The Eye of Thor: June 2014

The second girl who latched on to me was Tambi. I was at Ron’s house and he could not get rid of this chick and asked me to take her somewhere. This one saw me coming a mile away, I swear she had cross hairs in her vision and I was the target. I had no intentions of sleeping with this one and should have sent her kicking rocks immediately. My good hearted nature and inability to see the girl’s motives of stealing as much as possible left me in house with as she called it a “Criddler”. She said she was cleaning my home but in reality she was just stirring it around so she could take what she wanted. Nobody does that shit on the east coast. You can get killed for it. All the while she is explaining what a Criddler was. My check came in that day so I arranged for a buy of a half ounce of dope after cashing my check and visiting Stepinas Italian restaurant on Mohawk. Tambi started “drooling” her drinks on to the floor. Why oh why did I not get rid of her then because that’s just not lady like, not at all. After the buy we stopped by Ron’s before heading down town. I had my ½ vial of acid with me and some sugar cubes, and began loading cubes for the people in the house. On each cube I placed a small drop naming the person it was for as I prepared the “Trips” when I reached Ron’s I gave a little extra squeeze while saying, “This one is for you.” The next one was mine and I said, while giving a double drop squeeze, “This one is for me.” The trip started opening up before we left the house to go down town. I had just returned from 711to buy some orange juice. I remember the road turning to sponge and my head light beginning to trickle out of my bike and getting caught in the gutters, and I had to keep reminding myself I had a destination; for, the road kept getting longer, softer, and was soaking up my light as fast as it spilled from the front of my bike. I turned right on to E street and remembered to stay on top of the bike even thought the asphalt rippled as the force of my tires exerted their extra weight in the corner. I hit the brakes hard, flipped down the side kick, and jumped off the bike landing like a cat on the side of the road all in one fluid motion. I went into the house and the people were all attempting to regain some semblance of order to engage in the Friday night agenda. I was smart enough to know this was not going to happen that the journey was just beginning. I decided to walk down town Tambi followed like a piece of gum stuck to my shoe that I couldn’t get off.

I hit the bar and ordered a bud bottle long neck. I turned around to face the stage for Tim Donahue was going into his solo on the drums. He is the best drummer in the North West by far. He can build a harmonic resonance with his drums that builds like architecture placing one beat upon another until the whole room pulses with the monolith skyscraper of sound interwoven with stairs and rooms of grand design. The rest of the band walks off the stage for ten minutes while this artistic design is interwoven into the very fabric of reality, and like clock work they again return taking their places and rejoin Tim to finish the song. After that the band took its break, and Duke dialed up some rock-n-roll for the intermission. I sat and watched the lights continue to dance and jump in their hypnotic display attempting to mimic the masterful music that had proceeded them but fell short even though the room breathed from the LSD I had ingested. Some things have the means and power to cross veils than lights and reproduced sounds; Tim Donahue’s music is one of them. Tambi was in the back with one of the other girls playing pool and they came up to retrieve me. As we walked by one of the girls who lived at Ron’s house who I had dosed had the look of a first time tripper the way she gripped the arm of her Free Soul boyfriend like some great beast might jump out of the wood work and devour her at any moment. She saw me and something triggered in her mind, some form of recollection and a question burst forth from her mouth, “Thor how long will this last?”

