THFWS & TTM’s: The Final Chapter?…You be the Judge….

The Final Chapter?…You be the Judge….

(Show extreme close-up of the eye of Raul, the Talking Cuban Tree-Frog. As the camera zooms out he begins his narration for Intergalactic Geographic while clinging to a branch outside the Sanctuary.)

“Despite the end of the siege, the courtroom drama, and the assassination of Frederick, life in the Home for Wayward Souls continues at the same breath-taking pace that has become de rigueur for longer than anybody can seem to remember. And it seems as if they wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Everyone is so closely connected to everyone else within the community that without introducing any of their own drama, there is more than ample mutual stimulation, validation and support which enables its members to exist within a sort of well (or treasury) of souls, springing from the ‘world soul’…the guf…so that each of its members remains self-sustaining, vibrantly alive and purposeful.”

“Because the Chimps and the Bonobos no longer needed to be separated, the interactions between the two tribes were beginning to take on a decidedly personal aspect as numerous romantic relationships were blossoming within the compound.”

“The influences of both Frederick and The Knowledge had been considerable, and there was no real competition for either food or territory. They had become united by way of a common enemy, and learned co-operation by virtue of common cause”

“And just as surely as the smaller female Bonobos found the masculine allure of the larger and more dominant male Chimps quite irresistible, as the saying goes “For every pot, there’s a lid” and there are plenty of females everywhere in this world, as well as several others with an appetite for domination of submissive males, accounting for numerous female Chimps courting the smaller male Bonobos.”

“Of course, there was no guarantee that any of the Chimp/Bonobo matings would result in the genetic mutations that Frederick experienced, including the doubling of the SRGAP2 gene induced by The Knowledge, or Frederick’s genetic DNA resemblance to Millennium Man (Orrorin tugenensis) and Homo habilis, or the eventual resolution of the disparity between the 24 genes of Chimps and Bonobos and the 23 genes of Man.”

“Although the separate 2a and 2b genes of the Pan primates eventually consolidated into the single Human gene 2 configuration (thereby accounting for the apparent “extra” gene of the Pan primates), there was no guarantee that any of the hybrids that were later to be born would be compatible with future Human additions to their gene pool, should they even occur. Indeed, Frederick may have been a genetic anomaly. Similar future mutations might not occur again for an indeterminate length of time.”

“And Evolutionary Time is very unpredictable. A Quantum Leap can occur in one generation, but it may not be self-replicating, and it might take hundreds, even thousands of generations for that leap to take place, and incremental evolution as a result of natural selection and environmental demands is notoriously slow.”

“But of course, the twins might well represent the future “Mitochondrial Adam and Eve” of a new race of sentient, self-aware, and increasingly intelligent Hominid primates capable of mating with either Humans or Chimps and Bonobos, possibly resulting in future pairings between “proto-humans” and “proto-chimps” much as early Man did.”

“Since it would be ill-advised to mate siblings, there would be a necessity that some new genes be introduced. Even if the twins only mated with Chimps and Bonobos, their gene pool will never be the same again.”

“But given the extraordinary beauty of both of them, there was a very good possibility that future human donations would also result, possibly from other members of the inner circle, or even artificial insemination. If so, the next Great Leap Forward would be inevitable.”

“Merle currently possessed enough of the Fruit of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil to support a congregation of one hundred thousand for over five hundred years on a very regular basis (…just in case…”), although its existence would remain a closely guarded secret, at least for the time being.”

“Although he had voluntarily resigned from his research consultant’s job with Merrick when he first began his participation in the trial to avoid the immanent dismissal that Mark, Darcy and Charles had experienced allegedly “due to business needs”, if need be, he could work for any other manufacturer he chose, or manufacture it clandestinely on the premises”

“There was no longer any financial necessity that any of them take employment with anyone else. They were not just rich…they had become wealthy…or rather, their non-profit incorporation had amassed so much money that their accountants and attorneys were on full-time retainer just to find ways to spend the money on their chartered pursuits of higher consciousness and polyamory.”

“It was they in fact who were now providing employment to selected individuals who were recruited by invitation only, thereby helping to insure that they remained connected to people of like mind and spirit.” 

“And there was no shortage of work for their selected causes to give everyone an outlet and a connection.” 

“To this end, they were also beginning a screening process to determine the suitability of selected candidates to receive ‘enlightenment’, although they were just as hesitant to obtain their informed consent to take The Fruit of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil as they were to administer it without their knowledge.”

“Because of the legal implications, secrecy was an absolute must. They fully anticipated to be infiltrated by the FBI, DEA. or even the CIA and NSA. Although Stan would be immensely valuable in helping spot infiltrators and CI’s, even the remote possibility of a disgruntled parishioner reporting the mere existence of The Knowledge would be disastrous.”

“Indiscriminate administration of the Fruit of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil might not result in the spiritual evolution of all of Mankind, given Man’s inestimable capacity to pervert and subvert even the noblest, loftiest and most benign of ideals or goals.”

“The fact that the DOD spent millions of dollars trying to turn the Frisbee into a weapon would be a good example. Also, ‘Knowledge is power’ and power corrupts….”

“Also it is doubtful that any of the present standing governments of the world would desire a self-realized, self-actualized and enlightened population that would be able to see beyond the devious ploys so commonly used to manipulate the general public, except for perhaps the Dutch and some provinces of Canada.”

“They all realized that they stood on the brink of a new existence, and that the likelihood of oppression from an almost endless list of potential enemies would be great unless tremendous discretion was exercised by all parties, even with Stanley Linderman protecting their best interests and continued safety.”

“Merrick Pharmaceuticals, the parent company of PharmaCorp eventually announced that they would no longer be using Chimps or Bonobos for medical research. After extensive isolation and testing for disease or genetic damage, they were retired and donated to The Home for Wayward Souls.”

“Shortly after that, public outrage over the excesses of PharmaCorp’s business practices acting as program administrators for the vast majority of insurers resulted in sweeping legislative reforms designed to prevent them from extorting and victimizing the public by denying claims, unfair regulation and monopolization of trade, providing sub-standard foreign-produced generic versions of medications of questionable therapeutic value, and collusion between PharmaCorp, the Pharmaceutical manufacturers and insurance companies.”

“Huge fines and lawsuits for damages as well as jail time for numerous executives resulted. Simultaneous actions taken by federal, as well as state’s Attorneys General triggered a bloodbath not seen since Mark Anthony first stuck it to Julius Caesar, and once it started, it seemed that the line would never end.”

“Much like the prosecution of organized crime, once one of them rolled over and turned state’s evidence against the company, the domino effect ensured that there would be no place to hide, and even the most top-ranking executives would not be able to pay off their accusers.”

“THFWS as part of their chartered missions began to initiate recognition of Repetitive Thought Injury by the medical and scientific communities, as well as other inhumane practices in the workplace in general and telemarketers in particular.”

“The logic was that if they could get it recognized as an injury, then if insurance companies had to start paying claims, they would pressure the employers to provide working conditions not to be considered as primary causative agents.” 

“Not surprisingly, the effect on the economy was a significant decrease in health-care costs nationwide as major medical insurance administrators followed the lead forcibly set in place for the pharmaceutical industry.”

“Since the huge windfall profits of the administrative companies went largely to executives and stockholders who did little to stimulate the economy except by conspicuous consumption, (which never does much of anything to benefit the general population) they had more disposable income to spend on items that resulted in more jobs in other industries, as well as the perception of an improved quality of life.”

“And since the wages paid by PharmaCorp represented just about the minimum wage that any reasonably literate professional would accept, and as there was no need for massive lay-offs because once the company was forced to operate on an ethical basis, the enrollments dramatically increased along with the public trust, even more agents were needed to act as patient care advocates in customer services.”

“Mark and Darcy took on the daunting task of educating all the primates within the congregation. Since they were all computer-literate on a limited basis, it would also give them ample opportunities to conduct behavioral research on their learning, perception and behavior as well as the developmental advances of Adam and Eve (the unanimous choice for the names of the twins).”

“Because of the necessity of supporting the burgeoning telephone call center related to the television, video and internet interests of THFWS and Kali’s website as well as the recordings of the ArcAngels there were plenty of opportunities at better salaries with better working conditions for ex-pat employees of PharmaCorp’s marketing division, which was eventually closed down in South Florida.”

