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…

Follow Your Coyote

Their path you are to follow looks clear…It looks easy…It is like walking on air…For miles you can see the open space in front…Nothing clouds the view…you can see everything ahead long before you have to adjust your step..You turn to look over your shoulder…You can see a reflection of the path in front of you…Everything is the same… You start to wonder if this is all there is on this well-worn road…

The Monarch touches your hand for a split second, pulling your eyes to follow..He dances around the bright blooming flower that grows on the side…The humming bird drinks her nectar…You wonder…Can no one else see that beauty…Why do you stay on this path…

Spun360

Spun360

You continue on, every step becoming like last….The Coyote plays hide in go seek, watching as you walk…The flicker of his ears allowing the sun to reflect the morning dew as it flies through crisp air…His dark eyes searching your soul, wondering if you have the fearless craving to seek out more than you understand…

A small break appears in the cactus and trees that surround you…Sitting on a rock…the Coyote stares…waiting with his knowledge for you to follow…You stumble and you fall…You cry out as the cactus are sharp and rocks do not bend…

You stand proud with bloody knees and scraped elbows pulling the quills out…Next to you are those who laughed when you followed the Coyote to your own path…You will heal…Your mind is quick…Your heart softens into kindness…Your eyes able to see beauty they cannot….

And you will follow…What is Yours…

Leaving them to continue on What is Theirs…Only following their own refection…

English: Coyote at Ridgefield National Wildlif...

(Photo credit: Wikipedia)

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Phoenix Bad-Ass: Return of Boss

Boss was back in town, and this time it wasn’t on the D.L.

Walking into The Eagle, Boss waited for his eyes to adjust to the smokey darkness that filled the room. Coming into view was a shadow he knew well. Slouched over an empty 40oz of Old E was his old partner’s son, Zone.

“Hey Kid, you still drinking that shit water?” Boss said laughing as Zone recognized him.

The leather jacket was the same one he had worn for years.  Zone had never seen him in anything else besides Levis, a black t-shirt and that jacket. Even in the squelching 120 degree Arizona desert heat, that was it.  Zone smiled thinking about how pissed he was at Powell falling off the jet ski wearing it.

“Aww, there he is…What, this?  Zone replied looking down at the bottle. “This is the finest shit water you can get north of the border.  You want? ”

“What the hell.  It’s like what…?”  Boss answered looking at his watch, “9:45 in the morning.”

He pulled up the empty bar stool next to Zone. The cold 40oz sat sweating in front of him. It tasted like shit, exactly as he remembered it. He watched Zone take a drink. The image was just as it was twenty years ago when he had sat there with the kid’s father.

“Damn where you been? It’s been a minute since I saw you last.”  Zone asked.

“Shit kid, you how it is when you are on that DL.  You learned that at what, twelve?”  Boss said as he punch him in the arm.

“Hey watch it asshole.  Zone said laughing,  “I am not twelve any more. I can kick your ass while blindfolded, hung over and my hands tied behind my back.”

Boss did not doubt that. He had a kick no one else could touch. When his foot made contact it was like every once of anger and power in him came through at once, exploding on contact. Zone’s reputation preceded him, so it was not often Boss had seen it.

“Yeah, I guess you could kick my ass.”  Boss said looking towards the tiny girl standing by the Jagermeister  cooler.  “Hey sweetheart, can we get a couple of shots down here?”

Boss watched her turn, her eyes flashing sharp blue. It was like looking a negative of her mother. Everything was the same, except black where the blond was.

“What the hell did you just call me?  I ain’t your sweetheart, Asshole.” she paused recognizing the now silver hair and the old leather jacket,  “Boss…? Damn it is you, when did you get back in town?”

“Shit, girl I just rolled up. Damn,  you look good! Wanna take a run up north? My bike is outside.” Boss asked, with a grin.

She could feel her face get hot, “Shut the hell up Boss. Your older than my daddy.”
“I know girl, I know… but in another life time..”

He said, winking at her as she handed him the shot.

The cold went down smooth and fast.  Setting the glass down his focus went back to Zone.

“Speaking of your pops,  where the hell is that asshole?” 

