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It looked like a gray fall day today. When I awoke, my father was making coffee and preparing for our Labor Day plans. Upon leaving, we checked to see if the skunk I had run over the night before was on the road. He was not. I drove into the small town long before anyone had assembled the vehicles and personnel for the parade. As we watched the parade go by, I tried to keep my interest by watching the people. Afterward, we had went to the fairgrounds, ate and drank, and finally said our goodbyes. Labor Day was over.
Sinister ladies peering over vinyl steering wheels, drinking coffee and smoking long thin cigarettes. None are too imaginative in the morning, just braindead drivers looking to get off easy. Ready or not, here comes the day, baby. Cross your legs and go into your little routine of making the boys look you up and down, wiggle the ass if necessary. And after a long day of that tripe, prepare to leave and resume your princess-like existence which will include getting more attention than you deserve. So, go and pursue that dream of a big wallet and an even bigger cock.
When that guy with the funny smile and always joking about mad music he had heard, non-pretentious at all, just a soft sweet smile mopping his face and dancing around him was the delightful glee of happiness, no coffee for me THANKS! He would say and jab the poor rotten scoundrel into submitting his woes and turn them around to mean good mad fun And he sees that cute woman/girl she had a faint look about her, with her light pink sweater and gentle cream slacks looking so distant from where I stood, he just connected by chance and glance
I went into a gay bar today to disconnect the power. I told the owner what I was going to do so he sent the she-male to pay the bill. A hedgehog dyke went with him/her. The she-male returned with receipt in his hand and it was then I noticed this was a man with woman's make-up, fingernails painted, hair tied up like a woman but the muscles and the walk were man. The bar was painted purple, with little gay shrines about and posters with black & white photos of a naked man. I'd never seen a gay bar before.
I bought the plane tickets yesterday for my trip next month with my special Kerouac friend. She and I are going to check out this Kerouac Days in Lowell, Mass. next month. It should be a write-worthy experience because not only have I not met her, but we both know there is sexual tension between us. I had tried to talk to her about it, but is it a difficult subject to bring up. We will be sharing a bedroom, but different beds. Except the last night where we will be sleeping together at a bed and breakfast. Oh My!
I think this trip will be fine as long as both she and I don't expect too much out of it from each other. We can be friends and not fuck or we can be friends and fuck. If we are indeed mature adults, then fucking won't be a distraction and the distraction would be other things, like our personalities. I'm sure she has thought about the trip in a sexual realm as I have. I just feel that whatever happens, happens and if it doesn't happen, then so be it. I will see if this trip is really worthwhile.
Suddenly it's Sunday. I am weakened by the recent events of my life. I wonder why I am not strengthened. I should be exuberant and lively, but I am stolid and tired. Yawning in the early afternoon, sleepy by middle afternoon, and snoozing a little by late afternoon. What the fuck happened? I jump up to go wash the car or make dinner or fold laundry or pop in a CD or something. Anything to spur a jolt of energy. Anything except caffeine, that is. I save that luxury for the coming work week. Suddenly, it's Sunday night. What next?
Today is the birthday of another character I knew as a friend, Tom. He was 100% Polish, born in Juneau, Alaska before it was a state. He relocated to Milwaukee, WI, while a child and grew up in the best beer town in the country. He drank himself into adulthood. Learning the drinking craft from his father, he went into his first bar at 18 with Dad. He told stories about his wreck less drinking times. How often he drank, what he drank, who he drank with, and the end result of drinking. Tom can't remember his name sometimes now.
I had all these intense articulate thoughts that I wanted to write down here. I like to fill the endless hours of the day conjuring up thoughts that have to do with the world without any bad vices or materialism. If that is being a minimalist then that is me. I?m sure some snarky little snot who graduated from college can over think my words and derive some concocted analysis. But I don?t care. I write for me, Kenfuck. Yes, I am bitter at times, but I think that is a good way to counterbalance the nothingness I live for.
I had a short nightmare last night. I was leaving an airport and it was night and raining. Suddenly, I saw a former friend I had not seen in a long time leaving a convenience store. He looked at me and I shouted "I hate you!" and kept jogging. He shot me a glance. He had almost all gray hair. I went into a park to take a short route. I saw the ex-friend walking too and he said "What are you doing here?" Just then a bolt of lightening hit close by and the thunder clapped and woke me.