I looked at my watch and stood there for a minuet to do the math in my head, looked back at her wondering why I was standing there, and recalled a sentence that my mouth should be saying, ‘We should peak soon then another four to six hours to come down.” Her eyes got real big and her hand tightened on John’s arm. I looked around for a second cause I thought the critter she was waiting for had attacked. Then the girls pulled me into the back to play pool. Shooting pool while tripping hard is a real trick when the balls keep moving or the pocket does, and by the time they stop moving you could forget what you were shooting at. The girls were both drooling at this point because some other idiot was buying drinks for them. I decided to go outside and the piece of gum followed. At this point some real interesting things came out of her mouth as we sat down on a bench in a small park that used to be a block down from the Taxi. She knew a great deal about the start of Springfield and Eugene and proceeded to tell the story of the seven families that settled in the Willamette valley. LSD has a kind of truth serum affect on some people, and it was being displayed by the constant verbal dissertation coming out of Tambi’s mouth while we walked back to E street to get my bike. At some point she said something about being in a criddle war with Baby Roo; that I should have paid attention to, but I had the belief that I could control out of control people. Some time lessons are hard learned. I had been home for no more than twenty minuets when Baby Roo showed, saw Tambi, straight tripped while I was telling Tambi she had to go, and ran off telling me I had fucked up. The next morning Baby Roo showed with a crew who were set on causing some real trouble. I went outside to talk with a big guy who was attempting to call the shots. Melisa went into my trailer and started a fight with Tambi. I went in and broke it up and then had to turn my attention back to the people behind me. Leaving Melisa in my home was a mistake, for when I went back in she was scooping dope of my glass as fast as possible. I kicked her out, and the others removed their selves to the street at the end of the block. A cross that Tambi had given to her by an old school biker had been taken, and I jumped on my bike to go and confront them about it. The big guy started talking shit about his sister doesn’t steal; I looked at him like you got to be kidding. Then little chief walks up to me and opens his hand with a nine millimeter bullet in it. I looked at him like, “You got to be kidding.” Busters the whole lot of them. I got back on my bike and went back to my trailer. I was getting pretty pissed by now. I went over to James and Moe’s house, and James in formed me that Tambi was a thief and was robbing me blind. I made my way back home and kicked Tambi out of my house while yelling; “You brought violence into my home” I remember how clearly she was hurt, and real tears streamed down her face as she walked away. I thought it strange almost ironic considering the trouble and how much she had gotten for nothing but playing on my good natured heart. Baby Roo came back later and apologized for going off the deep end. I told her she had to leave as well. She took it much better than Tambi, for she had begun to understand me and respect my home.

I was returning from Ron’s house after yelling at him for putting a real trouble making “bitch” on me and pulled my Cb750 “Kay” into the drive next to my trailer when Janet Jackson popped out of the trailer behind mine and flagged me down. She piped right up and said, “When are you taking me out?” I was a little surprised by her forwardness. “This Friday; I guess.” I replied. It was Wednesday afternoon and I was heading for food, bong hits, and bed. When Friday came around it was still technically Thursday and I had a harrowing time over the last two days. I stopped in front of her trailer; Janet came out with a grand, “Ta da”. Her hair was done up, her make up obviously had been done with care, and she was in a cute dress. I could hear the girls behind her in the house who had helped prepare her for tonight’s event, so when the first thought of, “Oh my” with negative connotations of this girl is a beauty of mild complacence. My grandmother voice came to my ears, “You made the date keep it”. I looked at Janet and smiled and said, “Give me a few minuets to get changed, cleaned up, and I’ll be right over”. I got into the shower, and somehow managed to find some clean jeans. Tap, tap, tap, ever so lightly; I opened the door and there was her little girl Deda, that light tapping of this child would save my life about a month later. Deda piped up in her four year old voice and said, “My Mom said not to bring the mo-tor-cyc-le cause she got a ride down town” and skittered off toward her house. I got to Janet’s house and we were promptly ushered into the front seat of a full sized Chevy truck. Janet in the middle and her foster mother driving we headed down town to the “Taxi” for drinks and dancing. West coast girls is all I got to say to let you know how the night went. She drank Tequila Sunrises, myself just the usual Hefenweizen no lemon. We stopped by Exclusively Adult shop and the Ron’s house for some after hour’s fun and “smoked” a pipe load. Of course while things were starting to get heavy Ron had to stick his head in the bed room door to catch a quick look. Janet had an amazing body. We made it back to my trailer and after that night we were pretty close.

I began to enjoy her forwardness and ability to wrap people around her finger. She was so happy to have me in her life and had her daughter Deda begin to call me daddy. I was happy to be there for her and began walking with them to drop Deda off at school. She had a problem saying some words and I helped her to practice her enunciation and began to read to her at night before bed. Janet and I spoke about her mother who was dying of cancer. Janet went in to a tirade about how much she hated her mother for what she had done to her as a child. The connotations of sexual abuse were hidden in the under tones. I replied, “You will never have peace in your life if you don’t make peace with her now.”

