http://www.captainforehead.com/journal/ The Secret Log of Captain Forehead en-us Nucleus CMS v3.65 © Weblog http://backend.userland.com/rss http://www.captainforehead.com/journal//nucleus/nucleus2.gif http://www.captainforehead.com/journal/ http://www.captainforehead.com/journal/index.php?itemid=142
Why are there so may people here on a weekday in the middle of the afternoon? Does not everyone need a meaningless menial job to waste away the long moments of their life?

People kongregate in groups. Heading toward a void, I found a seat in the fresh green grass and stripped my feet of all attire. Life was as it should be...which it always is.

With plenty of space available in the void, it appeared insulated from kontakt with my fellow man — foe or otherwise. Of kourse, one of the many hands of fate had other plans for he of thee.

“Hey,” the bald man said as he set unkomfortably klose to thy beingness.

I nodded my head at him then returned my gaze to my beautiful naked feet rubbing against the blades of grass.

“What’s up?” baldy asked.

Leave me alone! my mind on edge shouted, knowing I was here to find a little peace. My friendly mouth said nothing of the mind’s words and offered only a smile.

The tortured soul began again. “I come here to relax, same as you.”

I moved my head in a oval motion, allowing him to interpret as he wished.

“I know what you mean,” he offered.

Mean? I meant nothing! Literally nothing! He is not leaving. Fuking hand of fate fliking me, knowing I kan’t eskape, knowing I am on edge.

“It’s a beautiful place to relax, experience some quiet,” I plead optimistikally.

“Yeah, I come here to relax too.”

Then SHUT UP! the mind shouted, bloked by the kind and kompassionate lips, which kreated, “I know what you mean.”

There was a thump on the side of my head as the hand of fate fliked my skull with its middle finger.

“What you getting away from?” polished skalp asked.

“People,” I konfessed.

“I know what you mean.”

I feel it in my body as if I had just chugged a gallon of espresso — I AM ON EDGE! My body is vibrating from within as if I were skaling up to explode. And this man wants to talk...needs to talk? Deep breath. In through the nose...deep...fill the lungs...out through the mouth...breathe...slow...deep...

“You okay?” reflekto-skull asked.

I nodded as my breath slowly krossed my lips.

There was silence between us for a few minutes, but my mind would not rest. This stranger had been sent to me by that betraying beast fate, indifferent to my desires — or inspired by such, who kan know.

“How about you? How you doing today?”

“Alright...” he answered, his speech hesitating.

I klosed my eyes and stared into the sun, remembering with fondness how it was to be invisible when living on the streets.

Eventually the stranger finished his pause and kontinued his empty sentence with, “Alright, I guess. Do you ever feel like things just aren’t working out like they’re supposed to?”

NO!

Well, I say at times that I want purpose and I am not getting out of this without a konversation unless I start walking now, so...

They are exaktly as they must be, as ‘they are supposed to’ be, my mind explained, but that was not the konversation he was seeking. “Supposed to? I’m not sure I get what you mean.”

Moving kloser, he said, “Well, did you expect to be working at a coffee shop at your age?”

My age?!

Not sure how he knew where I worked, then I noticed I was wearing a kompany shirt. Not interested in having a konversation about me...not necessary. “You’re not happy with your job?”

“Not really. It’s fine, but not what I expected when I was younger. I feel like I’m going backwards and I work with people and customers aren’t that bright, some of them, and they are making 50 times what I make.”

Not going to ask what he does. Do not kare and not his issue, but it is the easy kommunikation kontinuation... No, unnecessary!

“I thought I’d have my own restaurant by now or at least be an executive chef somewhere. I’m not even a sous chef. I work for a caterer, not even my own catering business. I fucking cater!” the smooth krowned began to laugh maniakally after expressing his dissatisfaktion with his job title.

“I guess suggesting you find another job is not the answer?”

“No, dude, I don’t expect you to have the answer.”

“Right, bekause what would a fuking koffee maker know?” I snapped. Yep, ON-THE-EDGE.

“Dude, chill. I’m not putting down you being a barista, I...”

“Koffee maker. Barista is such a phony, bullshit term.”

“Okay,” he replied meekly, frightened.

“Kall me whatever you want, I am who I am whatever label you put on me or I put upon myself,” I barked.

“Got it.”

“Same applies to you! You are not your job, but if that is how you wish to define yourself, don’t be surprised when society does as well.”

“Okay, but...”

“But what?”

“But that is kinda what we do. Where I lived before I came here I was a sous chef on my way to becoming an executive chef. I was making a fair income, living fine. The wife and kids were all doing well. We were doing about as well as the rest of the community—everyone was pretty much comfortably middle-class. We move out here and there are a few distant really poor, a large, desperate middle-class trying to keep afloat keeping up with one another and a bunch of obscenely wealthy fucks. It’s like the bar has been elevated and I am losing ground. Know what I mean?”

“I do. You are envious of others.”

“No. No, no I am happy with my life, I just don’t want to drown. I want to do more!”

“Then get out of the water.”

Huh, his face exklaimed.

“If you’re drowning, get out of the water.”

The sun’s reflektion danced on his well polished head as he slowly tilted from side-to-side with a vakant look on his face. The silence is nice.

“Isn’t your head really hot?”

“Get out of the water? Wha... I don’t...”

“You don’t have to swim with the skhool.”

“School?”

“Skhool of fish. Just bekause the skhool — of fish — is swimming together... Look, you get to define your terms of sukcess, failure. If you want to use society’s — which it sounds like you do — find someone you admire and figure out how to bekome him.

“I don’t want to be someone else, I...”

“Then stop komplaining and feeling sorry for yourself.”

“Dude, chill. You need to chill, you’re sounding angry. Sorry for bothering you.”

“Bull...”

“What?”

“That’s bull. Look, you wanted to talk, so let’s talk.”

“No, it’s cool.”

I was ready to choke this man to death. Is that why fate brought him to me in this moment? Am I to end his existence, his waste of a life? The breathing. I need to fokus on the breathing.

“I’m a little on edge. You seem like a nice enough ‘dude’ who’s in the midst of midlife krisis or whatever bekause you have not attained the status of material wealth you feel you should have and you’re not feeling great about yourself.”

