Once in a Blue Agave Moon: CH 32

Jed was next to offer a few suggestions regarding comfort for the duration of the experience.

“Being not at all concerned for any sort of modesty, you may still find that for the sake of your physical comfort you may want to try these robes…or not.”

“The point is that in case you’re inclined to want to sit on something, but would prefer a layer of cloth, or similar materials between your junk and with whatever you’re about to come in contact.” 

“Also protection from sun, rain wind, or even drafts helps keep you focused on the business at hand without diverting your attention about what to do.”

Next, Rebel offered her take on the robes.

“It’s got a hood if you need it, and it can be worn tied at the neck and draped over your shoulders like a cape, but the sleeves are short enough to stay out of your way and not get dragged through whatever you try to touch.”

”The first time I tried The Knowledge, I got way too distracted with details that could have been avoided if we had planned better, and this doesn’t have to get in the way…of anything, if you catch my drift…” she winked and showed just the slightest hint of a smile, bordering on a smirk as she slowly pirouetted just fast enough to flash everybody.

(Funny thing…once you are naked, there is no striptease, no innuendo, or lasciviousness that can match what even a little clothing can provide.)

Leigh-Anne added “I was the one charged with assessing our need for other preparations that might need to be anticipated, related to the living space and environment for today, and honestly I can’t imagine any scenario that you’re not already prepared for…true to form, the Leopard isn’t likely to change his spots, so kudos to Elliott for being the perfect host, because I would say we can all relax and just enjoy the journey.”

Then she added “Given the early hour of the day, I would suggest that we go outside for the onset of effects; I believe that I noticed a small garden within your compound, right? The softer, subtler hues are more noticeable in indirect light, and some images may be almost too intense in total darkness for your first experience.” 

Leigh-Ann’s demeanor was a mixture of clinician and compassionate friend. Back in the day, she and Elliott were the ones everybody went to for help, or to ‘fix things’ if something started to go sideways, or they needed advice.

“Oh yeah…you may want to sit down for this one, ‘Doc’….”

Aimée took a big breath and turned her head ever so slightly before looking Elliott very directly in the eyes. The others were involved in some other discussion, and Chianna and Jed were pretty much oblivious of everyone else.

“You, Jed, Leigh-Annn and I are the only ones that would attach any meaning to any of this, but, well, one of the spirit guides that you will probably meet calls herself ‘Betty’ and often lapses into ‘Boop-Oopa-Doop!’ during her utterances, but although she frequently appears in the form of a giant Amazon Macaw, she has also upon occasion morphed into that old thirties-era cartoon character Betty Boop….”

“Now I’d bet just about the whole farm that we’ve both already got somebody in particular in mind, considering the fact that she always featured Betty Boop as her alter ego…”

“Especially on stage…” Elliott suddenly realized that the air in his lungs was most conspicuous in its absence, as he slowly began to sit up very straight.

“Well, the last time that we went to down to The Home for Wayward Souls, and took The Knowledge, ‘Betty’ came up to Leigh-Ann and me and introduced herself as ‘April Tremski’….”

With that, the phrase ‘Singularity of Time and Space’ shot through Elliott’s brain like an arrow, although he would have been hard-pressed to explain its relevance as a very large tear ran down his face.

Then he gasped.

Neither he nor April ever realized anything remotely approaching the success musically that they had shared as they did after they went their separate ways.

April on keyboards or strings, or directing the singers, and Elliott on guitar, bass, percussion, an editing table, or a mixing console, they had long ago lost track of how many bands they had performed in together.

There was no One without The Two.

She had been the wife of one of Elliott’s best friends when they both taught at Miami-Dade Community College. They started experimenting with a few relatively new musical genres at several parties that her husband Michael had thrown.

This was shortly before Michael and April separated, then divorced.

Shortly after that, Elliott and April began experimenting at just about everything that came their way, be it Human Sexuality, Music, and Visual Arts; back before they called it Polyamory, they all could have been the model for a TV show called “Friends…with Benefits.”

(This put a severe strain on Elliott’s friendship with Michael, however.) 

Then Elliott met Aimée.

They fell deeply in love and he left wife number two, and Amy’s husband left their apartment right before Elliott moved in with Aimée.

Then he, Aimée and his other best friend, Joe (who was also on the faculty at MDCC), found a house large enough to also accommodate a small recording studio.

Shortly after moving in together, their arguments and fights became surpassed only by their lovemaking for passion, and intensity, bordering (usually) on violence (only occasionally, and essentially accidentally), until it became Madness.

