From The New Sun, George Harrison Interview 1990 (all emphases are mine own)
Gorge Harrison: I wouldn't like to say that I'm absolutely God conscious. It's like everybody else. We're battling with the forces that are pulling us upwards and downwards at the same time. But basically we all want love, that's what I feel. And all love is really God's love. It's God's love manifest in this world through everything that's in this world, and all the people in the world. I think what the Krishna thing did for me was the Bhakti – which is called Bhakti Yoga. It's that method whereby you realize that the Lord is in everything that's in creation. So, when you look at a tree, it's really a reflection of God. You see it in other people – that's him too, you know?
They take it to the extreme: the food you eat, you taste him on your tongue, you hear him in the music. There's the whole significance of Krishna as the flute player who awakens our consciousness. It doesn't necessarily have to be a flute because for me it was a sitar or a guitar or even Elvis Presley doing "Heartbreak Hotel." It was like Krishna's flute calling me somewhere.
It's just really simple when we can remember.
I think the main thing that we have to do is try and train ourselves to remember from moment to moment that God is living within us and within everybody else, and just trying to remember to see that.
LD: Do you think there's a growing number of people who are starting to train themselves to remember?
GH: Yeah, I think it's growing all the time. Definitely, I think it's much more acceptable, the idea of meditation or yoga. The idea of God trying to contact the soul within ourselves.
Back in the 60s it was a bit like, you know , the hippies or the philosophers were the only people.
I was brought up in the kind of Catholic situation up until I was about eleven years old, which was that God is this thing that we're never going to see, we're never going to meet, but you still have to believe in what we say. It's like this blind faith in something that they can't show you.
The first thing that made me really realize that it was available was a book on yoga that I got on one of my early trips to India. It was called Raja Yoga by the Swami Vivekananda. Right on the inside of that book cover he said,
"If there's a God, we must see him and if there's a soul we must perceive it. Otherwise, it's better not to believe. It's better to be an outspoken atheist than a hypocrite."
Then, on reflection, I realized that the Christianity that had come in my life as a child was all this idea that you're never going to see him. It's like hypocrisy, in a way.
That's why I wrote in "My Sweet Lord," "I really want to see you," because if there is a God, I want to see him. I don't want to just hear some holy roller shouting about him. And the same with the Pope. I want the Pope to say, okay, I would like the Christ consciousness. I don't want to just talk about him.
LD: That line struck me when it first came out.
GH: Yeah, we all want to see him. And then, when you say, "Where is he?" they say, "Well, you can't see him. He's out there somewhere, but we don't know exactly where he is." Through the Indian philosophy and all that I came into contact with, it just showed me that it's actually inside. He lives in our hearts.
It's a matter of turning your consciousness inward in order to then realize that it's in there, and then you can see him outside too. It's just a shift in attitude, really.
LD: What do you think a person can do to understand and change themselves?
GH: I think basically people just approach it any way they can. Sometimes you can't just force yourself, but there's a saying: "Knock and the door will be opened." I think the first thing is that people have to have the desire within themselves to find out who they are. Who am I and what am I doing here and where am I going? Those sort of basic questions. Even without picking up a book or anything. If they just ask themselves that sincerely, in the quiet of the night, the door will open. And whether it will be somebody who will come along and say, "Hey, have you read this?" Or, "Why don't you come and look at this?" – it happens in many different ways.
It's how the Lord gives you, in the garden, all these differed kinds of flowers and trees because if there was only one kind of flower and you didn't like it, it would be bad. So, there's just an abundance of ways of approaching that which is within ourselves. I think that the basic answer to your questions is that it has to start within the individual.
They have to have a desire within themselves to know who they are and the reason why they are in this body.
LD: How about the future for you? Is there more that you want to know spiritually, musically?
GH: Oh yeah. I still feel like everybody else, that I'm just growing and learning. Basically, I feel pleased to have discovered this thing that's inside me, that's connected to the same thing that's inside everybody and everything. I think now it's just a matter of trying to hold onto it and manifest it more and more. If I feel love, I just want to feel more love. And if I feel a bit of peace, I want to feel more peace. But I don't really have any great ambitions. I feel very happy. I've got a lot of good friends. I just want it to be better and more of it, really. (Laughs.)
LD: How do you think the world is changing?
GH: Well, I've learned from the Bhagavad-Gita that it is not something that's just this mystical baloney that doesn't relate to our lives now. What it is, is explaining this dual energy that is pulling us one way -- upwards into higher consciousness -- and its opposing energy which is just the nature of this physical world, trying to pull us down.
