Lamium amplexicaule

Little memories return as everything else fades away. I'm dying or losing my mind. I embrace either. Both are eternal bliss.

I remember 1975. Everything seemed like a cartoon. Life was elastic. Temporary tattoos. The Groovy Ghoulies. The dark, violent, painful memories that left shadows lurking in my soul. 

I was stuck in the echo chamber. I could hear everything. The wings of a fly buzzing around the classroom and the silence after it's feet made loud clacks as it landed on my desk.  Clocks ticking in the classroom. The breathing of other students. The sweat dripping from Refugio's forehead and hitting the floor. Mrs. Schneider rubbing her fingers on her forehead in frustration of quiz answers. But then that was all silenced by the loud buzz that pierced my ears. At times, a short lived high pitched siren-esque attack and other times a low drone that lasted for hours. I had to learn to read lips, during those episodes. I thought I was going mad.

The only escape was when Refugio and I  would wander to our sacred field of Lamium amplexicaule to play marbles. Bella would tag along because everyone else made fun of her. She had seizures and emanated the overwhelming chemical smell of her medicine. Refugio and I didn't mind. As we played marbles, we talked about the heroes of WW II. It was only thirty years in the past. Close enough to touch. The little purple flowers made me think of London for some unknown reason. Poor Bella would offer a whiff of chemical warfare. Our battle of agility with marbles, was our attempt at being soldiers and tossing grenades.  We defeated the Germans every time.

Sometimes Lavonne Fox and Stacey Greenwood would come out and cheer for the marbles. We liked those days. Lavonne had a little transistor radio, and we could hear songs from England. Pink Floyd and Led Zeppelin. We were little gods and goddesses in our field of purple flowers. 

Monday, we were 8 years old. Trading cards, playing marbles, and singing "You're a Grand Old Flag."

 Fiday, I'm 59, still hear all the noise, but don't know where my childhood friends are. No time for flowers. 

Oct 1985

I was out drinking with the boys. The mighty 4th ID was hell-bent on creating a memorable night. We would leave a dent in history in Ansbach. Ooo-ah!

Halfway through Laura Branigan's "Self Control," I dropped my manners, grace, and pride on the dance floor. She swooped in and saved me. Elegantly.

My drunk-man waltz initiated unintended contact. Two drinks hit the floor. I turned and started to say, "Excuse you," but could not find the words. She was beautiful. I was embarrassed. She said , "Of course, I would like to dance."

My mind wandered. We had just left Camp Henry in Daegu, Korea.. Jerry found a wife there, but I had remained steadfast and honor-bound to our assignment.  The boys played as I completed a crucial negotiation between faction leaders. Back to the now. This was not a "love you long time" moment. This was Germany. Bavaria, to be exact. This was a "love you right here, right now, in this moment" moment.  The DJ snapped me from my reverie. "Abhotten!" 

As our dance ended, she offered, "You go get drinks, and I will talk to the DJ."  

I will never forget the next song, "Ohne Dich." Without you...

https://youtu.be/JxkS1m05C5c?si=ItKv-TTAcwAMSP8f

I don't want to remember the rest of the night. She collapsed halfway through our dance.

Kaspar Hauser

Margravial Opera House in Bayreuth, Germany.

130 km NE

Happy 28 year anniversary. My Jezebel.

Today would have been my 28 year wedding anniversary. But my ex-wife chose a 40 something year old who was cheating on his wife with a married  17-year-old, over our family. He divorced his wife and married the 17-year-old, and my ex had the nerve to be a bridesmaid and hump the guy the day after their wedding. She told me that she was Catholic and could do that as long as she went to confession and said her "Hail Marys"and "Our Fathers." She said I should try it. That it was liberating. 

I found out later that she had 16 lovers in our 11 year marriage (including her ex-boyfriend, a student she was supervising, and some of my colleagues that I thought were friends). She admitted it to me. She said I was always working. Really? We had a house. We had two cars. We had insurance. But she said that was not enough. She needed mystery and excitement. She said that some people do not steal for monetary value but for the excitement and thrill of getting away with it. She claimed that was why she was cheating on me. The thrill of wondering what I would do if I caught her in bed with another man. Fucking twisted. 