“Between us, I feel like a complete loser...sometimes.”

“Join the klub.”

“You feel that way too?”

“Everyone feels that way at times. Though I would suggest you do not feel that way bekause of failed material pursuits. Every man and every woman is who they are bundled in their soft, pierceable flesh, whether their material possessions are absent or kopious. When you judge a man on his material wealth, you are prakticing envy. When you wish to be judged by your material wealth, you are saying that you have no substance, no real worth of kharakter, intelligence or personality. We live in a time when the wisest man in the world kould be a poor peasant and our society would rather chew on the words of a materially wealthy vakant fool. But you, you sir, get to choose if you will participate in that.”

“I just... I expected so much more.”

“And while you are disappointed bekause of how you decided to measure yourself against your fellow man, you are cheating yourself of the full joy of the experience you are living — your experience. These are all choices, something you may want to akcept.”

“I guess,” was his reply.

Too much? I held bak, keeping it simple and he klearly does not find himself in need of what I have to offer. I stand to leave and walk elsewhere.

“Why do you do it? Why do you work at that coffee shop with...you know, with all your money?”

“Money? No, I have nothing and all I need. I am a simple man with simple needs.”

“A buddy of mine said you’re one of the owners of the sandwich shop chain he works at.”

“Teknikally, it kould be true. It might be true, but... It’s another man’s business.”

“Yeah, he said they put money into your account every month and that you don’t touch it?”

This man did not happen upon me by fate’s gentle, manipulative hand. He sought me out and knows more about one aspekt of my tangled life than I know myself!

“Yes, and I lived on a beautiful kompound until I felt the need to answer some questions within and wandered away to live on the streets. All me. All the same man. How would you like to define me? Know how I define myself? Me!”

I began to walk away when the man felt the need to klose the deal only he knew he was negotiating. “Come into business with me! Open a restaurant with me. I’ll make you rich! Richer!!”

I paused and turned to look at him. I offered my final words to him and a smile: “You did not hear a word I said. The wealth I seek does not arise from material possessions, but praktice of purpose within. In fakt, I find material wealth to be an obstakle to gaining real wealth — the wealth of the self. Fate’s an ugly demon, putting you here to test me.”

“What are you talking about? Can we be partners?”
Walking away, I walked around on the grass of the park until he left, then returned for some peace and rest and relaxation.
Money? Akkount? He must be a konfused man. Even if it were true, it is not something I need right now, for I have all of the material possessions I desire. In fakt, I may have too much. Anything more than two pillow kases worth is too much. I am going to have to throw some stuff away tonight.
__
Two children stand before their parents. Knowing their final breaths are near, the parents want their children to know that they have left them their estate in equal shares, but that they will have to sort out what items are worth so they can divide fairly.

One child looks at the parents and says, “You need to change what you have done and leave everything to my sibling.”

The parents look at one another confused. One said on behalf of both, “Child, you have so little and your sibling already has so much?”

“Yes, but I am far wealthier.”

“How can this be, child, you seem to have almost nothing?”

“I have all I need and everything I desire. She never will.”
]]> The Next Chapter http://www.captainforehead.com/journal/index.php?itemid=142 Tue, 2 Apr 2013 13:26:05 -0700 http://www.captainforehead.com/journal/index.php?itemid=141
Remembering what the woman ordered on the rare occasion she came in and had something, I made her usual and brought it out to her as she slowly passed the establishment, picking up the trash of others as her husband had before her.

“Ma’am,” I offered.

Stopping, she tilted her head and gave me a look of confusion.

“You have not been by in a while and I thought...” I spoke, then extended the cup.

“Thank you,” she answered, accepting the beverage.

She appeared appreciative. I wanted to ask about her husband, but the emptiness on her face seemed to say enough. I did not know the details, whether he was alive and ill or had died, but it was clear she missed her husband.

“Stop by sometime. It’s regulars like you that make work worth coming to,” I lied, because that was not the reason I came to work, why any of us showed up for work.

“Thank you,” she said again.

Another awkward pause. Then I verbally puked: “How is your husband? Haven’t seen him walking with you in a while.”

“He died,” she said slowly in a heavy, empty whisper. “He wasn’t very healthy for a long time. That’s why we walked, to get him healthier.”

“I’m sorry,” were the only words that did not appear inappropriate...yet so inadequate.

“I miss him,” she said, her eyes glazing over as tears swelled.

What does one say in such situations...

“Thank you,” she said anxiously and turned and walked away, her perky, peppy dog leading the way. She stopped and bent to pick up the trash of others.

Standing, watching the old woman clean up the filth of the filth, making the world a better place, one cannot help but feel a bit of joy for her lucky husband; whatever happened in his life, he was truly loved, is truly loved, and missed. Not by the dog skipping over the plants to mark his territory, but by the woman with whom he shared his life, by someone who really knew him.

To be loved by a good person who intimately knows you suggests that you have been on the side of good, no matter how imperfect your life may have been. Even in death, it would appear that he is lucky man.

Watching the woman pick up trash as she walked the street, remembering her husband at her side, makes you realize the calm, quiet of good will persevere, cleaning the rude, indifference of the filth without complaint.

The measure of a man is marked by the memories he leaves.
]]> The Next Chapter http://www.captainforehead.com/journal/index.php?itemid=141 Wed, 6 Mar 2013 19:17:36 -0800 http://www.captainforehead.com/journal/index.php?itemid=140
Tonight I do not sleep, but I am not interested in the world around either. I stare, looking for the darkness above to swallow me whole in one quick bite. The woman at my side breathes in the rest of her security so peacefully, but the calmness she shares is frightening. My thoughts follow her breath and ask why she gives me a sense of peace when I am with her and at what cost is this peace offered. Yet the calmness of her breath and the connection we have makes me feel this is where I belong, which make me think it is time to run into the unknown, welcoming arms of freedom. Sleep...please.

Thinking of the times when she has robbed me of all energy by draining every last drop of desire, I can smile and take her into the dimension of my mind — an alternate universe. I know this is not the fuel that keeps my occasionally throbbing passion for her burning, but it is the heat and I understand such desire. Love is such an absurd concept, a corruption of our ability to think, that I cannot accept its weighty imposition...even if in all of its recklessness it were the truth.