What the Bhagavad-Gita says is that it's man's moral judgement from moment to moment as to which way we get pulled. We can go up or we can do down. I think generally the world is going on an upward swing. We're in a part of a cycle where people are discovering more. The communications are better. We're getting more into the subtle electricities that control the universe. We don't, as a collective life on this planet, all get groovy together or all sink into ignorance together. One by one we liberate our souls, our individual souls, from the cycle by our own realizations. So, one by one, each soul gets "released from that Memphis Blues again," you know?
LD: So it's up to each person.
GH: It is. It's deep down to each person. So in one way, we're on an upward swing, but at the same time there's still a lot of evil that goes on in the world. I think it's definitely heading in a better direction, but it seems to take so long for all the people with the power, who control the negative side of life and all the bad inventions they have like guns and bombs and hate. But there has to be a balance. We've got to all try harder to manifest more love in order to counteract all that.
Sunday, October 30, 2011
Friday, October 21, 2011
Greatest Drunk in the World
Some People Never go Crazy. What terrible lives they must lead.- Bukowski
Alcohol is probably one of the greatest things to arrive upon this earth, alongside of me- Bukowski
A writer has no responsibility- except to jack off in bed alone, and type a good page... (Of course, Bukowski)
Drink. Write. Fuck.
In that order of importance.
Alcohol is probably one of the greatest things to arrive upon this earth, alongside of me- Bukowski
A writer has no responsibility- except to jack off in bed alone, and type a good page... (Of course, Bukowski)
Drink. Write. Fuck.
In that order of importance.
The Sunset Limited - part I
"So, what am I supposed to do with you, Professor?"
"Why are you supposed to do anything?"
"Well, like I said, this ain't none of my doing. When I left outta here to go into work this morning, you weren't no part of my plans, but...here you is."
"That doesn't mean anything. Everything that happened, doesn't mean something else."
"What's it mean, then?"
"It doesn't mean anything. You run into people, and maybe some of them are in trouble or something, but it doesn't mean you are responsible for them. Anyway, people who are always looking after perfect strangers are very often the people who won't look out for the ones they are supposed to look out for, in my opinion. ... If you are just doing what you're supposed to, you don't get to be a hero"
"And that would be me?"
"I don't know. Would it?"
"I can see where there might be some truth in that, but in this particular case, I got to say, I don't know what sort of person I was supposed to be on the lookout for, or what I was supposed to do when I found him. In this particular case, I didn't have but one thing to go by-"
"And that was?"
"There he is, standing there. And I can look at him and say, he don't look like my brother, but there he is. So maybe you better look again."
"And that's what you did?"
"Well, I got to say, you were pretty hard to ignore. Your approach was pretty direct."
"I didn't approach you. I didn't even see you."
"What I don't understand, is how you come to get yourself in such a fix."
"Yeah"
"You alright, you sleep last night?"
"No."
"Well... when did you decide today was the day? Was there something special about it?"
"No... Well, today is my birthday, but I certainly don't regard that as special."
"Hmm - Well, happy birthday, Professor."
"Thank you."
"So you seen that your birthday was coming, and you decided that was a good day?"
"Who knows? Maybe birthdays are dangerous- like Christmas, ornaments hanging from the tree, wreaths from the door, and bodies from the steampipes, all over America..."
"That don't say much for Christmas, do it?"
"Christmas is not what it used to be."
"I believe that to be a true statement, I surely do."
"I got to go."
"You always put your coat on like that?"
"What's wrong with it?"
"I ain't say nothing was wrong with it, I'm just asking if that's your regular method-"
"I don't have a regular method. I just put it on"
"Mmm-hmm"
"That's what? Effeminate?"
"I''m just studying the ways of professors."
"Well, I've got to go."
"Let me get my coat."
"Get your coat? Where you going?"
"Going with you."
"What do you mean? Going with me where?"
"Going with you, where ever it is you're going."
"No you're not."
"Yeah, I am."
"I'm going home."
"Alright."
"What do you mean, Alright, you're not going home with me."
"Sure I am. Let me get my coat"
"You can't go home with me."
"Oh, what, you can go home with me, but I can't go home with you?"
"No. I mean no, that's not it. You can't go home with me."
"Why not? You live in an apt? They don't let black folk in there?"
"No. I mean, yes, yes of course they do. Look, no more jokes. I've got to go, I'm very tired."
"Okay, long as you don't run into no hassle about getting me in there."
"You're serious. "
"I think you know I'm serious. "
"You can't be serious."
"I'm serious as a heart attack."
"Why are you doing this?"
"Me? I ain't got no choice."
"Of course you do. You have a choice"
"No, I ain't"
"Who appointed you my guardian angel?"
"You know who appointed me your guardian angel. Now look, I didn't ask for you to jump into my arms down in the subway this morning."
"I didn't jump in your arms."
"No."
"Well, how'd you get there, then? ... What, now we ain't going?"
