Teddy's route mapped him continuing southbound for San Diego to deliver supplies for a United States Naval base. I knew exactly where I needed to be dropped. As soon as Highway 5 South intersected with Highway 46 West dawn was breaking beautifully revered. No human being should ever discount this everyday event, sleeping in and ignoring such simple glories as we all take advantage naively assuming that there will always be tomorrow. That's when the journey ended with Teddy and his dark story, conveniently and metaphorically ending as the night's black void fell dormant. I hadn't slept peacefully in the much missed comforts of a bed in around a week now. Such simple luxuries that I had been taking advantage of my entire spoiled American life. I was beginning to catch an unwanted strain of homesickness. I fought that feeling with this ornery and stubborn outlook that I'd acquired, and since I hadn't had a drink or drug in a few days I was feeling again unfortunately. I believe that I was completely out of money at this point in time, although I am positive I found solutions in which to continue my smoking habit. I was on the brink of craziness, harbored native madness, from this unintentional several days sobriety. At minimum I would always figure out how to get some nicotine, finances be damned, and being under-age be damned. I was now on the same plain as that Mexican from the train station in El Paso, when he noticed the last of my cigarette that I had flicked high into the wind's current, beginning his chase along the grey gum and cigarette littered pavement.
Highway 46 is pretty much a straight shot towards the dreamy Pacific, interim lies Paso Robles, CA, which was my destination intentionally because of some friends that I knew lived there. These people were my last hope, my final option for shelter. Richard veered off the road and parked his Suburara Outback, surf board on top, alongside where I was walking. I told him that I was headed for Paso Robles, and so he offered to take me there assuring me that it was no problem at all because he was passing right through there on his way to the beach. The conversation was so quaint and sane compared to the those dang truckers. Mainly I recall him telling me that he was a P.E. teacher somewhere in that surrounding area, but the coolest fact that I remember him revealing was a little history about this highway we were traveling en route to both our westward destinations. Highway 46 (I double checked this and discovered it to be factual) was the final roadway James Dean sped down like a Nascar driver, being involved in his infamous fatal car crash as he drove a new Porsche 550 Spyder on September 30, 1955. He had been ticketed by a C.H.P. officer earlier that day before being called out later on to the scene of this icon's mangled muscle machine. James Dean was found dead (he was luckily killed on impact) leaned limped lifeless against the passenger's side door which has ever since sparked the controversy if he was even driving. There is the theory that after he got ticketed James Dean pulled over again and he let his friend take over to drive?
I was dropped in what seemed to be the heart of the Paso Robles' business district. I ventured over to a Denny's off 24th street, with my giant shoulder bag containing some clothes and books (I have lost so many great books throughout this journey and other travels I went on years later). The people I knew I had met camping with my running grandparents (a nickname I was told I invented as a child because when I tried to say "other grandparents" other sounded from my mouth as running and for some reason it stuck and my parents ever since I can remember referred to them as my running grandparents) in Tyler, TX at Whispering Pines R.V. Park every year the prior three consecutive years. They were here from California visiting their grandparent's that were acquainted with each other through the Sam's R.V. Club (old retirees camping club). It was called 'Grandkids weekend' and so every year I grew closer to this pair, a brother and sister, named Rustin and Lisa Jenkowski. Rustin was around my age, a bit older, but not by more than a year. Lisa was about a year younger than me, and boy did my little brother, Aaron and I have the biggest crush on her. Lisa had a beautiful dark olive complexion, matched perfectly with illuminating green eyes, and I have always been a sucker for chics with green eyes. Rustin is now and actor/model/musician in West Hollywood, no bullshit, but he deserves any blessing that bestows upon him because he is a very unique individual, not too cocky, and carries with him everywhere an air of confidence. When you are around him you feel like he can teach you virtues and wisdom that as a 16 year old kid you would never imagine he could have obtained such a great understanding, he seemed to know exactly what his place on this earth meant.
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Tyler is a beautiful east Texas town thriving with towering pines, and then there are the swamps, most are located a bit southeast of Tyler, but the entirety of East Texas has such a vast array of preciously proud landscapes. Each corner of Texas contains its own wonders, some more dear to me than others. Sulphur Springs is a very remote town in East Texas and is where my "running grandparents" migrated from to FT. Worth after World War II. My mom's side of the family own over 300 acres there in Sulphur Springs still and the majority of my family maintain dreams of settling back down on the old farm to peacefully linger in retirement. One of my Uncles has some cultivating plans for the rich earth the one time cotton farm covered spread like butter even and soft shifting rain soaked land. He knew the soil should yield good crops, at least it did when my grandma was just a girl, her parents (my great grandma Olive Webb I vaguely remember visiting on frequently as a boy before she died in an old folks home. I remember her funeral a bit, mainly the sole memory of her funeral was of my Runnin' Grandma balling her eyes out. I had never seen her so distraught and tore up before or ever since that day) were the last generation to simply live off that plot of acreage. It was so hilarious talking to my Grandma recently reminiscing her childhood out there in the fields in between rows of trees that marked particular borders and separated various fields, intermingled with dense thickets of forested lowlands, this wondrous canopy under which my grandpa and his brothers hunted deer and trapped wild hogs. My grandma found her childhood diary one Christmas family reunion, and in it almost everyday, every entry simple said something about how she woke up, went to school, picked cotton, and occasionally went to town with their daddy for candied apples if they had been really good girls. The farm was then and to this present day still is located far down a winding country dirt farm road with merely a few houses anywhere close or in a three mile radius. My 'Runnin' Grandpa lived on a dairy farm in one of those houses down the road with his four brothers, and he along with two of his little brothers ended up marrying my grandma and her two sisters. What a concept... friends usually tease me about this when I share it with them, saying it was weird, but as far as I know that happened quite frequently back then. At least they weren't cousins like was once an old tradition for centuries. Naturally these were the closest women around for my Grandpa and his brothers to hitch up with. I really respect this side of my family, our family reunions include the set of brothers and sisters in addition to numerous others from all over TX that come together on multiple occasions throughout the year . I am proud of my family's pine grained East Texas swamped 'cotton pickin' country roots.