She said, “I hate her” as the tears began to flow down her face. I stood and quietly looked on not judging; just being there was all I could do. Then she said something that I will never forget. It was something that range like something someone had told her in a tarot reading or premonition. It was, “He will know you better than you know your own self.” She began to wear a ring her mother gave her after a week or so. Her father came to pick her up, and she went home to visit. We went to her house for thanksgiving later that month. Janet’s mom was thin like death visited her every night and took his toll. She sat in a chair and watched her children with an unseen joy and pride to have all her children under her roof, again. Janet began to cry and said; “I can’t eat if she can’t eat” I put my plate down and reached out for her hand, looked into her eyes, and replied; “You eat for her. She brought us all here for the last Thanksgiving she will spend with you.” I smiled and she sniffled a little and said, “Okay’ giving me back the best smile she could. I looked at her mother for a moment and just gave a small nod. Her mother reached up for her husbands hand, he stiffened with a gentle pride; for a moment the death that loomed had no power he would not visit that night, and an ever so quiet whisper of a smile crossed her face. We talked later that night. I told her she had a responsibility; that from mother to daughter the cycle had to stop, and I believed she could do it. We had something very special at that point.

That all began to change when the dope began to flow heavy; I had an ability to get quality product and had a good connection at first things worked fine until Natasha starting spending time at my trailer while I would spend part of the night at Janet’s and then go home. Women tend to get jealous even for just time spent. I ate the ½ Peyote button one night, and Natasha got mad that I didn’t share. I should of ate it all, for the experience was mild and I should have respected “Grand father” Peyote and gone to the woods or the coast for a few days. When things start going bad it all happens at once, and my staying up for five to ten days at a stretch didn’t help the matter. What I really didn’t count on were two things one was the hate I would receive from taking one of the working girls off the free market and the other came in the form of a story told me by a “Hells Angel” house mother Janet’s Foster Mother.

I had met her Foster Mother the first night I took her out, and after we had been dating for a month and had caught the overseer for the Mexicans in the house she told me this story. “Twenty five years ago the bikers and Mexican dealers began working together. A group of them began cooking dope and mixing in heroin. Seven of the most beautiful girls were raped, tortured, and ceremoniously killed. The bikers came up from California and killed twenty one dealers three for every girl.” I began filling the rest of the story over the next couple of years. The goal of the group was to kill thirteen. You see such pain, pleasure, and torture followed by death rip the veils wide open and bring forth demons who eagerly await the lost souls. Years later, shortly after my unofficial prospecting for the Hells Angels, I would mention that I was the Guardian of Thirteen to Wow a FS brother out in Marcola. He stopped dead in his tracks looked at me and said, “That’s some real serious shit. Go find the rest of the girls.” At the time that I heard the story it just scrambled my head, for a while, but because I was in love with Janet and Deda; I took the job. Really the job chose me.

Part of the reasoning behind my deciding to begin such a trial was the guilt and shame I felt for the violence, twisted behavior, and suffering that the love between myself and Shaggy had endured. It would not be until 85 girls and ten years later that I would find some semblance of closure; for I found Shaggy and we talked. I was still in love with her after all that time. I found that I had done a pretty good job of moving on and changing and she had not, at least not to the extent I had, my change was drastic for sure, yet so was my penance.

I should try to explain the Guardian, how I acted, what my intentions were, and the means by which I gave the message that I was trying to impart. It is very confusing at times for I often did not know in what frame work the message would be employed, delivered or how it would be received by the girl who I was working with at the time. Some of the girls I dated but soon I had learned, this was too close, yet at times it was completely necessary to give the girl who I was working with the consummate love that they may have never had. The girls whom I work with often come from dysfunctional homes; they may have been sexually abused or physically abused or both. I found it my job to give them unconditional love equal to the love of a parent. This is a gift that is hard to do without loosing ones own desires and Shiftgreagor in standing within the game. Really I’m telling you I often found myself looking the biggest bitch, sucker, and fool to all others around me and even to a greater degree to the woman I was with. Those men, who prided themselves on their hardness, hustle or game, and just plain the ability to rise to the top of the gangster kingdom of using others and being a “Bad Ass” had no conception of what I was doing and treated me like easy pickings, or a joke further amplifying the plight I was in. The woman who I was close with at the time would find twisted joy in their ability to manipulate me and the others around me. The girls would begin working me for everything I had, putting me in harms way, and convincing the authorities if she got into trouble that it was all me. The authorities were happy to go along with, “Get the nigger game.” for it suited their purposes of controlling their out look on the Afro-American male in the state of Oregon. The consummate strength required to stay the course in such situations rivals a bravery and courage that is of paramount nobleness in thought, word, and deed. I often failed by surging and relapsing into violence upon the loved one in question a weakness that cost me more than what was visibly taken from me be it property, rights, or freedom, for one such action could unravel all the work, the way, the answer that I so strived to give. I heard it said do not cast pearls before swine after you have planted the seed, yet I endure to say often it is the path of the Sower to tend the seed he has planted to insure the outcome in hard times. Such was my actions and stead fastness into such arenas of blight that even my own Club that had put so much hope and stock in me could not understand. If you erase all the statutes that govern actions in the underworld games and rewrite them in focus of a higher ordeal, it will not be understood or received well or at all. In reality I am doing what I was sent to do. I made my pack with God not with the clubs even thought they may feel different, for they had made the first step before I was born.