"Do you Really think Jesus is in this room?"
"No. I don't think he's in this room. I Know he's in this room. It's the way you put it, Professor. It'd be like me asking you if you think you put your coat on."
"It's not the same thing. It's a matter of agreement. If you and I say that I have my coat on, and Cecil says that I am naked and have green skin and a tail, we might want to think about where we should put Cecil so that he doesn't hurt himself."
"Who's Cecil?"
"He's not anybody. He's just a hypothetical. There's not any Cecil. He's just a character I made up to illustrate a point."
"Made up?"
"Yes"
"So, his view of things don't count?"
"No. That's why I made him up. I could have changed things up, I could have made you the one who didn't think I was wearing a coat."
"And was green, and all that other shit you said?"
"Yes."
"But you didn't?"
"No."
"You load it all off on Cecil."
"Yes."
"But Cecil can't defend hisself, on account of he ain't in agreement with everyone else so his word don't count. Aside from the fact that you made him up."
"Where is this going?"
"I'm just trying to find out about Cecil."
"I don't think so.
"Why are you supposed to do anything?"
"Well, like I said, this ain't none of my doing. When I left outta here to go into work this morning, you weren't no part of my plans, but...here you is."
"That doesn't mean anything. Everything that happened, doesn't mean something else."
"What's it mean, then?"
"It doesn't mean anything. You run into people, and maybe some of them are in trouble or something, but it doesn't mean you are responsible for them. Anyway, people who are always looking after perfect strangers are very often the people who won't look out for the ones they are supposed to look out for, in my opinion. ... If you are just doing what you're supposed to, you don't get to be a hero"
"And that would be me?"
"I don't know. Would it?"
"I can see where there might be some truth in that, but in this particular case, I got to say, I don't know what sort of person I was supposed to be on the lookout for, or what I was supposed to do when I found him. In this particular case, I didn't have but one thing to go by-"
"And that was?"
"There he is, standing there. And I can look at him and say, he don't look like my brother, but there he is. So maybe you better look again."
"And that's what you did?"
"Well, I got to say, you were pretty hard to ignore. Your approach was pretty direct."
"I didn't approach you. I didn't even see you."
"What I don't understand, is how you come to get yourself in such a fix."
"Yeah"
"You alright, you sleep last night?"
"No."
"Well... when did you decide today was the day? Was there something special about it?"
"No... Well, today is my birthday, but I certainly don't regard that as special."
"Hmm - Well, happy birthday, Professor."
"Thank you."
"So you seen that your birthday was coming, and you decided that was a good day?"
"Who knows? Maybe birthdays are dangerous- like Christmas, ornaments hanging from the tree, wreaths from the door, and bodies from the steampipes, all over America..."
"That don't say much for Christmas, do it?"
"Christmas is not what it used to be."
"I believe that to be a true statement, I surely do."
"I got to go."
"You always put your coat on like that?"
"What's wrong with it?"
"I ain't say nothing was wrong with it, I'm just asking if that's your regular method-"
"I don't have a regular method. I just put it on"
"Mmm-hmm"
"That's what? Effeminate?"
"I''m just studying the ways of professors."
"Well, I've got to go."
"Let me get my coat."
"Get your coat? Where you going?"
"Going with you."
"What do you mean? Going with me where?"
"Going with you, where ever it is you're going."
"No you're not."
"Yeah, I am."
"I'm going home."
"Alright."
"What do you mean, Alright, you're not going home with me."
"Sure I am. Let me get my coat"
"You can't go home with me."
"Oh, what, you can go home with me, but I can't go home with you?"
"No. I mean no, that's not it. You can't go home with me."
"Why not? You live in an apt? They don't let black folk in there?"
"No. I mean, yes, yes of course they do. Look, no more jokes. I've got to go, I'm very tired."
"Okay, long as you don't run into no hassle about getting me in there."
"You're serious. "
"I think you know I'm serious. "
"You can't be serious."
"I'm serious as a heart attack."
"Why are you doing this?"
"Me? I ain't got no choice."
"Of course you do. You have a choice"
"No, I ain't"
"Who appointed you my guardian angel?"
"You know who appointed me your guardian angel. Now look, I didn't ask for you to jump into my arms down in the subway this morning."
"I didn't jump in your arms."
"No."
"Well, how'd you get there, then? ... What, now we ain't going?"
"Do you Really think Jesus is in this room?"
"No. I don't think he's in this room. I Know he's in this room. It's the way you put it, Professor. It'd be like me asking you if you think you put your coat on."
"It's not the same thing. It's a matter of agreement. If you and I say that I have my coat on, and Cecil says that I am naked and have green skin and a tail, we might want to think about where we should put Cecil so that he doesn't hurt himself."