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Wednesday, September 22, 2010
Wednesday, September 15, 2010
New Poetry(not from my collections from youth)
Timed treasure seekers swindle the calm spirit,
they travel northbound during the silent season of fall,
crispness air increased,
lungs grip tugging at the autumn's condensation,
and so they had already found their bounty,
but neither will realize this until years later.
they travel northbound during the silent season of fall,
crispness air increased,
lungs grip tugging at the autumn's condensation,
and so they had already found their bounty,
but neither will realize this until years later.
Truckin' Teddy
Teddy seemed around sixty years old, with a full on santa beard, he carried a nasty stench of Doral cigarettes that hovered about him keeping strangers at bay. The interior of his cab did stink like body odor as well and as sick as it fumed thru my nostrils, I found I'd become immune to this fairly rapidly. Just as Ronnie had, Teddy generously let me bum as many cigs' off him whenever I so desired. We stopped during the end of this road weary coursing night, at the genesis of dawn, the hours I seemed to feel most alive, I could travel in this covered darkness without any fear of repercussions. I could divulge in any illegal or wrong doings that I frequently found myself involved for the duration of these devilish few hours. For about a year I never had to deal with any real consequences. That would end very shortly after my return to TX a week or so later.
The stereotypical version of any truck stop diner one can imagine is where we dined. I was ravenous and he bought me breakfast and I ate un-apologetically crazed by hunger, surrounded by these hurly burly redneck lot of characters sharing in this fried, battered, and scrambled up cuisine. We were somewhere between San Francisco and the Oregon border. I didn't know exactly where I was but I did know that I was very close to the infamous Big Sur, where I learned about in my reading Kerouac's novels. One is actually titled Big Sur, but he includes this wonder of northern California in several of his works of fiction.
"Thats some of the best biscuits n' gravy in the state," Teddy said as I had just taken my first bite he looked into my face for some sign of reply in my facial expression showing agreement with his statement as my mouth was full and I chewed faster now so I could verbalize an opinion.
"I don't think they're better than these grits though.... Damn! I always figured southerners made the best grits. I wouldn't ever argue this point with one of 'em but it just goes to show how little I know about something as simple as fuckin' grits!" I laughed and continued on with another mouth load to ravish.
"Spoken like a true lil' nigger!" he laughed at his instilled racist values and I chuckled too, which pretty much made me just as much a bigot as him.
"U look like an old ass monkey yourself...."
"Well aren't you just a little smart ass for such a young man!"
"Fuck yea... but Im just jacking with ya' Teddy....," I agreed and he wore a vague smile watching me finish as he sipped on his black coffee, "Teddy were you in Vietnam?" I inquired upon seeing an old Army tattoo.
"No sir Kuhhreeaa.... got shot a few times and almost blown up on a few occasions," he laughed again. At least he can look back on such shitty and violent times such as war in such a light hearted manner. I ate and ate, sat back finally finished with my food and sipped on some black coffee, chain-smokin' Teddy's Dorals and listening to him carry on about the war. Naturally the pervert in the man eventually was revealed as he began talking about dirty sexual shit. I mean I don't blame him he was pretty much a typical dude talking about sex but he creeped me out, but not nearly as the dirty 'ol man had in Tacoma. I sat there and soaked in his story about one of the times he came close to blowing his legs and probably his dick clean off his body as well, but was shielded by a fellow soldier who's body was sacrificed instead of Teddy's.
If he had been blown to shit in those distant jungles he wouldn't of been telling me this story about a Korean prostitute he saw shortly thereafter almost being pummeled to shreds the previous week. He wouldn't have a little bastard half and half baby that he said he was made aware of 15 years later. I could here hints of shame in his tone as he spoke about him, and he in his ramblings he continually referred to him as his lil' chink bastard boy(I'm just reporting in how he continually described his son w such derogatory 'terms of endearment'). His intentions were once pure he explained when he'd initially discovered his only known offspring, but being clear across the world he never did go and make good on his responsibilities towards that poor kid. My point being proves some truths to how gay and stupid intentions can be if never acted upon. I forgot the famous quote about intentions, but it's something like roads never get paved merely by good intentions. Anyways that was the main lingering regret of Teddy's life, though he did not admit to it, the guilt was clearly translated thru his tone and mannerisms as he carried on narrating. I just wish he could let go of the demeaning way he still described the boy's mother. Here he was old as shit and you'd think he'd gained some wisdom and truth from the whole ordeal, but he clearly was another bitter old American, long lost past the standard American Dream. His days' were numbered and he knew it and didn't give a shit about his salvation or anything beyond the grave. He was the same as he'd always been just meaner and bitter. It was sad but another very revealing character I would encounter in my travels that summer.
The stereotypical version of any truck stop diner one can imagine is where we dined. I was ravenous and he bought me breakfast and I ate un-apologetically crazed by hunger, surrounded by these hurly burly redneck lot of characters sharing in this fried, battered, and scrambled up cuisine. We were somewhere between San Francisco and the Oregon border. I didn't know exactly where I was but I did know that I was very close to the infamous Big Sur, where I learned about in my reading Kerouac's novels. One is actually titled Big Sur, but he includes this wonder of northern California in several of his works of fiction.
"Thats some of the best biscuits n' gravy in the state," Teddy said as I had just taken my first bite he looked into my face for some sign of reply in my facial expression showing agreement with his statement as my mouth was full and I chewed faster now so I could verbalize an opinion.
