The Dawning Of The North-Eastern Cowboy

Part III: An Apple's Chance To Fade

Part III: An Apple’s chance to fade


















Chapter I
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" You don't want to be like me kid. You're young. Be happy. Enjoy thrills. Don't try to be like me. Don't strain to be like me. It's not worth it. Unless you convert to my ‘idealism.’ Then I could accept you becoming who I am." ~ Angel
“The candy in the box is supreme. Icy. Chocolate. Strong. That is all. It seems it is a key to life, or at least it leads to a key. Relaxation, freedom,  happiness, self confidence, and indulgence. Once in a while, they are good things, some of them, all the time.” ~ Angel
         Mexico. Borderline north Mexico.
         Angel resonated out a beacon. He overcame boundaries by becoming himself. Self-less devotion leaves a higher cause much higher. Unstrained, it may leave the donator just as well. Recognition leads to something less crucial; the mind sometimes, always returns.
         Maybe I am the tragedy, he said. I am the god-damn tragedy, that happened to Ima. Yes, it could be true. Then it would be good that I leave, forever. Tomorrow, I find another woman. I will grind it in her face, when I return, to show her that we are done. If I am the damn tragedy, what does that make her? A helpless victim? I guess that means I am the asshole who I thought I was protecting her from. Life is funny, it seems, it brings things around, and changes them.
         Billy Joel comes to mind. Yes. ‘If I left tonight, there would still be rhymes to write.’ Damn good song. Yes, Ima, for you, you I thank for giving me inspiration to think, and to realize my reasoning in life.
         Such as that may be, it now becomes unimportant. Truly. The rest of my mind still stands strong; my thoughts intact; my being sound; my theology correct. Ha. If you can call it theology. It simply stands at the level of theology, the highest form of philosophy, apparently, but has nothing to do with the definition of theology. God, I love the crazies.
         Angel stood tall in the morning light, shaking dust from his tail. Thinking he should be up and going, he shook his head tightly, and blinked three times.
         I wonder how Mou is doing, right about now. He better be the owner of a company, a huge lemonade corporation, or some such thing. He is a smart kid. Almost a man, but still failing in that, becomes the smartest boy I know.
         Standing in south Mexico, Angel wandered around with his eyes, doubling checking his surroundings, believing himself to be a desert demon. Wishfully thinking, he was correct. But spiritually, he failed miserably. He couldn’t bring himself to be a demon anymore. Too many rye bread slices, and water, too much washing with his bandana, too many silent nights, and thoughtful stares, for him to be a fervent follower of standard living, or democratic socializing. He couldn’t believe he was at home on the road, in any simple, or baroque place, as long as it was quiet. Quiet as hell. Anything is baroque, and beautiful, if it is taken rightly, just as anything can be simple.
         Life is like that. Take an apple, chew it… remorse on its taste. Try not to swallow; it might kill you. That is of course, if you won’t die anyway. Apples have an odd way of fitting in, it is like they seek either a silent, whole death, or a cut up, intoxicated, embarrassed sort of death. Either way, they don’t seek to live. Don’t become like an apple, young or old, especially old, and let your self become ashamed of living. Don’t become an apple, old, and fat.  Sadness strikes in to your un-apologetic surrounding peers; that is, if you fail in our humanness, and don’t become what you weren’t born to be.
         Angel cleared his throat, and said, to the morning at large:
         
I feel like an old apple,
Left over winter, In the
Back of the fridge, brown, fat.
         
Angel caught himself there, and realized he was talking about his past. He couldn’t come up with a good part of the poem to continue. He puzzled, and thought for a few minutes, before releasing his concentrated mind, and continuing on his way.
He got back into his van, cranking his neck to the left as he did so, without using his hands. He became almost senile at the farthest extent of his muscle spasm, but returned to normalcy soon after.
Suddenly, looking at the clock, as he started the engine, his mind gave a quick start, and continued running at a high speed.
It was 9:58AM!
Only two minutes before his life cycle started over, and he would be come old. Seventeen years old to be exact.
9:59. Almost there.
What should I be thinking this last minute of my sweet sixteen years? I do not know, and am scared. 
And it passes.
And is gone.
10:00. I am old.
Yet the feeling still remains with me, I am strangely frightened. It is now day number three-hundred and sixty-five. More exactly, zero. That is all. The peak, of the peak; there may be more chains to go, but here we are now.
I am seventeen years old, am I not? Yes. I almost forgot it; as today, at ten. Day three-hundred and sixty-five seemed mist, and water vapor, but it at least it condensed fast enough to wake me up. Thanks.
