Excerpt from The Official History of Tomorrow’s Dream pages 87-89

June 22, 2012

NOTE: This is an excerpt from the book I wrote way back in January  2018 and published in May 2020.

Excerpt from The Official History of Tomorrow’s Dream page 87-89

How Jocko and his teamster pal Buck got over the scrap of indigo blow snort gavel, only a real scientist will tell. Examine them closely and you would never know they were table beef survivors. The tracking devices made them look cool and even lowered their temperatures but they were being watched. Every skip and jump over the sand dunes were known by Kaydick Industries.

“Jocko self serving through production of self right bbbbBuck?” Jocko asked with unquestionable certainty.

“Aww knock it off Jocks. We’ve been through this before. These feelings of inadequacy will pass. Drink this.”

Buck passed the chuckle juice to Jocko knowing it would calm him down and in turn calm them both down. Jocko took several swigs and starred into the several sunned blurry sky wishing he were still a civilian and not a runaway ex table beef. The Agency had no use for them but Kaydick Industries followed their moves for the fun of it more than any business matters at hand.

“Feel better now?” Buck asked.

“Yeah. I feel so inspired. Can I piggy back now?”

“You know you’re too heavy but if you need human contact I can ride you. Just remember last time I rode you. You tore a few stitches.”

“It’s ok. Ride me. Ride me.”

The temperature was rising near 1,046 degrees porfeos. Dry heat that humps your glands like a reptile. If you’ve ever been humped by a reptile then you know. They had no choice in a life situation like this but to keep moving. The other side of desert is the town of Gointhaw. They would be safe for a while there. One would think with a population of 456,890 they could get away and not be seen despite the high tech tracking system.

 

Meanwhile Ralph was helping me with my own problems. The center of my scrotum was unnerved during the last explosion. I needed Ralph’s strong hands to reach inside and “pull the strings” as the motthoppers called it in my day. Not sure of the proper medical procedure’s name. Ralph wasn’t medical. He was physical for sure. He stuck his hands right up in there, you see. And wiggled each finger one at a time until he saw my fantastic grin reaching each ear almost. Chagrin. Ouuuther.

“Thanks. I needed that.” I said.

“Uppers yup. For you I can do fritterpops. Wholesale style. Ya know.” Ralph said.

Now my only agenda was to take photo options for the Agency. They remote wired me for the mission. My brain would freeze as they send a signal telling me when to click the device resembling absolutely nothing like a camera or visual recording device. It was built into my forehead like a third eye yet invisible to the eye. It was under my skin yet the 3 kolopuy length and width lens could actually see from the far away Agency laboratory. The trigger/button was on the side of my nose and only about .006 Kintopuys. It looked like I was scratching my colossal sized honker.

It was a fairly simple routine besides the brain freeze but the Agency was cautious and paranoid so Ralph was by my side in case I ran into any trouble. In some countries and cultures scratching my nose and staring at someone would be considered rude or a primal way of saying “skitter over lipper”. Even an inactive agent like myself could get quite the head banging and artillery action for that. Ralph is there to break up any potential violence like that and multiple other types. He’s a good zoo, ya know, it’s fun to keep him around. He doesn’t need weapons. I told ya what those hands can do with my “problem”.

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Excerpt from The Official History of Tomorrow’s Dream page 36

March 13, 2012

NOTE: This is an excerpt from the book I wrote way back in January  2018 and published in May 2020.

I was in no position to take any of Halloway’s shit after a 5-day binge on cooked Euro-celery root and the headaches. God damned headaches.

First thing he comes on with I should start off with the incision from the carnie side of the cerebral influx not remembering yesterday’s lesson about shape shifting and hemorrhoids from Dr Ghastling. Halloway was a real stinker like my pappy said.

No effects on the vortex even if instantly watching unlimited moving pictures for a quarter had nothing to do with the skunk hangover of the patented patient. Fades faster to pinwheels and the smell of audacious ringmasters.

Holloway’s brother-in-law, Chromebook had no jurisdiction on this side of Camden yet he bullied Frank and his sister incessantly for information just to get an emotional contact high. It’s been known that in some hidden forgotten satanic circles that emotional vampires take authoritative forms such as lawmen so they can put the squeeze on faster and easier.