Perhaps I cannot sleep because I am ill... Yes, I am not of sound mind. The flu, perhaps. Sleep... I turn my head in the absolute darkness and look at what I cannot see, a woman I can hear breathe, and allow myself the absurd comfort of knowing her loving beauty is at my side.
]]> The Next Chapter http://www.captainforehead.com/journal/index.php?itemid=140 Tue, 5 Feb 2013 09:20:38 -0800 http://www.captainforehead.com/journal/index.php?itemid=139
The road crowded in this strange and busy part of town, it was a comfort to allow our dinner hosts to drive us around while me and the she I have found myself attached to often sat in the back seat watching the park we meander through pretend as if the city were not encroaching on the little space that remained. When I felt the gentle hand of my female friend rest upon my hand, I looked at her and smiled, but was jolted back to my observational ways when the vehicle abruptly stopped and the hand of fate as momentum shoved my body forward into the seat in front of my comfortable carrying spot.

“Sorry,” the young lass behind the wheel excused coyly.

“It’s fine,” her supportive young lover encouraged in reply. “You know how the drivers are around here.”

Yes, bad drivers abound in certain communities, due a great deal to the excessive urgency most everyone lives in their lives of significance. Like the park I have taken to observing, it was my act to appear unaffected by the encroaching madness. If the trees can ignore the chaotic concrete jungle, why can’t I?

“I don’t know if it was the increased radioactivity or what, but the hamachi was as good as any experienced on the shores of Nippon,” I offered to the hosts who had selected the fishy establishment.

Arriving at another of the stoplights placed every 53.6 feet, I was amazed that the good nature covering the park did not succumb to the incestuous noise, only wilting with delight in the face of the never ending chaos — of course, it could simply have been that they know of a time before man so expect a time without man. The noise grew, horns honking to push the pace of madness to a more desperate level.

There was a honk very near...then another. To stand in oblivion like the trees... Another honk caused the driver to stir.

“What’s wrong with him?!” the young woman asked in exasperation. “I can wait here forever,” she promised.

Looking over one of the shoulders that has always been with me to the car behind us, an anxious young man motioned for us to hurry along. With his angry, frantic gestures, her concern was well founded. I exited the vehicle on a goodwill mission.

Approaching the vehicle of concern, the driver began to wave me off. Tapping on the passenger’s side window — that was the side I was on and saw no wisdom in standing between two cars — I asked the frantic man a question of compassion: “The kind lady in front of you is concerned there might be something wrong. Are you alright?”

There was a great deal of movement about his mouth, but as he was strapped safely into a vehicle sealed for quiet comfort and luxury, I could hear nothing.

“I can’t hear you. Roll down your window,” I politely requested. The rapid shaking of his head from side-to-side in denial of my request was easily understood. So I began to tap on his window with a coin pulled from my pocket. He reacted.

The window rolled down less than an inch. I asked my question of concern again. His response did not directly address my concern regarding his health. “I have a fun! Get away before I shoot you!” he shouted, motioning as if he were going to retrieve something from under his seat.

Considering the kind of fun he may have under his seat — especially the shooting kind — I decided it best not to take time away from my hosts and play. And what if it was not sweet or chuckley fun but something more explosive? How does one deal with the threat of fun? Too new...

Not interested in discovering the veracity of his bluff based on the level of his fear, I was going to accept that he was as good as could be expected, but then he turned the car toward me and began to move. I stepped back and watched him drive around my waiting chariot by using the sidewalk as his private passageway.

Returning to the waiting few, a chorus of questions and concern ejaculated toward my way. I deciphered enough to answer, “Because you asked ‘What’s wrong with him?’ I went to relieve you of your concern.”

“That’s not what I meant! You know that!”

“No, I didn’t,” I answered, knowing that one can never truly know what one means — even if that one is the self.

There was some discussion regarding the sanity and righteousness of my actions, but I saw no need to participate, as what was done could not be undone and a grasp of understanding of the actions of others always leaves one seeking purpose of action wanting...and I was pondering the threat of being shot by fun.

“This unpredictability of yours is why we can’t go anywhere with people,” was whispered into my ear by the chewy sweet taste I hoped to gnaw.

I could not refrain. “Unpredictability? No, you mean the predictability that I will do something that makes others uncomfortable because it is not what they would do. Perhaps you could say it is unexpected, but not really unpredictable.”

“You know what I mean. You’re such an ass,” she whispered in her sweetest, quietest voice...giving a feint, blushing rise to arousal.

Her reply was absolutely as expected — 100% predictable.

Horns honk; tires squeal; people on their way to do important things bicker, but the tress stand tall, proud, peaceful, as if our manufactured chaos was quite insignificant. Uh, to be a tree...]]> The Next Chapter http://www.captainforehead.com/journal/index.php?itemid=139 Tue, 8 Jan 2013 12:56:15 -0800 http://www.captainforehead.com/journal/index.php?itemid=138
Train. Expand the cauldron of rage; pull away from the fire.

10... 15... 20... The minutes mount. The watching of others in the gym as the muscles of might right are trained and drained...but darkness grows.

Beautiful sweet candy, stretching, working perfection in divinely revealing goodness. Balls of goo waddling around the room in hope of sticky sweet delightfulness, but doing little to reach such a pleasant and generous goal. Men training for battle, good and evil. Frightened boys as men, inflating themselves to scare off the world they so greatly fear. In the gym we find a cornucopia of citizenry still willing to dream and work for something more.

Push. Harder. Release the pressure the dark hand of fate builds within.

To be good does not mean to be perfect.

To wish to be perfect is not good.

A man crosses my view. The face is recognized. The eyes of justice lock, glaring. I have seen this man, heard stories of his vocal outbursts of violence threatened, always against women of age marked. Archie Ga, a woman called him, contemptuous of his treatment. Is this where the hand of fate wants dark justice?

Like the preparation of a meal, there is art in every battle. First, one must understand their opponent, and one who saves his rage and violent, threatening outbursts for elderly women is comfortably understood.