"Who's Cecil?"
"He's not anybody. He's just a hypothetical. There's not any Cecil. He's just a character I made up to illustrate a point."
"Made up?"
"Yes"
"So, his view of things don't count?"
"No. That's why I made him up. I could have changed things up, I could have made you the one who didn't think I was wearing a coat."
"And was green, and all that other shit you said?"
"Yes."
"But you didn't?"
"No."
"You load it all off on Cecil."
"Yes."
"But Cecil can't defend hisself, on account of he ain't in agreement with everyone else so his word don't count. Aside from the fact that you made him up."
"Where is this going?"
"I'm just trying to find out about Cecil."
"I don't think so.
Tuesday, October 18, 2011
Long to belong
Rocky Voyles once told me, "Everybody's got to belong to somebody".
But some of us never belong to anybody.
And, in the end, I guess thats the way we probably wanted it.
But some of us never belong to anybody.
And, in the end, I guess thats the way we probably wanted it.
Everways Puck
Captain of our fairy band,
Helena is here at hand,
And the youth, mistook by me,
Pleading for a lover's fee.
Shall we their fond pageant see?
Lord, what fools these mortals be!
Helena is here at hand,
And the youth, mistook by me,
Pleading for a lover's fee.
Shall we their fond pageant see?
Lord, what fools these mortals be!
Friday, October 14, 2011
Send her my Love
i found Misha today.
Dana was my first, my innocence, my beauty, my goddess.
Misha was my first bad girl, the end of my innocence. She was my beauty, my goddess, but of a whole different pantheon of passion and emotion.
I have dreamed of her for 20 odd years. I had one picture of her, those years ago. When I ran away from home and ended up getting arrested in New Mexico, all those years ago, they confiscated the guns, the stolen "evidence" and my wallet, which had pictures of Dana, Charla Cusimano, Courtney, and my one pic of Misha.
I have not seen her since.
I discovered that my best friend Greg, knew her, in Amarillo, years before. We were college roommates, talking about our first loves. I mentioned Misha, described her in so much perfect detail, that he recognized her. I recalled that she had moved from Amarillo to Lubbock. And it was so crazy- He knew her as the most beautiful girl in his school, before she moved off.
And she had moved to Lubbock and met me. She was so wild, so free, so decadent, and even so corrupt. She was the girl that made it impossible for all other girls that followed. She was a hard act to follow.
I've looked for her, on and off, for years.
I've heard this, and that. And ran into her Dad a time or two, years after she was gone.
But then, she was gone.
And- I found her tonight.
No matter how jaded i think I am, I walked on clouds today, having seen her once again.
Love never forgets.
Dana was my first, my innocence, my beauty, my goddess.
Misha was my first bad girl, the end of my innocence. She was my beauty, my goddess, but of a whole different pantheon of passion and emotion.
I have dreamed of her for 20 odd years. I had one picture of her, those years ago. When I ran away from home and ended up getting arrested in New Mexico, all those years ago, they confiscated the guns, the stolen "evidence" and my wallet, which had pictures of Dana, Charla Cusimano, Courtney, and my one pic of Misha.
I have not seen her since.
I discovered that my best friend Greg, knew her, in Amarillo, years before. We were college roommates, talking about our first loves. I mentioned Misha, described her in so much perfect detail, that he recognized her. I recalled that she had moved from Amarillo to Lubbock. And it was so crazy- He knew her as the most beautiful girl in his school, before she moved off.
And she had moved to Lubbock and met me. She was so wild, so free, so decadent, and even so corrupt. She was the girl that made it impossible for all other girls that followed. She was a hard act to follow.
I've looked for her, on and off, for years.
I've heard this, and that. And ran into her Dad a time or two, years after she was gone.
But then, she was gone.
And- I found her tonight.
No matter how jaded i think I am, I walked on clouds today, having seen her once again.
Love never forgets.
Thursday, October 13, 2011
The foolish notion known as love
A few hours ago we were kissing. I held her in my arms and she kissed my neck softly and I didnt want to let her go.
I was writing her to tell her what she means to me. And I'm pretty good at this writing shit, not to toot my own horn, but I can throw some romantic syntax when the mood takes me- but It wasn't ENOUGH. I didn't want to imagine her reading my words, this time.
So I decided I would call her, and pour out my heart. And so i deleted the long letter and I called her, breathless with anticipation. My heart leapt and bounced sideways in my chest as I prepared the words in my head.
She answered, and you could hear the smile on my face as I beamed- "Hey you, what are you doing?" Her voice was a little flat. "I'm sitting here with _____." It took a second or two to register. And then my heart sunk a mile. It all hit, immediate and crashing like an elevator dropping out from under me. "Oh, you went to see him at-" "No he's here, at my apartment"
And, that was that. And even before I clicked end, I already felt like the fool that I was- that I am. I was already laughing at myself while crying inside with shame.