In 1966 the interstate compact was laid down among the thirteen ruling under ground families. It had been a preemptive strike against the “Drug War” that would soon follow. Many would say it was a charter dividing the country into the arena of plausible working conditions in so doing reducing the war like behavior that so permeated each family there bye allowing internal strength to gather and be a pillar for these communities that lay under their watchful eye of Club, Gang, Mafia, or other such militant minority repressed race. In truth a shadow gathering would occur, strong minds, and souls so gathered the elite with the greatest gifts began to share and invest in the future of their races by giving their greatest gifts and often as in my case their greatest sacrifice, their children. I want you to imagine if Romeo and Juliet had a child neither family would harm this child though the short sightedness of the families may still war for power and consequence, yet the child would be unharmed. Such is what these families had done such is what these parents, my parents had done they gave the gifts they had in tandem to the future. After the infiltration of the Heroin into the inner city Barrios and Ghettos during the 60’s they knew the next attack by the ruling classes would ever so more detrimental to the future of the true American society.

Things can be blurred over many years and have been, and they way lost until someone comes forth to tell the truth and rekindle hope, giving direction to the struggle, allowing the true reason for the Families, Clubs, Gangsters, and Mafia conglomerations and there bye reinvesting in our strengths not our weaknesses. Why? Just look at your children if you are second or third generation from any of these groups, and ask your self what you want for them? I hope your answer comes from honor, strength, and love for our children deserve nothing less. Do they?

I was speaking with a Queen Bee a lady of great introspection and knowledge, she reminded me of a so important truth about the ladies of the night, that their addiction far out weighed any that wrapped around the use of drugs or sex. She explained the addiction and the mystery of prostitution were a drive that many girls hid and could not give up. I can understand, each every man has that first date energy, that want to have fun, spend money on the lady he is with, to show that he is in control and the man of the hour, and then the date is finished by the sexual encounter. A top lady gets top cash, the best drugs, the most expensive gifts, and ride the best ride. You could imagine the power and excitement that the lady who is chosen receives. They make friends easy and learn to use their gifts of sexuality and love to attain a position that is almost untouchable. They weave their magic into their neighbors, and all the men they come across. This power only can be held if they continue to stay the course of gratifying the ones around them. If they try to pull away into a secluded or normal relationship these men may attempt any measure to get them back.

That measure began to be portrayed in the field of Janet’s home where pictures of me that I had given Deda were hung on her front door with drawings in red ink to represent the blood that came from my soon to be beaten face and head. A bolder fellow Ferri began taking Janet out on drug runs and making fun of me while he did it. I come to find out after a short time he was tricking her out at these deals, and a gathering of people under his stead began to drive a wedge between us using sex and my need to keep my new family together. He began tapping on the trailer wall and speaking to her saying things like, “I got an eight ball to sell.” I replied, “Your pretty stupid considering you have a distinctive voice”, and for this I was told to shut up by Janet and she acted as if nothing had happened. She placed her seat in the house just so she could be reached by that window by someone who wanted her, and did not want to have me here them. My reputation as a violent man if pushed to far was kept in strict reigns by Janet. I let her work the dope out of me one day. I was lost, out of options, and herd her go out front and laugh and say, “He’s crying” she really didn’t know why. It wasn’t because I was hurt or mad at her or even that I was loosing her; it was that I couldn’t get the all important message to her and she was already lost.