I wish I knew what deep and articulate words could describe my daily foot pain. Now, the over the counter pain killers have abandoned me. I called the doctor today and had an attitude with the receptionist. I explained that I was in daily pain and asked what good it would do if I went in the doctor's office for the ten thousandth time. I know I have to deal with my pain. No one really cares. So fuck it. Still, thousands of people have a part of their families missing from terrorism. But I whine about my painful foot.
My destination to the grocery store detours me from the dogged complacency of the everyday drive home. I go in and look at the faces of the people. I see a couple of pregnant women without wedding rings. Maybe they don't like them. And then there is the old folks trying to discern what product it is they want. They haggle and argue a little. One man missed the mayonnaise by several aisles and has to retreat. I saw a sumptuous blond walking along swinging her ass wearing a red beret. We are grocery store ghosts buying groceries. It's existential.
Those little ones made me nervous. All smiles and small clothes and miniature laughter. How is it they become the future with all their happiness and innocence. Don't second guess God's plan for them. Our children. Not mine, I have none. I like the little ones. They make us honest and work hard. You can't forget or hurt a child unless you are deeply disturbed. So dance little ones, dance. Dance with your Daddies and Mommies. Run free and be a child as long as you can. Now those little ones made me happy. All laughter and curiosity. How true!
And the clouds covered up a clear blue sky. I'll keep the ends out for the ties that bind. Luther did play the boogie. She visits my grave. Because she's mine, I walk the line. Lonesome train whistle in the middle of the night. I guess things happen that way. And we burned, burned, burned into a ring of fire. Now I'm a ghost rider in the sky. So blue, lonesome too. And that's the ways of a woman in love. One more round, Delia's gone. And I never picked cotton. So I ‘ll just hang my head and cry.
Another bright beautiful day. All is quiet as the failed artist, now working class asshole leaves his home and makes his way to another mind numbing day of NOTHING! As blue as the sky is, I should just quit everything and find out why. Why should I work anymore? For money? Not a good reason. I need to abandon my material possessions and head for a mountain. For meditation in order. I need to balance my ‘out of balance' body. I need to forgive all my enemies and lead a life not unlike a Buddha, saint or some humble sage.
I deleted all the porn off my computer and prayed.. I prayed that everything would be alright with my father's latest surgery. I have tried to focus on safe websites other than the endless porn sites. I went on through the day, looking at young girls walking to class at the high schools. Straight blonde hair or cropped pixie dark hair and even a little red haired girl, like from Peanuts. My God! I'm a forty-one year old man and here I am ogling at teenage trim. I need to focus on more important matters at hand. And not jacking-off.
Golden radiant sunshine pounded my furrowed forehead. I remember when I was young and these super beautiful late summer days would always make me think of the fairer sex, and a little love. I remember one such girl, Robin. She was so innocent and beautiful. Had no father and her mother was always ill. She had two brothers. The older one talked to me one day about keeping his sister a virgin and not hurting her. I respected him for coming to me and talking to me like a man. I was only sixteen but it spoke volumes to me.
It was a harried day. I found out my father was all right with his most recent surgery. And that the biopsy was benign. All that is super wonderful news. Now I need to get back to doing my ritual and get my life on track again. Not that I veered off so much, but that I needed to focus on projects that require my attention. Once I get an organized sense of the things that need attention, I can focus and finish it all before winter. I have such high hopes of this. I hope I'm not kidding myself.
Already I am tense. I need to fuck and fuck hard. I am going to drink hard. Fuck hard and drink hard. I am weak today. I need something to wake me, give me energy and stamina. I am in need of something. I get nothing. I need to fuck. I want to fuck and suck a girl. Kenfuck, Ken Fuck. Ken Fuck Girl. Steady old boy...need to focus, get a grip. I know you know I am alive. I need to see that I am alive. Only I know if I am in need of a life. Whatever.
Happy birthday to our beloved one. Happy birthday for you are the loving one. Dear loving birthday one. You are the birthday giver. The one who gave birth. The Birthday One. Many of us will remember how you gave birth to us in a painful birthday life-giving experience. Please, birthday one. Be love on us on your birthday, birthday love. Great thundering skies above, leave us in heaven beloved. Leave us in thou bosom of love. Love us oh Birthday One. Like the day has a birth, so has the birth has its day, dear one. Happy Birthday, loving one.