"I don't think they're better than these grits though.... Damn! I always figured southerners made the best grits. I wouldn't ever argue this point with one of 'em but it just goes to show how little I know about something as simple as fuckin' grits!" I laughed and continued on with another mouth load to ravish.
"Spoken like a true lil' nigger!" he laughed at his instilled racist values and I chuckled too, which pretty much made me just as much a bigot as him.
"U look like an old ass monkey yourself...."
"Well aren't you just a little smart ass for such a young man!"
"Fuck yea... but Im just jacking with ya' Teddy....," I agreed and he wore a vague smile watching me finish as he sipped on his black coffee, "Teddy were you in Vietnam?" I inquired upon seeing an old Army tattoo.
"No sir Kuhhreeaa.... got shot a few times and almost blown up on a few occasions," he laughed again. At least he can look back on such shitty and violent times such as war in such a light hearted manner. I ate and ate, sat back finally finished with my food and sipped on some black coffee, chain-smokin' Teddy's Dorals and listening to him carry on about the war. Naturally the pervert in the man eventually was revealed as he began talking about dirty sexual shit. I mean I don't blame him he was pretty much a typical dude talking about sex but he creeped me out, but not nearly as the dirty 'ol man had in Tacoma. I sat there and soaked in his story about one of the times he came close to blowing his legs and probably his dick clean off his body as well, but was shielded by a fellow soldier who's body was sacrificed instead of Teddy's.
If he had been blown to shit in those distant jungles he wouldn't of been telling me this story about a Korean prostitute he saw shortly thereafter almost being pummeled to shreds the previous week. He wouldn't have a little bastard half and half baby that he said he was made aware of 15 years later. I could here hints of shame in his tone as he spoke about him, and he in his ramblings he continually referred to him as his lil' chink bastard boy(I'm just reporting in how he continually described his son w such derogatory 'terms of endearment'). His intentions were once pure he explained when he'd initially discovered his only known offspring, but being clear across the world he never did go and make good on his responsibilities towards that poor kid. My point being proves some truths to how gay and stupid intentions can be if never acted upon. I forgot the famous quote about intentions, but it's something like roads never get paved merely by good intentions. Anyways that was the main lingering regret of Teddy's life, though he did not admit to it, the guilt was clearly translated thru his tone and mannerisms as he carried on narrating. I just wish he could let go of the demeaning way he still described the boy's mother. Here he was old as shit and you'd think he'd gained some wisdom and truth from the whole ordeal, but he clearly was another bitter old American, long lost past the standard American Dream. His days' were numbered and he knew it and didn't give a shit about his salvation or anything beyond the grave. He was the same as he'd always been just meaner and bitter. It was sad but another very revealing character I would encounter in my travels that summer.
Tuesday, September 14, 2010
THIS MONKEY'S HITCHHIKERS GUIDE:FAMILY MAN TRUCKER
This next rig was custom fit for Darryl, and his 8 year old daughter. She had a huge bunk space where she had a Nintendo 64 set up to occupy her as she accompanied her dad on his journey thru Oregon to Redding,CA. He seemed like a normal decent hard working American merely supporting his family as every family man should. Darryl allowed me to ride along so everything became swiftly efficient as the transition between escaping Ronnie's cab and entering Darryl's was a fairly quick exchange. We were traveling thru more immensely beautiful and vast terrain. Mostly mountain passes that hosted giant monsters of trees, raging waters, overrun with wildlife, and all shared by the spirit of mountain people that inhabited this corner of America. There is a shit ton of marijuana cultivators in these mountains of Oregon and northern California. Darryl was like all the drivers that had given me a lift in that their motives to have me along was for the mere enjoyment of conversation as they drove their routes, the same ones they'd traveled a thousand times over. My time with Darryl and his daughter was short-lived. The trip took a few hours, and besides a bad ass gun he showed me that he carried for protection, nothing too interesting or eventful occurred throughout the ride and our conversing consisted of a lot of bullshit on my part. Darryl was too down to earth for me to speak candidly with him about certain subjects, an apparent difference compared with my talks with Ronnie, due to his character naturally arose any random crude subject. We pulled into Redding where I would find the strangest of the three as my next chauffeur south further down California's mid-coastal spine. If I could meet and interview every single person on the planet I still would never fully grasp the entire soul of the human condition. Characters thrive among us, and everyone has something that they carry which holds power to enlightenment.
Wednesday, September 8, 2010
THIS MONKEY'S HITCHHIKERS GUIDE: TWEAKIN' TRUCKER
I was lucky because I only had to walk two blocks west from where I had that old dude drop me. I had to shake off that encounter. I was about to try and hitchhike w truckers, surely I won't be harassed like that twice in a day I thought, but I had to remain resilient. I had to prepare myself for any curve ball now since they usually swung back like a boomerang on me. These guys are some characters, some damn strange road warriors that roamed weary and tired, tweakin' down the highway and gettin' paid. This was just the first trucker of three, Ronnie, he was a tweaker, the majority of truckers I believe have cleaned up do to the huge risks took if one failed a drug test, which most trucking companies by now do.
Did Ronnie smoke or use in any form around me? No because he would of had to share and he knew that, and it was so dang obvious that he was flyin' a hundred miles an hour. The first couple of drivers I asked to get a lift from refused because of some buillshit policy most companies had in place not allowing the truckers to have extra passengers unless it was approved ahead of time. So at first I thought I was going to be out of luck one more time after having been turned down by the first few I'd asked. Then I came upon Ronnie and he immediately seemed cool and actually happy to have me on board.
"Hell yea kid i could use the company. You just got that one bag, right?" he asked.
"Yep. You are a headed south I am assuming?" I retorted.
"Well as far as Oregon I am."