“Even more surprisingly, a few of the Bonobos agreed to work as telephone operators at the Sanctuary on an entirely voluntary basis for behavioral research but it was understood and agreed that there would be ABSOLUTELY NO TELEMARKETING PRACTICES ALLOWED.”

“So many questions are yet to be answered, and so many situations unresolved, that there can be little doubt that this is far from the end of this saga, but for now, we close this chapter until news of further developments present themselves.”

“Until then, this is Raul, your reporter for Intergalactic Geographic. So long until we meet again.”

I Stare into the Fire

Late January

In a place where

Winter is Perpetual spring

a tender shoulder

 makes my

mouth

wet

As I stare into the fire.

It is enough to be here now.

THFWS & TTM’s: The Verdict

The jury was sequestered for weeks after the end of the trial. Surprisingly (or perhaps not) one lone juror sympathized with Sebastian Galbraith Lodge’s actions and beliefs to such an extent that it almost resulted in a hung jury.

An elderly woman of devout faith, and a Baptist, she shared many of Lodge’s beliefs, and admired him for the courage of his convictions. She also strongly disapproved of what she regarded as “an abomination” concerning what she understood of Ash and his followers’ practices, especially the polyamory.

She likewise did not consider The Home for Wayward Souls to be a legitimate church, but recognized that just like the Catholics, the Muslims, the Buddhists, the Hindus, the Mormons, or “even the Jews”, they were entitled to the pursuit of their religious freedoms and practices

Eventually, the other jurors convinced her that it was not Lodge who was on trial, but rather a question of whether it was appropriate to “own” a sentient being in the first place like a slave or chattel property, subject to the whims of their owners.

She however, was a creationist, like Lodge, so the ownership of animals, let alone their sentience, was not subject to question, but she was also a member of PETA, and felt that it was unreasonable to place such high expectations, stress and pressure on a “poor dumb animal”.

She cared for and fed three “rescue dogs”, four cats, and a parrot she had taught to say “praise the Lord” and sing “Jesus loves me” that she had owned for over forty years.

Although it seemed as if she had not been paying any attention to Frederick’s compelling testimony, they were content to let her sympathize with the Primates as long as it resulted in their freedom.

It was impossible to charge the primates with any crimes, given the fact that, in the eyes of the courts, they were still animals.

But when it came to deciding their ultimate fate, the jury nonetheless agreed that their treatment had been cruel and inhumane, and that they should not be subject to further experiments of any kind.

The Plaintiff’s Attorneys had already prepared an offer to buy the Primates from PharmaCorp for an amount approximately four times what was considered “market value” but further added that it was not to be considered a purchase, but rather an act of emancipation as ransom for their freedom.

The jury also agreed that The Home for Wayward Souls was in no way responsible for the initial actions of the primates, or for any damages or losses incurred by PharmaCorp.

All parties conceded that an eventual determination would have to be made by the courts as to the acknowledgement of their sentience and civil rights and liberties, but it was clearly beyond the authority of this court to do so at this time.

Ash and his congregation agreed to accept responsibility for the care and further actions of the Primates in much the same way that a parent of a disabled adult would.

Both the Chimps and Bonobos were very content in their habitat of the lush tropical areas surrounding the seven acres upon which the The Sanctuary resided and had made no attempt to leave the property, which they now considered to be their territory, and which they thoroughly enjoyed patrolling.

An eight-foot chain link fence surrounded the entire perimeter, acting as a line of demarcation for all parties concerned, and no one dared enter the premises except through the front gate.

In a statement to the press, it was announced that Mark and Darcy would be charged with their care and “education” including further studies of their developmental and communications abilities on a “voluntary” basis, which they intended to use to establish their legal rights as sentient, self-aware beings capable of communicating their choices and desires in their own pursuit of happiness.

All costs would be covered by The Home for Wayward Souls as part of their stated purpose as a non-profit corporation devoted to the pursuit of higher consciousness.

It was also agreed that any further legal action on the part of PharmaCorp (or any of its unnamed agents) would cease with prejudice and the amount paid by the church would be considered settlement in full with no admissions of guilt by anyone.

It was a day of triumph for Frederick and the other Primates; a day of liberation to be celebrated by everyone at the Sanctuary.

Darcy was near her due date and her delivery of the twins was immanent, but she was incredibly healthy and in great spirits as she waddled down the steps of the courthouse with Frederick and Mark hand-in-hand surrounded by Ash, Kali, Merle, Charles, Suki and Anastasia. Stanley Linderman was also with them.

Although Frederick was no longer the property of Stan’s employers, he was still “on point”  more as a matter of habit, and it was his intention to resign his position to come to work for The Home for Wayward Souls as a “security consultant”.

An offer had already been made by Ash and the council of the church to pay him handsomely to keep the carnival atmosphere that had surrounded them all under control.

As popular as they had become, they were not without their detractors and sworn enemies, mostly fundamentalist Christians.

Stanley had never been so content or happy before. He believed that he was finally in the right place at the right time to do something he felt he was born to do.

Frederick even stopped on the steps for a photo-op to do The Monkey Dance for the press, flashing the V for Victory sign with both hands, and then suddenly signing “It’s a great day to be me.”

It was a glorious day and it seemed as if nothing could stop them now.

Eclecticism vs. Plagiarism

I am currently in the midst of a period of tragedy, loss and re-assessment in a life earmarked by great Beauty, Ecstacy, Love, Danger, Violence, Joy, Excess and Horror. To quote Carlos Castaneda quoting the brujo Don Juan in “A Yaqui Way of Knowledge”, I am reminded on a daily basis that “Death walks in your shadow.”

Of course when Carlos Castaneda quoted Don Juan, even the sorcerer himself was quoting a truism or “Old Saw” well-known to the Yaqui people. This raises the question of how far does one need to go in correctly crediting one’s sources without completely losing the train of thought and presentation in something that masquerades under the banner of original or creative writing?

I did some research and found that Charles Caleb Colton was the author of the term: “…Imitation is the sincerest (form) of flattery….”, I admit that I do not recall ever hearing of him or his works before, but everyone is familiar with the quotation; this is as good as any example that I know of a very small portion of that to which I speak, write, or refer.

I had to look it up to quote the author, now a relative unknown, and discovered that the original quote was: “Imitation is the sincerest of flattery…”. Although he was something of an erratic luminary of his day, with a propensity for self-indulgence and given to excess; he died broke and took his own life and is relatively unknown today except to scholars a great deal more erudite than myself.

If I should use some phrase, to what lengths should I go to quote the source; or should I even perhaps footnote it like a term paper on English Composition? I have read and listened to speakers whose most notable feature is the way in which they weave in and around endless quotations and references, making a kind of pedantic bibliography of the synthesis of whatever ideas they are trying to present.

Some of them are quite fascinating, if you can ever grasp the actual gist or meat of whatever it is they may eventually try to present as an original idea, although the synthesis of the literary Gumbo that they serve up becomes a casualty of the litigious, greedy nature of the modern culture before which we are all forced to bow.

I am a weaver of dreams and teller of tall tales,  mostly true, thinly disguised to protect the guilty (mostly myself) and the innocent alike for fear of implying an unsavory association with otherwise good people who do not deserve such shame for having known, loved, or befriended me.

It is my desire to resurrect the American storytelling tradition by incorporating it into a literary genre I like to call “enhanced and fortified non-fiction”. I was relatively well-educated, but must admit I have forgotten more than most people would even care to ever learn. My point is that in the attempt to not plagiarized, the homage of quotation can become cumbersome.

On the other hand, this pitiful self-indulgent,  self-destructive fiend named Colton has passed into relative anonymity although the mis quotation of his most famous line that is so commonly used that it has become a cliché for people who know nothing of his existence.

If you Google the phrase, you have to only see how many unrelated references there are through which I had to wade to find the source. And of course, there are times when we discover after the fact that what we thought was original was not, leaving us to feel as if as the song by Mark–Almond says: “…It’s all been done before…”

I know there are rules…I was raised on them…chastised if I did not strictly follow them, or warned of dire consequences if I did not adhere to them, courtesy of fear of the scholarly “Hickory Stick” of seventeen-century values, customs and protocols as they dragged their half-dead carcasses across the twentieth and twenty-first centuries, leaving a trail of blood, venom, shit and bile like a dog hit by a car that refuses to die before it reaches its Final Destination.