I was writing her to tell her what she means to me. And I'm pretty good at this writing shit, not to toot my own horn, but I can throw some romantic syntax when the mood takes me- but It wasn't ENOUGH. I didn't want to imagine her reading my words, this time.
So I decided I would call her, and pour out my heart. And so i deleted the long letter and I called her, breathless with anticipation. My heart leapt and bounced sideways in my chest as I prepared the words in my head.
She answered, and you could hear the smile on my face as I beamed- "Hey you, what are you doing?" Her voice was a little flat. "I'm sitting here with _____." It took a second or two to register. And then my heart sunk a mile. It all hit, immediate and crashing like an elevator dropping out from under me. "Oh, you went to see him at-" "No he's here, at my apartment"
And, that was that. And even before I clicked end, I already felt like the fool that I was- that I am. I was already laughing at myself while crying inside with shame.
Sunday, October 9, 2011
HNIC-DFB
Listening to "Red light" for the thirtieth time, this week. Why is pain remembered somehow a source of pleasure for me as I get older?
It brings me happiness to dwell on the sadness. What the hell IS that all about, anyway?
I have a half-ass gf who keeps playing all these games., and i'm way too old for that shit, but, its all the relationship i've got, so somehow i keep hanging in there, thinking it will get better. The relationship is all secret, on both sides. We play our roles, and avoid the commitment aspect. We tell each other we love each other, and I think we do. But, we've been through a lot. And a relationship just isn't the end-all, be-all it was made out to be.
I don't really know how into me she is, or is not. We are a lot alike. We are, well, both sluts. And the odd thing is, we don't ever hardly ever fall into bed with each other. We are close friends, and we give each other support. We take care of each other. And we have that deeper love, that I imagine is how older couples feel about one other. I wouldn't know. I have never had a relationship that lasted long enough to know.
The sexual aspect just doesnt factor in that much. She's really hot. And a lot younger. And she keeps me from feeling alone. I expect I do the same for her. The oddest thing is that the passion that is usually the first all-consuming notion of a new relationship isnt there. Its just like we are such good friends that we can't really go there- on either side.
I can sense that she knows that I am good for her, and I know she would be good for me. But we just can't go to "that place". Emotionally, sexually. We don't allow ourselves to lose control.
And thus, it really isn't real.
Love is all about losing control, and giving in, and freeing your mind to the whims of your heart.
And, we just don't go there.
And, maybe its all for the best. i hate being alone, and i hate being with someone. I'm a difficult fucking bastard, this is true.
I'll leave it there, for now..
It brings me happiness to dwell on the sadness. What the hell IS that all about, anyway?
I have a half-ass gf who keeps playing all these games., and i'm way too old for that shit, but, its all the relationship i've got, so somehow i keep hanging in there, thinking it will get better. The relationship is all secret, on both sides. We play our roles, and avoid the commitment aspect. We tell each other we love each other, and I think we do. But, we've been through a lot. And a relationship just isn't the end-all, be-all it was made out to be.
I don't really know how into me she is, or is not. We are a lot alike. We are, well, both sluts. And the odd thing is, we don't ever hardly ever fall into bed with each other. We are close friends, and we give each other support. We take care of each other. And we have that deeper love, that I imagine is how older couples feel about one other. I wouldn't know. I have never had a relationship that lasted long enough to know.
The sexual aspect just doesnt factor in that much. She's really hot. And a lot younger. And she keeps me from feeling alone. I expect I do the same for her. The oddest thing is that the passion that is usually the first all-consuming notion of a new relationship isnt there. Its just like we are such good friends that we can't really go there- on either side.
I can sense that she knows that I am good for her, and I know she would be good for me. But we just can't go to "that place". Emotionally, sexually. We don't allow ourselves to lose control.
And thus, it really isn't real.
Love is all about losing control, and giving in, and freeing your mind to the whims of your heart.
And, we just don't go there.
And, maybe its all for the best. i hate being alone, and i hate being with someone. I'm a difficult fucking bastard, this is true.
I'll leave it there, for now..
Wednesday, October 5, 2011
Friends that fade
Doyel's dad called me last week.
Turns out Doyel is coming up for parole. He's been in prison ten years now. I'd say I wouldn't wish that on anyone, but I have. On him, even.
His dad said that he "knows that there's been some history" but asked if I would write a letter to the parole board recommending an early release.
I feel for his family, I truly do. He shit on them a hundred times worse than he did on me. And arguments could be made that they brought it on themselves. I don't believe that part, any more. Truth is, poverty and ignorance go hand in hand. And hanging around with the people I did, in the circles I did, gave me a helluva insight into generational devolution and the morass of apathy that is the lower-lower class. It spawns itself, over and over. Few of us ever get beyond it.