He turned away from the locked, until the moustached man with the tiny traumatized brain realized there was intent in the gaze — the slowness of this interpretation and reaction made it clear that the pebble in his head was there so he would make an entertaining rattling sound when shaken. He attempted intimidation by offering the look of a rabid dog, but when the face of justice’s pawn smirked and looked through him, he quickly turned away like a frightened chihuahua.

Let it go. His presence is too small.

But he is evil.

Tiny evil.

Evil.

Exercising, I kept eyes routinely fixed on Archie Ga’s Hitleresque moustache — and his eyes when he would find the courage to look the way of the wait. Dark clouds of discomfort began to clap with thunder as the miscreant of meaningless man began to pace in discomfort like cornered game. The aura, the look he exudes, cry for his destruction, as nature knows how to scent fate’s appetite.

There was little doubt he wished to come, confront, challenge what he saw threatening before him, but as dumb as he was he could still see that the foe that wantingly awaited his action was not an elderly woman.

The exercise continued, extended, but eventually had to come to an end, and though the cornered animal was frightened, he would not strike. It was time to leave. The hand of fate is preparing me for something special, but this nothing was just a gift for refining senses...I suppose.

I leave, approaching him, looking through his cowardly nothingness, and then he gives a gift.

“What you lookin’ at? I know you?”

Stopping before him, I look through him, offering no words. This is battle and there is no need to give your opponent ammunition, no matter how enjoyable. I keep quiet, staring, watching his uneasiness.

“What you been lookin’ at me like that for? I don’t know you. Do I?”

Silences. Stare. Move a couple of inches closer, slowly.

“Wha’chu doin’?”

What pleasure would be gifted if Archie Ga would take a swing in such a public venue. The rage that has been building for purpose could be freely expressed. Alas, he is a berater of weak, old women and will not strike the antithesis before him...no matter how much the strike is welcome. Yes, I could strike him with a righteous blow for an education in civility, but I do not wish to be carted away by cleaners of laws randomly applied. Another time in a private place, perhaps... No, gleefully and joyfully, but not now. As much as I wish to do otherwise, I remain silent, hoping he will defy his nature for a moment and strike...yet, I am still not an elderly woman.

“Fuckin’ puto!” he shouts, gesturing with his hands as he walks away.

What can one do but laugh at his absurd existence.

Mustache freezes. There it is, all over his face. He wants to attack. The rage is making him pulse violently. His frightened heart wants to attack, but his cowardly mind refrains. His eyes ablaze, it is clear he wishes to burn me alive. His teeth grind, desperate to tear at my flesh. If I were an elderly woman, I would be dead within a couple of violent minutes. In fact, his rage is so consuming, he might actually attack if I were a slight young woman. Still, standing before him was a man, laughing at the charade of a pretend, empty man hidden behind the machismo of a Hitleresque moustache.

It is necessary. I laugh again, chuckling in hope.

The moustache turned and walked away. There was no doubt a small — probably elderly — woman was going to receive the rage his cowardly soul of evil could not muster for a man his physical match.

The darkness within swirled. I saw the hands of good around his neck, slowly squeezing the evil out of him as he cried and pleaded for another breath. He walked away, but my mind saw something more. The fact that he fell to the ground was coincidental; he must have tripped over something.

It was time to leave. It was the only way the mind would release the worthless man’s neck.

Fate, I don’t understand your ways, but I trust.]]> The Next Chapter http://www.captainforehead.com/journal/index.php?itemid=138 Tue, 27 Nov 2012 13:49:43 -0800 http://www.captainforehead.com/journal/index.php?itemid=137
“Uh...!” I brilliantly deferred.

“Thank you, I knew you would.”

As if there was a choice to begin with...

“What may I graciously do for you?”

“I want you to go and check on Katy.”

Katy?! The one with the incredible body! With a mind...enveloped by that incredible body! “It would be my pleasure. Katy is the perfectly beautiful young thing married to the gay guy, right?”

“That’s not nice.”

“What?”

“To call her husband ‘gay’.”

“Why? Are we pretending he’s not?”

“We don’t really know...for sure.”

“Okay... So ignoring the fact he hit on the manliness of me, weren’t you the one telling me about a conversation you had with Katy before they were married where you told her you knew for a fact he had a relationship with a man?”

“Yes, and I also told you she said it was a bunch of lies told by a bitter old girlfriend.”

“Right, because he’s such a catch. So we’re pretending. Next time we’re around them, watch where his eyes are focused. Whether he is interested in the beef or the dairy.”

“Whatever. Listen, I got permission for you to leave, a business errand. We all want you to check on her. She has a lot of friends here.”

“Then why aren’t any of you going to check on her?”

Moving closer, the tasty treat whispered, “Her husband gives us the creeps and we’re afraid he might get violent, so...”

Katy was quite beautiful to the visual sense, but the beauty outside could not mask the inside’s flaws. Katy was kind, friendly and developmentally retarded. She always dated bad men because she wanted to see and understand the misunderstood good she knew had to be within. When she met a man who was downright evil — the good so small it only existed because he did not know it was there — she married him and became his savior and champion. That being said, you could spend hours absorbed in her beauty and warm smile.

“I don’t get this pretend thing; we’ll pretend he’s straight and not using her for appearance’s sake, but we can’t pretend he’s too nice, because he’s really scary? How about if we don’t pretend at all? It’s not like pretending changes who he really is...”

“What are you... Look, you take my ride and go check on Katy, please. Right now, please.”

C’est la vie.

Just because you have keys and a ride does not mean you are going anywhere. Her ‘cute’ car would not start. Looking under the hood, it appeared as if rats had been nesting comfortably under the faded hood for some time.

After spending an hour under the hood and walking down the street to the auto parts store a few times, I had invested a day’s wages and managed to get the P-o-S running. Before leaving, it seemed like a reasonable idea to wipe the grease off.

“You’re back already? How is she?”

“I haven’t left yet.”

“What? Why not?”

“Your cute car wouldn’t start.”

“Did you jiggle the wire hanging down? You know how you have to do that, remember?”

“You don’t have to do that anymore, it’s fixed.”

“But I don’t have any money...”

“I fixed it. Don’t worry about it.”

“Thanks. I’m going to have to give you something special tonight.”