Henry David Thoreau wrote in “Civil Disobedience” that “All machines have their friction…but when the friction comes to have its machine, and oppression…organized, I say, let us not have such a machine any longer.”

This is not to say that I condone plagiarism. To outright steal the complete works and ideas of another author and preset them as one’s own is unjustifiable, but to pick from the marketplace of ideas like a chef choosing which ingredients he or she will use to prepare a meal, perhaps without so much as a defined recipe, instead simply doing a little of this and using a little of that in the style of something you may or may not entirely recognize, although seemingly vaguely familiar (which I have come to embrace as what I call Jazz Cooking) represents a synthesis of originality applied against the clichés and shop-worn ideas and techniques that threaten to strangle us all for fear of accusations of being excessively derivative.

There is a danger in being too well-read and educated. I was raised hearing that there have been no new thoughts or ideas since the Greeks, or biblical times or some other such horse-shit guaranteed to leave a right-minded person afraid to speak, think, or write. The more you know, the greater the risk…so why even bother?

Sometime early in my youth while studying Art and Cinematography. I was introduced to the technique of Collage and Photomontage. In its own way, it perhaps paved the groundwork of the modern Hip-Hop technique referred to as Sampling, which took legal action to be defined and separated from litigation for copy write violation.

Many years before, when George Harrison was sued for plagiarism attributed to his song My Sweet Lord, because of its remarkable similarity to “He’s so Fine” I heard Dolly Parton remark how in the same way, the same sequence of notes in I Saw Her Standing There was exactly the same sequence as Nine to Five.

Her point seemed to center around the fact that context, treatment, style and presentation are in fact the basis of originality, since after all, there are really only twelve notes in the modern Western musical scale.

In the last twenty years, we have seen an irrational preoccupation in the lengths to which attorneys have taken the concept of Intellectual Property on behalf of either Michael Eisner’s New-World Order of Disney, going so far as to attempt to sue a day-care center in Hollywood, Florida for using hand-painted images of Disney characters like Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck or Snow White on the walls of the center. (BTW: When the threats got national media attention, Hanna-Barbara Studios flew their own artists to the day-care center to paint their copyrighted images instead…for free.)

Or consider the story of George Lucas suing a porn producer for making a movie entitled Star Whores and attempting to prevent use of the THX signature of envelope and timbre of the well-known glissando of their logo as the intro for a Hip-Hop song.

Perhaps the real question is to ask “what is the harm?” to determine if any creative artist has been wronged. Where is the line drawn between Homage and Plagiarism? We often either knowingly or unknowingly quote the Bible, Shakespeare, or any number of thousands of previously published works by the choice of a particular turn of a phrase or word.

Sometimes a cliché is all you need to set up a rhythm, an easy shorthand to quickly conjure up an image, or make the hairs on your neck stand on end…(or anything else for that matter) like jumping from second to fourth gear, saving your own (well as their) best energies for the real verities.

The movie Zeitgeist would suggest that even the fundamentals of Christianity are in fact the result of a form of religious plagiarism, but even unique applications of clichés or shop-worn phrases to effect an original presentation of ideas and images that lend a recognizable universality to any artistic work may still be subject to scrutiny.

As to where one point ends and another begins…well, to paraphrase: “The proof is in the (eating of) the pudding.” BTW: Just to illustrate, it was George Carlin (in Brain Droppings) that added the parenthetical, although he was referring to an entirely different set of circumstances.

I frequently use song titles or movie titles to describe something in a certain way that may or may not be recognizable to the reader. I usually Capitalize and italicize the title, so as to draw attention to how it was woven into the fabric of the text, as a sort of “Nod and a Wink” (to the readers who probably also like puns), but with the exception of the use of the first few lines line of Volunteers (of America) by the Jefferson Airplane as the title of a chapter I once wrote, I do not generally quote or footnote.

If anything, I try to avoid using enough of their words in sequence to be considered liable, and whenever possible, it is usually used in such a different context that only the veneer of resemblance is exposed.

Interestingly enough, The Jefferson Airplane was forced to drop the “of America” from the title of both the song and the Album because of copyright infringement, thereby markedly increasing the value of any first-edition releases that were not pulled from the racks.

There is no end to the irony of the fact that the opening proclaims: “We are all outlaws in the eyes of America…in order to survive we steal, lie, cheat , forge, fuck, hide and deal…we are obscene, lawless, dangerous, dirty, violent…and young.”

It was an anthem of the awakening of myself and an entire generation of outlaws, brigands, and perverts. Although I quoted and recognized them at the beginning of the title of the chapter, I should only be so fortunate as to have that work become popular enough that I should be allowed the privilege to pay them tribute in money, if deemed appropriate, regardless of the irony.

For instance, I know very well that it was Hemingway who first used the term “Moveable Feast” when he described Paris. It is my sincerest hope that most of the literate (reading) public does as well. I used the phrase in a completely different context at some point in the past. I remember doing it, but for the life of me I don’t recall when or how, or in what frame of reference.

At nearly the same point in time, both Jackson Pollock and Charlie Parker began doing the same thing in different media by allowing a sort of “stream of consciousness” in music and a “reflex arc” or “muscle memory” in Art to produce their most memorable works in a new style largely invented by each of them, according to their respective disciplines.

Red Skelton, in the midst of controversy of his use of a few sly innuendoes that were deemed “dirty” by some television viewers simply remarked that if you already knew the context, then he was only reminding you of something that you had already heard or thought that was already in your own brain.

In Senate hearings over obscenity in rock music, Paula Hawkins accused Frank Zappa of causing people to “…think dirty…” whereupon he replied that he would be flattered if he was accused of having caused people to think at all.

About a year ago, however, when a reader remarked about how much he liked a particular idea that I had presented, I did mention that it was partially inspired by one of my all-time favorite writers, and in the process turned the reader on to an author of a unique genre of literature in which he stands head and shoulders above almost all others, with few equals anywhere, and that has given me pause to reconsider….

In this spirit of full disclosure, I would like to list some of the artists, musicians, philosophers, comedians, perverts, poets, writers, teachers, lovers, free spirits and bon vivants who have in many subtle and unsubtle ways influenced or inspired many entries I have written in one way or another, and at the very  least given me hope and strength to carry on. I have frequently quoted (and just as likely mis-quoted), and in one way or another at the very least leaned heavily upon each of you in my many hours of need. (These are neither alphabetical nor in order of importance; they are simply presented as they randomly occurred to me. Some are famous, some deserve to be…):

Tom Robbins

Dr. Hunter Stockton Thompson

Artur Rimbaud

Walt Whitman

Allen Ginsburg

Charles Bukowski

Frank Zappa

Jeff Beck

Eric Clapton

Mark-Almond

Douglas Adams

Lawrence M. Krauss, Ph. D.

Eric Stewart, Kevin Godley, Graham Keith Gouldman and

Laurence Neil “Lol” Creme (of 10cc)

Spirit

The Jefferson Airplane

The Grateful Dead

Randy Bays and Francis (aka: Francois Hermes) “Frenchy” Massinon

Eddie Bischoff

Abraham Maslow

Robert Hilton

Claude Debussy

Eric Satie

Ernest Hemingway

John Cage

Ingmar Bergman

George Orwell

Aldus Huxley

B.F. Skinner

Timothy Leary

Richard Alpert (aka: Baba Ram Dass)

Lenny Bruce

Linda Goodman

Alfred E. Newman

Louie C. K.

Henry David Thoreau

Ralph Waldo Emerson

Amy Rogers-Edgin-Onasis-Bono-Allman-???

Karan Barnes

Joseph F. Pulitzotto

George Carlin

Robin Williams

Suki Vincent

Anastasia, the eternal “Astral Travler”; aka “the Ex-Stacy”

John Steinbeck

Jack Nietzsche

Andrew L. Oldham

Friedrich Nietzsche

Carlos Castaneda

Ron Jeremy

Robert M. Pirsig

The Rolling Stones

Eric Burdon

Van Morrison

Steven Trask

Hedwig

William S. Burroughs

Charlie Kaufman

Oliver Stone

Quentin Tarantino

LeeAnn Macguire Reyes Cauble

“Captain Mike” Schrader

Jessie (the other outlaw) James

SIG Sauer

Mikhail Timofeyevich Kalashnikov

Gene Vincent

George Brown, his brother Cliff, and legendary Vincent (Black Shadow) designer, Phil Irving

Michael (“Eschew obfuscation”) Barnes

Pink Floyd

 Lana and Andrew Wachowski

Tom Tykwer

 David Mitchell

John Cameron Mitchell

E.E. Cummings

Dylan Thomas

Bob Dylan

Ralph Waldo Emerson

James Marshall Hendrix

Eddy Van Halen

Stanley Jordan

Buzzy Feiten

The Whore of Armageddon

Each of these people, and many, many more have struck resonances within me, sometimes after the fact of my own realization or self-discovery, thereby validating and reinforcing something that was already there.

