The Old Man’s Destination

The old man stood under the street sign, His calloused dirty hand hitting the cold round metal knob over and over.  His blue eyes glaring up from under the faded blue and orange Denver Bronco hat, waiting impatiently for green to replace the red light that was keeping him from his destination across the busy intersection.
 
An off white smock hung low on his waist, the back dragging along the oil drenched pavement.  Words written in black marker down the middle…”WOLF”, “COYOTE”, “BEAR”….The meaning only known to him.  A pair of tall shiny black rain boots pulled up over his stained sagging jeans, looking out-of-place in the dry Mohave Desert.  A bright red cross covered the front of his dark shirt, a smaller one drawn on each sleeve barely noticeable in the fading rays of the sun.
 
His greasy black hair hung long and straight under the Bronco hat.  The over sized white headphones covered his ears, blocking out the world, the song only known to him.  As the light changed to green, his crystal blue eyes sparkled, the glaring look gone.  A smile appeared, a blaze of white teeth flashing across his leathery tan face.  Waving at the stopping cars, the music dancing his rubber rain boots all the way as he crossed to the other side…

Serenity Courage Wisdom

You sit, the music plays loud.  Your stomach twisted in knots.  The lies you hear are heavy. More come. The reason escapes your ability to understand why.  You will stop it.  It will crush you to watch.  You know you should look away.  You cannot. You are tired.  You try to get the normalcy back. Your spun 360, face to face with the same shit, over and again. 

You want to move on.  It consumes you.  You run the pictures of words on a loop.  It never stops. You pray for serenity. It is the calm contentment that will slow your run. You feel the freedom you have earned in your struggle.  You broke away long ago.  You keep looking back for a glimpse of recognition.  It is not there. You cannot recall when it was. 

A place you adore. The hot morning sun burning your skin as your dreams fade.  You can smell the bacon, hear the voices laughing.  You look down, the water cool, reflecting back at you like a mirror.  You feel the tears burn your checks.  A moment remembered is all you have of a life that is no longer yours. You pray for courage.

You look down to your calm, the cool blue mirror looking back. You jump, the rush of the freedom filling you. You know the mistakes you have made.  They are your own. To learn from them, or not, is your choice.  God is always patient.  You grow tired of being right.  He still there.  Decisions, choices, repercussions begin to mix.  You can no longer tell which are yours to accept.  You get stung, trying to untangle the mess.  You look up, towards the Wisdom, and pray.  The light comes down engulfing your storm, leaving you free. My Lake

Picasso Of The Lopsided

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Pablo Picasso - L´Arlequin
 (photo: oddsock)

When your family acts if you do not exist it is extremely liberating.  It is natural to want approval from them concerning everything you do.  As a child you bring home the clay pot that looks like crap, but you do not know that, and your parents do not see it as that.  They look at it with big eyes and smile at you. You watch their reaction and think you are the freaking Picasso of lopsided clay creations.

By the time you are an adult you know their looks of judgment. You know the tone they speak to each other in when they disapprove of your new clay pot.  While a piece of it will always reflect how you were raised, once into adulthood the creation is your own experiences.  You can see endless colors reflecting as the sun drifts off to sleep, waking the night with purple and pink.  Your clay becomes soaked in bright and bold.  You are once again the Picasso of your creation. However they cannot see it, their color blindness allowing only the black and white to exist.

Ignorance On Your Angry Chair

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The idea to merge the camera and phone into one, is genius. I was able to take full advantage of it as I was texting on my way to our current domain. To “coexist” you have to acknowledge there is someone besides you trying to survive in this world.  When you ignore their existence because you do not like their faith, lifestyle choices or the way they express themselves, your ignorance can cost more than money.

I have used bad language a time or two through out my life. Some ghetto slang may even be spun into it depending on the situation.  I cannot say they are my proudest moments in life, but I am certainly not ashamed of them.  Some colorful F-Bombs are justified at their moment of birth.  Life stirs up some shit, conception takes place, and before you know it you are watching your baby F-Bomb grow into a giant as it hits your target.  It is at that moment, snowflakes of the ignorance turn into a blizzard, and you better take cover.