"Thanks man. Seriously."
Sleep was a treasure at this point and after he finally shut his mouth blabbing to me about all kinds of shit: weather ballons vs. aliens, lots of complaining about state troopers, which somehow transformed into an in depth overview he verbalized describing the different states' flowers. He was not only a tweaker but he was a hype artist, bullshitting as the authority on every subject he had going in his mind. I finally faded back into a deep sleep that would make Rip Van Winkle jealous. I hadn't slept indoors in a couple of days so that cab's chair was so comfortable and before I knew it we had made it to Oregon. I thanked Ronnie for the ride and all the cigs' he had given me. Just as the dope monkey I am I climbed out of that truck and within twenty minutes would climb right into another.
Did Ronnie smoke or use in any form around me? No because he would of had to share and he knew that, and it was so dang obvious that he was flyin' a hundred miles an hour. The first couple of drivers I asked to get a lift from refused because of some buillshit policy most companies had in place not allowing the truckers to have extra passengers unless it was approved ahead of time. So at first I thought I was going to be out of luck one more time after having been turned down by the first few I'd asked. Then I came upon Ronnie and he immediately seemed cool and actually happy to have me on board.
"Hell yea kid i could use the company. You just got that one bag, right?" he asked.
"Yep. You are a headed south I am assuming?" I retorted.
"Well as far as Oregon I am."
"Thanks man. Seriously."
Sleep was a treasure at this point and after he finally shut his mouth blabbing to me about all kinds of shit: weather ballons vs. aliens, lots of complaining about state troopers, which somehow transformed into an in depth overview he verbalized describing the different states' flowers. He was not only a tweaker but he was a hype artist, bullshitting as the authority on every subject he had going in his mind. I finally faded back into a deep sleep that would make Rip Van Winkle jealous. I hadn't slept indoors in a couple of days so that cab's chair was so comfortable and before I knew it we had made it to Oregon. I thanked Ronnie for the ride and all the cigs' he had given me. Just as the dope monkey I am I climbed out of that truck and within twenty minutes would climb right into another.
THIS MONKEY'S HITCHHIKERS GUIDE: BEWARE OF DIRTY 'OL MEN!
I had awoken to the bustling noise going by on the cold concrete floor outside of the Tacoma's small Am'track branch office. I had arrived there too late the night before and the ticket office was closed until the following morning so I had to sleep outside under a cart. I woke up, crawled out from underneath that lil trolley baggage cart. I remember I received some reaction, shocked expressions from those who witnessed me crawl out from my space. I soon realized I didn't have enough money for a train ticket back and thought about sneaking onto the train but didn't even try. I left pretty quickly thereafter pissed off, hungry, tired, and still sober. I was now only a ten min bus ride away where the closest truck stop was. I was at a bus stop and I wasn't even trying to hitchhike at this leg of my journey. I was going to take a cheap city bus there but then this little car halts to a stop next to where I was sitting on a bench, rolled his window down, thick pipe tobacco smoked billowed out revealing this pudgy lil' old man.
"U want a ride young man," he asked.
"Yea sure," I replied and then added gratitude as I hopped in. "Thanks sir."
"Where you headed?"
"If you could drop me at this truck stop I heard about in Tacoma I'd appreciate it. You know where it's at?"
"Yea-yea no problem," he assured me and then we were both interrupted by a good three mins of peaceful silence. I gazed out towards the stunningly beautiful snowcapped mountains that blanketed the terrain bordering the town. I let my imagination wander far... real far, but then the conversation rendered as the old dude started asking me all sorts of questions, and they just got weirder as he continued on. This encounter made me realize that there was some sick freaks out there. His questions started off basic and harmless.
"Im Eugene, or just Gene, whats your name young man"
"Isaac."
"Laughter... ha," laughing at himself because he knew thats what Isaac meant.
"Okay, funny, yea, you're right about that."
"So Isaac where you from?"
"TX... Im from D/FW..." and then he got perverted on me.
"So you got a girlfriend back home," the way he asked I could feel the awkward tension that was coming to slap me across the face.
"No..., uh no I don't.... " I replied.
"Boyfriend?"
"No sir," geez what the fuck was wrong with this guy? "Just drop me right her please," and he did without hassling me further. Thank god he didn't have a damn gun or else he would've made me his bitch. I look back and can laugh at stupid shit like that but it did teach me to be more wary of people and to avoid these situations. I knew as I initially climbed into his car that I could easily take him if he did tried to rob me or something. I really had never been spoken to like that before by an old man. It has to be one of the creepiest instances I would encounter.
"U want a ride young man," he asked.
"Yea sure," I replied and then added gratitude as I hopped in. "Thanks sir."
"Where you headed?"
"If you could drop me at this truck stop I heard about in Tacoma I'd appreciate it. You know where it's at?"
"Yea-yea no problem," he assured me and then we were both interrupted by a good three mins of peaceful silence. I gazed out towards the stunningly beautiful snowcapped mountains that blanketed the terrain bordering the town. I let my imagination wander far... real far, but then the conversation rendered as the old dude started asking me all sorts of questions, and they just got weirder as he continued on. This encounter made me realize that there was some sick freaks out there. His questions started off basic and harmless.
"Im Eugene, or just Gene, whats your name young man"
"Isaac."
"Laughter... ha," laughing at himself because he knew thats what Isaac meant.
"Okay, funny, yea, you're right about that."
"So Isaac where you from?"
"TX... Im from D/FW..." and then he got perverted on me.
"So you got a girlfriend back home," the way he asked I could feel the awkward tension that was coming to slap me across the face.
"No..., uh no I don't.... " I replied.
"Boyfriend?"