What you don’t hear about is the cutting, the burning hot showers, the feeling of less than, the nights of terror at the hands of their old man or hating themselves for lying over and over. The twisted need to bring others into their pain, the beginning of the anger and hate they build against all men, the need to control all men, and like any addiction they continue on, returning to the splendor the game, the pain. Even more volatile was the continued perpetuation of the disease to their children. I walked out of the back of the trailer into the living room and there was Deda masturbating herself to an orgasm. I stopped turned around and walked back and told Janet to go talk to her daughter. I herd her say, “I told you not to do that where people can see you.” Little girls of four years old don’t learn such a mature action on their own. They have to be taught. I couldn’t rightly out right accuse Janet of such behavior, and it was not my part to talk to Deda about such behavior. I just did what I could to create a better house hold. Sometimes it was just pure stupidity that we engaged in behavior that was overtly haphazard. We would not get high in front of Deda but one day we set up a glass blowing station at the kitchen table. Here we were blowing glass at the table and Deda sitting there watching us. I stopped after I looked at her innocent face on the other side of the glowing glass tube in my hand. I said, “I can’t do this while looking at her gentle face across the red hot glass. We can find something to do as a family”.

I went to sleep one night and gave Janet the sales. Upon waking I counted the product and money she turned over to me and found an extra 70 dollars with the addition of some bunk product. Janet sat on the other side of the room with a strange look on her face somewhere a cross between worry and mischief. I asked, “How did you pull that off?” It seems I asked the wrong question. Later that day I told her that I would be dealing with the Mexican who had ripped us off, she quickly interject that she would handle the problem. Janet walked up to the man the next day at the trailer next to mine Michael lived there with his family we were and are still friends. She patted him down took the knife out his pocket and proceeded to pull the long knife I had given her on him in front of all the other Mexicans and demand the money he had worked out of her. I sat back and watched with one of my bros saying, “That’s a bad Bitch” I just liked my girl’s style, as a biker how could you not.

I guess I found a higher place to come from instead of a need for the game, at some point you begin to look for something real, and a rage, a love, a want grows in side you that comes from the loss that rules the lives of those who call them selves players. I was reaching that point day by day. Not to say I wasn’t susceptible to my human needs, but it was an echo of change that strived to change my very center. Joe new it was in me. Who’s Joe? Joe tripod Black the 1^st was my cat. He chose me one day, or one night as the case may be. I was standing outside and had been thinking of getting a little friend when this kitten runs out of no where and runs into my boot. He turned to run away and I said, “Where are you going?” He turned and looked up at me and sat down in way of saying nowhere. Joe and I had a very special relationship beyond pet and owner. We communicated on an unseen level; you could say he was my familiar, but I have that same effect on all animals to a lesser degree. Bald Scott was staying at my house and he said, “Every time you come home Joe starts meowing before I even hear your bike.” I would often ask him questions about the state of affairs as the case may be and he would seem to funnel the answers to me in an unseen way. I know this may sound a little to the left but I capitulate and say anyone has these abilities if they were just to listen very well.

I wasn’t a drug dealer by any means at this point so when a cop showed at my door and began asking me questions like, “Do you want to tell me about the large amounts of Heroin and Meth that you are dealing?” I took it as a personal affront. He then asked me, “Have you seen Deno lately?” I thought Deno was a piece of shit and there was no way I would have him in my home, so my reply was short and simple, “No”. Some short thin dark haired woman in street clothes was standing behind the officer, INET or a district attorney I’m not sure which and I really didn’t care enough to get off my couch which I lay upon. Until… the cop decided to step up into my house and look around. That was all it took. I looked at his name tag it said, “A. Perkins” I leapt from my supine position landing right in front of the officer and said, “Listen here Allan Perkins you need to get off my property NOW!” He was stunned and quickly back peddled off my stoop almost knocking the woman down who was also attempting to enter my home. He caught his balance and gave me a look of surprise and blurted out, “How did you know my name?”

I in turn replied, “I have certain abilities that you may not want to deal with and GET OFF MY PROPERTY BEFORE I PHYSICALLY REMOVE YOU!” The woman just looked in horror as her plans of intimidating a black man fell to dust, and desperately tried to stay out of the way of the officer who was in full retreat for a second. The officer tried to regain some semblance of composure while making his way off my property back to his patrol car and yelled over his shoulder, “Go ahead I get paid for over time.”