Most control their F-Bombs around certain people and situations.  Make it out of your thirty’s not having found yourself wearing the bracelets of a pissed off cop you met while running your mouth, you’re probably good.  Ignore someone’s existence by cutting them off in traffic, they might toss you a F-Bomb and go about their day. Have a crazy ex-husband who is not to be ignored on the road, and  the bombard of F-Bombs that bounce about might sting you. Watch the bounce evolve into idiots having a pissing contest with their side arms a few times, it will change your perception.  The F-Bomb wont kill you, the stray bullet might.

The poster child for true ignorance is the one who sits high up on their angry chair, filth dripping down his mouth from the afterbirth of racial slurs he creates.  His ears become born again virgins, his eyes suddenly blinded by the F-Bombs you throw trying to stop his storm of shit.  He rises higher fueled by that which he claims to despise.  His storm sucking your despair into his lungs, it has become his crack cocaine. You cease throwing, his crack gone, his angry chair full of pride and ignorance engulfing him as he screams for more.

Mental Song & Dance by Kult Kool-Aid

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NOTICE OF SUBMITTING PLAINTIFFS EXHIBITS THAT WILL BE POINTLESS IN THIS HEARING SCHEDULED IN THE WORLD OF INSANITY. HEREON AFTER CALLED FU8K FEST

Plaintiffs, Dumb Shit and Kult Kool- Aid, hereon referred to as Kult Kool-Aid or KKA,  undersigned, hereby submits Plaintiff’s Exhibits (which are attached hereto) to be used at the Order of Protect Hearing scheduled for 2013.  These exhibits include the following:

  • Complete and undisputable proof of an invasion of privacy by the plaintiffs, KKA.
  • Complete and undisputable proof of a lack of integrity and veracity by the plaintiffs, KKA.
  • Proof the KKA should be ordered to cut back on the Kool-Aid.

When I typed out the words Welcome to Fu8k Fest 2012 in the subject line I had no idea King Shit would want to read it over and over in front of everyone.  He was very proud of my work, showing it to every police officer who got the unfortunate call to the land of Fu8k Fest.  I kind of felt like he was not giving me due credit, so I started carrying my copy to show them first. I am not sure why, but KS was upset about my doing that.  After I gave him the honor of reading it at our first, of what will be many, meetings at our new “club house”, he lost interest for a while.

His new “show and tell” did not quite have the shock value of my Fest, but would give us a chance to discuss topics such as, what exactly is Necessary Personal Belongings, and what a judge means when she says “it’s yours” while paperwork is being handed out. He showed it to a few police officers, but I do not think he got the same rush as when talking about the Fest.  So he started working on an entire new song and dance.  I was flattered with the amount of time and effort he was spending on us.  At this point KS and I could not have our heart to hearts without our police babysitters. So I had the pleasure of discussing life issues with All Knowing Ruler of KKA, King Punk instead.

Even though is was an honor each and every time KP sent a message by way of the electronic mail,  I had asked him several times to use the old fashion telephone.  However, just like the other king he insisted on the written word.  I should thank him for that.  There is nothing better than a written conversation about my SUV twelve hours before they call it in as abandoned. 

When it was Dumb Shit’s turn to go to our new club house for a meeting, it was apparent she wanted this FU8KFEST she started to end, she kept saying she wanted it to be over.  Sorry DS, but but once a member of KKA, always a member.  The Kool-Aid fuses all member’s minds together.  They lose the ability to think for themselves, but gain the special gift to look someone in the eye and lie under oath. They also learn how to write fiction to submit in court.  Consideration for consistency in their submitted fiction needs to be discussed at their next gathering, as there is none.