 

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

Fest Fun Continues On…

I pulled up to the house and the images of a week ago came fast and full of detail.  I was living it again, feeling the coldness and watching the confusion turn to anger in my son’s face.  The mob mentality that had been created from a perception was inconceivable.  The resulting damaged was something I would be dealing with months later.

Sleep that last week had been fractional at best, making it difficult to pull pieces of information together.  I was at the house for one reason, to get my son’s PS3 back from KS.

I followed the officer to the door thinking about how KS had told me not to come over on Christmas.  Apparently, they were going to have a wonderful time and did not want any interruptions.  I was not trying to upset my grandparents, but I was already a thief to them and I was certain that KS would continue to spin something from nothing. It no longer mattered what the truth was.

KS came to the door, his face showing a small hint of concern as I met his gaze.  Once the recognition of who at his door, out walked KS Smooth Operator.  The pretty red stone walkway should have been splattered with my puke while I stood there listening to his mouth run. Motioning with his hands, he explained to the officer how they had put everything I had in the house into my truck. The same truck that was locked and not on his property.

As the lies and slander start to flow from his “Godly” mouth he smiles, as he explains about my long history of drug use. I start to say something to him, and he calmly says my name, implying how sad it is and how he knows all about it.  I stomped to my car and hit the roof, took a breath and walked back. My mental state had been pushed to the limits by King Psycho, who by now was thinking he was untouchable.

The cool, calm, and collected “XANAXED OUT” KS continues on, sighing with a sadness as he tells how he tried to help another poor drugged out family member with the same result. God’s humor was in full effect that day as that was the same cop who had been on that call.  I am not sure if KS knew or just thought he was that smooth.

The officer doing his job, questioned me about drugs and the welfare of my child.  KS had already crossed a lot of lines throughout his play in my world.  However,  putting a question into a cop’s head about the welfare of my child is a line crossed you do not come back from.  Especially after he had no problem kicking him out into the unstable care of his “drugging  thieving parents”.  Once I told that to the officer and showed him the note KS left on our door, he did not say another word about it.

When I told KS I wanted my PS3, he looked a little surprised, even stumbled a bit in his smooth talk.  He says,  “Oh, that is in the room under the TV stand”.  Really? Did  you not just tell that officer everything we owned from the room was in the truck you broke into?

He brings the out the PS3 and hands it to me.  I walk to my car telling him I will see him in court. I am certain he was saying something smooth back, but I was sick of his mouth as it was brown from all the shit he talked.  I really just wanted him to shut up for a few days and leave me alone. I got into my car and started it, but I could not breathe.  I shut the engine off as the cop came over to see if I was alright.  I said I was, and he told me relax for a second before I tried to drive.  We exchanged Merry Christmas’ and after a minute, I drove away.

Now King Shit was starting to get very board with his own life, so he created a different universe in which to tell his stories. He has quite a few followers who drank his Kool-Aid, and even a couple that must have taken an extra cup.  Because in the real world…she is on drugs + she is freaking out + she backed into the police car…would equal “field sobriety test” not “they let her go”.  That Kool-Aid must be good…

Two Worlds

They look at you with disappointment…. thinking they know something…they have no idea how wrong they are…if they knew that would they act the same…would they make stupid comments…tell you they are not involved…ask you what are they doing to you…do they remember the innocent one in the middle…

You scream….yell…FUCK OFF…as loud as you can in your writing…they act shocked at your choice of words…writing “stuff it”  instead of using the words that come out of their mouths…they like to share your thoughts with each other…laughing back and forth…like your life is their game to be played with as they wish…to them it is pure entertainment…

Do they feel better when their foot shoves your face into the mud…when they grow tired they find someone else to shove down you some more… they all stare, laughing as they watch you struggle to get up… wiping away the spec of dirt that splattered back as their boot kicked your innocent one…you stand up out of the mud…you look deep into their soul…you see nothing but anger and hate…

You wonder…can she see a time where he did not get into the car…there is no insurance settlement…the older wise one did not start her in that house…no free and clear…she gets pregnant…he is screwing her friends…she is upset…she takes one more of the pills the Dr. gave her for pain…everything seems a little brighter…a year later..no money… over due bills… and that new problem…dope-sick…is she strong enough to handle that…can she turn down the needle full of heroin knowing the sickness is approaching fast…