The above listing is only my “short list”, and I apologize for so many not listed there that may have momentarily escaped my deteriorating memory banks.

I believe all inspiration, and epiphanies come from the heavens, trapped in the ionosphere, bouncing, skipping, and returning like radio waves. How we interpret or assimilate those energies is what makes each of us unique.

Without sounding presumptuous, and to misquote and badly paraphrase Emerson…we all stand hand in hand, the whole world round…. They too, have their own set of influences, mentors, and even unconscious influences. I don’t know how much any of them struggled with deciding to quote or footnote all their sources….

I consider myself a casualty of my generation and our culture, as well as my own predisposition for excess, self-indulgence, self-abuse. and wanton disregard for laws or most conventions of polite society.

If my remarks, thoughts, ideas or choices of words should offend you, consider me like one would a madman, running naked through the streets, babbling an echolalia of rants inspired by ionic discharges of the atmosphere while my brain writhes in a series of capacitance as if it were attached to a lightning rod…and to quote Douglas Adams: “…mostly harmless….”. …And that’s on my good days, when I feel inspired enough to assert my will to live. It would appear that I am in little danger of sufficient notoriety to provoke much criticism on any global scale…so what’s the harm? I am but a messenger, a conduit through which I try to present that which inspires and flows through me as I attempt to Divine the Divine.

Namaste.

THFWS&TTM”s: The (Luckiest) First Day in the Rest of Your Life

The (Luckiest) First Day in the Rest of Your Life

It was about that time that Frederick walked up to the two of them and signed “You can take me home now” to Stan, who pretended not to know its meaning, while still contemplating Anastasia as a lioness giving herself a cat-bath.

With that, Frederick slapped his forehead and wiped downward as he rolled his eyes.

“OK…do I have to go over to Darcy or Mark just to pretend you don’t know that I want to go home? Or maybe you haven’t noticed yet that I’m not still signing…that it’s just like I’m right next to you, whispering in your ear?”

Stan visibly stiffened and wheeled around to see who was speaking to him.

“Don’t lose it, old man…you’re fine…it’s me that’s out of the ordinary…I hope the James Jones vocal impression wasn’t too far over the top…I have different voices I like to project to humans…ones that are more likely to garner respect…can’t go off on some Jerry Lewis cartoon voice…you’d never take me seriously, right?

Stan shook his head in disbelief, frowning, his mouth slightly agape, which was not a good look for him. It completely blew his MIB/Intimidator demeanor, even if it was only for a second.

“Hey look, Stan…this may be a little too much for you to digest all at once, so I’m going to go over and tug on Darcy’s dress, or Mark coat tail, and sign for you to take me home…we’ve got plenty of time to let you get used to the new, improved me from now on.”

“Don’t stress out…we know who you are and what you’re doing here, and it’s OK, because we don’t have anything to hide…and neither do you…at least not from us…that prick Sebastian Galbraith Lodge may be another matter…but we are your friends…you’ll learn that soon enough.”

Stan stood completely still, then turned to Anastasia for support, or acknowledgement, or anything that might help him to feel like he wasn’t going crazy, but she simply smiled benignly and asked “Is everything OK?” even though she knew exactly what was happening.

The Fruit of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil was like that…Anastasia could no more read American Sign Language than she could Sanskrit…and it wasn’t so much a matter of reading Frederick’s mind per se as it was one of learning how to listen to the thoughts he was projecting, which admittedly he was very adept at doing, since most animals have some degree of telepathic abilities, and the great apes had by far the greatest and most well-developed skills in that area already, and whenever she took The Knowledge her telepathic abilities got a little better.

Although most chimps and bonobos do not possess the speech centers in Broca’s area to vocalize incessantly as humans do, their lack of dependence on spoken words allowed and even encouraged them to find other modes of expression previously undocumented scientifically.

Also, the hybridization of his chimpanzee and bonobo parents had resulted in an unusual restructuring of Frederick’s genetic map. As a result, his chromosomal structure very nearly replicated that of the first known hominids to branch off from the primates, known as Homo habilis.

This was before he had ever ingested The Fruit of the Tree of Knowledge, which mimics the doubling of the human SRGAP2 gene thought to be responsible for the process of encephalization in Man’s genetic evolution due to accelerated improvements in the neuron pathways of the frontal cortex.

And what it did for primates, it also did for humans, producing yet another Quantum Leap in Man’s evolution, both forward and backward, no longer requiring him to choose between Instinct and Reason.

Intelligence and Sentience are in many ways related, albeit independent of each other. Wisdom, and Insight, as well as Epiphanies or Instincts are not necessarily guaranteed by a high IQ.

At the Home for Wayward Souls, as well as during the occult studies that were conducted at the Habitat, it was found that as clearly and precisely as certain concepts were very effectively communicated by Frederick, from one human to another among the other test subjects charged with interpreting the meanings, it was found that there was a certain degree of variation in the perceived messages, depending upon certain personal biases and the emotional make-up of whoever was receiving Frederick’s communications.

In much the same way, the test subjects, including Mark and Darcy often described Frederick’s perceived voice differently. They almost always described it as deep and sonorous and very somber sounding, especially if he was trying to impress them, although he had seen a number of Jerry Lewis comedies from the fifties and sixties which he found to be hilarious, which he would occasionally mimic if he was feeling silly or playful.

Mark and Darcy had arranged to have cable TV installed in Frederick’s room, which had the effect of giving him a window to the world of human thought as well as behaviors.

He clearly lacked the ability to concentrate much effort on reading, since it was too time-consuming and labor-intensive to suit his disposition. In that respect, they sometimes wondered if he might have been better disposed to learn to read if they hadn’t introduced him to television first.

Often they would describe his voice as sounding like James Jones or Graham Green…(sometimes either the sagacious elder English author or the Native Oneida actor of the same name)…he liked the sounds of the voices of both, but had something of a preference for the throaty Indian sound of the latter’s voice.

He once told Merle that he felt a kinship for the Indian Peoples, who knew all too well what it was like to be treated as an animal, somehow inferior to White Men, unlike the indigenous aboriginal peoples of his continent, who admired and respected their animal cousins.

Merle suggested he not over-generalize about Indians too much, as it had been his finding that although some still followed the ancient ways and beliefs, far too many had fallen victim to materialism, racism, drunkenness, and despair, incapable of seeing Frederick as anything but a “monkey”.

All the same, some said he sounded like a minister or priest they knew as a child, or a teacher or principal from school, or even Moses, (whatever that meant).

Charles had even stated that he had been having an on-going dream for several years now where he found himself standing before some great judge; although he admitted he always awoke before the verdict and did not know who was being judged for what, Frederick’s voice often sounded like the voice in his dream.

Anastasia said he sounded like her grandfather’s voice, which she only barely remembered from her early childhood, but of whom she was very fond.

Frederick finally came back hand in hand between Mark and Darcy.

“He said he’s ready to go home…meaning The Habitat…he knows he can’t stay, even though it’s one of those nights you just don’t want to end….” said Darcy.

“You can say that again…hell it’s just getting started, if I have my way…” thought Anastasia, and at that moment, Mark, Darcy, Frederick and Stan all “heard” her thoughts, which caused Stan to blush despite a very large grin that he was unable to suppress.

“I guess there’s no hiding anything amongst us tonight…just as well…we can cut to the chase and get moving or try to ignore the elephant in the room, but I vote we get this fellow to his bed” added Mark.

“…and I get you to mine, my dear lady…” which Stan may have thought for a minute was private until he suddenly realized everyone else was just as aware of as if he had said it out loud, causing a muffled chuckle by the others.