Thanks.
Thanks, Charles.
I Appreciate It. Thanks for waking me.
Do you know? I’m glad. You should. I am becoming weaker though, we are slowly becoming one. Darkeo. Darkeo. Darkeo. He will be powerful. Scitzofrinea. Bonkers taking me out to the ball game. I am becoming more half insane then life its self. Anything to say Darkeo?
No. Not really.  Just keep on living, my friends. I love your company. Someday, we, I, will rule over all.
I do not like this. The man’s a bastard. He is not me, nor you.
Yes. Me either. How did he ever get in our head? He is supposed to be our one essence, but I think that retailer cheated us. That bastard sold us a defective monster. Wait. Monster? He wasn’t supposed to sell us a monster.
But we are already weakened by him. Forced, and willing.  What can we do? I am fatigued. I can barely smile, or stretch. I can’t write damn poetry anymore.
Yes. You just turned seventeen, and you can’t even live your life. Ho hmmm. We must try, we must try.
I hear your every word, you idiots. Can’t you see you are too weak, and I am myself, to busy for you? You damn cunts. Stay where you are.
We must fight him. Even if it makes me sane. Or insane. Devil of a ham boy, I am hungry for some devil. He must be a demon. Get him out of my head!
Demon eh? Sounds right. Let me kick him in the head. Damn. Broke my leg. Can you poison him? You seen good at silent things.
Indignent man, we must think him dead.
Oh. Good point. Let’s see if it works.
Damn. Cunts. Let me kill you, with fire and ice. This is my body now, let me use it! In the name of the Alah, in the name of Jebidiah, in the name of Satan, I ask for power to win, and take this body. It is I, Gabriel, Angel, Demon, Half-moon of light, Fire circle destroyer of warm flesh.  Seek me.
What is this? You are a psych. You are a killer, a demon, I suppose. Depends on your definition, I guess.
Why does it depend on definition? I seem to have forgotten.
You are indeed weak! Don’t you remember that life is what you make it to be? How you see it? Your philosophies! Your meanings! Remember them? If you want to make sense of this time, world, essence, time and half, and by the numbers, a sword full of goo, you must understand that 7+3 if only a true equation, if you believe what the numbers stand for; if you have an idea what they are. They are only what you think they are; don’t let anyone tell you different. Especially not this demon.
I’m an angel! I’m a devil! Ask me questions, bow to me. I am king.
Should I? Chris? Should I do it? He seems to righteous. Fuck righteous. I have no morals left. He has a clear understanding of what life is, so I must say, I am attracted.
Those are your ideas! Those are your understandings! Only they are warped, and joined with his previous attackees, with his previous doomed friends, fellows, and dead people. We must fight him! THINK HIM DEAD! … and my name is not Chris!
How the hell do I know who to believe? Christ? Is that you? Damn. No, its not.  It is Charlie though! Yes. He is a good man. I must listen to him. Pianos and rocket shots, I raise myself to my feet. Don’t you have an impudent, under-thought-out line for me? You are full of empty sentences. You cannot understand my mind! You are too much yourself to understand my complex mind. You should not have bothered, and suicided your self, by coming to me, and my brother, Charlie, and the thousand men before me. You cannot even use the full potential of my mind.
Damn. Cunts. I will leave now.
Wait now, you must be killed, so that you don’t molest any little girls, and make them whores.
If you try to kill me, you may die yourselves, though I will, supposedly, die for sure. This body does need at least one mind.
You’re a dead man, Mr. Bitch Ross. I hate your ass. Oh, wait, that is my ass. No matter, you will die now! I wish cow sheds and bottle rockets around  on top of you. All around you. No flames though. I think you should be incased in a flabby bit of blubber. I hope you are incased in acidic rubber. The death of ancients is evil, but time will repent most sins. Lucifer can pass on too, with you. But he doesn’t exist, so I don’t seem to care. In fact, I Don’t Care.
Hey. He is gone. Good job my friend. I see you can be yourself now.
Ahhh yes. Thank you. I almost turned the other way. The other side of the street is a disaster. Someone over there has a gun, and is shooting everone. Oh, look… he just had a heart attack. At least, now not as many people will die from him, just from other things. The worlds death population has to be reached, daily, of course. Anyways. Time to be moving on.
Yes of course. Lets do.
Look out for the skunks, they are bad this time of year. I don’t like symbolism, but I am somehow entertained by it. I wonder if I actually do like it for that, but then I cast off the idea, and think about eternity. I guess I better get back to saving the world; to liberating people! Charge ahead, full bayonets! No actually killing anyone, yet, anyways, or getting yourself killed. Unless you have to. There really are no rules, as this has not been done before. Imagine! I get to make the rules.
