stone throw the perfect pitch with the perfect release, I saw George Bush, Bill Clinton, Barak Obama throw perfect strikes... I SAW A TYRANNOSURUS REX THROW A BASEBALL OFF THE MOUND TO A CATCHER. PERIOD! I was amazed! How?! WHY? WHAT?! How did they, wait a minute. Why did they have a Tyrannosur.. WHAT THE HELL? It came and went so fast my only reaction was to consider I had mistakenly taken acid with my coffee this morning.. The cup was abnormally small. NO! I saw what I saw!

         And that was your first lesson on babble writting. It doesn't matter what you write or how you write it. As long as it makes completely no sense, you're golden. HENSE the reason for this Blog. For all of you (singular) who read this blog, I hope you take a ugly angry dump tomorrow. PCE.

LB

Jesus Christ: We Should Let This Dead Man Sleep

          23. A lucky number some people say. An age that is expected to be lived without doubt. A meager age to all the elders. "You've only started living." I am 23. I hit that age when my Aunt showed me the cake she bought for me which had the number 23 on it. It was frightening to see a number so high placed on a flamboyant birthday cake. From my childhood, I can only remember numbers like, 9, 12 or 13 on cakes. Not 23. It seems irrelevant on a cake. What am I celebrating? Celebrations occur for those on-lookers to applaud the growing. But I have grown... I am grown. This cake in front of me symbolizes the death of youth. Embrace this year? Why? 

          23. I have grown to this number. I don't know if this number has grown on me, such like the other numbers. 20 felt like a tickle to the year of boozed crazed nights in bars. 21 felt like a blur that actually occurred in those bars. 22 felt like retired youth going to that same pond his dad took him for the first time to fish.... I had already been to that pond plenty. 

          23 feels like the unknown...  I'll just live my life as the numbers pile up. I'll have my 24th birthday which will come to a short lived surprise like 23 but work will still start on Mondays and end on Fridays. And 25 will come. Some things will change, I might have a car. My apartment might actually be acceptable to visitors. I'll own a dog, who cherishes my arrival no matter how grey or blue the day is. My visions might alter a bit. I might own a lawnmower. The cubs might win a world series. But that age will keep on crawlin' towards me, always on the lookout, always searching for me... Making sure I don't slip and let me know to always act my age.

          35 will come. Damnit I best have a wife and a kid on the way. No kid wants an old man as a father. 'How could such an old man teach me anything?' My American life will be on the way towards 40; where the middle aged man is crippled beyond recognition...  My dog will have long past. He was the reminisce of true love. I will always miss him. Without my dog, friendship dies. What am I worth? What is anything worth? I have given so much to society while giving nothing at all. Shouldn't I be rewarded? Or even Noticed? I wont die like this.

          55 will come with a crush. My life better be around perfect with plenty of relaxation. With no temptation of suicide or killing of my family for whatever they have caused me through the years. My house has been fixed multiple times with all of my friends' dramatically wrong inputs thrown to the side. I know wrong from right. It'll my Goddamn American right. 

          I'm on my death bed and the light never seemed so close. A time for reflection never seemed so irrelevant. I reflected all my life. Must I explain why it's OK for me to die? I don't need my families OK to. I just need a comfortable bed and a fan to dry the sweat accumulating around my brow... It's been there quite some time now. My wife folds over me in doubt of living on her own... She doesn't know it, but she has all this time. The garden will continue to grow. Our grandchildren will always need to be tendered to. Her book club needs her insightful input. And someone will learn to love her cooking. But I must go now. I lived on Earth and the Earth helped me follow my true intuition of free will. Free will to do whatever I please. Like the song that will be played as I fall into my endless nap; the nap I have been waiting for my whole life. No appointments. No phone calls. Nothing to clean. Nothing to do. That's how I liked it and I will forever now, embrace that.

Jesus Christ, we should let this dead guy sleep.

Tame The Beast: A Saga Without Remorse

          A savage beast stopped me in my tracks as I waddled towards my car at a deadly hour of the morning... At this hour, my brain had not yet regathered itself from its melted state a half hour ago, so visions were twisted. Sounds we're amplified. Feel was numb. My tongue was a mechanism gone unacknowledged throughout me... All was lost until this beast came upon me. 

          Fear shook through my heels. Instinct told me not to but I moved towards this animal not knowing what my body was doing... Yet, I saw myself grip the ego of this beast with my own eyes. 

          It's eyes saw through the degenerate in me. I felt it's solid statue crawl through my veins like an epidemic. Such a being thought never to exist on a Saturday morning! It has turned the fear in me, lose.

          It stood with a vengeance. Vengeance on my own LAWN? Christ! This is my land, creature. Only I, have the power to frighten, when on mine own land. The Nazi's didn't feel the power I feel for my own surroundings. But wait... It's moving. My thoughts - firing through my brain like a cowering school girl - may have tamed the beast. 

          Have I doubt? No. I am seeing what I sought... Total control without ever imagining it. It is vanishing from my grounds. You Savage Beast! Be gone! Oh, how I've conquered this animal, I shall conquer today with whatever it brings forth. I gave the morning a kick in the nut sack. Let's see what else this dreadful Saturday has in store... 

          Only time will tell whether this beast will morph into a slow driver in the left lane, or an invalid credit card keeping me from my addiction to tobacco. I know now, that whatever it is, I will overcome it. I have the power! No sympathy for the weak my friends... Only the afraid will fall and the fierce shall prevail. I know, now, that I am it! 

          I know now that nothing is unbeatable. This dreadful morning has turned into a delighted righteousness. Run away beast. This is ME, and I am here to stay!

          I unlock the door of my righteous vehicle and ignite it's power which surges from my foot to the top of my stimulated brain... ah HA! If only I could sell this power in a can... I grab the steering wheel and feel the rumble of the engine. This beast knows exactly how to tame it's competitors - with a blinker and an open passing lane, yes... I check my mirrors. Vroom! Vroom! 8AM has never felt so better...

          I pop that shifter into reverse and back out of that slightly titled driveway which is only meant for the best of drivers. No break, just gravity shall carefully handle this beast onto it's beaten path. Ah yes, a definite stop from backing out. I have the road in full view now. Today! will be the start, of the beginning, of the rest of my life... Shove that sucker into drive and... Stall. Fuel Gauge: Empty. 

          I know now, that I know nothing. 

Regen

          A pouring rain CONQUERED tuesday's innocence with a vengeance! Driving, swerving, swearing, focusing... My car was having heart attack and forgot to tell me. The steering well jolted, the breaks squealed, the engine belt whistled with its dying torque.

          Maybe the foot of water on the road had something to do with it... There's a shore line on 27th Ave and I forgot my trunks. Damn it Miami. A rotten taste exploded in my mouth as I noticed, where I had gone, to meet someone, was getting pounded by rain just like 27th Ave. Regen took control of my breathless car. Shall it take me with it as well? Abort!

          Tom Waits followed me through the drowning roads. He kept the sanity alive as everything around me slowly slipped deeper into a towering sight of confusion. Why must other drivers tempt the devil in this pouring rain. God doesn't like Gays or Miami. Sounds right.

          Home sweet Home. Not Alabama but this Home. In Miami.

What Tomorrow Brings

"As I get older, I get smaller. I see other parts of the world I didn't see before. Other points of view. I see outside myself more."

- Neil Young