“Did I just say that, or only think it? What the fuck is going on?!? And am I really hearing their thoughts? Why do I think they already know what I am thinking?” Stan pondered, as his mind raced.

“Because we do know…and now you know that we know…because your brain just took a quantum leap across the abyss…you’re not losing your mind…far from it…you just discovered a whole new wing in your brain that you never knew existed…in a place before spoken words, where thoughts have wings.”

“Don’t try too hard to intellectualize about it right now. Everything will become apparent in its own good time, so just relax and enjoy the company of friends.”

Stan found himself staring into Frederick’s eyes, convinced that the words he was hearing were coming from the primate despite his rational, logical mind’s best efforts to convince him otherwise…to cause him to doubt what he knew in his heart (or soul, or wherever it is where beliefs and wisdom live independently of facts and logic).

“Did you give me drugs?” asked Stan, imploring both Anastasia and Frederick.

“Don’t think of it as a drug…think of it as the gift of sentience, more like a vitamin for your mind” replied Frederick. “The same awareness that allowed Man to make that quantum leap from his primate ancestry…the awareness that now allows me to communicate with you, as well as the others…the awareness that also gives you back the instincts you once traded for Reason.”

“For the first time in your life, your Intuition will be as strong as your Logic. You can straddle the Abyss with ease…and conviction. This is true Knowledge and Insight the likes of which you have never known before. It will take time for you to adjust to it, but it is not something that will leave you in the morning either…it will grow with you, and only those who possess this same Knowledge will even notice any difference, although others may sense the understanding and wisdom that you now possess, even if they don’t quite know what it is.”

“Some people regard the process as more like a form of post-hypnotic suggestion, facilitated by a molecule so powerful it does not even show up on a drug screen, because so little of it is required to achieve the effects.” Ash spoke the words to Stan softly, and with great compassion as he walked up to Stan.

Merle was now standing on Stan’s other side, the only person in the room tall enough to look down upon Stan, he laid his hand on Stan’s shoulder as he added “In fact, it does not even act as a drug per se, in that it does not combine specifically with anything in your body; instead, it acts as a catalyst that unlocks the release of chemicals already present in your brain while triggering the production of more of those neurotransmitter chemicals to an abundance far higher than what is considered normal, but which may well be present in higher quantities in people labeled as gifted or even as geniuses.”

“The more often you take it, the less you need to reach a threshold effect, and then it passes unchanged from your body in your breath along with nitrogen and carbon dioxide.”

“We would have never have encouraged Frederick to share this gift with you…not because we don’t like you, but because we don’t have the instincts quite yet that Frederick already has. It won’t affect your ability to drive or anything like that…it’s just this….”

“If you can relax long enough to feel the love and sense the beauty all around you will know everything you need to know…to look into the heart of those around you, both your friends as well as those who are not…. Frederick wanted to share the most precious gift he knows. We took a long time to decide to share it with him, and he has been studying you as a candidate since the first day he met you.”

“Now can we please take me home so those two can get about their own monkey business and the honeymoon can get rolling for everyone else?” Frederick outstretched his arms imploringly to the group who heartily agreed.

 

 

 

 

