In 1973 my father purchased an old three story Victorian on 7321 Takoma Avenue Maryland
Tuesday, December 10, 2013
Monday, December 9, 2013
“Monsters" aka The Twins, Serial Killers
My worst nightmares are by far using nightmares, where I am
in a world, where again am in the grips of some drug with mind racing as I
attempt to do more or find more. All rules still apply this is a nightmare ever
so more real cause I’m in a twisted state of long ago.
I want to tell you now. I have seen and been close to real
dark people, big and small, but I never seen what my mind showed me. I do not
like even writing this one down, but am just the …….sleep please……
It was Mount Vernon Baltimore Maryland area one of those
back ally apartments near student housing on St Paul street Baltimore
We entered into the house and we going through things, but
the house seemed to have been tossed all ready, things lay about in disarray. I
was looking for a score, cocaine, or cash for coke. I was high and it mattered
for about four hours real bad to get more when you have been smoking. Some
people went to lengths, some massive and on the news as car jackings, muggings,
robberies, shootings and I was doing my length not much in balance entering
this house looking for drugs, twisted. Not by any means a criminal, really just
twisted in my nightmares need to find the drugs, and to out and get high. I
counted the minuets home once we found his stash of coke. I was all set up my
little station for cooking, clean again waiting. We were on different floors
the girl was downstairs; I up in his room the top floor where the room was
dashed to and from and trampled and a book shelf three feet high recessed in
the wall had a few clothes thrown against it, but a shape immerged as I reached
for it a camera hidden by the mess, it was his camera and video recorder
pointing into the room. It was like mine; I turned it on, just to see, if it
worked, I thought. I saw, his face but not, it was the face of a dead man, eyes
with no life, they held him by a big hand compared to his light frame by one
big hand and two men big tattooed, with masks like wresters or some cheap
fetish movie red and blue on naked next to the body as the last picture of the
camera was like a trophy shot. It doesn’t come fast enough, or too fast horror.
I clicked to into the video in the menu, seeing some-what the same shot as the
last frame. I pressed play. Why?
The men in
masks had the young man down on the floor he was just some young kid in his
twenties who worked as waiter dealing drugs. He was so scared. You could see
it, and he wanted out. He was not a fighter, not built for it, not of
temperament he was not tall a little lean and maybe medium strength. All this
did nothing for him. I was transfixed at first watching in the why, then things
became unreal as they began the taunting, the beating, the sexual violence as
they forced things into his mouth and anus, as the his screams and weeping got
more intense so did their fever beating him as he followed their commands or was
just a taunt that they might just leave him and go as he begged. I could hear
little muffled far away yells breaking through the camera’s speaker as he
pleaded them to stop. I watched, fast forwarded and watched, I was going
forward and had just stopped, in an unimaginable place, a place of monsters. A
nightmare captures our essence and rips it along a journey like a loose tread
of palatable existence in a reality, in horror sometimes we wonder if it’s just
a film this nightmare or life. I watched
as they both attacked him sexually at once, beginning to choke him and pound on
him as they attacked in sexual frenzied madness, animal lust… until the girl I
was with said, “What do you got there?” taking the camera away. I reached,
horror builds in the mind. It had replaced the need for drugs, my twisted high.
I was still in shock and the camera slipped from my hand and she looked at the
little screen.
Like I said, it takes real horror to sink in. I saw in my
few seconds of video which seemed to share more than possible of this vile
looking glass featuring a last night of a mans life and, them doing things to
him, that are stuck in my mind. Awful things, that a normal human could not
withstand much, and then others worse with the warm body, in their lust, and
madness, this thing I was forced to watch, on the video. It went for another
second and a grabbed back the camera. It was too late. A nightmare scream, the
one that lasts on and on as the bits of the video played in my mind, a scream
of pure terror from the girl, she had seen that much. “Monsters” two men,
lovers, went out looking for their sexual primal lust, boosted by the drugs,
and found… The scream woke me, as I still watched the video and slowly
everything became white, blinding with the scream being the only thing left,
and the want to leave this horrid place.
I woke. I stood, and walked in seeming way to get away from
the images in my head, but they kept repeating.
The real story was too vivid, too visceral to explain in detail, flashes
of him pleading as they first began getting hi, and then his screaming as the
men the monsters with no masks, tortured and used the young man as a sex toy,
just look of animals with their prey was left, Monsters that walk among us.
Thor
I fucking hate this one.
It doesn’t need to come back. I work with cameras all the
time for the last couple years, the horror of this dream is in the camera when
I hold it, shadows somewhere in my mind of another camera linger.
Letter to Snoop Lion from THOR Peace-UP
Do you see?
Mandela walked out of 20 years of Jail to become the
president of a country. What are you willing to sacrifice? Now you walk this
new path, you are becoming a beacon. Why do you think I stayed quiet when Eminem
trash talked me in 2005, well I did flow for three days straight, but the
higher reason, the same reason when Black Eyed Peas gave me shout out; I stayed
quiet. I passed on Hells Angels Club prospect for alone this road I walked. The
road of Peace-UP.
It was the Gangsters who put down their guns and picked up
food for the long boycott in South
Africa
Peace-Up is the way you are walking now we are looking
forward to better dayz.
Now you are in the spot light. What do you want America
I am a soldier doing this alone for 13 years.
What are you? Are you the Lion.
The tooth I wear around my neck is a Lions tooth from
Johannesburg South Africa .
They say the black mane Lion is the bravest of all Lions,
but is often the loner, a king unto himself.
Chef John aka THOR
Wednesday, December 4, 2013
Letter to Michael J. Fox from Chef John the Ghetto Gourmet Show aka THOR
I am handicapped. I learned a lot over the last three years,
teaching myself to walk, running 4,000 miles, learning to live and laugh at my
disability. I am now realizing there isn’t much I can’t do if given a shot. I
might not be at 100% but my 60% is pretty darn good and if you add a smile well
as said by Jimmy Stewart in the movie Harvey
This little boy of three in our apartment had this thing
about not paying attention, or switching his attention quickly and being herded
by mom who also had his older brother a runner along made simple transits up or
down the stairs. This day he was coming up the stairs very intent on eating a
peach as he slowly step by step took the stairs and he being my buddy I said,
“Hello”. That’s all it took and backwards he went. I dove the seven feet, and
then reaching out one hand and caught him just he was about to tumble the whole
stairs head first. He exclaimed, “Get my peach!” for in my catching him and his
surprise he lost his peach over his shoulder. It was for most in his mind, the
joy of life, innocence. I realize we lose our innocence the reality of that
innocence is returned during suffering, and that is an amazing and powerful
gift. To be able to give a window of it to others noble in intent, and is
working. Eventually even after another saving grab by me. The little boy almost
four now came home with a caste on his arm, gravity finally got him but he
still had a lot of innocence left, and always a smile and talk for me. That
little moment where the peach was everything I think that’s what I strive for
every day.