After about six months Aimée moved out of Elliott and Joe’s place and into ‘Linoleum Flats’ as she called it. (“…A little Piece of the Ghetto, right here in Miami Shores…”).

Yet curiously, their love affair blossomed and flourished again for another four years after she moved out, but eventually, she left for the Pacific Northwest, only to return once more before disappearing again.

She wrote to him twice, but he never replied, despite missing her terribly and intending to write her back.

(And he just might have, if he hadn’t lost the address during one of his ill-fated, unplanned, unprepared moves that he kept having to make.)

Meanwhile, April practically lived with Elliott at the studio when they were working together, which was virtually all the time. They rehearsed two different bands they had formed on alternate nights if the studio wasn’t already booked.

Eventually, Elliott moved the recording studio that he had built into his home up to West Hollywood, and decided to live in a twelve by fourteen storage room in the back of a shotgun duplex in a run-down strip mall between a massage parlor and a topless bar.

Music and Multi-Media took priority over every other aspect of Elliott’s life, so as long as April made sure that there was always another project, another soundtrack, another commercial jingle, another concert, she would always be there with him…(and the sex was fantastic).

Then Elliott met future ex-wife number three.

In less than two years, Elliott was forced to go out of business.

A year after that, number three was dead from a drug-related accident.

In less than five years, April was dead from cancer.

Aimée reached out to touch Elliott’s face. On a certain level, they all had been rivals, even though they all loved and respected each other. Nothing in their lives after that was ever the same, because they no longer shared each other’s common interests in the same way, with the same singularity of purpose.

And yet, here they were, once again banded together with a very singular purpose and motive.

The idea of an opportunity to even witness April’s spirit…to commune with her, maybe even make amends…was that even possible?

“The quickest way to get sucked right back into the mess you just left or another one just like it is to leave behind any serious unresolved karma…” (Aimée knew what it was like to try to hold Elliott’s fickle attentions.)

“Remember the first time that you told me that, Boss? And now we begin again…”

Elliott could only shake his head affirmatively; (he had promised himself that he would try not to weep openly today.)

“We all left a couple lifetimes of unfinished business back then, and most people don’t get the chance for a retake to edit our karma, but this was meant to be…just like last time…think about it…the world almost ended, but now we have a second chance to become major players in the new order of things.”

“This may the chance for all of us to set things right…to take the other road this time, and see where it leads us…with full knowledge and hindsight…maybe this time nobody has to get hurt….” Aimée bit her bottom lip.

There are several times in our lives where we are privileged to experience a group mentality that crosses over our relationships with others, whether they be family, friends, or lovers.

At times it even displaces the others, at least for some significant period of time.

In the military, it can be your ‘battle buddies’; or in high school, it can be your team, your club, or a committee.

An athlete may experience the same kind of bond with their teammates.

A band is the ultimate surrogate family, which is inevitable, but unfortunate, because most musicians come from damaged families, and continue to have disastrous romantic relationships, because so many of them are romance whores.

There is a common mind devoted to a common purpose that unites them, often shaping their decisions and opinions.

You know you are in the midst of it when you realize that together you are involved in something much greater than the mere sum of the individual parts. Everything that you do has an effect on the other members of the group, the band, the family, the team, or the gang, and the choices you make inevitably take them into account…or at least until it doesn’t anymore.

It won’t be until years later, if ever, that you really come to terms with what you lost when you walked away.

That may have been what had left all of them strangely confused afterward, because it would be doubtful that any one of them could have told anyone else what their common purpose was.

Oddly enough, although it would be hard to figure out what had drawn them together in the first place (other than past-life karma), but now, years later, their present-life karma had brought them back together again.

They definitely knew what it was like to be a team, and already even before Elliott came back into the picture, they had become “battle buddies” with a formidable reputation.

Would they be able to function again as a family?

“I move we adjourn this meeting to go out into the garden…I don’t know about y’all…but I’m already starting to see some shit I’d be more comfortable dealing with together.” Rebel was as direct as she was charming when she wanted to be.

“I second the motion” was all Leigh-Ann had to offer as she rose to go to the door.

“Things just keep getting curiouser and curiouser….” Aimée shook her head slightly as she spoke, and then wildly afterward, throwing her shoulder-length hair first clockwise, then counter-clockwise, fanning out around her shoulders. She knew he would recognize the quote from Lewis Carroll.

Indeed. 