Does he know how inches could have changed his entire life…he has been drinking with his friends…gets into his new truck…lines start to blur just a little… he tries to bring them back to clear…cannot see the car with the single mom of three…can he see the felony DUI…the manslaughter charge…can he feel the guilt ripping him apart…does he feel the relief when the vodka slides down his throat and starts to numb the pain…

They judge with only the knowledge formed from their own world…based on what they think is normal…

THEIR world where…. compassion is conditional…monetary success required…functional addiction mandatory…
VS.
YOUR world where…. empathy is expected…sharing required, as you cannot take it with you……AND the understanding there is only a moment in time…only one wrong decision before they come slipping into YOUR WORLD ….

Welcome to F*#K Fest 2012

On Christmas Eve we decided to not book another night in Fountain Hills.  I have no idea how we got everything crammed into the car, we must be learning.  We left not having our next hotel lined up, so we went to our main McDonald’s for some wifi and milk shakes.  Two hours later we were checking in to our new home ready for some peace and to enjoy Christmas.

During our constant struggle to keep a roof over our heads we also had to deal with what I now call “Insanity”.  This started with a family friend, Dumb-Shit, starting a rumor that was spun by King-Shit into something that actually affected how family treated me in different states.  Dumb-Shit is my mother’s best friend and has known me my entire life. The King- Shit is my father’s brother, who at one time I was very close to. Thirty-six hours before we found ourselves calling my best friend from McDonald’s, we had no idea what was about to happen…

We walked down the hall to the room the three of us had been staying in for the last two months.  There was a note on the door with my name on it.  I thought the handwriting looked liked my grandmother’s, but I was not sure.  We sat down talking about how things had started getting weird in the house.  There were nine people in the house and for the past week it seemed like something was very off.  It was like being in high school and we were being bullied and shunned.  My husband was getting the brunt of it, but he had been keeping it to himself. I had noticed a difference with the treatment of our son.  At the time I just thought it was a difference of opinion  Looking back I cannot believe I did not see it sooner. However, this was my family.  I had a trust that they would not sick a knife in my back and twist it until it hurt my son.

I could feel my heart start to pound as my eyes skimmed across the words that had been typed.  ” It would be best if you left tomorrow.  I am telling you today so you have time to pack some clothes.”  Pack some clothes?  What the hell is King-Shit talking about?  I read it again, letting it soak in for a second before I looked at my husband.  We have to be out tomorrow I told him as I handed him the now famous note….

The next 24 hours were a blur.  Disbelief, shock, hurt , and a million other feelings ran through us like a a freight train running off the tracks.  How could they do this to our son a week before Christmas, I thought as I tried to think what to pack. What  do you put into a Saturn to survive with a 12 year old in the winter.  Scottsdale still gets cold at night. What paper work did we need? What did we own that we could sell for fast money?  We had no bank accounts, no credit and our poor little Saturn had seen better days.

Normal people would be thinking what the hell did you do to get kicked out with your son with less than a days notice….” You being here is causing Gram and Gramp stress”  I understood that to a point.  However, what about the stress of seeing us running around asking what we did, could we stay until the end of the week, could our son stay to finish out the week of school…I think that was little stressful.

It was 6 pm and we were trying to get the last of our things to our car having no idea where we were going, when I hear my name called.  I look up and there is King Shit’s wife with my grandmother who is crying saying that King-Shit had said we had a place for the night.  One of many lies he would tell my grandmother in the upcoming weeks.  They ask us to stay until the day after Christmas.  We had no where to go, so we went back inside.  What I will never understand is how we all sat at that same table and ate supper as if the last 24 hours had not happened.  That is some insanity.

Later that night I received an email from King-Shit.  It was becoming apparent that he only spoke with his fingers and a keyboard.  Not sure what happen to his balls that I had assumed he was born with.  Maybe he lost them. The email floored me and spun my adrenaline into a tornado that is still spinning….A few hours later we were at our now favorite McDonald’s….