I didn't tell his dad that I'd write that letter. I did, however get the address. And I thought I might write it. But, it ended up that I didn't.
"knows that there's been some history". Yeah, that, there has been. I remember a lot of things about my old best friend. Things you can't un-remember, no matter how hard you try.
Ryan and I moved from the projects to the country. Mom married sideways, from the single mother with 3 jobs, kids raising ourselves lifestyle out to Bumfuck Egypt. We moved out to a three acre farm, with a step-dad who would one day become beloved to us, but at the time was just a alkie welder with a decent job. We moved out to the East side, past the ghetto, out into the ramshackle neighborhood of shacks, trailers and half-ass farms that filled an area that was surrounded by cotton fields. Our new step-brothers didn't like us none, and sure didn't like their new replacement mom- who was filling the void their real mom left when she took off and wrote them all off. At the time, they might have thought she was going to come back some day. She never did.
So, here were two city kids, moved out to nowhere, with a new built-in family who didnt really care for us a bit.
Doyel was the neighbor kid. He was two years older than me when I met him. I was 12, he was 14. The first week we met him, he had noticed how our new step-brothers were picking on us and testing us, and he decided to join in on the fun. I bloodied his nose and pushed him off his bike, which gained me some respect from my redneck step brothers, but no love from Doyel. We all rode the bus to school together the first couple of years that I knew him. I was already a little rocker. Doyel, raised up christian, listened to Stryper, a christian rock band. We had yelling matches on the bus all that time- Me proclaiming "six-six-six" and giving the devil horns, and Doyel piously yelling out "Seven-Seven-Seven, God Rules!" Hell, he didn't even cuss til he turned 16.
My older step brothers had been run off by my mom by the time Doyel turned 16. She had quit drinking, got my step-dad to quit drinking, and alcohol was "no longer allowed in This house!" So of course, my older stepbrothers left, although they would drift back in, from time to time- whenever they were down and out. My youngest brother and step-brother caught the football bug, and sports became their life. Doyel became 16 and got an Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme. So, Fuck the bus... we ended up hanging out more and more.
... Damn. I am starting to realize this could be a novel. No time for all that shit now.... Too much reminiscing makes Daddy pine for the fjords. (There ya go, John). I'm going to try to avoid fleshing this story out too much, and just stick to the remembrances that swam through my head all this week as I contemplated Doyel, the past, the present, and whatever future there may be.
I remember picking up Dana Gentry and Holly Smits in the mornings at Lake Ransom Canyon and taking them to school - Two dirt road longhair punks hanging out with rich girls. I remember parties in the ghetto, Doyel getting me into fights (He NEVER Fought)... I remember we would cross reference how much alchohol and gas money a girl could get her hands on with how easy she was in our decision making for who we would pick up that night. I remember his parents banning me from his house and mine banning him from mine. I remember breaking his bedroom window sneaking girls into his house late at night. I remember going out to Horseshoe bin canyon and listening to Queensryche Operation Mindcrime and Metallica Kill em all and stairway to heaven at the top of the canyon and listening to the music reverbate off the canyon walls.
I remember letting him drive everywhere, cuz he was a better driver, and it gave me more time to make out in the backseat with whichever girls we had picked up. I remember his fucked up family, and getting in fights with them cuz my Daddy was rich. I remember winning most of those fights. I remember the night he graduated high school and we partied. I remember the night I graduated high school and we partied. I remember every other night in high school (and we partied). I remember him picking up my camaro at my work, then him showing up when my shift was up, with a pair of girls and a case of beer. I remember losing a lot of sleep and living on vivarin.
I remember surfing on my t-tops and street racing everywhere we went, day or night. I remember swords, and petty theft, and gangfights and road dogs and lots and lots of weed. I remember the night I told him I was leaving Lubbock to go to college in Dallas and how we went on a crying drunk. I remember how he never forgave me for leaving to go to Dallas while he stayed stuck in god-damned Lubbock.
I remember bringing people from college back to party at his house. I remember finding out he sold my little brother dope and me threatening to kill him if I heard he ever did it again. I remember talking him into leaving the dope and the fucked up family and coming to Dallas to work at the service station I did after I dropped out of college. I remember the people at the liquor store gave him a charge account and looked at me like I was crazy when i asked for one. I remember Doyel picking up some black girls who ended up giving us enough furniture to furnish our whole apartment. I remember getting arrested with him and him signing out of jail under my name when I got bailed out because I was asleep. I had to figure out on my own that I was him, in order to get out of jail later that day by pretending I was him. I remember him leaving me with rent due and sneaking back to Lubbock when Randy Laird got out of prison. I remember him going back to the meth. I remember writing him off.