Namaste

नमस्ते

Chazz Vincent

copyright  ©  March 12th, 2021  

Fish swim with the tides, in and out of the lagoon as it empties itself, receives from, and flows back into the sea.

*ALL REFERENCES TO ANY PERSONS CONFIRMED STILL LIVING IS PURELY CO-INCIDENTAL…AND THE DEAD ARE TOO BUSY LAUGHING AT US TO CARE.

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Once in a Blue Agave Moon: A Convergence of Many Things, Part V, Chapter Twenty-Two

Elliott next produced a large growler of remarkably clear, dark green liquid. He held it aloft for dramatic effect with the flourish of a circus ringmaster.

“Ladies and gentleman…I bring you the famed Dragon Drops. While Absinth may be known as ‘The Green Fairy’ it would be better to regard my Dragon Drops as ‘The Green Monster’.

He revolved slowly as he spoke to make eye contact with everyone in the dining room, just a pleased as a proud father of a newborn child as he continued.

“I began the mash with cattail root and sugar beets to make the mash which was so sweet that it required very little sugar, and brewed it in a two-stage fermentation process using first a champagne yeast, which is highly alcohol resistant, followed by a very bright ale yeast that I fortified with Vegemite, and Barr’s Liquid Amino acids to additionally nourish the yeast cells. Back when you could buy it commercially, they called it ‘Turbo Yeast’. All the brew-related yeasts are very difficult to obtain so I now keep batches of both growing continually, much like a sourdough culture.”

As he continued, he lowered the bottle until it was cradled in his left arm, as one might hold an infant.

“The final pitched wort was almost twenty percent alcohol by weight…not twenty proof, which is only ten percent…but twenty percent equals forty proof; as strong as a fortified wine, ‘like Mad Dog 20/20’.”

Elliott clearly loved an audience, especially this one, and he had their total and undivided attention.

“By using a thumper during the distillation process, it is for all intents and purposes double distilled and yields approximately one hundred and fifty proof on the first pass, which represents seventy-five percent alcohol by weight. The second pass yields about ninety-five percent alcohol, or one hundred and ninety proof…almost pure alcohol.”

He stopped for just a moment for effect as Jed whistled and Aimée reacted with a “yikes!”.

“Remember Everclear? Just about the same thing, except my version is still alembic, or ‘pot-distilled’, rather than column-distilled, like most commercial vodkas, which strips most of the taste from it” he added.

Rebel, almost dead-pan most of the time, seemed to be enjoying a bit of nostalgia as her normally sloe-eyed expression betrayed a faint smile. Most men never noticed these moments because they were usually too preoccupied with staring at her gigantic tits. This often allowed her to indulge herself to stretch out her few words so slowly that it was like waiting for ketchup to pour.

“My Daddy blew up his still trying to make a batch of ninety proof. I used to beg him not to drink when he was cookin’ but he was one hard-headed som’bitch who thought he already knew more than any woman could ever learn, and saw no reason to heed the words of a thirteen year old girl.”

With that, a dark cloud passed over her face as she said “It cost that dirty bastard his life…as much as I loved him, I can’t say I missed him being drunk all the time and sneaking into my bedroom after Momma fell asleep…the night before he got killed was the last time he ever fucked me….”

Suddenly, the sound of several crickets outside doing their two-legged sonata of the ‘Ode to a Woolen Sweater’ seemed much louder than before.

“Every year on the anniversary of his death, I would go to the grave site and wait ’til no one was around, and piss on his grave…what stage of the grieving process do you think that would that fall under, Doc?”

“Revenge and Reconciliation…that’s one you won’t find in any books, but sometimes it is necessary…and certainly justifiable, if you ask me, my dear Lola.”

The pall that fell over the room was suddenly so dark that it seemed like the temperature in the room had fallen ten degrees. Whether you knew her as Rebel, Rebecca, or Jeanette, any tears shed by her in front of anyone were far more rare than either fossilized chicken teeth or copies of “Self-Defense and Marksmanship for Democrats (and other Dummies).”

As Aimée wiped away the solitary tear, Elliott kissed her on the forehead.

“At the risk of sounding insensitive, I believe you were telling us about the Dragon Drops…?” Leigh-Anne was sometimes more passionate than most, but she had an uncanny knack for keeping almost any situation on track.

Elliott continued. “Well, extracting decarboxylated THC requires at least seventy-five percent ethanol to work best, and once I added the other ingredients to help mask the somewhat grassy taste that the marijuana left, I wanted to be sure that the resulting mixture wasn’t excessively diluted.”