No one noticed my scalpel shaking in my appendage while rotating the blade diagonally against Dr Halloway’s orders. Shit. The necroband anesthesia was wearing off. I needed a hit before the patient. He was just a meat baby anyway. An adult bodystocking. He signed the papers so it was all on the up and up. The operation was.

“I hate to brag.” I said which is untrue. I love to brag.

“I’ve once had a hunchback on the table break out in rage when he woke up to see his intestinal visceral in my hand.”

Halloway finally shut up and listened as he injected the patient with 1,200 milligrams of Delaudid so I could continue my jackhammer approach differing from anything I did before on a patient.

“The hunchback grabbed his insides out of my fingers and sniffed them mumbling something about malpractice and I was more afraid of the word malpractice than I was of this monster waving his insides out and about.”

Halloway rode my ass a little more while I tried to finish my tale telling me to concentrate on the surgery at hand. It was my hand at hand so I shoved him and he knocked nurse Mia into my Nitro supplies. Instead of freaking I grabbed her and told her to get orders out to clean the mess and fill out proper procedure forms for sexual harassment against Halloway. I’d back her up and say I saw him touch her thighs in protest against the patient’s skullectemy. As she left I tucked mr meat baby’s skeptic under his rear circular lobe.

“No malpractice here Mr Moto. Now sit the fuck back and let’s put you together.’ I had to use the ball peen hammer to knock him out because a needle wouldn’t hit the mainline fast enough. The Nurse at hand did the injection shit and I did my Indian Healing Dance before shoving his yuck yucks back in his body. I had to reach down his throat manually to find a piece of his Duodenum lodged in there. I used a pocket sewing kit my daughter had given me for Saint Patricks Day to get the insiders job inside before closing him up. Sometimes you have to make due with whats available. You ever hear of Seward’s Theory of Skull Unification and Carcass Connection?”

I looked Halloway in the eye and asked again. He hurried off forgetting his final instructions to wind up the wound with scarfree tape. He also left his bottle of vodka.

Sheriff Jejun got wise to ole Chromebook’s iniltration on his turf. If anyone is going to shake Frank and Jane’s beans it’s going to be him. He needed the fix more than his rival Chrombook. Jejun was more of a gentle emotional werewolf draining the families only 3 nights a month and usually while they slept so they were better form now knowing. An after effect of an emotional werewolf is more like a night out one ecstasy the next day. Slight discomfort and spinal shaking. The vampire however drains you until the point of death then releases you. Sometimes the vampire works slowly over the course of several days maybe even a week. It takes weeks to recover.

The battle between Jejun and Chromebook goes back centuries worse than any invisible underground catastrophe imaginable.

I think Halloway is an emotional vampire afraid to show his colors in the office, which explains his pent up anger, and skin corrosion.  I guess I’m warning you less subtly then I do my comrade Doctors and nurses. Fuck the doctors. Their mostly hacks and dictator individualists that have no talent just training. Don’t get me started on the nurses and the pandemonium that ensues just looking at one.

As Mr Lloyd Johnson used to say “They are all antidotes for an erection”.

Don’t hide or run. Stay put and all will be as it can under the knife


Contagious Mental Illness?

June 7, 2011

Is depression contagious? Are negative people really emotional and psychic “vampires” draining and infecting another person? I guess it depends on the people involved.

 

I’ve had many relationships with people that drain me emotionally. Some say I let it happen. Others believe that some people “feed” like vampires off of other people they perceive stronger or even anyone that will let them in.

 

I have always attracted people that drain me because I like people and I see qualities beyond what other’s see. In theory it’s a nice thing but in reality it’s a no win situation. I have found that despite my innate self-absorption, I am extremely sensitive to other people’s moods that surround me.

 

It’s been written about in psychology, psychiatry, sociology, and personal experiences books, novels, poems, studies and blogs for years. Self help books emphasize the importance of surrounding yourself with the people that have what you want. Experts suggest that if you hang out with people that are happy and successful you can develop their qualities. The 12 step programs have a saying “Stick with the winners”. That is quite the ironic statement. It implies I must judge people as winners and losers. It also holds some truth.