At this meeting I knew what the chain of command in KKA was.  From the top… King Punk (not present for this meeting)  King Shit,  anyone who thought we needed to spend Christmas in a half way house without our son while his dogs go to the pound, and then Dumb Shit.  King Shit must have spent days working on the new song and dance for DS’s initiation into our new club.  I did not really care about the ban against contact, we were not planning on having lunch with her.  We were there to see the new and exciting show KKA was performing that day, starring King Shit.  They never disappoint..

Actual list of exhibits attempted by KKA to have admitted as evidence.

  1. Email from Defendant dated 12/26/12.  (Fu8k Fest)
  2. Photographs of 93 needles and syringes in the Defendants’ belongings.  (Yes, they are correct.  The DEFENDANT’S belongings, not the KKA’s, so I am not sure what they are trying to prove with those.  I thought we had one hundred, not ninety-three. Sticky fingers seem to go along with their very dirty hands.
  3. Various emails with threats by Defendants against Plaintiff.  ( One of my favorite parts is getting the big pack of evidence they put together so carefully. The very first sentence KS highlights every time from my Fu8k Fest is…King Shit do you understand how bad it is to slander someone to the police?  Someday I am going to have to ask him why he highlights that, but I am guessing it is not because he knows the answer. )
  4. Documents found in Defendants’ possession regarding profit and loss summary of illegal drug sales.

I am not sure if KKA ‘s paralegal really looked at the words of that sentence.  This was not found in our belongings they stole, but in Defendants’ POSSESSION.  I believe we would have noticed them taking it off our possession.  However, since they submitted them to a court as facts of profit and loss summary of illegal drug sales, and on our possession they must know something I do not. They may need to prove this one, as I am growing tired of the libel and slander. I remember exactly where that 22-year-old drug document was, so KKA’s invasion of privacy is becoming a problem.  I keep saying they need to cut back on the Kool-Aide.  But then again, we are all big boys and girls with free will, so to each their own.

BOSS IS BACK…

Boss shows his face publicly for the first time in twenty years in the photo at the top.  He is old school Mexican Mafia looking to step on the Cartels drug trade in the southwest.  Our son met him about five years ago while running heroin through the prison system in northern Cali.  They struck up a friendship in a biker bar after Boss stepped to a punk who was disrespecting.  They have had each other’s back ever since. The documents KKA submitted are from his youth in Chihuahua, Mexico.  He is uncertain as to why his numbers are that hard to decipher and was going to explain.  However, the defendants are long out of FU*KS to give about what KKA thinks.

Boss will be making future appearances in spun360.me

Learning To Survive

As my dreams faded into nothing I felt the adrenaline start to rush in as I jumped up ready to run. The room was quiet and I could hear the sounds of my family sleeping quietly next to me. I relaxed slightly and thought about the events of the past 24 hours.  It had ended with the front desk manager waiving the fee and requirement to have a credit card on file.  They did say my best friend could come in and put her card on.  When I said she lived in Colorado, not a problem just have her fax fifty different statements, copies, signatures, and the right to her unborn child and you are good to go. I do not know if he stopped the circle of “I might want to charge something to my room” when my son walked up or not.  Either way I do appreciate him taking the chance I might be telling the truth.

We spent three nights at The Double Tree.  A move to a different room because the heat did not work got us free internet for our stay. The internet is a necessary luxury to have when you have no one on the outside that has your back.  Everything that we owned and needed to sell was tied up with someone that was becoming crazier each hour.  We did manage to have two car loads of things at the end of the three days.  I do not think anyone understands the “check in” and “check out” problem we were going to face during our little adventure.

I was starting to become a little more familiar with ways to book a hotel room online with no credit card.  Hotwire is now on my task bar permanently.  They take pay pal.  I cannot find anything to beat their lowest rate.  Of course nothing is free in life so you have to roll the dice sometimes and hope you are right.  I know Scottsdale pretty well, so when Hotwire offered rooms for 29 in North Scottsdale, I thought I would take a chance we probably would not catch VD from the room.  I did get to find out what happens when you say that scary word “homeless” to a stuck up front desk clerk in Fountain Hills, AZ….