"No sir," geez what the fuck was wrong with this guy? "Just drop me right her please," and he did without hassling me further. Thank god he didn't have a damn gun or else he would've made me his bitch. I look back and can laugh at stupid shit like that but it did teach me to be more wary of people and to avoid these situations. I knew as I initially climbed into his car that I could easily take him if he did tried to rob me or something. I really had never been spoken to like that before by an old man. It has to be one of the creepiest instances I would encounter.
THIS MONKEY'S HITCHHIKERS GUIDE: I LOVE SEATTLE COPS!
I was alone, it was fucking raining in Seattle, go figure... and I was pretty much broke. I didn't have anymore weed. All I had was cigarettes, a new tattoo( I have a dang pot leaf on my back shoulder that I had done in Seattle), rolling paper, and the sickest feeling of loneliness and regret. I guess I was feeling too sober to escape the shame and guilt. I knew I had fucked up royally. All the while my mom, unbeknownst to me, had been harassing my best friend growing up, Derek, for information on my whereabouts. I remember Derek gave me hell for it later that year. He said my mom guilted him into telling her that he had taken Greg and me to the train station. "His blood is on your hands!" apparently she had cried to him stuff like this when he initially tried to play dumb. Man that was the beginnings of a good decade of people that care for me now only worry about me. My mom told me years later that I had robbed her of a vast amount of lost sleep over those years.
I started to walk south down highway 5, sticking my thumb out trying to get outta' Seattle, and a cop stopped me. Again I didn't get in trouble even though he explained to me that it was illegal to hitchhike, and I plead ignorance and it worked. Those cops in big cities up north seemed incomparably cooler than those from TX. This nice officer gave me a ride to outskirts of town. I mean this guy let me throw my bag in the back seat, didn't search me, and so that was the one and only time that I had the privilege to sit in the front of a squad car.
I started to walk south down highway 5, sticking my thumb out trying to get outta' Seattle, and a cop stopped me. Again I didn't get in trouble even though he explained to me that it was illegal to hitchhike, and I plead ignorance and it worked. Those cops in big cities up north seemed incomparably cooler than those from TX. This nice officer gave me a ride to outskirts of town. I mean this guy let me throw my bag in the back seat, didn't search me, and so that was the one and only time that I had the privilege to sit in the front of a squad car.
Tuesday, September 7, 2010
Fuckin' Greggers
"Fuckin' Greg man... fuckin' dick piece of shit!" I freaked and started yelling cause I had just been woke up being pushed off the bed by Greg.
"Get up dude lets go," Greg instructed me.
"No... go away man."
"Lets go I got Jorge's shit man! Lets go! Come on boy!"
"Why? Where's Jorge?"
"Hes asleep next door, fuckin' hurry," Greggers said a bit quieter this time as he pulled out Jorge's bud. He had jacked Jorge's stash, "Lets go shit-terd."
And like the shit-terd I was I obeyed. I knew better than to let him tag along with me but I obviously have not made very wise decisions in my life so far so why start now I figured. I knew he was quit capable of equally robbing me and the money I had stolen myself. Every time I would fall asleep I would wake up wondering immediately where Greggers was and if he had jacked me yet. It was a very uneasy cloud of paranoia that got thicker in Seattle after we took off on Jorge. I really had to go. I wasn't going to be the one to stick back and explain to Jorge that my friend had robbed him, and after all he had smoked with us I felt guilty but not for too long. I was a little thief myself at the time hanging around Greggers dumb ass. My conscience I believe was there in tact because of values instilled in me by my parents, so the best way I knew how to diminish it was to get drunk or high. Like night and day I had become to those who knew me before my divulgence with these mind numbing gifts of magic, or so I thought at that time.
Greggos and I used to ride around in my '85 Toyota Celica (w a sunroof I might add) and look for lawnmowers left out on the sides of people's homes or in opened garages that would give us access to even more shit to steal like power tools and what not. He had that I.D. that we were using to purchase alcohol with on our trip and to get motel rooms with. This was a real I.D., not a fake, it was just somebody else's I.D. that Greggers had, and I know he hadn't stolen it. So it was pretty shady when we used it to pawn stolen shit with. This guy gets his license renewed and thought Greggers was just going to use his old I.D. to purchase alcohol with it. This was the thing to do when you were 16, having our buddies give us their expired license when they turned 18 and renewed. So this guy was trying to do Greggers a free favor only winding up unfairly intertwined to our crimes and the myriad of stolen goods pawned using his name. All this heat reigned down upon Greggers when he went back to TX, and him robbing a Subway Sandwich Shop with a shotgun didn't help his cause in staying out of prison that year either.
At this point in our journey I had run that $1300 down to a couple of hundred dollars a few days after we had separated from Jorge. Greggers felt the tension too and I was sick of him bumming off of me and he knew this. Throughout the duration of those few days we spent a lot of that money trying to cross the canadian border. The first time we tried to cross on this bus that was associated with Am-Track, the ride was included with the tickets that I had already purchased in Dallas. We got shut down every time, and because we were identified as runaways in the state of Washington they couldnt do anything. The law required the cops to offer us help from the local C.P.S. office and if we refused they had to cut us free unless we had broken any other laws. The second time we took a cab that cost like a bill there and back, again we got shut down. I don't recall how we tried again or what but man did we try every possible avenue in getting there it just wasn't happening. So now Greggers was heading back to TX with some money he'd recieved wired to him from his girlfriend, and I turned on the hobo in me.... hitchhiking south back down Interstate 5.
"Get up dude lets go," Greg instructed me.
"No... go away man."
"Lets go I got Jorge's shit man! Lets go! Come on boy!"
"Why? Where's Jorge?"
"Hes asleep next door, fuckin' hurry," Greggers said a bit quieter this time as he pulled out Jorge's bud. He had jacked Jorge's stash, "Lets go shit-terd."