Chef John Ernst AKA Thor
We the little people talk about you Mike, you empower us.
Tuesday, December 3, 2013
Chapter 6 Minnesota “Cousins Cousins Everywhere”
Chapter 6
“Cousins Cousins Everywhere”
Forty five
cousins by fourteen aunts and uncles, my father had seven siblings, and I was
the first adopted mullato into a family of German Catholics. We would fly up
every summer without exception. In the first years I was of course and infant
and stayed with my parents the whole time. We would always stay at Grandpa and
Grandma’s first in the spare bed room in the two floor cottage were I an infant
and toddler would share the bed with Mom and Dad and then the basement in my
early years a small cot was put in the corner. It’s a funny thing now that I
think about it. I used to sleep on a lot of old army cots as a child, with
adults using them as well in large gatherings where sleep over was required,
and then they phased out with time. The street was a soft black asphalt street
slow diving street with a driveway that went up quickly on the left side of the
house under an awning. A small walkway next to the bushes that would gently
prick you on the left and right with these little red berries with a very sour
taste, really not to be tried just because they are red, and they had a funny
little reverse nipple where the black seed lay snuggled in a sticky clear syrup
with like I said It had a very red skin which I considered in the realm of good
things to eat as a toddler. Cherries in the fruit can red, strawberries red,
red was good, the first instance of red in berry form being bad kind of sticks
in your head. The clear stuff was kind of sticky and would act as a good mini
bomb in a game of War later with my cousins. My hands were always on the move
as a child. There were just three steps up to the screen door which opened to
the right off of the small ledge. The top of this ledge at the age of 3 and 4
was like the top of a great hill for the grass and hill stretched down to the
curb which of course I had rolled down with many times an added child in tow as
we flipped down the hill. The first room inside was the living room the dark
Walnut organ with all its peddles and switches on top in long rows. I read each
one on an afternoon, the coco clock lay above that at the far right of the
room, a gentle blue carpet lay on the floor.
The house was two story Rambler with bed rooms in the back right with a
bathroom and a big basement under ground. It had the most amazing wood paneling
that covered the whole room, an old style round picture tube television set was
actually be hidden in the wall. A huge freezer was at one end laying on top of
the checkered white and pink tiled work that covered the whole floor. I was
about nine and I was at Grandma’s and Grandpa’s Ernst for a week that summer
until I went to see Mark and Mary at Aunt Irean’s, and John, Joe, Becky, and
Uncle Jim Fisher.
I was stationed
down stairs, with a pot. A ritual I had to endure any time I stayed at Grandma
and “Gramps”, that’s what all us kids called him like he was our best friend,
he was “Gramps” even when we got older. I would have to wake and try to hit
that pot and then bring it up in the morning; I was still a tart then. I
graduated up stairs, when my other Grandma Lucile got a hold of me a few months
later. It was like that, back and forth during the summers Minnesota
and upstate New York
This morning was
exciting because I was going back to the pond and the raft we had been working
on all of three days was almost done. We had just used junk we found around the
pond to build the raft, and had lashed it together, so I finished off my egg,
bacon, and toast had a few words with Grandma after washing up, and was in a
hurry to be on my way. I had found the pond on my 2nd day in the
neighborhood. It was down a street or two at the end of a road by the train
tracks. I was loaded with frogs, minnows, a few sucker fish and a occasional
perch, sunfish a rumored bass or such, and it had turtles sunny them selves on
logs, all kinds of turtles, and snapping turtles, swim with you’re a shoes on
don’t touch turtles, and the biggest sunned them selves all day on a log near
the center of the pond. The pond was maybe the size of a football field
scrunched funny. It had its main area and lots of little swampy inlets and a
few muddy beaches. I met Paul on my second day of vacation when my when I found
the pond. He had called over at me while I was using the refuse around the pond
to gain head over the water teetering and balancing along rocks and logs. We
became instant friends, because he needed my help to catch “The biggest
snapping turtle in the lake.” adding “Way out there”; he pointed, on that log.
I covered my eyes and spy the log that lay near the unapproachable side of the
pond.
“Out there” I
asked lifting my arm and pointing, with the most dubious of looks on my face.
“Yeah” He replied “You
see they way you catch a snapping turtle is you get them to grab a stick, and
then you grab them, simple.” And he swung his arm and snapped which I thought
was pretty cool. He wore blue jeans and a dirty old white T- shirt rolled at
the sleeves. His hair was a dirty blond; he had light freckles and gray eyes
seeming to be of light character which in difference to the way he carried
himself.
“Hi. I’m Paul” and
he shoved out his hand. We shook and that was that.
So here we are
shoes muddy already, jumping on at the last second and launching our make shift
raft which was not what you call meant to last, it had a shelf life, so the
longer we pushed it with a long pole, paddled it out in the pond the more it strained
against its bonds of plastic, rope wire, and what-evers we had painstakingly
sent out to create our raft that was shaking, and pulling at its bonds from the
start as we went. This was our 2nd day at this, we had found early
on that turtles spook easy and now had to almost drift when we got close to the
log. The water was never clear, it had a dark green or light tan color, and it
stank. Each push with the pole pulled up a gas bubble of pond funk. We had
tried everything to catch a snapping turtle, everything but a good net, but
what parent is going to give a kid a net for a snapping turtle, and what kid
was going to tell of his secret mission for the day. Every morning I would grab
a fishing pole and it would sit by the pond some of the time. In the water
green patches of algae mixed with other of shades plants littered the pond, so
I had been all around it’s sides. We knew we entered the deep part now. This
was a mud pond there was no bottom in respects to footing all sunken logs and
mud. On top of the water lay lily pads with their occasional flower bright
yellow and white shinning on top of the green and dark water and the floating
patches of green algae. Your eye could get lost in them for they seemed so out
of place like a lone star on a hazy night with flashes of light as an
occasional ripple disturbed the water and was gone. We had to paddle now, using
small flat boards we pushed our craft across the pond towards the far side
towards the log, and getting up speed for a second until we stopped hunkered
down and stayed still allowing our push to drift us slowly towards the log
where lay the sleeping turtles. It was mid-day and hot with the sun beating
down. We looked across the dark water spying the snapping turtle “Big Jim” as
we called him laying sunning, looking off in the distance. We drifted closer,
and immobile lay upon a raft of hope. Just a few feet and Paul leans forward
with the stick, now to tell you Big Jim was from where I saw a lay on the far
side guiding us in looked all business even from the side, his claws noticeably
gouging into the log, and his shell beginning to dwarf the other turtles still
all unmoving on the shared log that stretched way into pond and resurfaced some
tree a few years back that had toppled into the pond. Paul made a go for it
with a quick thrust, and turtle starting diving into the water every where, Big
Jim grabbed the stick, just plain bit the end of the thing, and Paul’s starts
whooping and pulling and Big Jim jumps of the other side of the log right,
simple story right, nope. You see while Paul was hanging on to big Jim I was
hanging on to Paul and the stick holding us in place while lying on the raft,
which by this time in the battle was turning into a pile of logs floating
underneath my belly in sort of a square. Big Jim let go; I think it is important
to explain gravity in childhood, we got the idea in school, the apple thing,
but real life happens way to fast to figure much, gravity took over momentary
pause where I was looking at Paul’s mad face cause he was so close, and then
one of surprise as he hurtled in my direction, I was always faster than most people
and new he was headed my way and had long let go his leg. I rolled side ways
just as he crash landed next to me which was all the raft needed to quite his
contract. It broke apart in the middle of the pond, the two of us had to swim
though the long part of the pond to get to the other side a muddy bottom but no
pond slim, or we could get out twenty feet away to the short side. We swam
pushing the muck and pond slim a head of us; I laughing at the adventure, and
Paul yelling over and over “We almost had him.” “We almost had him” in his
ferocity of the battle, I took one more look at his face and went into laugh
hysterics one big ball of laughing took me over and I had to fight even harder
thought the muck. We made the side both covered in foul pond scum from head to
toe, clasping onto the muddy bank and climbing up on our bellies using the long
grass on the side of the pond we finally pulled our selves out. I was still
laughing, Paul had got quiet, but the same look lay in his eye when I turned
finally to look at him after my fit had subsided. He was looking out across the
water, the five minuets it took us to climb out just another part of his over
all battle, to get big Jim, and that same look lay on his face right now.