 

I have always had an attraction to people labeled as outcasts, freaks, misfits, weirdoes, creeps, and anyone different from the norm. As it turns out these people are all emotionally damaged on one level or another and can be a negative influence on my life. Being sensitive to the energy, vibes and emotions of people that surround me I tend to compare myself to them and sometimes take on their negative qualities.

 

As human beings we are all naturally attracted to people that have similar qualities to ourselves. Myself. I spent years relating mostly to mentally ill, emotionally disturbed, abused, socially abandoned people. In my estimate it was my way of relating to and understanding my natural Paranoid Schizophrenic mother. I know this about myself and I still act upon it.

 

As I’ve written and expressed many times in the past I have increasingly become a recluse in the last 3 years. It is getting to the point of agoraphobia. Some of my friends are sick of hearing about at this point. As much as I want to be alone and don’t want to leave the house when I am in a social situation whether it be a trip to a convenience store, visit with family or even my room mate I can be extremely social out of habit. Most of my life I’ve been social and extraverted.

 

The past 8 months I have lived with a fellow mentally ill friend. Other people have suggested that living with him could be bad for me. Since I am sensitive to other people’s energy and moods I find myself feeding off of him. When he is aggravated it aggravates me. When he is depressed I get depressed. When he is manic I get aggravated. We do have times when our moods are centered and we get along but over all I am uncomfortable living with someone when their moods affect me. It’s not anyone’s fault. He once reminded me that about 95% of his moods and whatever he is going through has nothing to do with me. I try and hold onto that and move on.

 

I need a new life.


I Want my Mommy

August 24, 2010

After 7 long years of talking about this novel I am writing (everyone talks about the novel or screenplay that they are writing and never finish), I finished writing it in November 2009. I was overjoyed that I finally followed through on something that I have been talking about and working little on since 2003. I did it. Then I realized I needed an editor. They were expensive. A friend of mine did a perfect job editing it but it was footnoted and I had to have 2 copies open at the same time and couldn’t figure out how to use her notes so I put it aside for a bit. I’d jump in and edit here and here and my mother would always ask about it. She’s a published author herself.

I lost my job the end of May and it fueled me to finish. I finished editing it 2 days after I got fired. Again I was thrilled. I had a specific cover I had in mind and needed a “socks” model. After finding one it took almost another month to get a day set with my photographer friend and the model. Whew. Then I waited another month or so for my friend who offered to design the book cover. She did a great design for the front cover right away an d her busy schedule kept her away from the project so I figured out how to work with what she had. Meanwhile, I decided on self publishing online based on advice from friends who were published authors. Last Thursday night I finished everything and had ot published and available on the publisher’s web site.

Fear kicked in. I was afraid to finally publicize it because I was afraid it wasn’t going to sell or someone might not like it. So, I distracted myself with other things like digital art projects, writing stories, and on a woman. I’ve been cranky and agitated and full of anxiety. I forced myself to announce the publication this morning and I don’t feel excited. I’m still agitated.

“What’s really going on?” my friend Joe used to ask me when I would go on my little rants about this or that. It always shit me up and made me think about what’s really going on inside me.

I want my mommy! No, I don’t. Not right now. I want to avoid her as much as possible. I love my mom. I even like her. She’s been one of the best people to live with in years. Although, I’ve had a lot of great roommates in the past she tops the list. Lately, it hasn’t been fun.

She’s not my biological mother but she’s raised me since I was 11. When I was first introduced to this new life I was in total shock with my new reality. Consistent tough love by 2 schoolteachers that were cultured intellectuals. I came from a poor neighborhood and was living in luxury it seemed as a child. Unfortunately for them I was already set in my ways. I was destined to be an alcoholic and had an undiagnosed mental illness myself that went untreated for over 30 years.

She has never been the type to sympathize despite her spirituality. She only has sympathy for those that want to help themselves or are in great physical pain. She has a uptight teacher’s persona. She was not a nurturing type. She’d listen to my problems and then tell me the solution. Just once I’d have liked to hear her say “It’s ok.” “It’s going ot be ok.” I’d still love to hear that from her.