And like the shit-terd I was I obeyed. I knew better than to let him tag along with me but I obviously have not made very wise decisions in my life so far so why start now I figured. I knew he was quit capable of equally robbing me and the money I had stolen myself. Every time I would fall asleep I would wake up wondering immediately where Greggers was and if he had jacked me yet. It was a very uneasy cloud of paranoia that got thicker in Seattle after we took off on Jorge. I really had to go. I wasn't going to be the one to stick back and explain to Jorge that my friend had robbed him, and after all he had smoked with us I felt guilty but not for too long. I was a little thief myself at the time hanging around Greggers dumb ass. My conscience I believe was there in tact because of values instilled in me by my parents, so the best way I knew how to diminish it was to get drunk or high. Like night and day I had become to those who knew me before my divulgence with these mind numbing gifts of magic, or so I thought at that time.
Greggos and I used to ride around in my '85 Toyota Celica (w a sunroof I might add) and look for lawnmowers left out on the sides of people's homes or in opened garages that would give us access to even more shit to steal like power tools and what not. He had that I.D. that we were using to purchase alcohol with on our trip and to get motel rooms with. This was a real I.D., not a fake, it was just somebody else's I.D. that Greggers had, and I know he hadn't stolen it. So it was pretty shady when we used it to pawn stolen shit with. This guy gets his license renewed and thought Greggers was just going to use his old I.D. to purchase alcohol with it. This was the thing to do when you were 16, having our buddies give us their expired license when they turned 18 and renewed. So this guy was trying to do Greggers a free favor only winding up unfairly intertwined to our crimes and the myriad of stolen goods pawned using his name. All this heat reigned down upon Greggers when he went back to TX, and him robbing a Subway Sandwich Shop with a shotgun didn't help his cause in staying out of prison that year either.
At this point in our journey I had run that $1300 down to a couple of hundred dollars a few days after we had separated from Jorge. Greggers felt the tension too and I was sick of him bumming off of me and he knew this. Throughout the duration of those few days we spent a lot of that money trying to cross the canadian border. The first time we tried to cross on this bus that was associated with Am-Track, the ride was included with the tickets that I had already purchased in Dallas. We got shut down every time, and because we were identified as runaways in the state of Washington they couldnt do anything. The law required the cops to offer us help from the local C.P.S. office and if we refused they had to cut us free unless we had broken any other laws. The second time we took a cab that cost like a bill there and back, again we got shut down. I don't recall how we tried again or what but man did we try every possible avenue in getting there it just wasn't happening. So now Greggers was heading back to TX with some money he'd recieved wired to him from his girlfriend, and I turned on the hobo in me.... hitchhiking south back down Interstate 5.
V. Vain Attempts at Understanding
Dawn broke the night's overcast gloom,
cars struggle thru the thick and thin,
and as we awake to regain our motivation,
should it all be for something,
or for someone,
someone specially suited,
who knows who the next leader will be?
or why or when he will be appointed?
feeding us propaganda to keep the population going strong,
a leader's future madness might bring you to your knees,
as the television glows and hums mesmerizing,
but seem to understand it vaguely,
the mission gone from fascinations,
scenes twice burned out in thought,
I have waited three crazed years for my sign,
with long intertwined crystal intoxication,
has it passed without my knowledge,
the days of senseless journey seem soon gone,
now doubt will be installed terminally,
the sun's glow sheds it's last conception,
and all of the windows and all of the doors everywhere lock,
no one can go out for a long while.
cars struggle thru the thick and thin,
and as we awake to regain our motivation,
should it all be for something,
or for someone,
someone specially suited,
who knows who the next leader will be?
or why or when he will be appointed?
feeding us propaganda to keep the population going strong,
a leader's future madness might bring you to your knees,
as the television glows and hums mesmerizing,
but seem to understand it vaguely,
the mission gone from fascinations,
scenes twice burned out in thought,
I have waited three crazed years for my sign,
with long intertwined crystal intoxication,
has it passed without my knowledge,
the days of senseless journey seem soon gone,
now doubt will be installed terminally,
the sun's glow sheds it's last conception,
and all of the windows and all of the doors everywhere lock,
no one can go out for a long while.
IV. Vain Attempts at Understanding
Now that those bastards have left,
Let's have a real discussion,
well.... like they say about our sun,
never do look directly at him,
well the sun won't let me be,
he is surely out to get me,
eventually the death of me,
man... the fuckin' death of us all.
Let's have a real discussion,
well.... like they say about our sun,
never do look directly at him,
well the sun won't let me be,
he is surely out to get me,
eventually the death of me,
man... the fuckin' death of us all.
III. Vain Attempts at Understanding
The old bum would only smoke Pall Malls,
"It's the best damn cigarette ever," he claimed,
as he always told the winos and junkies,
coursed thru every city,
Dallas, Phoenix, L.A., Seattle, Chicago, N.Y.,
or wherever else he so desired to make his place,
I think maybe Pall Mall had somehow...
God only knows how,
but had blackmailed the bum,
to incite the final phase of his demise.
"It's the best damn cigarette ever," he claimed,
as he always told the winos and junkies,
coursed thru every city,
Dallas, Phoenix, L.A., Seattle, Chicago, N.Y.,
or wherever else he so desired to make his place,
I think maybe Pall Mall had somehow...
God only knows how,
but had blackmailed the bum,
to incite the final phase of his demise.
This Monkey goes North for the Summer
The train now chugs north bound up the West Coast.... traveling parallel to highway 5... but the journey was made unique by this am-track train's trek thru the plethora of CA's various terrain. John Steinbeck's stories coursed thru my imagination as I recalled how wonderfully genius he was in his description of this landscape. Greggers and I were now part of the majority of the passengers aboard... no more smoking cart available... and this was 1998! These were the beginnings I believe of all their retarded anti-smoking laws. (I still have an unpaid ticket from when I did my East Coast wanderings a few years later. I was ticketed for smoking while waiting underground in the pits of those subway tunnels.... so I guess I have a warrant in one of the biggest cities on the planet.... lol... come and get me!)