         Really. I guess you do. Good job brown ape! Good job Boulder! Or… Stone? Whichever. I love it when your mind runs circles. Wait. It is a upward spiral, and you can go anywhere you want. Just right now, you are almost to the top… then you can slide down, and have fun. Ride um, cowboy. Life is impatient sometimes. Calm down, and relax.
         The demon is back. He is talking to me on the radio. Fucken Ozzy Osbourne. I thought we killed the spirit. Maybe we just killed its brother. Maybe we were mistaken. Maybe we did. Anyway. Moving on… moving on.
         Don’t strike ahead to far, nor any matches.
         Moving on. I love the smell of rain. None here, I am afraid. The road is still hard, and fast. I do like to travel. So long, Place Of The Dying. Good bye, Stone In The Valley.
         
         
         *cough* *cough*  so long ….traveler… i’ll see you again, sometime… sometime… … …
         The demon said, as he died, and past on.
















                                                 Chapter II
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“This is the time of King Arthur! We are civilized!” ~Camelot
         “Charlie lit up when he saw the place; there was a life switch kicked off in him, and the landscape flipped it. Simple ends were met, and he charged like a day full of bright opportunities and blank, prosperous fields.”
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         Mexico, South.
         Weak feelings of chaos leave me feeling dazed. I should go. It really is my game, anyway. I can pick up anytime, anywhere. It’s only a question of falling short, or of restraining the others. Join the road of the free, the poor. I’ll help you along the way; don’t get too pissed. Ha. Listen to yourself, don’t be so cocky; just make yourself sure of yourself.
         By the time you can understand what I say, I will have beaten you down. Take a knee, you bitch. Ace’s and three’s fall like daggers. I toss them where I like, and smile. It works out all in pleasantness. I am all pleasantness. Can’t you see that? Nah, you’re a dumb bastard, and can’t. Quickly now, know how you are. Just shut the hell up and play the game. I will, if you will. Oh, and you will.
                                                 ********
         “I can flop down cards like you wouldn’t believe” Angel said.
         “Nah, you can’t play cards, you idiot.” Jimmy said back.
         “Oh hell yes, I can. I’ve returned to poker, in my afraidness. And now, you can’t stop me. I am the most baroque player, you’ll ever meet. Ha. It’s so fucking true. You don’t even know; but you will, because you’re a cocky son of a bitch.” Angel returned.
         “Hmmmm… you talk so much. Lets just play.” Jimmy said.
         “What? You’re an odd player. Usually people like you just keep on talking, and they become nothing. Your different because you have no idea what to say, and if you spoke, it would be gibberish. Hmmm. Should be more fun playing you.” Angel said. “Lets get down.”
         Angel sat at a long drawn out table. Being brown, and covered in green felt, the table seemed to become wild as the night grew late. Empty chairs seemed to be evoked into silence. Some lay up close to the table, some tilted at odd angles away, and a few, even, lay flat on the ground, in their anger. It was now just Jimmy, Angel, and a pair of very silent white-collars, who wore sunglasses, and seemed to stare at nothing by the thick air around them. The air was constantly filling with cards, twenty dollar bills, and stares, however them may be, some were reserved, some angry, and some just plain unattainable.
         Crazy idiots, Angel thought, Apple blossoms are smarter then they are. Fictitious characters know more them. Learn how to plan a damn game, if you can. Should I fake sanity or madness? I’m not sure which is which anymore. Maybe life will help me out. Can’t always ask, but you can usually feel free enough to take. Damn, that sounds smart, I wish people would listen to me more often; the world would be a smarter place; more insane, or more insane, though, I am not sure. Show me your damn cards fucker, I know you have a pair of 3’s.
         Angel saw the 2nd Silent Man’s bet, and raised the pot fifty dollars. He voluntarily raised his eyebrows involuntarily.  He faked a fake, and hoped the idiot, anger man would make him go all in. He would have prayed, but didn’t. He got what he wanted; next, a surprise, Both of the Silent Men, called. The other three players each had about twenty in chips left. Angel went all in with his four hundred.  He pulled  twenty out of his wallet, and asked them if they would accept it. Smiling, the Silent Men nodded. The Angry man coughed once, realizing that if he lost this hand, he was done anyway, accepted it. Angel, being the gentlemen, flipped over his 9-8 of hearts, revealing a very beautiful straight flush. A god-damn straight flush. The angry man threw down his cards, showing his four of a kind, and being extremely pissed. He drew a pistol out of his pants, and shot Angel.