This is beginning to sound like a relationship.

“Relax, there’s nothing to worry about, I’m going to check on Katy’s kurves.”

“Bye! Thank you! Her curves? You just make sure she is okay and get right back here.”

Could not leave fast enough. The idea of visiting Katy at her home was enticing, though as the cute car moved through traffic, I noted smells and sounds that would give cause of concern for any good fire captain as to whether or not the vehicle was anything more than an improvised explosive device preparing for detonation. Seems as if risking life and limb for a view of Katy’s kurves was a bit of a high price...but Katy was beautiful...and she may be in need of assistance...kurve duty kalls!

Knocking on the door, I was not prepared for anything more than to be greeted by her warm smile or his leering wink. Instead, Katy came to the door with her hands covered in dirt and tears mixed with dirt rubbed about her face — things were out of sort, apparently...then again, she is a woman, a woman of unquestionably bad judgement, intuition dismissed in favor of fantasy. Alas, her flimsy, sheer shirt karessed her kleavage.

“What’s wrong?” was offered in forced monotone, eyes pried from her dancing top to her swallowing eyes.

“I... I... My...dead... I...” she began as a prelude to hysteria where she told me of her dog’s death. She was covered in dirt because she had been digging a grave for him in back. The house did smell like death. The gentleman of good offered to help her with the grave.

“Thank you. Thank you.”

She exited the house and closed the door behind her, obviously to protect the floors from further tracking of dirt, or, because even in this state of sorrow, she feared animal magnetism might bring us together...obviously.

Upon entering the backyard, the eyes were drawn to a mound of dirt in the far corner of the yard. Given closer inspection, the hole already seemed substantial.

“This isn’t big enough?”

“He... He... He... It’s a... It’s a huge dog,” she cried.

Seeing she was distraught, presumably heartbroken, I took the shovel in hand and began to dig. It seemed as if the hole was big enough for me — it would suffice, anyway.

After about 40 minutes of shoveling, there was a giant blister in the center of my hand. “Ouch,” I whispered to myself, which was unnecessary, as I was done.

Done and trapped in a hole. I began to call for Katy. She came quickly, carrying a giant glass of water.

“I need help getting out, maybe a ladder? And that glass of water would be helpful.”

“Water? This is vodka. I’ll get you a ladder and a drink.”

“Water, please.”

“Sure, but I need this. My dog died.”

“I understand, but it’s 11am, which is too early for me to call it a day.”

Fifteen minutes later I was sitting at a small garden table with an inebriated and not so beautiful Katy, drinking my water. Willingly, as the shirt clung and released from her breast, I noted beauty.

“Where’s Rod?” I asked, having just done what her husband should have done.

“Fuck that piece of shit! You know why my dog’s dead?!”

“Uh, no.”

“Rod fucked her. I walked in on Rod fucking her, my dog!”

An appropriate response did not come to mind, as I was not sure how much was alcohol and how much was reality. I also considered that I was wrong about Rod, he was not gay or bi — according to his wife, he will stick it anywhere.

“Can you believe that?! My poor little girl.”

Was not the dog a large he? It is not usually useful to correct someone who is drunk. It was probably best to let her grieve in peace.

“Thank you for the water,” I replied, pulling the skin off my blister and licking the open wound.

“What are you doing?”

“I have a wound, a blister from the shovel.”

“I’m surprised you are so soft. Licking it is kinda gross.”

The woman who walked in on her husband banging the dog has just called me gross. Now would be a good time to leave.

“Thank you for the water. I should be getting back. Did you want help putting Sparky in the hole?”

“Sparky?”

“Your dog.”

“I can handle it!”

“Are you sure?”

“I said I could handle it. Thank you.”

“Okay. Sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you, and if you see that piece of shit Rod tell him if he even comes around me or anyone I know again I will kill him!”

“You’ve got a big enough hole.”

It was not long before I had returned to report the status of her kurves and my helpfulness to her concerned friends, who seemed happy that she was well, yet disconcerted about the dog story. As far as they knew, the only dog she had was a small female dog named Paris.

It just goes to show, you think you know someone, yet what do you really know?



AFTERTHOUGHT: The story of what Rod did to the dog has floated around the job, and people seem to be sickened and shocked. As strange as it may be, it was less than shocking; the more you witness the human condition, the more you understand we are capable of anything...all of us...anything.]]> The Next Chapter http://www.captainforehead.com/journal/index.php?itemid=137 Thu, 25 Oct 2012 13:30:33 -0700 http://www.captainforehead.com/journal/index.php?itemid=136
“Is it fixed yet? Can I use the sink?”

There is no family to assist, virtue to erect, just a female I am staying with who has decided our mere cohabitation for a very short period means I have become part of the surroundings, like a hat, a cat, or, more accurately, a pet rat. This is not where I need to be, but it is where I am.

“Well? How much longer?”

“It’s fixed.”

“Already? That’s so sweet. Thank you.”

Her joy was sincere and it probably would have brought a man of lesser ideals pleasure, alas, it was simply a repaired sink.

“You’ll make a good husband someday,” I heard chirped before receiving a wet kiss on the lips.

Sweet sticky goodness was not enough to sway me from sharing my thoughts. “Been there, done that, many times before. Too bad I can’t do it with you.”

“What?!”

“What ‘what’?”

“What do you mean?”

“What do you mean, what do I mean?”

“What do you mean you can’t do it with me?”

“You can’t marry someone you live with, it never works out. You know that.”

“How old are you? You sound like my great-grandmother.”

“A brilliant woman, no doubt.”

“If by that you mean a crazy, meddling old bitch, then yeah”

“That does not sound like something a loving young woman such as yourself would say, speaking of your grandmother like that.”

“Great-grandmother.”

“Speaking of your great-grandmother like that.”

“Forget you, she’s an old bitch. You don’t even know her, and you never will, ‘cause we can’t get married!”

“It’s too bad, I know. We are so intimately compatible.”

“Then maybe you should move out now. You said it was temporary.”