THFWS&TTM’s: After the Reception

After the Reception
The rest of the wedding reception was not unlike watching a bullfight with Anastasia as the matador, and Stanley Linderman the bull.
She nuzzled his chest, and he thanked her for the dance, then tried to wander off so as not to seem too anxious, but she was unrelenting and he was grateful for that.
She ran off to get them each a glass of punch, which he initially refused on the grounds that he was “on duty” as Frederick’s “Chaperone” which was a very diplomatic term, but Anastasia surprised him by insisting that his was the non-alcoholic version that resided next to the real punch.
She explained that there were so many non-alcohol drinkers among the Home for Wayward Souls that everyone’s preferences had already been anticipated, including Stan’s.
He first smelled it, then gingerly tasted it before Anastasia finally said “Do I need to send it out for laboratory analysis?” before he shyly drank from it, although he did not finish it.
“I hope you won’t judge me for indulging, but I do like a nice Tanqueray Collins on really special occasions like this. It’s not that I need to drink anything, but it does help me relax and let my hair down when I want to have a good time…of course, I have to admit that although I don’t feel like I want this evening to end…well, it would be nice if it didn’t have to end here…I guess what I’m asking is do you have any plans after you escort your charge back to his dormitory?”
“You don’t beat around the bush much do you?” Stan asked.
“There’s no bush to beat around here honey…but if I have my way, you’ll find that out soon enough for yourself…” she quipped.
With that, Stan blushed furiously as she giggled.
“I’m sorry…I can get a bit forward sometimes…I don’t mean to sound crude or cheap…I just like to avoid the verbal counterpoint that usually gets too predictable…just to keep things interesting…I hope I’m not being too forward….”
There is a thin line between being too aggressive when men like Stan. Fortunately, she had a pretty good idea of the demarcation between just plain slutty and too provocative to ignore.
Stan did not yet know that her husband was also a classified non-entity but he did know that as long as he kept his proper decorum while on the job, she was not likely to take no for an answer, and he was not likely to give any negative responses any time soon.
If you have ever watched someone try to bear-bait a member of the Grenadier Guards or Queen’s Guards at Buckingham Palace, you can get an idea of the banter between Anastasia and Stanley. She is at once both coy and demure as well as enticing and provocative while he tries to pretend to remain unaffected….and he likes it.
Suddenly, Frederick showed up with two pieces of cake for Anastasia and Stan. He acts reluctant at first, but she coaxes Stan by trying to feed it to him, and he is no match for her considerable charms, and takes a few bites from her fork.
What neither of them knows is that Frederick has opened two capsules of The Fruit of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil over both their pieces of cake.
Anastasia is no stranger to the sacrament, but Stan has never even smoked marijuana before. Shortly after meeting Charles and Suki, she had willingly tried it, and found the experience to be exhilarating and life-changing and has never passed up an opportunity since.
There is no question that it was inappropriate for Frederick to “dose” the pair the way he did, but he already knew Anastasia enjoyed the experience and would not have said no, and as much as Frederick was fond of Stanley, he felt an obligation to free his mind from the chains that bound him in favor of helping liberate his spirit and his mind.
In the case of LSD, Peyote, Psilocybin, Mescaline, Changa, Yopo, or any other number of psychedelic or hallucinogenic drugs this would have been a clear-cut recipe for disaster. The onset of all of those drugs is disturbing, disorienting and generally dysphoric for at least the first twenty to forty minutes before the actual experience begins.
Sometimes there is vomiting. You may feel slightly sick, anxious and confused or even slightly febrile. Your hands may tremble. The onset of most mind-altering experiences is almost never pleasant, even for the zealots that consume them in anticipation of where it will lead.
Such was not the case with the Fruit of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil. From one minute to the next, there is no real interruption of your consciousness…just insight…the likes of which you have never before even considered.
You may suddenly realize that you can now access every experience, every memory you have ever had. Yet everything about your new consciousness seems very normal. No scary monsters, no Gothic foreshadowing, no paranoia. No overload.
You just suddenly realize the way, the methods, and the techniques to achieve whatever you desire. You understand the difference between covetousness and real desire. The difference between what is important and what is not important. The difference between what is true and what is false.
It doesn’t really occur to you that much of anything has changed at all. You just feel more focused and aligned. You recognize the conflicts in your life for what they are and then just as quickly realize what you must do to resolve them, a little bit at a time, as each segment presents itself to you.
No overwhelming tsunami of realization or epiphany. It’s more like swallowing an entire elephant…only one mouthful at a time.
You may be suddenly surprised by the ease with which you anticipate long or complex series’ of events, step by step, or your ability to accelerate your own processes temporarily so as to achieve the effect of slowing down all the actions around you.
No dizziness, no blurred vision or speech, no limbic system depression or anything else to cause you to hesitate to drive a vehicle or vessel, operate machinery. For some, it takes hours or even days to recognize the effects that The Knowledge has on them.
Although The Fruit of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil was an analogue isomer that was a naturally occurring bi-product of one of PharmaCorp’s most recent explorations into a “fourth-generation of anti-depressants, The Knowledge bore almost no resemblance to MAO’s, Tricyclic, or even SSRI’s and SNRI’s.
MDMA (3,4-methylenedioxy-N-methyl amphetamine) is an empathogenic drug that was made categorically illegal in 1985, when the DEA placed it in the Schedule I category, meaning it is considered to have no accepted legitimate legal medical uses. It is commonly known as Ecstasy, X, XTC, or Molly (the form least likely to contain adulterants).
Prior to its demonization, clinical research indicated great promise in the treatment of mild psychiatric disorders and even severe presentations of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder. Other studies involving learning and perception were similarly encouraging.
Although many people were led to believe it to be dangerous because of its classification within the amphetamine and phenethylamine classes of drugs, it has become self-evident that no major world power would desire its population to be comprised of educated, sophisticated, fully rational, well-adjusted, self-actualized high-functioning adults.
Uninformed, fearful neurotics make the best consumers as they are much more easily led, lied to, and generally bamboozled by commerce, employers and politicians alike.
The first thing Merle did when he began his research for PharmaCorp was to re-arrange the MDMA molecule just subtly enough to shed the amphetamine and phenethylamine classifications.
Had Merle been some street-level chemist trying to dodge the DEA’s bullets, it might have gotten labeled as a designer drug, or copycat, but because of the veil of scientific research (as well as PharmaCorp’s ubiquitous political and economic clout) it managed to fly below the radar of government scrutiny.
Merle had a preternatural ability to visualize molecular structure as well as its anticipated effects. Once Merle discovered the even more dramatic and wide-ranging effects of the bi-product, he additionally “tweaked” The Knowledge to produce over five kilograms of pure product that required less than fifty micrograms to produce desired effects in humans and half that to achieve the level of sentience that Frederick had achieved through repeated doses and treatments.
Initial testing of selected primates that Frederick believed to be trustworthy, intelligent and deserving by virtue of their temperament were very promising, although he clearly was head and shoulders above all the rest, which was speculated to be a result of his genetics by virtue of his hybridization.
Although LSD is notorious for causing drastic visual distortions and outright hallucinations, Psilocybin for instance is much more subtle. You may notice a glow or sheen on certain objects that you never before noticed, or there may be a noticeable fluidity of background versus foreground images which may meld to produce two entirely different visual fields, much like several of Salvatore Dali’s paintings, such as the Bowl of Fruit and Saddleback Hound on the Beach for instance.
Sometimes objects may seem to step out of their backgrounds entirely. Candle flame meditation may also produce similar results, whereas sensory deprivation experiments more closely resemble LSD.
The Knowledge works very subtly and although the degree of visual effects is largely a product of the imagination of the subject, the simultaneity of experiences by several subjects, especially those in separate locations raises the supposition of hallucinations first to possible mass hysteria, and finally plausible alternative realities once enough randomized testing is done to give it the appearance of scientific method.
Kali and Suki, (both witches) needed less convincing in terms of scientific method than Darcy, who had come from an almost entirely clinical background ever since she left her tidewater birthplace. Ash’s agnosticism tended to incline him to more skeptical postulation. Merle and Charles confidently straddled both issues, since they had a family history of mysticism despite their extensive scientific pursuits.
Because Stanley was a realist, an agnostic and a quintessentially pragmatic man, he had learned to keep his whimsical and speculative longing for something more buried deep from view.
His colleagues for instance, knew nothing of his love of Mozart, Debussy, Charles Mingus, or Stanley Jordan, or that he grew up viewing prints by M.C. Escher, Aubrey Beardsley, Salvatore Dali and other graphic artists that his mother admired. His father was an omnivorous reader of everything from Robert Heinlein to Aldous Huxley, J.R.R.Tolkien, and William S. Burroughs, from Carlos Castaneda, to Hunter S. Thompson and Tom Robbins…and more.
Thankfully, although his parents had wallowed in the kind of liberal arts education that has become so déclassé of late; they had avoided visible social protest or involvement in the kind of radical political groups that would have made him a pariah to any three-letter agency requiring a top security clearance.
The seeds of imagination, speculation, whimsy and humor were planted long ago and so very deeply as to be occult to even scrupulous examination. Most people do not realize that any candidate who gets labeled as “excessively acculturated” is likely to be rejected, since free-thinkers often do not respond simplistically or reflexively to orders in the sort of knee-jerk fashion that law-enforcement and military agencies demand. Even the most complex circumstances require blind obedience and clear-cut actions devoid of ambivalence or interpretation.
Most people on the other hand, wouldn’t know higher consciousness if it jumped naked out on an airplane at ten thousand feet wearing a parachute and landed on their faces…well, on second thought, maybe then…because if we can’t feel it in our fingers, face or toes…it may well go unnoticed by even the best of us…(people much better than me I should hope) no matter if you need “something more….” or not, most of us question how the need for it seems to be a question of…well, let’s say “What’s in it for me?” Right?
And the truth is, that as long as we seek to define answers in such terms, the answer would not matter, because you would be highly unlikely to understand the meaning…no offense to anybody in particular. We all have the right to limit and rationalize ourselves in our own terms…of course.
And we all do it as a matter of course; without thought…Exactly.
At least until you come face to face with The Fruit of the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil…because for some reason, eventually even the most rational discourse comes to embrace The Eternally Questioning Mind…voraciously…with no compassion for sentimentality nor sanction for the untenable.
The bleached bones of the ultimate truth…dispassionately neutral to any paradigm, parallel universe or other intellectual concept within the means of anyone with the understanding that the “N+1” is always an option.
And yet as much as your mind leads you to believe you are in a place where there are no philosophical “Axes to be Ground” nonetheless, you hear them squealing in metallurgic orgasms while an old familiar voice reminds you that “Every Day is Judgment Day and Nothing is guaranteed”.
Now if at that precise moment a butterfly, a Buddha, or an aboriginal Eve, for instance were to appear to you in a way that completely distracts you sufficiently to remind you of something so obvious that you can’t explain why you never thought of it before, and that timeless moment washes over you like a wave leaving you feeling forever changed…even if you are counting money, it will come to you on tiptoes, like lovers and assassins alike…then you will know…Something…for Awhile until The Next Time….
Imagine feeling like that and thinking like that without being able to Feel the cause of it…just coming to it all quite naturally, and thankfully so far having come to this place you’ve never been before within your conscious mind all the while knowing that these are parts of serial dreams we have been going through since we were children that we only recognized just now.
The Feeling of Connection. The Great Peace? Someplace where there is not always more? “Nirvana?” Not necessarily, but whatever it is, you will recognize it when you see it…none of it is everything….and none of it is everything….
Now while all this was going on in Stan’s Mind, he suddenly became preoccupied with how clearly he believed he could smell Anastasia’s snatch…he was convinced of it, and it appealed to him tremendously because it smelled so good to him, and he only wondered for a minute why it was that he had never noticed how sensitive his nostrils were.
And he could smell everyone else as well, but he was most attracted to Anastasia’s pheromones…like a heat-seeking missile to the tailpipe of a red-hot jet engine.
And because Stanley Linderman didn’t feel either drunk or drugged he did not recognize this enhanced version of…Exactly…Everything…Sentience as yet unknown or felt. An inescapable collision with beatific consequences that offered no prohibitions so far….
Which was about the time he visualized where and how the three of them (including Frederick) were going to facilitate each of their parts to this screenplay that was forming in his head going from the time they dropped Frederick off until they consummated this opportunity to get to know each other better.
It wasn’t until he started to believe he knew what Anastasia was thinking that he paused for just a moment to savor how blissful this line of thinking was getting to be for him…right up to about the point where he was very VERY VERY certain that what he believed she was contemplating was not anything about which he was likely to ever fantasize…at least not until just now.
And when the only physical sensation you can identify is this wonderfully light uplifting, joyous feeling in your chest you don’t suspect any drugs that you might be inclined to fear if all of this didn’t seem to be the most natural thing in the world during the very best day of your life…so far.
As he admired her face as she spoke to him in a voice that angels would envy, he saw her as all women, according to her nature which seemed to change like a glowing ember in a fire. She was alternately impish young girl, femme fatale, mother of Mata Hari, wizened crone and wicked co-conspirator and others….
She knew very well what this was, so it was just going to have to be up to Stanley Linderman to figure out as much as he could, given that she would be subject to broadcasting her thoughts before very long, no matter how much she tried to hide it…unless…who knows?
It was about that time that he found himself visualizing Anastasia as a very large female feline.