“As it is, the orange tincture tastes much like Cointreau, and is usually about one hundred and ten proof, or fifty-five percent alcohol. The lime tincture is made from soaking crushed Key Limes, which grow all over the property in the same one hundred and ten proof alcohol, plus a fair amount of simple sugar syrup (which we also make here) but the alcohol content of the lime tincture is about ninety proof.”

“In short, Dragon Drops enable us to make a perfect top-shelf Margarita that contains enough Tetrahydrocannabinol to equal the effect of smoking about a half-gram of the finest Kush (which we also grow here).”

“I do not recommend more than four, unless you wish to experience something approximating an acid trip. I have considered diluting the Dragon Drops a little, but I rarely drink more than two of these in an evening. It has been many years since I would drink half a liter of tequila shooters in one sitting….”

“Thank God for that! I remember those days…and not especially fondly.”

Leigh-Anne was the first to volunteer an opinion, which was quickly seconded and re-affirmed by everyone except Chianna.

“It sounds like I should be grateful for that.” she said.

“Let me put it this way…” Aimée winced slightly as she spoke. “Elliott was never what I would call a ‘mean drunk,’ but he could get to be very reckless to the point of being dangerous, and well….”

“A real asshole…not mean, just stupid.” Rebel interjected. “…No disrespect intended, Doc.”

“And none taken, but OK, we get your point. Even sober I still have fairly shitty judgment, and if I wasn’t one of the luckiest people on the planet, I would have been dead years ago.”  Elliott laughingly conceded.

“So who wants Margaritas?” he asked.

Namaste

नमस्ते

Chazz Vincent

copyright  ©  March 13th, 2021  

Fish swim with the tides, in and out of the lagoon as it empties itself, receives from, and flows back into the sea.

Quantum Theory and Infinite Improbability

 

It has been far too long since I visited these pages…maybe you noticed, maybe you didn’t.
I’m no stranger to the Rabbit Hole…in fact, for me it is more like the Tunnel of Love, considering how much I crave to continue so far into unfamiliar territory that I completely lose track of how to return home.
I remember when I first read Lewis Carroll’s stories. As a child, the idea terrified me…to never be able to find one’s way back, but eventually it became a fixation.
I complete the Rabbit Hole…the Rabbit Hole completes me.
The Rabbit Hole is supposed to trap fools like me with nowhere else better to go.
Who knew Rabbit Holes could turn into Worm Holes?
So if you were one of the ones who noticed my extended hiatus from this site, all I can say is that it was secondary to what I call BBD 101 (Basic Buddhist Doctrine: [the survey course]):
⦁ If you are Hungry, eat.
⦁ If you are Thirsty, drink.
⦁ If you are tired, rest.
⦁ Even Cause and Effect are coincidental.
⦁ If you do not think that your own mind can produce The Poison Thought that can completely unravel your present concept of sanity, then you are not exploring it to your fullest potential.
⦁ Do not fear The Madness; that kind of fearful thinking will just make you crazy.
(OK. OK. OK…I added the last three, based on a series of possibly incorrect interpretations of Quantum Theory, and several long-standing preoccupations.)
So if you find yourself thinking that…“I’m not sure we’re Quantum Physics kind of people around here”…or: “As a recovering Lutheran, I’m not sure that this is going to be any kind of help or consolation”, all I can say is that first of all, we all are, even if we don’t know it, and yes, it won’t be….
I am currently formulating a series of internal dialogues focused upon doing things that either negate or sufficiently distract myself from anything I’d rather not be doing, but nevertheless find myself mired for no real good reason save my desire to live indoors and not eat out of dumpsters.
My plan is not retirement, but more of a lateral move that would allow me to freelance in order to provide sufficient funds to be able to live in the manner I would prefer.
To do that, one has to separate what is necessary from what is not; what is preferred to what would ideally be eschewed; to decide what I really want beyond what I need.
My “Cabin in the Woods” is lavishly opulent compared to Thoreau’s overgrown tool shed On Walden Pond, but all things taken on balance, I probably lack either his dedication, strength of character, or principles, although I have always vowed to escape the “lives of quiet desperation” led by most of my associates.
As always, it is the journey, not the destination that matters most; after all, none of us are going to get out of this alive…so if the pursuit of happiness becomes oppressive, obsessive, or overwhelming, then the chances are you are either on the wrong path, using the wrong methods, or pursuing something other than happiness.
And so it goes that upon reading a post regarding taking action within one’s life, after re-blogging it, I set upon a goal of re-establishing a personal relationship with my first and best muse, which is Music.
She has inspired me, buoyed my spirits, provoked me to thought and action, and protected me like armor against the “slings and arrows of outrageous fortune” and given me the courage to carry on.
She can be a cool and gentle confidante, a passionately consuming lover, or a cruel mistress, but no matter how far I go or how long I turn my back on her, she gives me what no one else can.
Just one note can captivate my attention no matter how hard I try to pretend not to be distracted. Two notes can transport me beyond this physical plane. The right series of notes, properly phrased and resolved into an unexpected chord or change of key can do things that no drug has ever accomplished for me.
(And believe me, I’ve tried….)
Moreover, the right song, the right lyrics, the right harmonies with the right instruments, and the right singer at just the right time can be as good as the best sex with a long-lost lover that you just met again once in a life time, especially if I am one of the performing musicians in this orgy of sound.
Of late I have found it comforting to surround myself with a circle of protection within a set of earbuds powered by an old i-phone. I currently have almost three days of continuous music of my choice. No matter whether I am at work, in the grocery store, or driving, she is on my shoulder, and in my ears, brain, and soul.
The rabbit hole was Zen. The worm hole was Quantum Theory. Music painted a picture for my ears that showed me my one true face, then took me by the hand to lead me back to my original home.
Zen posed questions with no answers. Quantum Theory teaches us that to even observe the outcome of any possible number of possible phenomena may alter their results; that in a multiverse, all manner of possible outcomes may be occurring at the same time in parallel dimensions.
Somehow, both the paradigms of Zen and Quantum Theory fold back upon each other reinforcing both sentient and logical belief systems while Music alone nurtures my emotional needs in ways that even enhance my ability to love and be loved.
Eventually, anything can happen….
Atoms are as empty and void as deep space, and Dark Matter balances an equation that was nonetheless by necessity unbalanced during the first nanoseconds of the Big Bang; otherwise the whole event would have been an infinitesimally short hiccup of existence cancelled by itself.
No one even knows if in fact just that sort of hiccup may have happened many, many times until the necessary imbalance occurred between matter and dark matter that allowed our universe to unfold and expand.
And it would also seem, that indeed we are each at the center of the universe, no matter where we are or where we go.
Our entire existence was an outcome of infinite improbability, but we had all the time that did not exist before that moment for it to occur, so it was inevitable….
Eventually, in about four trillion years (our time), we will again cease to exist, but there will be no sorrow over it, with no one left to mourn our passing.