To my words of, “If you come back I will place harassment charges on you” all in all it ended well, but it was just another seed planted in the eyes of the local establishment on how they wished to view the Afro-American male in Eugene/Springfield. As they saw us we were all drug dealing, pimping, lying niggers who deserved to be run out of the state or put in prison.

The original state charter forbade free Blacks in the state of Oregon. It seems that there was a fear that the Blacks would breed with the native Indian population and create a rebellion against the whites in the state. That is hearsay, but as people well know most prejudice comes in the form of rumors, hearsay, and subterfuge. A town called tent city lay across the Willamette River before 1966. All blacks had to be out of town before sundown or face risk of jailing by the police due to the law that was on the books prior 1966. We all know that the civil rights bill changed how America legally had to deal with minorities. Often as in the case with Oregon such changes did not herald a new view from all its habitants. I arrived here during a period where the Afro-Americans were only seen on the Athletic teams for the most part in Eugene. The statistics were that Afro-Americans made up .1% of the population during the late 90s and early 2000’s basically that says 1 Afro-American for every 1000 people, and the Afro-Americans of the athletic teams of the two Universities were counted in that number. A road which was renamed after the turn of the century down in Cottage Grove used to say “Dead Nigger road” like wise a billboard was taken down in Roseburg that stated, “Don’t let the sun go down on your Black ass in this town” which I was told was enforced by the loggers by a life long Roseburg resident. I will Say today in 2011 I am happy to say Afro-Americans have businesses, enjoy a life of civil liberties, and can be seen walking the streets of Eugene and even Springfield. When I moved here I thought there were only two of us one of which was an elderly man, who lived around the corner from me on B Street, until I was incarcerated then I found a great multitude in county lock up and in the state prison system.

As you may recall I had said everything changed when the dope started to flow, and flow it did about two months after my run in with the Springfield police officer. As I had said before I could get quality product, and I began working with a Mexican dealer. The reason why was not just for drugs but also due to the fact that I was trustable with peoples money. I gained a reputation as a straight shooter being that if someone gave me money I would always return with product. This was an unusual attribute for players in the local game. Trust and honor go a long way in the underworld as long as honorable men lead the parade. I knew what could happen to someone if they fucked someone over and I also knew that if you wanted repeat customers or the ability to come up without any money in your own pocket you had to rely on other people’s money which meant you had to be trustable. I could get 100 from three people and go buy a ½ ounce for 300 and give each person an eight ball (3.5 grams) and that was better than street prices and I would have an eight ball for myself which I could use for some sales and personal use.

I set my trailer up with an area outside so people could come and work on bikes with a set of simple tools, a cot for naps with a mini black and white T.V. and a mini fridge usually with some fruit, cold water, cool aid, and some burritos. I had a piece of ply wood up that had the silhouette of a man which I threw my knives at. The afternoon that the gum was stuck to my shoe; I had asked, “Do you know what happens to someone if they pull a gun on me?” Her look back was quizzical. I pulled the blade from its sheath on my leg and put it through the neck of the plywood man in one ½ second fluid motion. Sticky gum’s eyes got real big. The landlord began giving me as much trouble as possible after the police showed that one day. She kept coming up with reasons to attempt to kick me out. “You can’t block your front door with the walls you put up.”

“The police need to be able to see your door.”

“Paint the exposed wood on the back of the shed.”

“Take the gang graffiti off the shed.” My friend Angela had painted “Love” on the back of the shed, but it took a second to see it, ergo gang graffiti.

“Stop STEALING electricity.” My power went out and I jacked off my neighbor with his permission for a few days. There is a saying called wizard’s first rule. People will believe what they want to believe or what they are afraid to believe. The cops use this tactic all the time, and in my case being mullato the fear associated with persons of color transcends into what the cops wanted to foster, fear and prejudice.