THFWS&TTM’s: The Reception

The Reception: THFWS&TTM’s
Anastasia arrived late to the wedding, and was sitting in the last row, behind and slightly to the right of Stanley Linderman, and the only one to notice when he wiped the tear from his eye. He was trying so hard to disguise the evidence of his emotional response he did not even notice Anastasia pretending not to notice at all.
But she did, and it intrigued her more than she intended to let on, at least at first. She could spot an MIB in a crowd in seconds…hell she was married to one, and she knew what they liked…at least the “right” ones.
She had always been a free spirit and had insisted that she be able to pursue her occasional romantic interests as long as they did not interfere with her basic commitment to her marriage. She hated the term polyamory for reasons she never bothered to explain, but it appeared that her biggest issue was with the idea of loving anyone other than your spouse. She preferred to regard her outside sexual adventures as more recreational than amorous.
Her husband knew better than to try to dictate too many rules to a woman like Anastasia, but they had mutually agreed upon a few. One of which was that she was not allowed to “cast her nets” in the same waters in which her husband fished, and preferably no one at DOD at all.
That wasn’t always easy but as sure as “rules are rules”, someone will decide to bend them without breaking them, and Anastasia was famous for being “bent, but not broken” herself.
Because of this, she demanded the utmost discretion from all of her lovers, especially the ones that worked for “three-letter agencies”. Most of them required equal discretion on her part as well, and that helped minimize the “tacky factor” of the actions and communications of indiscrete lovers who did not have at least as much to lose as she did, and governed their actions accordingly.
Her husband’s career required frequent travel, often outside the country. They had been married for over twenty years and a lot of water had passed under the bridge in that time.
Stanley was charged with taking Frederick back to the Habitat, once the reception was over. Usually, Darcy and Mark went with him after the services were over, but they anticipated this might stress Frederick to travel with Stanley alone, so they did it several times prior to the wedding, just to get him acclimated to the experience.
Frederick seemed to like Stanley, and he sensed that Stanley liked him, which he did. They both could be intimidating and they both seemed to admire each other’s power and confidence, but ever since Frederick had started to communicate with Stanley by signing to him when no one else was paying attention, Stan’s fascination with Frederick’s apparent ability to read Stan’s mind had not only gotten Stan’s attention, but his respect as well.
It had become a sort of cat-and-mouse game they played. Frederick would sign to Stan, and Stan would pretend not to understand, and then Frederick would respond to whatever Stan was thinking as if he had signed back.
Frederick continued with smug amusement as Stan began to purposefully try to test Frederick’s abilities until one day last week when he signed “I know why you can’t sign back…it’s OK…our secret…for now….”
Stanley Linderman was not a man who was given to “hocus-pocus”, “mumbo-jumbo” or even most forms of organized religion. His understanding with Frederick went considerably outside his comfort zone and there was no one with whom he felt he could confide on the subject, but he continued this game with his simian charge because for one thing, it amused and intrigued him and for another, Frederick continued to push the envelope whenever he was given the opportunity.
Sebastian had told Stan to remain at the reception as long as it seemed appropriate so as to be able to continue to gather whatever intel could be gleaned from his association with the members of The Home for Wayward Souls, and Stan was becoming rather fond of the experiences he was having at the Sanctuary, despite the necessity of his feigned disdain for the assignment so as not to become suspect of having gone “native” and having Sebastian remove him from it.
Frederick had developed a great deal of affection for Anastasia ever since she had met Charles and Suki, and tonight he decided to play matchmaker between her and Stan, as he already was aware of her attraction for him.
After the perfunctory toasts and assorted rigmarole associated with almost all wedding receptions, the real festivities got into high gear. Frederick never missed an opportunity to dance, so after dancing with all the brides (Darcy, Kali, and Suki) he enthusiastically insisted that Anastasia join him on the floor when the DJ played the New York Dolls’ recording of “The Monkey Dance” at Darcy’s suggestion. She had introduced it to Frederick some time ago, and it was probably his single favorite tune.
Anastasia had a wickedly playful sense of humor and she and Frederick put on such a show that soon the entire crowd had surrounded the two of them as the cavorted to the song.
When they finished, everyone applauded the couple as Frederick bowed and then pulled Anastasia by the hand over to Stan whereupon he placed her hand in Stan’s, signing “Dance…you two should get to know each other.”
Although he blushed slightly, as usual, Stan shrugged his broad shoulders in feigned ignorance of Frederick’s meaning until Mark volunteered “He wants you two to dance.” and Darcy chimed in “He also wants you to be friends.”
Stan noticed the subtle difference between the translation and what had been signed and pretended not to notice the difference, although Darcy had already suspected that Stan knew more than he let on.
“Anastasia, meet Stan, Frederick’s bodyguard…Stan, meet Anastasia, one of the most interesting women you may ever meet.” Darcy winked at Anastasia as she gave her introduction.
“You can say that again…” Charles and Suki chimed in almost spontaneously, and Suki giggled like a schoolgirl as they did.
The DJ played “The Lady Lies” by Genesis. Both Stan and Anastasia seemed slightly unprepared for a slower dance, let alone a waltz, given all the upbeat craziness of the Monkey Dance that had preceded it, but she was not at all shy and was glad to get the opportunity to get up close and personal with him, and he was relieved that he didn’t have to compete with the show Frederick and Anastasia had just put on. They were a hard act to follow, and Stan wasn’t really that much of a dancer and he would not have had the courage to approach her on his own.
That was one of the things she liked about him. Much like her husband, Stan had already proven himself to be courageous under fire and had distinguished himself many times in his abilities to handle even the most menacing forms of confrontation in his (classified) professional career (whatever that was), but he was a little bit old-fashioned and shy with women.
Most women found that quality to be charming; no lack of personal confidence in general and yet none of the arrogance and swagger that most women find repulsive…Stan was actually quite the ladies’ man once things got started (usually by them), but his career and the secrecy that accompanied it usually doomed his romances fairly early on in the relationship.
That made him a perfect fit for Anastasia.
“I’ve got a feeling it’s gonna be a tight fit,” she thought as she pulled herself a little closer to Stan as they danced. It had been her finding that many large, muscular men came up a bit short below the waist, and although she claimed to not be a “size-queen” her husband had occasionally joked about getting her a tattoo of a ruler on the inside of her left forearm, just because she seemed to be a magnet for well-endowed men.
Stan was well over six feet tall and Anastasia was about four-foot-fourteen, so when they danced together his belt line was almost up to her nipple line, and she could feel the growing prominence of his package as she coyly, but provocatively rubbed her body against his in a discreetly but very effective manner.
She sensed that a disturbance in her paradigm about sexual escapades was about to begin; that there was a foreboding of danger and excitement not usually found in her previous experiences that fascinated her, that made her heart race, her head spin, and nearly took her breath away, like driving past an accident possessed by the uncontrollable desire to look no matter how much you fear that what you may see could be something you may never be able to forget.
“Wherever this leads, I’m not sure, but it sure as hell is going to be very interesting,” she mused. “…and I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

For Occasional Use Only as Directed…

An angel crash-landed

at Villa Dreamland’s

temporary encampment,

The Home for Wayward Souls.

Loosely clad in

terry shorts

and a satin

team jacket

with only a few of the bottom buttons

fastened,

allowing

the free-range puppies

to

wrestle and cavort

beneath its logo.

***

As I wrestled with the gatekeeper

to my realm of Velocity and Power,

she appeared

out of nowhere.

She noted we shared the same brand

and marks;

the co-conspiring

symbols

of

Speed and Mystery.

I was surprised

when I realized

it wasn’t a Raiders jacket

after all;

(as it turned out

she was a stretcher-bunny

long ago and had developed a taste

for icons and talismans that

captured my attentions….)

“What a coincidence…”

I foolishly assumed.

Part naughty tomboy,

part wood-nymph,

her long chestnut hair

was everywhere,

like a lions mane.

Her feline eyes

sparkled slightly with mischief

while she made suggestions

as to how to regain control

of my access

to time and space.

We conferred

on a few points,

concurred,

and then she

set upon the project

as if it was her own

(with my blessing

and assistance).

Clad only in a bathrobe,

my attempts to access

points below the dashboard

did not go unnoticed,

as she smiled slightly, then

sighed approvingly.

Ignition and liftoff

confirmed our success

as she began to close the case,

and I felt myself falling

yet again,

with no sign of impact

anytime soon.