The conversation escalated to the throwing of objects. Glass was broken. I was hit by a few things. Her passions aroused — and mine — with a chuckling at her sanity. Apparently the truthful instructional words of insight lit a fuse under delusions of domestication and set her off. Strangely, she seemed to have also become sexually aggressive. Before long the violence no longer involved throwing objects, but her proclaiming her complete contempt for me and desire to use and discard me as a sexual object — apparently it was supposed to be a statement of disrespect, but as her mounting anger mounted my firm passions and she summoned the demons of indulgence from within, I could not help but realize how little regard I had for her respect.

Spent like candy chewed, sucked and pulled, but not swallowed, there was nothing left to say. We both fell asleep, and for the first time I heard her snore. Before falling asleep, I came to the conclusion I could hang around for a couple of days or so and share more with her on my views regarding relationships... Whatever it takes for her to insult me, to use me, to show her disrespect for thee. As a gentleman bent on doing good deeply, I must be willing to sacrifice the ego to allow her power as a woman to energize and envelope. Sure, there may be a bruise or two on the generous flesh of a kind gentleman, but sacrifice and suffering can help a man grow...and I am afraid, in the moment, I may have grabbed large handfuls of sweetness to help guide the destiny of good, which probably left a mark or two.

It is true, it is known, but it bears repeating: One must be willing to suffer for truth.

How did I end up here?

How do I leave that behind?

It appears the hand of fate in the guise of truth will have to continue guiding this journey, because there is no doubt, fate is doing an awesome job!]]> The Next Chapter http://www.captainforehead.com/journal/index.php?itemid=136 Wed, 10 Oct 2012 12:19:08 -0700 http://www.captainforehead.com/journal/index.php?itemid=135
Is there anything more important than a cup of coffee?

Yes, for coffee is simply a moment of pleasure.

No, for in the moment of making a coffee drink I am doing nothing else. The drink becomes a representation of who I am...who am I kidding, it is a cup of stimulation and I am here to make the delivery more palatable.

“That was a great cup of Joe, uh... I’m sorry, I don’t know your name,” the gentleman complimented.

“Thank you,” I dismiss.

The man waited, eventually asking again. “I’m here regularly, talk with you regularly, and I don’t know your name. I think it’s time we were properly introduced.”

What does one who does not wish to attach to a name say? I point to my name tag, a name tag.

“It’s blank,” he noticed.

“So it is. What’s your favorite name?”

“I don’t have a favorite name.”

“What’s your name?” I prodded.

“My friends call me John...as do my enemies, the tax collectors, the bill collectors and anyone else who wishes to commiserate with me. Now tell me your name.”

The polite thing to do, the decent thing to do is tell John my name, but as I am not chained to any single name, a name will suffice.

“Well, there will not be much for you to remember, John, for we have something in common.”

“And what is that?”

“We both have very common names.”

“You’re too much trouble,” John offered, raising his cup in toast as he walked off.

I almost felt compelled to shout after him, to share the name I was using at the moment to be who the world needed me to be, but refrained, for if the knowing of my name was important he would have waited a moment longer.

A glowing young woman smiled innocently across the counter. Without forethought, I blurted what apparently needed to be said: “How are you today, my name’s John.”

Without missing a beat, the trusting young woman with the glowing spirit of good acknowledged my offering. “Hello, John.”

The part of the conversation she did not witness was the employees with whom I shared my work life all paused at my loud outburst. They had heard me speak loudly, but, though they had worked with me for some time, they had never heard me refer to myself as John.

“Hey, John!” co-worker Sandy shouted while getting a pastry for a customer, chuckling enough to inflict the customers with a smile.

“Here’s your drink, Summer — the name fits you.”

“Thank you, John.”

She smiled and gave me a wink. The name really did fit her glowing, trusting innocence.

From behind, the shift manager slapped me on the back. With a guttural laugh he said, “John? Now you’re John? Too late to change your mind, I’m ordering you a name tag today — we get a lot of flack from corporate for allowing you to wear a blank name tag. It’s against policy, you know.”

What was there to say? What I am called is of little import to me. I can be as detached from John as I can from Eric or Anthony or Graham or Joseph or Albert or Steven or... I am not defined by my signage.

“John!” the manager shouted with a laugh as he went into the small room known by the signage ‘Office’.

The gentleman just wanted to talk. I could have given him any name and he would have left with a smile. Instead, I offer nothing, afraid I may find myself forever attached to his label. My fear of his label — my label — gave me pause, keeping me from simply being.

I will remember the gentleman, John, he wanted to be called.

“Ooooooouch!”

One should pay attention to what they are doing when working with hot liquids, or a cup may runneth over and scald one to attention...regardless of name.]]> The Next Chapter http://www.captainforehead.com/journal/index.php?itemid=135 Thu, 23 Aug 2012 10:04:39 -0700 http://www.captainforehead.com/journal/index.php?itemid=134
Walking the darkest of alleys and the brightest of thoroughfares, smelling the thickest stench to perfumed parlors, a decision was made: I was not ready to return to the streets as resident. I would avoid the truth of the evening — I was out to not be at home with that sticky, chewy piece of candy that wanted to have a conversation/interrogation session. But not prepared to call the streets home again, I might as well accept the price of ‘home’ and get some sleep.

Strolling in return under a clear night, it is amazing how many more stars come into view when I enter the dark of neighborhoods furthest from the city’s glow. Upon entering an old section of town where there was not enough political influence to procure street lights, the view beyond the grand trees was spectacular, reminding how small and wholly insignificant we must remain.

“Oh my god!” broke the eve’s whisper.

The words were clear. It was a man’s voice. He was not panicked but excited. Nevertheless, a review was in order.

“Everything okay?” I spoke loudly in the general direction of the squeal.

“Oh my god! OH-MY-GOD!”

The words repeated allowed me to locate him in a backyard not far from where I was standing.

“Everything all right?” I queried, moving closer.

Sending the body grandeur goodness into alert, the man charged his fence and pulled himself above to talk.

“Oh my god, you’ve got to see this!” he demands. “Come here! Just hop the fence and get over here, you’ve got to see this. Hurry!”

“Wha... Why?”

“Just come. I want you to look through my telescope and tell me what you see. Hurry!”

“Fine.”

Hopping the fence with the gracefulness of pre-cracked Humpty Dumpty, I fell into the other side and found myself in a tiny backyard with a giant telescope, a stool at its side to help one get a look through the eyepiece.