She has a lot of rules and outlooks that I agree with and disagree with but every one of them is stuck in my head even now. She had such a strong influence on me through my life. I respect her and have always wanted her approval despite my alcoholic mentally ill actions through the years. I would do the opposite of anything she could possibly approve of and felt like total shit because I couldn’t live up to her standard.

When I was a kid and the other parents would say “not my son” my mom would say “probably was my son”.

I’ve seen my other friend’s parents spoil them and let them do whatever they want. Then again I’ve met a lot people that grew up with unsupportive and abusive parents.

Her and my father were always fair. They just expected me to work for everything I wanted. I wanted this really nice e $200 bike when I was a kid and I had to get a job and save for it. I got it. They taught me the value of working. I have a strong work ethic because of them. They always supported my arts whether it was their taste or not.

My mother had some simple rules of what she expected of me. She didn’t care what kind of job I had as long as it was legal and I worked. She never cared how I dressed or how I wore my hair etc as long as I was clean and so were my clothes They both expected me to pay my own way and only come to them in emergencies I’ve only been to them a couple of times in over 20 years for money.

In general, I have always had a job since I was 13 with the exceptions of the end of my major fight with addiction in 1991 and I collected unemployment once in 1995 but still paid my way.

Since the first time I got sober in 1991 we have slowly grown to respect each other. Yes. I earned her respect. They approved over all of my life for a change. This lasted to this day. Well, maybe the last month or so. I moved in with her and my father Feb/ March 2009 to help take care of my father who was sick and apparently dying (I didn’t know this when I moved in). He died in June 2009. I was happy I helped and got to know him. My mother and I had great relationship until recently.

When I first lost my job she was tolerant for the first month knowing that I was wrapping up my novel etc. The second month she grew tired of having me around all of the time and not looking for a full time job, part time job or seeing about unemployment paying for an education. I made the mistake of declaring that I wanted to be a drug and alcohol counselor. Not just to her but to myself and the rest of the world. I regret it. I found a rehab that will hire you if you are 2 years sober and they will train you and put you through school to get your certification needed to be a counselor. I called about the job but I won’t have 2 years sober until October.

Ha. Everyone told me that I should have lied. Even my righteous mother who would never lie herself. In her opinion my 16 previous years of sobriety should count toward it. It doesn’t work like that. If anything it tells the employer that I am capable of relapse at anytime.

It’s not that I don’t want to work or go to school. I am just extremely involved in my creative productions. I am taking advantage of having money in the bank and the little amount of money I get from unemployment. I am following my dream but my mother keeps pulling me into reality on a daily basis. I guess it’s good but it makes me feel horrible about myself.

I don’t want to go back to waiting tables. I hated it. I was in telemarketing before that for 10 years. I hated it. I have a college degree without experience at the age of 43. I am an artist. A writer. I just published my first official novel and I’m not excited because my mommy doesn’t care. She wants me to get a job or go to school for my certification. I want to ride this out and make money at writing. I guess being a counselor is something I want to do as a fall back giving me the means to pay my bill while I pursue my dreams. I will never stop pursuing my dreams.

Mom understands this but she is acting too much like a mother and not the kind I need right now. I am anxious and irritated just being around her. I don’t like feeling like a directionless little kid with his mommy telling him what to do. I am a man. I know what I want and I strive for it on a daily basis. I am an artist. I don’t want to wait until I’m in my late 60’s or 70’s to like my parents did to flourish at my art. My time is now and I can do this.

Is it right to go through the motions just to shut my mother up? I wonder if I should confront her. If I get a job I know we will live more peacefully. I am going through the motions for now.

I need to take care of me and not worry about what mommy thinks. Like I said, I am a big boy now and I feel I am making some great decisions. Some bad ones too but I am involved in creating and promoting. One day, it will all comet through if I keep on pushing.

Even mothers with the most common sense, intelligence and good intentions can be wrong sometimes. I have to drop her off of her pedestal and let her know here I am at.


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