We got, well I got
in a lot of trouble, filthy slimy, muddy I ran back to grandma’s up the street
full of stories for all of it was new to me the adventure, what I got was
stripped down and hosed in the backyard with cold water than right in the tub,
with “How could you?”, and “I never.” As she first hosed down a child that
really did not want to be, and at first darted to and fro in little moves,
until standing naked in the backyard, but grandma would smile at my antics and
gyrations while telling the story over dinner. The shock of naked hosing in the
back yard and grandma’s ministrations having worn off, I was at it full tilt, telling
my story jumping out of my seat and being generally way too much kid at the
table and all around. I was wearing Grandpa and Grandma out, this would be my
last year as a grandchild unattended by parents or shipped to Aunts and Uncles,
like I said “Cousins, cousins everywhere.”
Station wagons,
reunions, places to go, Minnesota
Friday, November 22, 2013
"The Summer of the Food Police, ON LINKEDIN"
“Hey guys, why don’t we write a book?” I wrote
on our face book group, “On the line/professional chefs” group run by Nick.
If you wanted to write a book about food you really
should state what your personal reason for doing it is. Plain and simple 60% of
premade food is bad for you, it is the reason for illnesses; the making food
from scratch, cooking is a skill lost in our everyday diets in a single
generation “Everybody’s Grandma’s Cooking was the Best”, and simply want you
the reader to be better healthier, save money and look at food with our eye of
truth. I also write this book to any person now working in this vast “Guild” a
word I coined to bring anyone with in this vast service industry under, one
calling lending a sort of solidarity among all in the culinary, service, food
orientated, and most of all the four guys I’m about to mention cause really we
are the book .One simple goal the better service of our guests, our community,
and learning the art and truth about food, even more so you must endeavor to
live this very high moral fiber in such a way that journey in professionalism
lay a template for those around you and those to follow. I am saying if you
know food, are a life long student of all things culinary, the service of
guests and, teaching, inspiring to reach new and exciting ideas in service and
natural stature in culinary arts this seed is already planted in you. I say it
like that because we all got these great big egos in the kitchen. I think
you’ll enjoy that were a salty bunch at times. I address one more group that 60% of
restaurant owners who loose their business in 5 years. I see being a chef on of
the hottest career on the media, and now a good time to reach many inspiring
Culinarians. The “Summer of the Food Police” will be what you will expect it to
be, on many levels what I just said, but I will admit we are some old timers
and put in our dues, and even more we are friends, even though we have never
met.
Saturday, November 16, 2013
Acorn Fights, Football, and Autumn
We had acorns, I mean we had acorns, in Takoma Park, this
was before Montgomery College in Montgomery County Maryland was build along the
row of Takoma Ave, before then it was big houses, for a bridge used to lay
where the college now stands, as a direct access to Washington D.C., but
between the time of the bridge and Montgomery college all along Takoma Ave lay
great Oak trees, the kind that cover the sky in canopy of eighty to over a
hundred feet with their hundreds of great bases stretching into massive black
branches crossing the sky, old branches reaching in every direction, up them as
everywhere in Takoma Park lay thousands of acorns falling everywhere, forget
the squirrel population of the next year; lets find us and boys preparing for
the daily acorn fights, Philip, and I figured on using our news paper bags from
carrying the Washington Star an evening paper in the late 70’s in Washington
D.C. area soon to be over taken by the Washington Post making D.C. a one paper
town, which meant a lot back then. Everybody still read the papers on their
porches, evening chair, it was different, getting news. We had these things
brimming with acorns, the streets and ground were already covered, where acorns
where scooped with snow shovels and trash cans to clear them, as well being
smashed into asphalt like a carpet. Philip and I roughed it but some boys would
come with pads on the arms and hats covering there heads, the game, well the on
going war with the boys from down the street was on full tilt, and we roamed
the neighborhood as well running our turf. We had the pick of the biggest
fattest acorns from just the right trees for as boys we knew all our trees in
the neighborhood it was our solemn duty, a right of passage of being an
accomplished boy, using the best of what lay at hand. The acorns were as big as
an inch or more hard and heavy with meat, just right for smacking some unfortunate
acorn battler in a good fight and strong enough to leave a welt. You see boys,
lots of acorns, like mad, crazy amount of acorns, just plain too many at once,
acorns equaled acorn battles among all the boys daring to be out. That was it
pretty much for a week, just boys and acorn battles every where. We had been
using piles of acorns as our defense like and sneak attack but had realized our
acorns could be taken by over whelming forces, with us skirting from our place
of attack we needed to be mobile, not with buckets like Philip suggested or
with my Hong Kong Phooey lunch box and Philip’s, old Roy Rogers Box cause you
ran out to soon cause and they kept falling out besides mom saying , “What are
you doing with your lunch box?” we
created secret piles of acorns all over the defensive zones, and carried our
mail bags with us making us mobile with ammo aplenty we could reach in a
running fight. Our home turf being set the best and final defensive line the
Ryan’s home. It lay at the top Jacquie
Park
“I had to get the face Philip
said.” I guess his dad used it on him, face and it worked, just the once or
twice he spoke directly to me fine, that’s all he did was speak to me, and I
froze, stuck by his voice grounded to the spot. I mean in a quick minuet with
the whole “Yes sir” included. Mr. Ryan was a big man, I mean a big man, too a
little kid for he was over 6 feet tall and had wide shoulders and just plain
girth to him, not a fatty girth but one made from being a big man. He spoke
very little to the children individually; there were twelve of them from his
first wife and she raised them all. I think Philip most of all. Mr. Ryan was
all I knew and was told the rules of the house when I was young because I was
baby sat their. That’s when Philip and I would sneak into the pantry and eat
cool aid by pouring into our mouths, it was the sugary kind, and he taught me
at five about bread butter and sugar as we snuck some off the dinning room
table, long set table set with a long table cloth, is held them all, or most of
them, I was the smallest, always in the Ryan’s house, except when I stayed
there on baby sitting then I was treated like Philip minus the piano lessons
the only way would really get away with what we all were doing was not letting
the parent know. It’s funny how much in life we just don’t want mom or dad to
know about.