Greggers had gone to get some drinks for us and returned with a new friend, Jorge, a chicano from Fresno, who told us a wild story about how he just abandoned his car in the train station's parking lot. He had a few ounces of that good CA chronic, and he told us he had his dealer front it and was bailing town on him with out paying him back. Sounded kinda of stupid for a little but of weed but we didn't care cause he smoked with us generously and asked us a lot of crazy shit about cowboys and ranches like he had these particular queries on his mind for years. We just laughed at this stereotype shared by outsiders, never having been to TX. I asked him if some racists questions that included mexican stereotypes, and with the continued laughter, and without a smoking cart available we began fogging out all the train bathrooms and to every hidden spot we weren't allowed to be and we smoked and smoked. We just kept moving around every five minutes and found no trouble getting away with this formula. Jorge was headed for Seattle as well, and was a great new travel companion.
Greggers had gone to get some drinks for us and returned with a new friend, Jorge, a chicano from Fresno, who told us a wild story about how he just abandoned his car in the train station's parking lot. He had a few ounces of that good CA chronic, and he told us he had his dealer front it and was bailing town on him with out paying him back. Sounded kinda of stupid for a little but of weed but we didn't care cause he smoked with us generously and asked us a lot of crazy shit about cowboys and ranches like he had these particular queries on his mind for years. We just laughed at this stereotype shared by outsiders, never having been to TX. I asked him if some racists questions that included mexican stereotypes, and with the continued laughter, and without a smoking cart available we began fogging out all the train bathrooms and to every hidden spot we weren't allowed to be and we smoked and smoked. We just kept moving around every five minutes and found no trouble getting away with this formula. Jorge was headed for Seattle as well, and was a great new travel companion.
Santa Barbara Drizzle
It probably took around a good 24 hrs to reach Santa Barbara, which was the first stop to get out and walk around in this new state. I vaguely remember we had stopped in AZ also... but 12 yrs. later I vividly remember the atmosphere and that cool rain drizzled June morning in Santa Barbara. It was my first time in CA, and seeing the palm trees shake gently in the breeze made me want to stay forever even though I would be surrounded by "fruits and nuts," as this are the two main types of people that inhabit the state of CA. Pretty funny... my friend from CA told me that last year. (We went on a cool ass spiritual sobriety Broken Neck AA retreat last year in Mammoth, and I will just barely miss going this year because I fucked everything up.... again. Being a foolish dope monkey) We stayed longer at some stops than others and I didn't really get to enjoy CA until my journey back thru a couple of weeks later. I just remember how inviting and crisp the air was there.
Monday, September 6, 2010
II. Vain Attempts at Understanding
My canopy is usually above me,
continued protection from those heaving rains,
I adore my lush greenery,
tranquility is breeding in the forested landscape,
animals lie asleep,
and at times flourish in heat,
the whole scenario does give it to me,
that final feeling of much favored security,
but at the same hour a breeze,
a slightly different breeze,
will plainly throw the plans,
every and all plans-
even the master plan,
off its mounted pedestal,
now solely relying on reconstruction.
continued protection from those heaving rains,
I adore my lush greenery,
tranquility is breeding in the forested landscape,
animals lie asleep,
and at times flourish in heat,
the whole scenario does give it to me,
that final feeling of much favored security,
but at the same hour a breeze,
a slightly different breeze,
will plainly throw the plans,
every and all plans-
even the master plan,
off its mounted pedestal,
now solely relying on reconstruction.
I. Vain Attempts at Understanding (poetry of my youth)
Old boys in banjo songs,
inwardly refer to sippin' whiskey as moonshine,
refreshingly odd,
nightfall's stir breathes equally.
inwardly refer to sippin' whiskey as moonshine,
refreshingly odd,
nightfall's stir breathes equally.
I. The Sounds of Native Madness (poetry of my youth)
A piece of my sirloin shines sour,
his sandals littered now burned bare feet,
and grown men can't keep their tires worn free!
a good solid tread is a must....
Where the grass drew green hue grown to glow on the horizon,
for my last faraway 'till my putts dress sheik,
these times laughter turns on only the greek gambler,
and Tron fit for a summer treated to a round of ping-pong,
pray for the showers to rejuvenate our game,
so the pitter-patter-patterns to a beat soundly encoded in tounges,
and the gods are tellin' us straight faced to get it on,
and my buddy thinks he has just been knighted by the queen!
sick and drug youths use recycled generations,
as that excuse to live in evil and lie obscene.
his sandals littered now burned bare feet,
and grown men can't keep their tires worn free!
a good solid tread is a must....
Where the grass drew green hue grown to glow on the horizon,
for my last faraway 'till my putts dress sheik,
these times laughter turns on only the greek gambler,
and Tron fit for a summer treated to a round of ping-pong,
pray for the showers to rejuvenate our game,
so the pitter-patter-patterns to a beat soundly encoded in tounges,
and the gods are tellin' us straight faced to get it on,
and my buddy thinks he has just been knighted by the queen!
sick and drug youths use recycled generations,
as that excuse to live in evil and lie obscene.
The Smoker's Cart
The Smoker's Cart was the main place I hung out. It was the only place we could smoke on the train, that is until we hit CA, and then we had to wait to stop or sneak them in some hidden corridor or bathroom. My boy Greg, or Greggers, as I called him had no money but came along for the ride as long as I did have some cash left. (As soon as i went broke in Seattle he had his girlfriend wire him a money for a bus ticket home). Greg only smoked weed at this point in his life (he picked up smoking cigs in prison a couple of yrs later) and so he and I chiefed it up and used Greg's fake id for me to stay drunk constantly on the 5$ drinks they served. No one seemed to bother us on the smoking cart, and we only had seats to sleep in anyways, we didn't have private rooms w beds. I was always a voracious reader and besides the alcohol and marijuana the book On The Road inspired me to start my travels early.