“There! Right there! Hurry! Look!” he ordered.

“What am I looking at?”

“I can’t tell you. You tell me what you see and I will know what I see or if I am just crazy.”

“They are not necessarily mutually exclusive,” the generous paver of truth offered.

“Look! Look! Just tell me what you see.”

I walked up the stool and looked into the eyepiece, expecting to see a planet or star, anything except what I saw.

“Well?!”

Standing back from the eyepiece, I looked toward the distant object flashing. A tiny dot, flashing like an airplane. Then I looked again into the eyepiece.

“Well, what do you see?”

Standing back and looking into the sky again, I was not sure how to answer.

“Well!?”

“Well, just looking at it I would have to say it was a plane or helicopter or satellite or something.”

“That’s what I thought, but it has not moved in 40 minutes.”

“Geosynchronous satellite, perhaps?”

“No, I am sure not, that’s why I brought the telescope out here. Is that what you see through the telescope?”

“No, I don’t know what I see through your telescope.”

“Just tell me what you see, please! Please?”

“I don’t know what it is,” I had to confess.

“Just describe what you see!”

“Four lights, extremely bright white lights, making a circle with a black center, like that kids memory game...you know...what’s it called...?”

“Simon?”

“That’s it, Simon, but all of the lights are intense white.”

“Just white?”

Looking into the eyepiece again, it was clear my eye had not been playing a trick on me and I was transfixed on the lighting.

“Well? Just white?”

“I don’t know how to describe...”

“Just say it!”

“Well, they are intensely white, but there are pulses of blue hue. Yes, it is pulsating a blue hue, and it looks like it is circular in shape, because when it pulses a blue hue on what a suspect is the entire object, it is a circular object, from my two dimensional perspective. And I...I see red pulsating, too. And there is red like the flash of a vein with a glow around it on the panels on occasion. It looks like the white is a plasma, the way the red travels and changes only parts of the white. And when it pulses blue, the whole thing takes on a very light blue hue... I... What am I looking at?”

“I don’t know,” the gentleman answered calmly, satisfied he was not crazy. “I have no idea, but can you believe it?”

“No. Well, yes, but no...”

“Move. Let me look again, please,”

It was his telescope.

“My god!” he shouted again, looking through the eyepiece. “The things we don’t know remind us how our growing knowledge only increases the vastness of our ignorance.”

“Uh huh,” I acknowledged. “Thank you,” I offered, rolling back over the wobbly fence without breaking anything to continue my aimless journey, watching the sky as I walked.

Helicopter? No.

Airplane? Nope.

Satellite? Don’t see how. Have to vote no, not even geosynchronous.

Simon for the gods? Perhaps.

Unidentified? Absolutely. That’s it. That’s the ticket, unidentified.

Oh, the things we see when we are willing to wander through life with our minds open to not knowing...still, I am open to an explanation, to an identification, but until then...

Distractions all, as I seek a detour from what I do know.]]> The Next Chapter http://www.captainforehead.com/journal/index.php?itemid=134 Sat, 11 Aug 2012 13:58:04 -0700 http://www.captainforehead.com/journal/index.php?itemid=133
One takes note of citizenry good and bad. Some stand out because of their smile, politeness and eye contact, while others stand out because of their condescension and rudeness — most make up the mushy mashed potato middle. The good, kind and friendly bring pleasure into the moment, but it is the unseemly that make a stronger impression on the psyche, because their foulness is something good wishes to address so others are not infected. Today, bitter bad was followed by apoplectically apologetic good.

Sandy was a decent soul, doing the job paid for in a polite, professional manner.

“How are you today?”

No answer, no eye contact from the middle-aged woman across the counter.

“What can I get for you today?” Sandy asked after the pause made it clear no answer was forthcoming.

Nothing. The two women crowded the counter complaining about a man they both appeared to hold in contempt. (There was the thought that this may be a good man, because these two gave off an ugly, bitter aura, and one should not simply be judged by the friends they keep but the enemies they make as well.)

“Excuse me, can I take your order?” Sandy asked in a louder, directed voice.

The woman closest held up her hand and expressed her palm to request Sandy come to a halt. Sandy was taken aback by the command.

Making hot oral pleasure cups, I looked at the two women and smirked. Sandy was not an aggressive soul, but did not take kindly to poor treatment.

Leaning to one side, Sandy took the order from the next customer. The polite, friendly young girl give her order and offered so many smiles and ‘thank you’s, Sandy was again pleased with the chosen profession, realizing the halter was a aberration.

“Thank you for your courtesy and have a wonderful day,” Sandy praised the vivacious young girl.

“Are you ready?” Sandy asked Halter and her friend, both of whom had paused with looks of constipated shock when the customer behind them was serviced.

“I can’t believe you just did that. That was soooo rude. No, I want to speak to your manager.”

“Of course. Have a seat, I’ll send her over to pacify you as soon as she’s available.”

“No, I want to speak to her now.”

“Next,” Sandy commanded, leaning to one side to serve the next customer. “What can we get for you today?”

“No, no, no! I’m next.”

“Are you ready to order?”

“After I talk with your manager.”

Sandy looked to another employee who gave a counterfeit ‘go-ahead’ nod. “She’ll be ready in a minute. I can take your order while you wait, or I’ll need you to step aside, please.”

The woman would not look at Sandy.

“Next! Hi, what will you have today?” Sandy asked the waiting gentleman.

“No! Fine, I’ll order, but I am talking with your boss.”

The woman, never making eye contact with Sandy, placed her order as a master would speak to a slave whose usefulness has expired.

Sandy was polite, forcing civility, trying not to become infected by the bitterness of the broken women. The order was politely received and graciously concluded by Sandy, who feigned respect and courtesy.

There is no denying that the universe for each of us — what we would call ‘our universe’ — is self-centered by definition. What some fail to comprehend is that the entire universe does not consist of the self. When one thinks the universe is a singular field with self in focus, they believe all else is there to serve their self, creations from within designed to satisfy their retarded egos. It is inevitable universes collide when they believe they exist in the absence of others. Simply put: These two women created so much negativity between then that they created a black hole to suck all of the light and decency out of their universes, stealing and darkening the universes of all around.