Now we older full fledged get dirty
playing foot ball with just five Aaron would always be a quarter back. I was
never allowed to play quarter back, when he was around. He said, “There are no
black quarter backs.” And took the job. Philip would always say that was silly
but Mike and Brain would chime in and he would be quarter back me and Philip
and I on one side and Mike and Brain on the other. Philip was the only one I
wanted to play with cause I knew he treat me fare, so that’s were it wound us
boys playing football with a little K2 that was the best, running up and down the
field played a lot of pitch backs cause two or three kids can run all over the
place, and if one of us was falling we would do our best to pitch it. We would
use our jacket and shirts on hot days, no sticks. “You can fall on them” and
“No trees” as boundaries cause once we did to be able to play in dry part of
the field and Philip, had caught the ball then one two steps, the tree. It was
bad, he hit full on because he had already turned to run, poor Philip, was
quick but didn’t turn well, or stop quick, and his body just wrapped around the
tree, and the ball spit out, then in slow motion he fell. He got up bloody and
well kid knows where home is when he is hurt bad, and he just struggled to his
feet and we kinda walked him across the street. Boys ain’t good at that game
was over. We boys played football on that field everyday, getting home sweaty,
dirty, hungry, and played out. Most of the time Philip and I lost. I see Aaron,
Brain, and Mike had it figured that was. They was taught that, so it was, Aaron
would play better for their side. Once we had a whole bunch of kids playing one
year from around the neighborhood, about eight to ten of us, with our picked
quarter back. Most these kids were older than me so I was still bottom man on
list, until with a fair shot. I got a fair shot, I could run and catch pretty good,
and was hard to tackle, even at nine. It was hard for me to play against Philip
the face and the running with his head bobbing would just make me crack up. I
was faster than him, but his head bobbing along with the way he ran all wacko
like would leave me cracking up. I guess if I had a best friend as a little
boy, it was Philip.
We were loaded and sure our new
tactics would win the day. We skirted trees, hedges, and parked cars making our
way down Takoma across where stands now the Montgomery Community College, but
we were across the street, sneaking until we saw them coming right up the
middle of the road, just as plain as could be for they had made mobile carts
with trash cans full of acorns and a shield the hide behind and mobile made
them far more effective. Philip started up the front throwing them in handfuls
in grenade style straight at them and then I sent zingers side ways, fast and
hard coming from the side and running as I threw acorns across their flank. We
used backwards quickly for we were taking hits they had got to duck most of
what we threw behind their carts then race forward attacking, we quickly went
to higher ground putting the cart after taking a full retreat which were called
often, that’s how we did it with war cries, or laughing as someone gets a good
one when they’re running which was me laughing at Philip, cause when it came to
retreat, as fast as I came I went and would pass Philip their main target at
the moment for had out distanced them on speed and my zingers. You see you got
to throw side ways first as a boy to learn to throw and it take a long time
cause most boys throw like girls when they are kids until they start throwing
sideways, and if you was real good zingers can hurt from a long way, further
than any over hand throw. We beat tail up the road with both boys right behind
us until we took a left over the hedge and up the hill taking the higher ground
at the Ryan’s house pelting and using the high ground we waited for the
enviable call on Takoma avenue “Car!” someone yelled and the boys had to clear
the street or turn down Albany. That is where we wanted them. They had as much
ammo as we did but our higher ground took the sting out of their shot while we
were finally landing a few above the shield, no official wounds, or route,
until they decided to try to take the park in retreat. The park in one spot had
the real fat acorns like a supper ball with a deep think core and hard shell,
it was our best ammo. We charged across the hill for really we were
undefeatable in our own park, and we could move much faster with skill moving
within and out of all the equipment, we had mastered that long ago. I we real
young then, I swung on my belly pushing with my little feet just to swing up in
the air after a parent would not push me any longer. A long time since Philip and I met at five, gee a whole buch of years. We met at the swings. There is a definite mass
to swing weight ratio going on here, and finally the boy using the stand method
of kneeling and pumping your legs to get the swing going real fast, as a kid it
was the only way we could get the swings going. Standing holding the chains and
get a swing and pump the next at the g force interval of the swing kick in.
Philip’s mom would be watching all the time and when acorns started bouncing on
the long porch with a swing at the end, she would come out the door. “Philip.”
As decree as in all boyhood a parent in any form was really not down with what
we as kids did so we stopped and waited, and we all could get in trouble as
well but the first motivation rules the second. Our little mini war would rage
for a few more days, until the rains came. The acorns soon became a city issue
causing unsafe roads, drains stopped, and they had to send crews to unload the
roads with big huge vacuum hoses for the leaves and a pickup for the acorns
first. Most would be involved and the whole street got involved, the community.
It was a big deal for all kids cause we loved it we these big burly black men
would come in groups, and then in all the noise and rush the acorns where gone,
Autumn moved on. The acorns never fell like that again, well not for a long
time.
THOR
Thursday, November 14, 2013
The Slide
It was a big boy slide, no doubts
about it, and we became professionals one spring preparing the slide to
perfection. Philip and I would first go dig into the steel drum trash cans that
sat in between to posts and dig out some waxed cups to tear into flat pieces,
if there was enough we could just ride the cups down the slide our little buts
planted in the middle with our legs up feet pointed in the general direction of
forward and down. Over and over we could do this increasing in speed every
time, or we could go the deluxe method. We would jump the slide and began one
of us from the top the other to the bottom and we would first clean the slide,
and then start rubbing down the slide with the waxed paper cups till the whole
slide was coated then we buffed it. We took some real dry sand and tossed some
down the slide as we buffed the slide to a smooth polish with our butts. Now
let me tell you about this slide when they say they don’t make them anymore kids
like us are to blame. The slide was twenty or so steps made of steel with a
design to the top. It was about 25 ft tall as tall as or just a little taller
than the full size adjacent swings and its rails, handles crested another two
feet in the air. The pad was small and
required using the handles to sit down or later the cross beam as a swing
propelling our small frames down the chute like mini human torpedoes. The steel
chute was a sturdy sheet of stainless with one join half way down, by that time
we could be moving, and the bump was a minimum. The best wear was tight shorts
running shoes and a tea shirt the best ride came literally from the seat of
your pants. Philip, I, and a few other boys had been in on the initial idea of
juicing up the slide were practiced and seasoned for the speed and landing.