         “God damn cheating asshole.”
         Angel simply sat there, and groaned in pain. His right shoulder hurt like hell.
         Suddenly though, the two other men flopped down their cards, like idiots. One had a bull shit hand; pair of pocket aces, nothing special. The other, on the other hand, showed ace-king of hearts, a god damn royal flush. The damn dealer had a royal flush!  Never mind that his buddy had shuffled, and that Angel had cut the deck.
         It was all over. The mad man, stared at the cards in disbelief, while the second man drew another gun and shot the original gundrawer. Angel let himself become one with his red blood, and made his head fall like a giant’s fist, forward. Closing his eyes, he relaxed. He’d draw his own gun, if his right arm would only work. Sixteen hundred and  eighty dollars in the pot. And they were going to walk away with it all. The brothers, the Silent Men, nodded happily, and left, by turning polity to the right.
         The other hurt man, fell over, and felt guilty. Remorse pumped through his blood; Angel could feel it. Then, soon as the bullet came, the feeling left, and anger was back at its post, ripping things to shreds, including bullets, red cloth and fresh blood, including mammoths, swords, and gunpowder.
         The percentage of the Angry Man dying increased infinitely.
         Angel’s wound hurt him deeply, but he didn’t notice. A river poured out next to him, but he didn’t look. He simply stared at the cards. One of the corners was jagged up, and he reached for it. Nothing happened. In fact, he couldn’t even see his right arm, as he reached for it. Then, switching arms, his left went out and picked at the Ace Of Hearts. Numbly, failing several times, before succeeding, he managed to peel of the cover of the card. Underneath was the Three Of Clubs.
         GAAAAHHHH. I cry out in anger and despair. Wait, I do not feel these emotions. I simply regret that I let myself get shot. I know I won the game, I know that that money should be mine. I know it, and so I am happy. People are so ignorant. The very human spirit is ignorant. We cannot even let ourselves be beaten by others, if the others know it. If we cheat, and win. We are happy, even though, in reality, we know the others beat us. But if we know that others know that they beat us, we hate it, the idea, life. I hope I can over come this simple fault of mankind, and pass my traits on to my children.
         I know I won that game. Bastards.

                                                 **********
         Flashback:
The insanity has started. I saw the same man twice, on the way into town. I saw him once on the side of the road, walking towards his ship. Then, ten miles later, he drove, coming towards me, and past me… leaving me in confusion, and known insanity.
Then later, I saw a dog on the side of the road. He almost ignored me, but for a glance. I looked in the mirror, and he was gone. No trace of him at all. He was brown, with a over coating, lapping of black. Come to think of it, he was a lab.
Even later, I saw a truck in my car’s rear-view mirror, and then before my very eyes, it disappeared. Completely. Absolutely. I think I may be imagining the insanity, so that I can become insane. But do I really want to become insane? I think not. Actually, I do.
         Recently, I decided not to care anymore. Sort of a turn of events; but lately I’ve just been acting dead. The dead can’t care, right? Right. I don’t believe that God exists. He may simply be a mirage to people in the desert, wandering around for forty years. I am not sure. Neither are many, it appears. Ha, I laugh in my dead-like anguish. I wonder if in being dead, I cannot feel the world anymore. If I let myself be dead, why am I even alive?
         Maybe just for a time, I can be dead. Then I can come back, and enjoy life. Humbly, I receive this sentence: one part dead, the rest of time alive. Repeat as necessary, until happiness ensues. Hopefully it does, it doesn’t for everyone. Most people just end up staying dead forever, because their friends are shit. And they didn’t choose well enough. Most people that is.
         I will wear the black. That’s what he said, back in the day. By the time I fall, I will be able to pick my self back up. That’s what I thought. I do agree with what he said; but I was wrong. I fell to early, and now I’ve got to wear black not just for the others, but for me also. Dead voices define my landscape of a view.
         My landscape, oh my landscape. It is nothing butt, a mere bit of shell, a coo-coo’s home. That is all. It has pillars like sands, and a roof like an apple, a red peaked roof almost. Nothing seems to ever be whole. It is full of holes, containing in themselves a vacant stare of circular, singular beauty, but more of baroque death. Death should be simple; that is all I am saying. I should be able to lie down in my orchard of green ferns, and apples, and sink into the earth, on command. Maybe I will be able to one day. I better convince people first though, that is the higher law. The better of the many, of the true many, over the one. In order for this to make sense, the many, has to be everyone. So I just have to affect everyone, or I am for myself.