Question: What does decency in the eye of the beholder deliver? These beings live off of the negativity they bring into the world, and does one participate, feeding the negativity they so desire? Dare the doppelganger of good do nothing? There is nothing to do, as a black hole sucks all around it out of existence — indulging its creators. They can extinguish in our inner peace.

Peace be with you.

And with you.

Impolite as it may be, the ears of interest listened to the two well groomed momsters harangue those unfortunate enough to be related to them as I continually pushed their drinks to the back of the line. The most grotesque of the diatribes was when the broad shouldered dirty blonde sought the approval the wire framed, raven haired partner for withholding a long promised birthday gift.

From what could be garnered, broad blonde sent the child a card on his birthday every year since he turned 4telling him that she had put money aside for him so that he would receive fabulous wealth up turning 18. She never gave the boy his gift upon turning 18, because he did not ask — sounded like a proud young man not for sale. When the young man’s spouse became ill, he found the humility to ask this woman, his aunt, for the long promised childhood gift. She said yes, but that was months ago. She did not feel comfortable giving him the money because he was not working to foster a relationship with her, as far as she was concerned. Her wiseless raven partner thought it made perfect, acceptable sense. (One must always remember that without evil there is no good. Evil must exist, and this pair shows the multitude of forms the nature takes.)

Another order comes in and the vortex of villainy’s cups are moved to the back of the line. Not passive-aggressive, a simple reordering of priorities. Eventually, they realized there was something amiss — more accurately, they had to pause for the bile within to regenerate so they could continue its spew.

“Excuuuuuuuse me, but we ordered ours before any of these people,” one of the toxic twins in vile denial stated to the dispenser of what needs to be served — moi.

Waited for her to make eye contact, then answered, “Yes, you did,” and began to work on the orders purposefully moved ahead of theirs.

“Well?”

Smiling response...perhaps smirking, but only the eye of the beholder know what is perceived.

“You people are soooooo rude here. Where is the manager?!”

“When she comes out, I’ll have her deliver you your beverages special.”

“We want our drinks, NOW!”

“Now? Kind of like the boy wants the gift you promised all of those years?”

She was taken aback by the wondrous analogy offered for the purpose of facilitating conversation.

“You listened to our conversation!?”

“No, sir. There was no way to avoid hearing what you and your wife were discussing, your voice being so deep and the conversation so loud.”

“Sir! You’re sooooo incredibly ruuuude to me and my sister. I can tell you that you’d better have another place to work because you will not be working here after I talk with management about this.”

“While I tremble in fear, why don’t you and your significant other, or other who shares your delusion of significance, and have a seat. I’ll bring you your beverages.”

“And the manager?”

“Yes, and the manager will be reminded your excellency is awaiting her arrival.”

“You’re an ass.”

“Of course. Yes,” I replied, noticing the smirks, chuckles and guffaws from others in the shop forced to listen to the spewing septic bags.

“We don’t have to put up with this,” wire told her sister, but the two began to whisper, sitting at a table in wait.

The charade had gone on long enough. Their drinks were finished and delivered. An arsenal of words was also prepared.

Wishing to avoid a scene, the manager had left, telling Sandy that all was good and for no one to worry, the behaviour of the women had been noted. Alas, it was the kindness of I who offered to deliver the drinks to the table, for my delivery came with extras...and who does not love extras?

“Reese and Rin?” I confirmed, sorting out the delivery. They both avoided eye contact, but my view of the need to give them some of the bitterness they spewed about changed when I viewed them close.

The wiry raven’s eyes were sunk deep into her head, her lips pulled tight, and she appeared extremely nervous. The woman had all of the signs of severe anxiety — something caffeine was not going to help. The broad blonde was so absent from her own presence, it became clear that her show of prosperity and privilege was so that she would not be seen. In the presence of these two wounded wounding wonders, close enough to smell the truth of their being, you realize the black hole had long ago taken all joy from their lives — the strings of obligation were all they had left. Still, there was something to say.

“I’m sorry your visit was so unpleasant. We understand why you would wish to go elsewhere. On a personal note, I would like to say on the young man’s behalf, he was under the impression you were giving him a gift, and it was never a gift, since strings were attached. It sounds like you turned it into an obligation of unquestioning loyalty, subjugation, almost. You were trying to buy him...and it sounds like it failed.”

“That’s bullshit. You’re full of shit. You don’t know what you’re talking about,” broad blonde snapped instantly, causing wiry raven to tremble uncomfortably and nod her head in fear of her sibling.

“Of course it is. You know your heart, but it is my experience, gifts, true gifts, do not come with strings of obligation.”

“If someone is rude to you, do you give them a gift? No!”

“From what I heard, the gift was given every year, you just promised delivery at a later date. I’m sorry, I’m wrong? You lied and made promise of a gift, when what you really meant was to pay for performance, his loyalty to s shrew like you.”

“Excuse me!?”

“The funny thing is you don’t realize you do this because you do not believe you have anything of value within to offer. All you have is material worth; no wisdom; no intelligence; no compassion; no understanding; no passion; no love; just material worth.”

“How ruuude! You’re really starting to tick me off,” wiry yelled, not realizing the scene was hers because I had been whispering so as not to be heard by other guests. “Let’s go!” she shouted, standing from the table.

Going erect to join her significant other, broad blonde whispered, “At least I have that. You’re just a loser breakfast drink maker.”

What response is called for other than a smile...a smirk.

When the black hole left the shop, a relaxing peace seemed to immediately replace the void. It was probably not peace as much as the absence of empty evil’s draining of energy.

You have to feel for the young man who is being tested. Will he sell his soul? Does he feel he must sell his soul? You can only hope that she cannot pull him into the abyss with the sociopathic games she plays...and if he was smart enough to refrain as long as it sounded like he had — waiting until the worst of circumstances before requesting delivery of what had been promised as a gift — he might have the core and nature of good and will fight his corruption.

There are black holes everywhere. We cannot fight them of change them, our best hope is to escape them.]]> The Next Chapter http://www.captainforehead.com/journal/index.php?itemid=133 Mon, 16 Jul 2012 10:13:58 -0700