My neighbors had been having troubles which I understood. I used to stand outside and call David out of the house away from Jinny. I knew how much he loved her and went you get caught in violence of that sort; it’s hard to break. I intervened in the best way I knew how. I did what I wish somebody would have done for me, and Shaggy. They had the rainbow dope cook Kenny come by their house and he began stopping by my house on occasion. His dope was purely magical it would form a rainbow in the pipe while you smoked it using the light off of the lighters flame. Some dopes caused sexual behavior others paranoia, and some just a long slow buzz in contrast the rainbow dope was something that just brought out your inner self in greater quantity with no overtones. Kenny wound up dead in a hotel room rumor had it that he was trying to sell his recipe for 25,000. David once heard some strange noises coming out of the next door trailer two down from mine. As he got closer it became screams of “Help, Help”. David kicked the door down and rescued a young woman who was duct taped and shoved under the bed. The man who lived there had gone to the bar for a drink. The cops said David had saved the girls life. They said the man would have killed the girl and dumped her body when he got back from the bar. David and Jinny live in the Whittaker neighborhood with their five year old son they are very happy, and still call me brother. I saw David on the EMX the other day and he said, “They got a movie with your name on it coming out” I replied, “Somebody’s always trying to steal my thunder”. We both laughed.

Natasha had my back until I let the pressure get to me. Jealousy was the main ingredient for the slow twisted onslaught that began to plague me. At first it was subtle a word here, a look from one of Janet’s past boyfriends. Scott tried to worn me that, “There was a line out the door”, but I wouldn’t listen. They always showed when I wasn’t around and would take off as soon as I arrived. Since they showed in twos and threes I thought nothing it. I had given Deda some pictures of me and began finding them on the front door of Janet’s house with drawings in red ink depicting me with blood coming out of my mouth and ears like I had been beaten severely. Janet began to act like it was just a joke. A new man showed on the scene fresh from prison, and began taking Janet out on dope runs. Berry D. was Janet’s new best friend. In reality he became her pimp. One day he was sitting in the other room and got her to “Work the dope out of me”. I sat in the bathroom and cried. She went back to the front room laughing and saying he’s crying. I was crying because I knew she was lost, not because I had lost her.

Deda called him daddy right in front of me, and then looked at me with a worried look on her face. Deda was ½ Japanese and her father would come to see her sometimes. I sat her down and said, “If you have two daddies you are twice as special, and you have three daddies you are three times as special” She smiled and nodded. I often would watch her playing with her friends; she was the leader always. This four year old girl was very special. One day we were walking to the store and she was on my shoulders and asked, “Daddy who’s God?” I said, “God is everything. He is in the blue sky and the green grass. He is all the things you see. He loves you and your mom, and he loves everybody”

She asked, “Even bad people?”

I replied, “He loves, bad people too, sometimes most of all.”

Things came to a head fast. Janet was having sexual encounters right under my nose and had people laughing in my face. I sat there looking at this one couple with a torch running in my hand, and felt the tension in the room raise as this couple began to ask Janet will he hurt us. She said, “No he won’t do anything.” Baby Roo started hanging out at Janet’s house a sort of buffer to the problems arising which worked for a while. One day in early December Baby Roo and Janet were hanging out in Janet’s trailer. I was at home and pretty well fed up with Janet’s bullshit. I had got my monthly payment and was intent on taking care of my bills and staying out of the game for a while. Deda came and knocked on my door. I opened it for I could never turn her away and Janet knew it. Deda piped up and said, “My mom wants you to come over” and scurried of with her little blond locks bouncing as she ran. I left my trailer and locked the door with the key. Leaving the bolt lock on the handle and went to Janets house right behind and across the drive from my trailer. I knocked on Janet’s door and she asked me to come in. There was a change in her face. I had a charisma that would often supersede others who weren’t real and just out for sex, drugs, or fun. Baby Roo had on a black hat with a red sash black pants and a black blouse and Janet had white pants and a light blue blouse on. Janet sat on the couch and was quiet. I looked at her as if to say what. Baby Roo took the queue and left the trailer. Within seconds she burst back through the trailer door and exclaimed, “Thor your trailers on fire!” I ran out the door and looked across the drive. I could see the flames inside through the window that faced Janet’s trailer. I ran around the corner of my trailer towards the front door. I was worried that Joe was in the trailer and began calling his name. I reached the front door, and the lock I had put on the trailer handle was on the door, locked. No way out except the windows. I picked up a cinder block and hurled it at the window. It bounced off and shattered on the ground in front of me. All the while I’m yelling, “Joe! Joe!” I picked up a piece of the cinder block and threw it at the window again. This time the safety glass in the bed room area exploded. The flames were licking the ceiling and had completely engulfed the main living area. I herd Baby Roo yell “Joes over here” I rushed over to hold him and stood back with the other bystanders and watched my home burn.