She said only men could be narcissists. Women were just victims. Whatever.

It was fun until it wasn't. I don't miss the psychological or physical abuse. I wonder if she became an alcoholic because of her parents. Or if her parents became alcoholics because of her. She would write herself a script for Xanax and drink 500 ml of Crown Royal every night. Talk about madness. I survived the storm with most of my sanity.

This day is now a celebration of my independence. I now understand Charles Bukowski. Women will always lie and leave you in the cold. Alcohol will always tell the truth and keep you warm.

Happy would-be Anniversary to my dumb ass.

Written for Alison E Yaklin

She was wrong about almost everything. She said Courtney would never find out about the ongoing affair with Chris Porteau. Apparently she did. 

She said her license would never be in jeopardy. She should have never given me that hard-drive. I have every email and love letter between her and Chris the priss. I've given it over to the state ethics board. Happy Anniversary.

She was right about never giving up her relationship with her fukboi. And she was right about turning Byron against me. For this, I detest her pathetic existence. She may have Scotty's House fooled, but she WILL stand before God.

Her

I was a fan of  The Cure for a few years until I realized they were like a drug. They were taking me deeper and deeper into the miasmic haze of depression and self-destruction. 

I woke up one morning drugged up and cuffed. I had no idea who she was. Numb. Snippets of unimaginable fantasies echoed in and out of my mind. Each one tied to a dark harmonic strand of The Cures "Pictures of You." We were going to OD together. 

We had danced in the red pulse through the night. A kiss. Darkness...

I am glad we failed. Or am I?

I don't know where she is. Bavaria somewhere? Was she real? 

I can't believe with all the crazy things I did that I'm still here.

Leave Me Be

I don't want your pity. I don't want your understanding. I want you to leave me the fuck alone.

I gave humanity many chances. I am tired.

The lies. Betrayal. Use. Abuse. Abandonment. They left me cold and empty inside. The only fire that kept me warm was that of rage. It consumed me.

There is no hate. There is no love. There is only indifference. Pain has become by immortal lover.

I have made peace with the madness. Solitude is my kingdom.

I want to be left alone. Otherwise that cold steel blade will draw forth a warm, red, unstoppable river. I will be damned for eternity. Self-destruction in inevitable.

I am always watching. I am always aware. Stay away. I am no longer man. I am a monster. You have been warned.

I'm Home

I am old, worn, twisted, broken, tired, and bitter.

I burned all the bridges that led back to people who betrayed me. Beautiful fires. Why stop there? So I burned all the bridges that led back to people who might betray me. Mmmmm. The flames. Still not enough. So I burned all the bridges. Yessss...

Now, I  find myself alone on an island. But I am not alone. I realize this is my island of childhood terrors, abuse, and forgotten dreams. The landscape is nothing but different shades of darkness. There is no angelic glow. There is no demonic fire. There are no shadows here because there is no light. Only an empty void of black.

I can finally lay my head.

The Empire Center

In just under an hour. I will pass the Empire Center in Burbank, California.

(51 miles)

I remember the countdown in miles. Which eventually changed to a count in heartbeat. The anticipation. 

(42 miles)

I remember her smile, her eyes, her gentle laughter, her warm embrace, her whispers.

(34 miles)

I remember each moment. Her presence in my life was inspiring. It made me forget everything but remember everything. I touched the past and looked to  the future.

(22 miles)

I remember the silence between the words that told 1001 stories. I had found my Scheherazade.

(8 miles)

I remember her childhood but I was not there. The terrors of war withering a soul.

(1 mile)

I remember the love, but I have forgotten the remnants. The wind has carried the ashes away.

(fading in the rear view mirror)

I have cried a sea of tears, upon she will never sail.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Written Dec 3, 2024