“No Matter…No Matter.”
Even absolute nothingness is a very unstable state however, so eventually, something will inevitably come out of it.
(Quantum Theory tells me so.)
“First there is a mountain, then there is no mountain, then there is…”
Oh, and BTW: I am currently balls-deep in research for a new novel entitled: “Once Upon a Blue Agave Moon.” As usual, you will see it here first, chapter by chapter as the narrative unfolds.
(And still for free, just like “Dancing in Dreamland”, or “The Home for Wayward Souls and The Talking Monkeys”, due to my inertia regarding electronic publishing.)
It is a story of what I call “Self Determinism”. It will undoubtedly have some sexy parts, but who knows?
In the spirit of “Enhanced and Fortified Non-Fiction” there will be some resemblances to events or activities that may or may not have in fact been either witnessed or participated in or by the author, in the spirit of authentic participatory journalism, but balanced by local, state, and federal statutes, jurisprudence, jurisdictions, and a deep and abiding desire to avoid incarceration while still providing vicarious involvement devoid of risk to the readers as “Entertainment as well as intellectual and philosophical education for and by consenting adults…” (or some such crap).
(Great…Just when most of the statutes of limitations regarding many of the events and activities described in “Dancing in Dreamland” were about to run out….)
I’ve been a bit obsessed most of my life with pushing the envelope regarding Art, Music, Philosophy, Spirituality, Sexuality and Human Behavioral Norms, as well as Civil Rights and Liberties; somewhere between an Anarchist and a Libertarian, I dance on The Razor’s Edge, Between Nothingness and Eternity.
This next novel will be no exception.
Namasté
नमस्ते
Chazz Vincent
PS: I am deeply indebted to Dr. Lawrence Krauss, Douglas Adams, Lewis Carroll and Henry David Thoreau for the wisdom and inspiration they have provided me. I highly recommend reading all of them.

Namasté
नमस्ते
Chazz Vincent

01/31/2016