The fire trucks showed and a fireman came over to ask me if I had anything that might explode while the others began to get the rigging ready to put out the fire. I watched as my home was finished off and the fire was put out. Janet said, “Well Deda; I guess Thor’s moving in with us.” Deda reached up and held my hand. The news camera’s showed from channel 16, and asked to interview me. I replied, “Yes, and make sure you get the important shots” as I pointed to something I had written on the side of my trailer with a felt tip Sharpie. It said, “Be a giver not a taker.” I stepped into my trailer, my home, my blacked out existence, and listened to the firemen as they located where the fire started and remarked on the use of accelerant which I attributed to the fry pot which I had on the stove. Later Baby Roo would tell me that everybody knew that the window over my stove was an easy access to my home, and she added, “Did you notice how all the bullshit stopped for a little while after that happened?” I thought I had locked the trailer in my absent minded way, but I had not. It was locked from the out side, too keep me in.

The news camera was set up and the reporter was directing me on the nuances of opening, name, first and last, spelling, and then we were ready to go. The reporter had on a burgundy skirt and matching suit jacket with a white blouse and a rose broach with green chartreuse leaves; her hair was short brunette falling to her shoulders and neatly done, her make-up impeccable. I thought how strange and in contrast with the bystanders in their trailer park ghetto throw-on’s, the blacked out trailer behind me swarmed with yellow florescent, and my own black leather jacket. She asked, “How do you feel about loosing your home?” I replied, “I have my cat Joe, my poetry, my music, and my motorcycle, so I’m okay” I should have added in my loved ones and something else but that would come later. Then she asked, “Is there anything you would like to say to people?” my next statement would not earn me any friends from the landlord to the establishment, but it is what I still believe. “This place is slated for destruction. Instead of destroying it and making these people have to move. Why don’t you try to lift these people up to a better life?”

The news crew picked up there equipment and soon after the fire trucks were loaded and on their way back to the fire station. The bystanders made their way back to their homes and I went to Janets with Deda and Joe. Later that day I would go to my trailer and remove my H2 engine and stereo putting them into Janet’s shed. Most of my property was destroyed by the fire but I collected what I could. The trailer had no electricity so when I went after dinner to get more stuff I had to use a flash light. I found Joe sitting just inside the door wondering what had happened. He was looking around at the blackened walls the remains of my couch, and he seemed unable to move. I picked him up and said, “It’s all gone Joe” “You have to go with me to Janet’s, and you get play with Deda all the time.”

I still had money and the drug business was there to fall back on, which I did. I made bad decisions that would come back to haunt me, this was one. Within two weeks everything started again. The twists and turns, Berry D. talking to her on the other side of the trailer wall saying, “I have an eight ball”. My property started disappearing every time I left the house. It was when someone fucked with my bike by letting out the air in my tires and short circuiting my ignition system that I had enough. Janet had made it clear that she was clearly fucking with me. We were in the house and Deda was at school when I brought up all the bullshit. Janet said, “I beat your ass across the room!” I relapsed drew back and let a right fly. I pulled it at the last second, but it was too late. I connected with Janet’s jaw. She went for the phone to call the police, and a short scuffle occurred in which I took the phone and pulled the cord. She had a strange look on her face like she was stunned with a little bit of satisfaction. I realize now that battered women find a form of power in the moment they get hit. I left the house in a hurry. Janet did call the police, but for some reason didn’t file charges. I guess she wanted to take care of it in a more personal way.

I went to Rod Briggle’s house and called home. I arranged to take a shuttle to Portland and catch the Greyhound bus home. It would leave December 23, 2000. I went back to Janet’s house and she opened the door. I said, “Everybody wants to take all my shit, beat me up, burn down my home, and they are all your friends, fucking fine. You take it all.” And got on my motorcycle and left. I parked my bike at Rods house. We went to Fred Myer and I traded the 25$ gift certificate I had been given by the Red Cross when my home burned for boots for Rod and he dropped me downtown to catch the shuttle to Portland. I had 25$ from Rod and another 50$ from my dad for traveling money. I was on my way home.

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