I remember getting drunk one day, years later, and going out to his house. I remember regretting that, and I remember John Welch and Angela Rash regretting it far more than me. I remember Doyel stealing my truck and my cell phone. Racing for $20 bumps all night on 82nd street the night Angela moved out, and blowing my motor later that night. I remember selling him the fucked up truck later, making him sign a contract for $1500 for it. I remember he paid me $50 down. And that was fucking it.
I remember him getting more and more dope-fucked. I remember the night he spiked a shot of tequila with a sixteenth of crank while i was damn near passed out and made me drink it. I woke instantly up, and we were headed for Relax & Tan in my fiancee's car. I only got half a block before i totalled her car. I remember how Doyel told me it was a good thing for the crank because I was able to come up with such an iron clad alibi/lie to tell the cops that night so that we wouldnt go to jail and the insurance would still cover the car.
I remember Doyel coming over with Donny Dunaghey and trying to sell me a military issue bulletproof jacket and taking turns shooting each other with a .22 pistol while wearing it in my front yard. I remember thinking just hanging out with idiots like this prevented me from ever doing hard drugs.
I remember him ripping me off. Once, twice. Three times.
I remember the last time he came over to my house, on a sunday afternoon. How he threw his waterproof crank container in my 2 year old daughters swimming pool to her, as she waded. I remember him trying to sell that crank to one of my friends, who he didnt know and had never met while I sat there watching his tweaked out ass. He asked if he could have a beer. There had been a party the night before, and I still had a fridge full. I said yes, come on in. I opened the fridge for him, and I said take all you want. I remember how he greedily held his dingy shirt out in order to load it up with about 8 bottles of beer. I remember how happy he looked at his good fortune. He gleefully loaded it up in his truck and popped one open.
I remember asking him if he could do a favor for me, in return. He smiled and said, "Sure!" And I remember telling him to get in his truck, and to leave my house and to never, EVER come over or talk to me again.
And I remember thinking, Goddamn, if I Never see him again, it'll be too soon.
And I haven't yet.
Turns out Doyel is coming up for parole. He's been in prison ten years now. I'd say I wouldn't wish that on anyone, but I have. On him, even.
His dad said that he "knows that there's been some history" but asked if I would write a letter to the parole board recommending an early release.
I feel for his family, I truly do. He shit on them a hundred times worse than he did on me. And arguments could be made that they brought it on themselves. I don't believe that part, any more. Truth is, poverty and ignorance go hand in hand. And hanging around with the people I did, in the circles I did, gave me a helluva insight into generational devolution and the morass of apathy that is the lower-lower class. It spawns itself, over and over. Few of us ever get beyond it.
I didn't tell his dad that I'd write that letter. I did, however get the address. And I thought I might write it. But, it ended up that I didn't.
"knows that there's been some history". Yeah, that, there has been. I remember a lot of things about my old best friend. Things you can't un-remember, no matter how hard you try.
Ryan and I moved from the projects to the country. Mom married sideways, from the single mother with 3 jobs, kids raising ourselves lifestyle out to Bumfuck Egypt. We moved out to a three acre farm, with a step-dad who would one day become beloved to us, but at the time was just a alkie welder with a decent job. We moved out to the East side, past the ghetto, out into the ramshackle neighborhood of shacks, trailers and half-ass farms that filled an area that was surrounded by cotton fields. Our new step-brothers didn't like us none, and sure didn't like their new replacement mom- who was filling the void their real mom left when she took off and wrote them all off. At the time, they might have thought she was going to come back some day. She never did.
So, here were two city kids, moved out to nowhere, with a new built-in family who didnt really care for us a bit.
Doyel was the neighbor kid. He was two years older than me when I met him. I was 12, he was 14. The first week we met him, he had noticed how our new step-brothers were picking on us and testing us, and he decided to join in on the fun. I bloodied his nose and pushed him off his bike, which gained me some respect from my redneck step brothers, but no love from Doyel. We all rode the bus to school together the first couple of years that I knew him. I was already a little rocker. Doyel, raised up christian, listened to Stryper, a christian rock band. We had yelling matches on the bus all that time- Me proclaiming "six-six-six" and giving the devil horns, and Doyel piously yelling out "Seven-Seven-Seven, God Rules!" Hell, he didn't even cuss til he turned 16.
My older step brothers had been run off by my mom by the time Doyel turned 16. She had quit drinking, got my step-dad to quit drinking, and alcohol was "no longer allowed in This house!" So of course, my older stepbrothers left, although they would drift back in, from time to time- whenever they were down and out. My youngest brother and step-brother caught the football bug, and sports became their life. Doyel became 16 and got an Oldsmobile Cutlass Supreme. So, Fuck the bus... we ended up hanging out more and more.