What was good at it? Well at the age of eight I weighed 60lbs so with a good
swing and keeping knees and elbows tucked I could fly down the slide at speeds
equaling a full sprint the first few steps were in the sand box but your third
or fourth “better” clear the sand box boarder, then full speed towards the
field with arms and legs flailing in an attempt to stop from speeds that were
faster than physically possible for the child in the thrills of his ride. We could
go so fast only one foot was needed inside the sand box the chute having
propelled us 6-8 feet, bounce one and run like a squirrel that has had the
misfortune off falling out of a tree. We weren’t falling that far but in our
defense squirrels are better equipped than we were.
“No matter what you must avoid the
rail and run full speed when you land.” We would call up to some over zealous
kid who wanted to ride full speed just like us, and never fail one out of two
of these daring fellows got hurt, wiped out, hit the sand rail, or just face
plant into the sand. That kid didn’t get up right away and was dazed for a
little and had to sit on the side rail and watch until he was okay. Sort of he
had snot, sand and, and blood smeared around his nose but he had a big smile on
his face for being so brave to try what we “The expert kids” were doing. He was
maybe 6 ½. Mike and Brian showed up and
being my constant bullies were sure they could ride the slide. Brian went first
he had more of that crazy white boy in him than Mike. He launched himself with
a rebel whoop and zoom he was flying like a turtle twisting and turning on his
back somehow keeping his feet underneath him his wild long jet black hair a
blur tossing about his head in contrast to his alabaster white skin some how
got his chucks underneath him and took off when he hit the sand box. He made it
slowing down in the grass. Mike had to do it if Brian did it. Mike was bigger
all over not fat just little chunky and big framed and not at all wiry like Brian.
So his decent was met with a slower accent and take off from the top. I would
like to pause for a second as to tell you about this slide it was fast, finely
polished, slippery and just down right dangerous for the inexperienced and
people of any weight over a hundred pounds. We didn’t know that we were just
kids. We had no idea about gravity and incline planes, physicists and such.
What we saw was a sudden increase in speed in the fast zone Mike was out of
control early on, he attempted to right himself but the gravity thing nailed
him down to the slide like some one put a weight on him, the edges of the slide
were 5 inches high to keep the rider safe. Mikes feet were dancing in the air
when he left the end of the slide and he was horizontal to the ground going
sideways towards the corner boards which were harder to miss. He didn’t. He had
managed to right himself somewhat when flying in the air but that first foot down
tells the story. Mike went down hard, slam belly and chest first with his hands
out, slide for a second, and rolled once hard sort of like a flip and a final
flop. Dirt, gravel, grass stains, and
skinned hands, elbows, cheek, and bump to the head. He had to sit down a while.
I saw the big kids totally bit and then they took it for the day sort of. Those
boys who I pointed to were “cool” and could get in line with the big kids. I
remember mothers running to the side of there overly brave 10 year old, our age
who had found part of the railing with his foot then the ground with his nose.
She was yelling things like “Why do you have to have it so fast?” “You boys are
being dangerous” “Look at him.” She shrieked, and marched him off to the car.
He was crying. I think he broke his nose.
Parents in the park started watching the slide putting restrictions on
which kids could ride it. Philip and I were the fastest of the middle sized
kids 55-75 lbs. We could zoom down that sucker like it was nothing, and that
what this “old man” (average adult) though when he wandered into the park. He
sorted of jumped off the side half way down, straight chickened out on the
speed. He left the park beaten by professional sliders, the veterans of wax and
speed with a noticeable limp and dazed countenance. Of course the other boys
are often watching and a mid “Ooohs’ and “Ahhhs during a spectacular wreck.
This guy did something we never saw and tried to get off mid slide and bit it
hard. A “tong” could be herd as part of him hard hit one of the steel poles
holding up the mid portion of the slide.
I would get all the kids into it. My gyrations, animated activity, and
excitement would be contagious and boys would be scrambling for wax paper cups
in the two garbage cans next to the picnic tables, feet up in the air, trash
flying, and the scramble to create the fast ride. We got in trouble when the
recreation staff showed at summer. They were adults and wore shirts with Staff
on one side and Takoma Park Recreation. At first they were amazed by the local
kids of the park who gathered together to achieve a common goal. We worked the
slide to perfection. Kids were flying in the air everywhere and a line had
formed at the base of the slide. All the kids wanted to try it, and they did.
Zoom, Zoom kids are coming down so fast the other kids at the bottom who had
done a but-slide in the sand or mini wrecked could not get out of the way fast
enough. What we had never for seen had happened, a pile up of small legs and
arms with little wails and umps for a pile up, is a pile up, and in the 70’s we
appreciated that and took full advantage. Kids were stacked and twisted into a
laughing from the top, screaming from the bottom pile which had to be carefully
undone for these stacks could get 10 to as much as 20 little kid bodies
intertwined in a mass of elbows, knees, and heads popping forth. The staff
intervened and began applying rules. A staff member posted himself at the
bottom and regulated turns on the slide. Still the slide was fast for some too
fast. It was a little fellow who changed the slide rules. He took off like a
pro from the top with a powerful swing, and he positioned his but in the
perfect position to maintain the least friction as he hurtled down the slide,
but instead of sliding off the end he put his foot down right on the end of the
slide, friction. He went off the end of the slide with a side ways spinning cartwheel
which surely was not planned, his body stiff in its flight awaiting the dreaded
landing. Every kid knows what this is like. The stunning impact that knocks
your wind out, leaves the whole world shaking, and is often accompanied by big
head to foot howl, ending up in an ear curdling scream. Yeah that’s it. This little kid
hit hard, and we knew he was hurt. His spinning sideways allowed his head to
find its way to down to smack his head on the border of the sandbox with was a
sturdy 2” x 12” board of hard wood. The thud could be herd from fifty feet away
the scream following it could be herd first stunning the park with sound then
echoing around the trees sending every available adult into motion full speed
to the emendator of such a horrid noise. It is the sound every parent knows,
the sound of a child being seriously injured. They didn’t let us speed the
slide up anymore, at least when they could. Philip and I would still speed it
up at night or on dry week ends, but for the park staff the ride was over.
Still the idea spread. Kids in different parks were getting the idea from the
kids shipped in to Jacquie
Park University Blvd.
Sunday, October 20, 2013
A Cat, A Box and A Cop “Handicap Rocks!”