So after the winding road ends, and I realize that I am but one man on a quest for love of life, we desert to our conscious nesses. I saw our beloved one and made sure we were all together and happy as we could be happy. I love you all. There was a song and wishes for you as it was your day. I know I am sometimes confused and befuddled beyond my realistic mind. I feel that at times I can go insane. I didn't hear you and now know how and why. But we are all alive.
Summertime is waning and I saw a girl in lime green slacks carrying a blue tote bag. I see billions of flowers responding to the last blast of fresh springlike weather. I see the wonderful blue sky so high above, and solitary lingering clouds drifting in my line of site. How great and fine it is to be alive in the middle of life. Now is the time I should fall in love if I can. I can if I'm not too bitter, but I may be. Now what? It might take the trip to New England to fix me.
As the date of departure gets closer, I'm getting more anxious. The reality of failed trips and relationships have happened before. I know there is a chance that this will end in the same result. I take this chance because of a few reasons. One is I'm getting older, and any woman that wants to travel with me is more than welcome as long as I don't have to mule any contraband. Another reason is pure curiosity and discovery. I always wonder about people. How they arrive at who they are. Only a few more days and I will know.
I spoke with my travel companion this evening. It was a brief conversation. I had just finished dinner and was a little buzzed from wine and I felt nauseous. We discussed the trip a little bit and other details about it. I sat down to write this with the bold confidence of a sure rutting bull in spring. I know that I am who I am, and I don't know if I will be in top shape for any serious partying and carousing. The past few weeks have drained me and left me fatigued. Much needed rest eludes me, again.
The duality of man. The question of good and evil. Life and death are it's components. A life is like a rain shower; it has a beginning, a middle and an end. And sometimes there is sunshine and a rainbow. What about good and evil? Like a good roof. During a rain storm, you want a good roof. If it is no good, it leaks during the storm. A human being can be a good roof or a bad roof. A ‘bad roof' human conducts bad behavior. Like he steals or rapes or kills. He lacks form, shape and conscience.
My Father wasn't feeling too well. He had another minor surgery about two weeks ago and my stepmother is ailing too. His location is away from serious medical treatment and the trained medical personnel are not always the best. There isn't enough nurses and doctors available to do the work. I know that the doctors have discovered new ways to make money from sick people. If the doctors can get people to have surgeries and buy this or that medicine, then all the better for those industries. Who in the fuck cares anymore about anything but making a fucking dollar?
I was looking at some profiles on the web and ditched that idea and went to 100words to see what if anything was going on. I used the search engine to peruse the entries. First I typed in ‘Cocksucker' and then "Kerouac" and then ‘asslicker'. On the ‘Kerouac' entry, there was some very good entries. I especially enjoyed Crystalflier's entry on San Francisco Beat. I also liked Stephen Dodds' entry on Kerouac too. One thing about Kerouac that I have found is that he did his thing his way. No one could duplicate that. It was his American Beat Dream.
I wanted to write here that I was feeling great and all is well. I am doing great but I am worried. Honestly, I am getting very anxious about my impending trip this weekend to visit my internet lady friend, whom I have not met. We were going to meet first some months ago, but neither of us could find time. So I am going into this blind. This has to be the most balls-out blind date ever! And I could conceivably be the stupidest man since the first guy said "I do". I will know when I get there.
A cool autumn day is upon us. I was thrilled to look out at the most bluest of skies and thank the higher being that I am alive today. I woke up and read an obituary that was sort of strange. Seems the little character "Whitey" from the "Leave it to Beaver" show had died. He had been a drug addict ever since his early teens after the television show ended. I thought about the unfortunate circumstances involved in his shortened life. How sad it had to be to meet people and have them see you as you really are.
As time marches on and I get grayer on top, I feel that I should write about little things I have learned throughout my years. Some things I may never understand, and if I could know everything, which is impossible, then I would still be ignorant of the future. So I try to articulate here with what little knowledge I have. I'm like a foolish painter who has not enough paint for a large canvas. I would like to extend a hand of gratitude to anyone who has read through my drivel here, as it's truly from the fucking heart.
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