"I am going to grab some cigs Greggers," I informed him as we pulled into El Paso, TX.
"K dude, just meet me in the restaurant area," He replied.
"Yea order me some fuckin' nachos man w jalapenos."
"Fuck u.... U dont need to be gassing me out for the next 12 hrs."
"Ok whatever ill get em dick.... I guess u need some money." I handed him a ten.
"Uh yea... Im going to roll up a j too so ill find u when im done."
We along w the masses shuffled off the train... it was like 3am and was very refreshing to get out and stretch. I flicked half a smoked cig and watched a bum chase it in the wind to finish it off for me. Good I thought, it wont go to complete waste. Greggers laughed and called him a stupid beaner and headed inside. I let my imagination wonder how one gets to be that low in society.... now I realize it is very easy especially when people have not much family or friends. I know I would be way worse off if I didn't have a caring family.... they planted the seeds of my faith in God. I rebelled and remember how as a teenager I questioned the existence of God.... I thought I was real fuckin' sophisticated and intelligent. It is classic case of being a know-it-all kid.... high on weed and already experienced a variety of other chemicals, acid mainly, the heroin didnt come till like a yr later, but I was destined to try it at one pt or another due to this newly found way of existence. I had to learn it all for myself. I am not the first and wont be the last stubborn youth of America.
I purchased a carton of Marlboro Reds and dined on some nachos... like a little heathen I looked at everyone w contempt.... all adults could suck it cause they didn't know how to live their lives full and free in context w my own vision of how the American Dream should be defined. I jumped straight back onto the smoking cart and we waited for the one other person to finish her cig' and leave so we could light up that joint! As we left El Paso we went right by the shanty town on the Mexico side. Damn I remember feeling lucky and even in my young burned out brain could construct empathy, and this drained my thoughts and energy as I passed out on the smoker's cart. Bam.... bye bye smokin cart as we hit CA.... damnned hippie nazis out there in CA! LOL!
"I am going to grab some cigs Greggers," I informed him as we pulled into El Paso, TX.
"K dude, just meet me in the restaurant area," He replied.
"Yea order me some fuckin' nachos man w jalapenos."
"Fuck u.... U dont need to be gassing me out for the next 12 hrs."
"Ok whatever ill get em dick.... I guess u need some money." I handed him a ten.
"Uh yea... Im going to roll up a j too so ill find u when im done."
We along w the masses shuffled off the train... it was like 3am and was very refreshing to get out and stretch. I flicked half a smoked cig and watched a bum chase it in the wind to finish it off for me. Good I thought, it wont go to complete waste. Greggers laughed and called him a stupid beaner and headed inside. I let my imagination wonder how one gets to be that low in society.... now I realize it is very easy especially when people have not much family or friends. I know I would be way worse off if I didn't have a caring family.... they planted the seeds of my faith in God. I rebelled and remember how as a teenager I questioned the existence of God.... I thought I was real fuckin' sophisticated and intelligent. It is classic case of being a know-it-all kid.... high on weed and already experienced a variety of other chemicals, acid mainly, the heroin didnt come till like a yr later, but I was destined to try it at one pt or another due to this newly found way of existence. I had to learn it all for myself. I am not the first and wont be the last stubborn youth of America.
I purchased a carton of Marlboro Reds and dined on some nachos... like a little heathen I looked at everyone w contempt.... all adults could suck it cause they didn't know how to live their lives full and free in context w my own vision of how the American Dream should be defined. I jumped straight back onto the smoking cart and we waited for the one other person to finish her cig' and leave so we could light up that joint! As we left El Paso we went right by the shanty town on the Mexico side. Damn I remember feeling lucky and even in my young burned out brain could construct empathy, and this drained my thoughts and energy as I passed out on the smoker's cart. Bam.... bye bye smokin cart as we hit CA.... damnned hippie nazis out there in CA! LOL!
Dallas Dope Monkey: Summer of 1998
Dallas Dope Monkey: Summer of 1998: " I remember waking up and the phones were out of service, my car was not in my driveway, and my parents were on to me and my drugs......."
Summer of 1998
I remember waking up and the phones were out of service, my car was not in my driveway, and my parents were on to me and my drugs.... they had taken the only thing I had and paid for myself. That was how my little crazy 16 yr old brain justified stealing $1300 from my parents to flee the state. Somehow I called one of my friends to come get me... I cant remember exactly what was up w the phones being down that day except that it added to how strange this day un-flolded, un-planned.... by that night another one of my friends and I were on an Am-track train west bound thru the southwest to Santa Barbara, and then north to Seattle.... and ultimately we tried crossing the border three times unsuccessfully to reach Vancouver, where I figured was a pot heads paradise.... North America's own little Amsterdam.
Summer of 1998
I remember waking up and the phones were out of service, my car was not in my driveway, and my parents were on to me and my drugs.... they had taken the only thing I had and paid for myself. That was how my little crazy 16 yr old brain justified stealing $1300 from my parents to flee the state. Somehow I called one of my friends to come get me... I cant remember exactly what was up w the phones being down that day except that it added to how strange this day un-flolded, un-planned.... by that night another one of my friends and I were on an Am-track train west bound thru the southwest to Santa Barbara, and then north to Seattle.... and ultimately we tried crossing the border three times unsuccessfully to reach Vancouver, where I figured was a pot heads paradise.... North America's own little Amsterdam.
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