I thought I should get up extra early for my appointment and
taxi ride at 7Am to get my cat Earth spayed at the Lucky Paws Sunday morning,
because I dare any body who is not handicapped to get her in a box, it was not
happening until I got a real big box the third one, so she could not push at
the top, or some how wriggle her little powerful body out. I had several spasms
fighting to get her in the box. I had it figured, taxi to Lucky Paws, a short
wait in line, and then ride the bus home. You see I was outside my walk zone,
too far from home, or further than I usually walked, but I came prepared with
extra clothes, knowing I could not get too cold with my handicap which most of
the time was just twinges and spasm in my muscles, but can get very severe
mimicking seizures if pushed, stresses or, well it just happens.
What I was not prepared for was no one there, me having
spasms, and having to walk home with my cat in this huge box. This was far
beyond my ability and the boxes, I had made a few distress calls, but my spasms
were so bad I had to get off the phone and deal with my present situation. I
gave it 20 minuets of pacing at first with out the box then with the box
because Earth was getting out. I walked home after know one showed.
I made it two blocks fighting the cat the whole time, and
lugging a box too big for me to carry far, before I noticed an officer drive
by. I had spoken to people at the laundry mat for a guy in spasms over and over
can get alarming, and told them I was handicapped, would be okay, and think I
just got the day wrong for the spay clinic, so when the officer drives his car
up onto the curb behind me after turning around I figure it is about the spasms
at Lucky Paws. I turn around to say “Hi did he get a call about seizures in
front of Lucky Paws?”
I was stopped mid sentence for the cop said, “I want to know
what is in that box.”
“It’s my cat lieutenant then, I correct my self and say X. XXXXX. I was just at Lucky Paws and got the day wrong, you don’t have any
right to stop me over a box.” I now realized I had a Cop who was after me for
no reason while I’m busy keeping the cat in the box.. I explain “My name is
John Ernst and I have handicapped and have spasms, and I’m fighting to keep my
cat in the box if you come close I have PTSD and may fall into seizures” and As
I paused looking where I could go while keeping the cat in the box she was
tripping with all the noise. I was at the light and he said, “I could not got
that way into traffic.”
I replied “I need to walk I will pace right here.” while
keeping the cat in the box, and made a right down Mill; inside I am shaking
attempting to fight off full spasms, keep calm respectful and as I went to walk
he said “you can’t go” and keep you hands out of your pockets and started
coming at me I backup attempting to tell him to stop, and that I would have a
seizure, and that the officers had been instructed to give me room, while
keeping the cat in the box. I fell slamming my right side into the ground while
still fighting the seizure, the cop is reaching for his gun like WTF then
calling medical and I’m attempting verbally to give the normal instructions to
not calling medical which I give during a full seizure like episode which I was
having and so on until I say, and finally after banging around on the ground
for a couple of minuets still keeping the cat in the box. I finish by saying’
“You got no right to stop me, I don’t need this I’m handicapped and I’m going
to pick up my hat which had fallen off my head and get up, lift this box” that
lay held in my arms while I kept the cat in the box “and walk down the road you
do what you need to do.” all the while keeping the cat in the box.. Turned my
back on him, then turned back and said “You know this is just wrong.” “Officer
you are out of line.” turned and walked away as he headed to his back to his
vehicle parked blocking the sidewalk and ½ in the road. Basically he had made
it so I had no escape from behind and had traffic in front of me at the intersection,
beside me, and a hedge on the other a while I was busy trying to keep my cat in
a box, he was busy trying to put me in a box..
I walked
for a few blocks tried to take off my gloves to call but still shaking to bad
and can’t hold the box. I finally stop and call “XXXX” at Springfield Police
Station and say “Hi XXXX, It’s John Ernst” “I don’t need any cops giving me a
hard time for walking across town carrying a box until I have seizures fall and
get hurt. She asked if I needed medical assistance. I said, “No I just need to
be left alone, I’m a long way from home, but I think I can make it, so if some
officer sees a guy carrying a box it’s his cat, and leave please me alone, I’m
having a hard enough time as it is already.” And gave a little laugh as to say
I’m not mad, I’m just not playing around. A little more was said about me
making the distance home. She said, “If I needed help call” and I hung up the Police had their chance to
help in fact it would have been perfect timing for a nice ride home safe, for I
was in-distress. I had to ditch the box after a mile, thank god I had gloves on
for the next two, and that I didn’t fall over during my spasms walking. Earth
and I made it home.
Thursday, October 10, 2013
Dawn of the MF.. king! Dead.
Slppe please,
Movies that scared the shit out of me, yep nightmares.
It was that little Indian zombie that got me as he chased me
up in the ceiling. I woke up pretty quick, zombies, vrs teenager. Shit this
sucks. I mean this guy has chased me up into that dam ceiling like four times
and I’m getting pissed. Next time a gun, yeah that’s it.
It worked I got a gun a machine gun, and more so I fought
back, finally I could fight back. In my dreams I could change the out come, some
times but not the world it was conjured in, in this world it is “Dawn of the
dead”. This world was no shit cause, they came at you, and the others, right
there in the hall way and we had to shoot our way through them, those new souls
so terrified by zombies like I used to be got ate by zombies, and quickly our
numbers would dwindle quickly, in our first round. Then the fighters, we
fought, “the head”, I would always yell to someone who decided to fight, and
wildly attacked, We had them pressed, and made it to the escalator, escalator
and zombies is like a coin machine in an old time video house with great stacks
at the area’s where you went up and down sort of the way human shoppers did,
but human shoppers didn’t get pushed over the edge like these did and often a
zombie would just fall after being pushed, these were the close-up ones where
suddenly out of nowhere, a creepy old lady, some teenage kid, or even worse a
little girl zombie they gave me the creeps. We had three floors to go to get up
and I was out the front….
Ice skating, how did we get from up
stairs I thought, as the last nightmare clung to me, of this moment I was back.
Why were we in the skating rink, that’s right it was a clean up job? I looked
down at the two Uzi’s and began skating around the rink blasting zombies. One
by one, giving like a moment to look at who they were, a person, a man with a
suit and tie, a lady with a hat, and then shot them, in the head. It became
easy once you remembered the rules, suddenly Bracken was there my best friend,
and he wasn’t armed. I yelled this way, but he couldn’t get across the ice and
they took him down, as he screamed and fought them biting and tearing. I
watched heart in horror, eye seeing the unconscious friend as dear and a link
to reality, consciousness some distant murmur, of home. The battle field of the
ice rink it was. My fury bent, I enraged
began tearing into them, the one around him sending pieces of zombie brain
flying as my Uzis ripped into them, savagery, violence, memories of what just
happened to Bracken flashed over and over like a looped video while the rage
and sorrow sang. Then back the attic, the door opened again the noise, they
were here I’ve got to get on the roof. I here my fate calling from a distance I
try to warn him and yell all I run across the roof of our house towards the
swinging window. The voice yelled, “John you get up now as my father pulled
down the swinging stair case into my room the attic.” My hearing body assaulted by sound jumped awake;
the start of the mental blend from the attack of the little Indian zombie coming up the stairs
and who was really there my mind struggling with each the sleeping world and
the awake and it took a few minuets to shake this off as the blend continued, my
heart raced, I had jumped to my feet yet stopped unsure whether I was to go
back out the window, Dad a though yelled, a veil lifted, clarity, shaking still
from the flight and fight, the twist into my world, the shock of being back,
the other lingered and the sound echoed, the stairs being lowered, in a great
creaking and cranking as the three piece ladder dropped on to the second floor
hall. It, horror, on the stairs looking at me, fear … Dad’s voice, again clear.