... Damn. I am starting to realize this could be a novel. No time for all that shit now.... Too much reminiscing makes Daddy pine for the fjords. (There ya go, John). I'm going to try to avoid fleshing this story out too much, and just stick to the remembrances that swam through my head all this week as I contemplated Doyel, the past, the present, and whatever future there may be.
I remember picking up Dana Gentry and Holly Smits in the mornings at Lake Ransom Canyon and taking them to school - Two dirt road longhair punks hanging out with rich girls. I remember parties in the ghetto, Doyel getting me into fights (He NEVER Fought)... I remember we would cross reference how much alchohol and gas money a girl could get her hands on with how easy she was in our decision making for who we would pick up that night. I remember his parents banning me from his house and mine banning him from mine. I remember breaking his bedroom window sneaking girls into his house late at night. I remember going out to Horseshoe bin canyon and listening to Queensryche Operation Mindcrime and Metallica Kill em all and stairway to heaven at the top of the canyon and listening to the music reverbate off the canyon walls.
I remember letting him drive everywhere, cuz he was a better driver, and it gave me more time to make out in the backseat with whichever girls we had picked up. I remember his fucked up family, and getting in fights with them cuz my Daddy was rich. I remember winning most of those fights. I remember the night he graduated high school and we partied. I remember the night I graduated high school and we partied. I remember every other night in high school (and we partied). I remember him picking up my camaro at my work, then him showing up when my shift was up, with a pair of girls and a case of beer. I remember losing a lot of sleep and living on vivarin.
I remember surfing on my t-tops and street racing everywhere we went, day or night. I remember swords, and petty theft, and gangfights and road dogs and lots and lots of weed. I remember the night I told him I was leaving Lubbock to go to college in Dallas and how we went on a crying drunk. I remember how he never forgave me for leaving to go to Dallas while he stayed stuck in god-damned Lubbock.
I remember bringing people from college back to party at his house. I remember finding out he sold my little brother dope and me threatening to kill him if I heard he ever did it again. I remember talking him into leaving the dope and the fucked up family and coming to Dallas to work at the service station I did after I dropped out of college. I remember the people at the liquor store gave him a charge account and looked at me like I was crazy when i asked for one. I remember Doyel picking up some black girls who ended up giving us enough furniture to furnish our whole apartment. I remember getting arrested with him and him signing out of jail under my name when I got bailed out because I was asleep. I had to figure out on my own that I was him, in order to get out of jail later that day by pretending I was him. I remember him leaving me with rent due and sneaking back to Lubbock when Randy Laird got out of prison. I remember him going back to the meth. I remember writing him off.
I remember getting drunk one day, years later, and going out to his house. I remember regretting that, and I remember John Welch and Angela Rash regretting it far more than me. I remember Doyel stealing my truck and my cell phone. Racing for $20 bumps all night on 82nd street the night Angela moved out, and blowing my motor later that night. I remember selling him the fucked up truck later, making him sign a contract for $1500 for it. I remember he paid me $50 down. And that was fucking it.
I remember him getting more and more dope-fucked. I remember the night he spiked a shot of tequila with a sixteenth of crank while i was damn near passed out and made me drink it. I woke instantly up, and we were headed for Relax & Tan in my fiancee's car. I only got half a block before i totalled her car. I remember how Doyel told me it was a good thing for the crank because I was able to come up with such an iron clad alibi/lie to tell the cops that night so that we wouldnt go to jail and the insurance would still cover the car.
I remember Doyel coming over with Donny Dunaghey and trying to sell me a military issue bulletproof jacket and taking turns shooting each other with a .22 pistol while wearing it in my front yard. I remember thinking just hanging out with idiots like this prevented me from ever doing hard drugs.
I remember him ripping me off. Once, twice. Three times.
I remember the last time he came over to my house, on a sunday afternoon. How he threw his waterproof crank container in my 2 year old daughters swimming pool to her, as she waded. I remember him trying to sell that crank to one of my friends, who he didnt know and had never met while I sat there watching his tweaked out ass. He asked if he could have a beer. There had been a party the night before, and I still had a fridge full. I said yes, come on in. I opened the fridge for him, and I said take all you want. I remember how he greedily held his dingy shirt out in order to load it up with about 8 bottles of beer. I remember how happy he looked at his good fortune. He gleefully loaded it up in his truck and popped one open.
I remember asking him if he could do a favor for me, in return. He smiled and said, "Sure!" And I remember telling him to get in his truck, and to leave my house and to never, EVER come over or talk to me again.
And I remember thinking, Goddamn, if I Never see him again, it'll be too soon.
And I haven't yet.
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