***

This trailer park angel

is a newfound

neighbor,

but she quickly advised

she could not be taken for granted

and had a life of her own,

her precautionary statements

contrasting her jovial demeanor

She warned

“Take only as directed.”

“Use with caution.”

“For Occasional Use Only.”

“May be habit-forming.”

“May lead to respiratory arrest.”

(She already took my breath away once…)

***

“See ya in the post office, kiddo…”

she whispered in my ear.

(What?) I wondered?

“…the rogue’s gallery…

on the wall,

with the other gangsters….”

She winked playfully

and then I knew….

“You owe me one…”

she said.

“If you got the time later,

maybe you can

help me with a tune-up

I’d like to get done

before my kid gets home from school.”

“…Maybe tonight

you can even

introduce me to your wife…

tell her my name is Mata Hari

and we’ll call her Tokyo Rose…”

***

This woman of mystery,

this trailer-park tomboy angel

with slightly singed wings,

a lover of pearl necklaces,

with a need for speed

reminds me…

“In the Springtime

the rains come

and the grass

grows all by itself…”

Life returns.

Baraka Bashad.

When I Read Your Words I Feel So Naked

When I Read Your Words I Feel So Naked

Breathlessly,

In my mind

I imagine you are there beside me

Naked too,

and on my right

sitting behind me

whispering each word

into my ear as I read you

silently.

I hear each sibilance

as it passes your teeth

each plosive syllable

 as it pops from between

your moistened lips,

every affricative

formed between tooth and lip,

the F’s escaping

like some intoxicating vapor,

the V’s buzzing

and waving their stingers.

I feel you breathing in my ear.

I feel your hair

against my neck and shoulders

as your nipples brush

against my arms and back.

You turn a phrase as if each word

is your own tongue

licking and flicking

inside my ear.

A tongue so long it slithers and slides

all the way

inside my brain,

and coils up like a snake,

(if only snakes could wink

and smile)…

A soft metaphor

lays a gentle hand

upon my thigh

as similes

slowly drag

their nails upwards

while you tickle

my fancy

with innuendos

that hint at promises

unspoken

almost too good

to be true

anywhere but here.

This thing we do with words…

And yet I do not even know

the color of your hair,

be it blonde

or brown,

chestnut,

red,

or even black

as raven’s wing.

I try to picture you in my mind.

Full of figure,

slender,

tall

or short,

dark

or pale

or

something in between…

It matters not,

I realize,

just now

because it

is not

the way you look

that seduces me

so boldly

and provocatively

with subtlety

and grace

as you coyly undress my mind

with words

that conjure

feelings,

passion,

and desire

as yet untasted,

so rigid

and yet so flexible

and willing to be led,

or rather

pulled

the way the moon

will raise the tides

time after time.

Forever.

Now.

You draw me

to a bed

of words

both soft and firm

and lay me down

to wallow in your

imagery,

impaled upon

my imagination…

This thing we do with words…

I wonder how your voice will sound

if ever you should speak to me.

Will it be soft?

or

with an edge

as keen

as the arrows

of a huntress

who shoots straight through the heart,

but only takes what she consumes?

Perhaps a husky whiskey voice

deep,

yet darkly feminine,

or maybe

high and clear

like a fairy’s song

as wood nymph

or siren

might use to call

and conjure

spells

like those that you have cast

on me.

These things we do with words,

my friend

and lover

of confidences

together,

implied

as well as

inferred.

A union of souls and spirits

incapable of jealousies

or possessiveness,

giving freely and taking gratefully

in this world we’ve made

of our own

where writer and reader

alike

slake our cravings, lusts

and passions…

to be heard and understood.

To lead each other

to a place beyond mere words alone,

where there is only knowing.

This thing we do with words….

Like a reciprocated Kiss,

…the only kind of Snowball

that has a chance in Hell,

we pass our words

and images

and idea(l)s

back and forth

between us now,

The Union of the Woman and the Man.

The Union of the Writer and the Reader.

The Union of Truth and Wisdom.

The Union of the Word and the Idea.

The Union of the Idea and the Understanding.

The Union of the Understanding and the Enlightenment.

The Union of Giving and Receiving

freely without conditions or reservation.

What is Love?

You already know…

This is Love.

Pass it on

wherever you go.

The more you give

The more you will have.

Wear it like Sunshine

on your face

so I will know you

instantly

if we should ever meet,

even

if it takes a thousand lifetimes.

This Thing We Do with Words

…(This post was inspired by several of my favorite bloggers…I trust you to know whom you are…fellow bloggers who share this love affair with words, thoughts, meanings, and ideas. Chances are if you even think I am referring to you, I probably am, because you have inspired me in one way or another and I want to thank you all for it.)  😉

This thing we do with words.

We build bridges

from island to island

one word, one stone at a time.

We build monuments and temples

to Love and Lust,

Adventure and Power.

We can spin webs of intrigue

like giant subterranean spiders

with words artfully applied

 and patterns beautiful to see

as Love seduces Logic

and Romance beguiles all Reason.

And tell tall tales

of days of old

of arts arcane and esoteric,

from ransom notes to love letters

charters, pacts and treaties.

A poem, a love letter and a plea for rescue,

a note wrapped up in a bottle,

flung into a sea of humanity,

awaiting reply

from my private island of exile

to you.

We can wax eloquently and long,

or we can get write down

and dirty.

Isn’t it such a beautiful thing

that we can do?

…this thing we do with words?

…free to be whatever we wish to be,

or be whatever you wish we were.

(I can be very flexible that way, you know)

Anonymous sex with words

spewed from invisible mouths

by mysterious lips and tongues

in a bathhouse of like-minded

wordsmiths.

When you touch me

I create you

in the most flatteringly imaginative ways

in my own image

and never worry about overstepping either’s bounds

because honey,

If you only knew what things I do

To and With each other with words,

and in our minds,

in real life,

it might be hard

to ever stopping slapping my face.

But in This Life,

trusting in the fact that whatever it is

I will cheer you on,

and vise-versa

Mon Cheri.

You have Carte Blanche

Chez mois….

(And trust me, I doubt that it violates any rules I know…)

but then again,

that pretty much leaves you free

to be with me as you please,

Madame Weasel…

meet Mister Weasel.

In my mind, your bottom is perfect

in your mind, every part is just right.

And everything is exactly the

the way we like it,

In My Perfect World.

While we do this thing we do with each other

with words.

We can touch each other so intimately

in such private places

deep within our psyches

with visions of forbidden acts

too emotionally dangerous

to allow,

except within our deepest

recesses

kept locked away in a dirty basement

beneath a haunted house

inside (y)our soul(s).

It’s Better Than Sex

only because it really isn’t,

but imagining what it Is in each other’s minds

each according to our own inferences

means that at least fifty percent

of what we get

is what we bring to this picnic.

Because there’s always more

inside this thing we do with words.

Mass media meets social networking

begetting Art

in a mad orgy of

words and thoughts

both sacred and profane.

Noble and Lofty

meats

Down and Dirty.

Spiritual and Ethereal

do a minuet

with

Finite and Practical,

making Voyeurs into Voyagers

and Fellow Travelers

of us all.

This thing we do with words,

My F(r))iend

allows us to span continents, universes

and alternate realities

in an instant that is less than an instant

that arrives before it leaves

and never stops coming

(or cumming).

This thing we do with words

spoken with love

will one day

teach us to love our enemies

once we realize

We all are one.

So even if you say

“FUCK YOU!”

I can either take it as a compliment,

an enticement,

or just smile like I do when I watch a

monkey jacking off at the zoo.

We all are One.

So thanks for the handjob.

We can praise or we can criticize,

condone, condom or condemn.

We can teach, touch, (p)reach and multiply

and be bountiful

and all it costs

is the price of baring your soul

and opening your eyes and your mind

and inviting me in,

be I vampire

or Pilgrim

fallen angel,

 or

grateful worshipper,

or referee

for that fight you’ve been having

with yourself in your mind.

I am here for you

my friend

my brother

my sister

my mother

my father

my mentor

my co-conspirator,

fellow prankster

and lover.

I love this thing we do with words…

If I had to do it all over again

I’d do it all over you.

English: Life, the Universe, and Everything Texture… or in other words, 42 (Photo credit: Wikipedia)