I told Bracken later in the week,
and he just shrugged his shoulders, even though he used to make up stories in
the middle of the night as we walked under the trees in Long Branch Creek Park
of post apocalyptic world were we had to fight to survive and we saw the movie
together. I knew the movie scared him to. The little Indian guy, we both
looked, but then not
The thing is, you never get bit
more than once or twice and nightmares during the chases end before you wake up.
The zombie the same little Indian guy still visited my attic after a month when
I forgot some times to fight. The unconscious rip with new material and the
nightmares blend into my little world happened for some time, the attic door,
Dad, the zombie, attack run fear terror. I then always fought. I crossed a
line, I fought back, always shaped into a new nightmare beyond my control.
Nightmares like life turn and twist
with the road, sometimes there is a reason others are just old fears. I learned
to grow with them both; I became very good at killing, I died, and something
else, I saw more depths of cruelty, horror, acts that lurk in the dark on the
battle field of my nightmares in the real animalistic man the predators that
could walk among us.
THOR
Saturday, October 5, 2013
Eye on the Homeless Opportunity Village Eugene Oregon & Homeless Camping
Question
KMTR News 16 Eugene Oregon: What should be done with the homeless campers
YES!
Deal with the fact that it is a reality, Homeless campers, then move from
there. Martin Luther King out lined 4 parts to any non-violent action in his
letter from BirmingHam Jail. 1. recognizing some form of injustice or social
need is apparent. 2. Attempt at communication and negotiation. 3. the Purifying
of those involved, Meaning people gather and are willing to allow violence
against them to make there point on a social level. (As in Kings marches,
freedom riders, occupy) 4. Action. (The action here being camping on city
property, the violence is police action, the negotiation speaking with city)
Thor p.s. X-homeless X addict, graduate Lane
Community College
To
all you people who say put them to work or they should be like everybody else
and support themselves, well you have no idea why they are there. Shut Up!
Listen Please Okay I got your attention. Yes put them to work, Give them
skills, Give them dignity, Give them a way to get a home, by you helping us
helping them. Many of them are so mentally ill, unable to read, been homeless
since they were kids from addict homes, they are addicts, or just plain gave up
on life when their lover/wife/husband child died, and the list goes on forever.
Learn to recognize suffering. This is no easy thing to do, In fact it is very
hard, compassion, charity, understanding. I thank you for listening. THOR
·
Arthur Ernst shared Kitty Piercy's status update.
In a
wonderful afternoon of sunshine, Opportunity
Village
It has been a long road from day
in Jan 2007 when I put up the Memorials for lives lost due to homlessness, and
the Registerguard covered it Mayor Kitty Piercy, and almost as long as Dan
Bryant, and I stood side by side As he read the names of those lost in 2008. A
long fight since occupy as well. I see that this is a begining of a new era of
vision, of long reaching sight that will lead many of these people back into
the community. It will become as another seed planted of good will, and as each
seed is planted, as each person lifted with dignity and respect will in turn lift
the community. Each action no matter how small or grand performed each builds
upon it's self, reaching furthur into peoples hearts, into all our lives, some
like this writer who was a homeless addict many years ago, and now a graduate
of Lane Community College. I believe in each of these huts will begin many
lives, change many lives, and in the end save many lives. Chef John aka THOR
Friday, September 27, 2013
“Faith.”
To: Sun Automotive and Hope Community Church,
It is something to learn to live
with a new HC one that is very socially isolating, and if you by chance find
some where you fit in and are accepted the minuet you step across the door
step, well that is something. It was Mothers Day when I first met every one at Hope Community
Church Hope Community Pre-school
We won, Hope Community Pre-School
& Church won, Bill White won, Sun Automotive won for a few seconds on KMTR
everyone in Eugene & Springfield Springfield
Thank you,
Chef John Ernst
Wednesday, September 25, 2013
“The Making of a Serial Killer”
I have had so many nightmares that I can remember even as a
child the world of my unconscious lay in turmoil, nightmares, lay quieter than
now. Now and over the last 13 years they have evolved. Into something like an experience in terror, where I am a part not just watching. No bit of distortion like
the dream state, nightmare I am there. I find a true nightmare has a twist
beyond this unconscious state one that truly lay in raw horror.
We were down by the back of the
house; the other agents surrounded the building waiting for the signal to move.
I could see into the back window lighting all around it a gentle golden light
skipping across the back yard shedding shadows of the trees and other things
laying about in the late autumn. It was dark were I was behind the bushes on
the back of the property, I could barely see my partner agent Simmons, and she
had to reach out to steady her self against my side as she slide into place
hunkering down like I was and lay silent. It was so quiet except for a song,
sung by three voices, a man leading the words as they went round and round, a
child, and a strained voice, a voice filled with a noise like nails on a board,
like the scream of raccoons fighting, like the voice of terror attempting to cripple
the very singing it invoked. We waited. The idea was to take the house without
harming the ten year old boy, and the latest victim. It had taken 6 months of
hard work to finally find “The Chopper” as he was referred to by the FBI task
force working on the case. They called him “The Chopper’ because all his
victims were missing parts cut from their bodies, why we did not know yet. The
song drifted eerily across the night, it echoed in my ears, over and over the
same course was sung, “This is how we wash the dishes, wash the dishes, wash
the dishes. This is how we wash the dishes, early in the evening.” I had taken
down many murders in my career, but this moment felt different, like the
darkness reached into my very soul carrying that song along like a funeral
dirge. It kept going, over and over, as they sang.
Dad would be sitting there with
this special smile, the one for occasions, and I would smile back. It was
supper, and we had a guest. It was a brown haired one, this time, and a lady.
Dad said, “You got to have a woman. One way or another you got to have a woman
as a man boy. That is how I got you”, and that how is was so I could tell for
he had brought women a lot more than men. Tonight was a fresh cut, my Dad said
it had a name “Table side Chateaubriand”. I got hit a lot learning that, with
the stick, and I would learn, he said, “I had to learn all these things.” Supper
was very proper, and Dad made me sit very still when we had guests, he said
than can be dangerous when I was small, then things were different, but now I
was at the table. I sat and watched. Dad was good at what he did, and he carved
a piece of her right there at the table, and set it to flame. She twisted and
turned as usual but Dad was good and got a got piece. I set back for Dad used
to tell of the old day when he and his brother were young playing a game of
base ball, or when star gazed or some other made up story of what nothing he
did. Dad didn’t do nothing he said, but he said a good made up story, made it
better, and we could have fun, at our special dinners or even better trips. Our
guest the lady besides the new wound, which Dad was wrapping now, in case she
was nice, and song the song, to or he wanted to make the grunting noises later,
I had to see that to, he said. He said they have to sing, and it is so
beautiful. I liked the singing to. It made for fun, and I could even laugh when
dad did. Special dinners were birthdays
and holidays, cause dad said people had holidays. He said, “One day when you
grow up I’ll take you on trip, but first you got to learn.” Dad finished and
pushed the lady to the table, and she sat still quiet from all the fighting and
noise she made before. Dad said the noise is what can mess up a good job and
then dinner, so I had to learn at first with the guest un-gagged while they
screamed. It was loud at first but Dad said I was good and didn’t jump. Dad was
good at what he did, best them all. The guest never was allowed to eat, but had
to talk and be nice or Dad would get mad, and the talking would not be allowed.
Some never talked, they were no fun. Dinner was quiet most times except Dad
telling his story, and then the song. We were finishing dinner and cleaning up
the table when Dad announced the song, and began to sing, “This is how we wash
the dishes, wash the dishes, wash the dishs” I told the lady “Sing. We got to
sing now.” and began singing with Dad. Dad stopped at the sink filling it with
water, “early in the evening….” He turned and looked at the guest, and said,
“You sing now” and turned back around. I looked at the lady and nodded as I
started walking around the table back over Dad to do the dishes. It all
happened so fast. Dad said it happened sometimes in the past. “The killers the
police would arrive.” He learn me what to do if that ever happened to long ago.
I watched as my Dad reach for his gun, and shot the lady, then turned to shoot,
the police, and I watched as Dad got shot several times, and fell.
I was first in on point as we
charged the house crashing the back door, an elderly man in his white hair and
bent frame of age was washing dishes and singing. That is what saved me, the
song. It’s ironic he never herd me because here was singing, He was fast reached
a gun went of killing a woman in a dress at the table. I fired on the man as
the adrenaline hit, the pure savagery of his act. My fury in essence…
Dad had taught me well. I talked
the right talk to the police. Dad was smart he had it all planned locks were
everywhere. I was just a kid. I would go to a home and grow to be a man, like
my Dad, like all my brothers, and sisters, cause Dad said he made a lot for me
to see on trips when he was young, his brother, and grandpa who died before Dad
made me that’s what trips were to see the family and to take guests, but Dad
said one day all had to go once they was learnt, to see the new people so they
to could learn them, that’s how it was done but I was still to young still, but
Dad said I was smart and quiet. I was going to learn good, so my family would
be proud. I would. I missed Dad and the
song, most of all, we were so happy when we sung, “This is how we wash the
dishes, wash the dishes, wash the dishes, early in the evening.” as our voices
would spill into the dish water making bubbles as they had for so many years,
when I had learnt good, was ready, and the guest they sung to.
I tried to run out of bed awaking
with the song still in my head, it was one of those nightmares, where I had to
get up and pace for a while, one of those wake ups that didn’t take for a few
minuets, exhaustion, sleep driving my legs back and forth, and the song calling
me back to sleep, echoing in the little hall of horror, visual fogs releasing
vivid images, “This is how we wash the dishes, wash the dishes, wash the dishs”
a little boys voice repeated in my head.
Thor
Sunday, September 15, 2013
“By My Side”
I have awoken, finally if you call it that. I had finally
stopped the repetitive process of stretching, sleeping until the pain was too
much. It was bad, tormenting bad, more than usual a lot more, the back, the
arms, the head wanting to stretch the legs, confusion and pain for the time it
took me to lay back on the couch stand, smoke a little, cat got out gone to top
it off, I had left the door open, I walked for awhile in a stupor. Until a few
sparks of life jumped into my mind realizing I was in a very bad place, over
all and this needed to be addressed so I wrote a text, I can’t even remember all
what it said but it was a cry, a plea for help, and it went to 10 people. Dad,
sis, friends, associates, others, I would have to look. I think most by now
know that I go through spells, times when things are just very bad, very bad. I
reach out. I imply drastic measures of the who I am, but it is only a glimpse,
a skip in time, a very real skip but a skip none the less, the true measure had
not fallen. It was Sunday and Jeff had called about church the night before I
declined do to illness, yet this morning I changed my mind and called back. I
forgot the camera, but I would have missed the ride.
Bill White, Pastor Bill White
cranked up the organ and it was on, song, I listened, not having the to-do or
where with all to engage. I even declined communion, but that is not why I was
there. I was there to listen, I made it that far. Bill started off by saying
something about different sermon or one he had prepared. I still wasn’t zeroed
in. I wasn’t until I felt he was talking to me, us, we all needed this message,
well I sure did. I’m not afraid to say so, for I had already stood and spoke of
how I felt, and asked for help. Now, that is something I never do ask for help.
I never ask for prayer, I just do with my lot knowing it is pretty screwed up,
and this is what I got. I got a sermon a word, and that is what I needed, just
an idea, a whisper in my ear that everything is going to be alright everything
is going to be Okay. I had to drive away that doom that for shadowed my mind.
Service was quickly over and Bill wasn’t even over before our closing song which
everyone sung, even my self then Bill stood shaking my hand. A great infectious
smile upon his face; for I was smiling back full steam. Don’t know where that
came from.
Today was
pot luck and I ran out side to tend the garden. This was the first time I had
been able to, water and deal with the plants, except for when I hunted down the
snails when I first arrived; I set to water the parking lot and go eat dinner.
I actually ate, a sister came by and said “All I can do is pray for you.” And
well in fine I took such a gesture. I felt pretty good surprisingly after the
meal even though I took a fall, I fixed the light, and rode home. Dad called
and we made a plan. I felt calmer, I herd Freya “Scream!” She was out front and
in a fight. I found her on the other side of the fence, attacking, see Freya is
all I got to say. Then she went up a tree…? Freya has never had to back down a
tree and I had to teach it to her over the fence,,,, It took a while she was
about 20+ feet up in a tangle of branches that looked extra bushy, to climb
down back wards when you go up a tree. A neighbor came out and helped. Freya was
down but just lying there on the other side of the fence, not listening to me
any longer. I began to talk to the neighbor and Freya walked out, from a car. I
looked down and said, “Freya if you come to me I will not punish you.” Her head
bobbed down and she came right to my hand. I carefully picked her up. The
neighbor was amazed, and exclaimed in breath as a person might when started by
and incident. I did many other things today, how well things worked out, even
enough so I could speak deep truth to my little sister, and hopefully lighten
others. I think you learn a whole lot from suffering, it makes you want to
listen, teach, grow, and at the end everything is okay.
Thor
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