         I ask the oranges, bananas, and such, other fruits to leave me. To leave my palisade, my home, even the bountiful exteriors of my home. They gladly oblige. I haven’t been denied anything yet. I have been rejected though; my Ima. Hopefully all that passes. Oh, everything does pass, I know that. But what about… which one.
Does the rejection pass on, or the whole relationship?
I don’t know.
         I seek answers.
         Maybe I can understand, and retain them. Yes, maybe I can. But somehow, I doubt I can attain them anytime soon. Perhaps I am mistaken. Basicly though, I will retain my unknown answers forever. I wonder if God is visible, if he exists, through any body; through parents? Through teachers? Through family? Friends? Dead people? Strangers? Children? Somehow I doubt this. I think they are just themselves, perhaps after the image of ‘god’, but the so called ‘god’ is not himself visible.
         Yes. That is all, Life simply is the beginning of Death. Afterwards, there is a dinner party of sorts, but closer to an afternoon tea. Yes, Organic Mint MeLange Tea, obviously, nothing else is fine enough. Ha. You dumb bastards.
         Can’t you ever learn anything? I seem to reason; but the world falls short of my expectations. At least my in life, it does. I seem obvious, but then again I am almost dead to the world! I really am. Basically, I have learned to hate the world of the modern, the world of the swift, the world of the mindless Joes and Johns who know nothing, and may as well be dead, because they are eternally made out of fiction. They are created by the society of our age. The damn way that people are formed by the rest of the people, and not by themselves. I hope the world becomes idiotic before I die. The world would be a better place if it were so called ‘insane.’  Basically problems arise from people disagreeing, and from the flaws in the system as well. The flaws are this: a mistake becomes mainstream, if the people in power push it, even if it is bad. Number two: Dead people are respected, or not respected, at the wrong times.
         Flaw number three: flawless angels cannot be allowed to join this world. This is obvious, because there are none.
         Number four is this: the only… anti-conformists our system creates are of the wrong sort. The ones that are created want nothing to do with the current system, and there for, almost unless. But at least don’t belong to the system. And belong to their own.
         Ancient fields become weak under my direction, and words.
                                                           *********
         Words from the insane. Did I mention that things keep on disappearing, after I see them? I am starting to wonder if the crack in the sidewalk exists, because pretty much no one will ever touch that crack on the sidewalk. I know I will never touch it, so how do I know that it’s not a trick of my imagination. And those who actually touch it, the very few who do, their minds could just be playing a trick on them. Maybe, in the world, there are no cracks in the sidewalks.
         The pits in the sidewalk. The cracks in the fence. The pits of glass in the tunnel. The pure dead fish floating on the of the ocean. Maybe smells are jokes too. Our bodies could fail us, and tell us the wrong things, couldn’t they?
Yes, hell yes, they could. If you don’t agree, then tell me what you believe!
At least we could get some debate going. If only someone could understand my thoughts, and hear them in their minds. Most likely, most people won’t ever hear me. If I ever even get my ‘change’ out to the people, the masses, and break them into their selves again, apart from the disappointing whole that they have become.
I wish I could give you the best of myself. Yes, there seems to be an apparent lack of faith on your part. You become skeptic, and fail me. I’d try to bring you back in, but my mind is exhausted. Things now laugh at me all the time. Including the garbage can on fourth street, though I haven’t been there in ages. The giraffe in the prisomed, prisoned zoo too. I wish I could kill him, but it is simply all me. My bad; I wish I could take it all back. No, I take that back. I take back in circles. Eventually I build a stair-way, and I climb into the sky. The sky eventually falls below me. I cry at this, not knowing what to imagine is beyond. Because this whole thing has been in my head, and I seem to be all out of originality. Damn it all.
Can’t really damn the people though, because I am trying to save them. The pink giraffe becomes green, and blends in. Not seeing him, I put my knife away, and stalk into the darkness, eager to return one day. I think I never shall. But that is the future; I can put it off.
It may not be the best idea, but it is possible to always put it off. Eventually, the eternity of sinking to the lower, or lowest state, will overcome the putting off, and something new can happen. Once you are at the bottom though, you can always stay there. Just chill, and let yourself die.
May as well, anyway.
I may as well let myself die.
But to the point. I may as well not.
The point: You may, or may not understand. But if you don’t, don’t completely dismiss it from your mind. It may someday make sense. Just get another copy of my thoughts, and give one away, and put the other in the back of your mind. If you do get it, memorize it, and pass it on. The ‘change’ers must grow faster then the present growth of the human population. Otherwise we will all pass on, and die. I will anyways, but my ideals won’t I hope. There must always be one.
Become one. I feel bad, and regret my mind. I should have died years ago.
Intoxicating words fulfill a past of regrets. But the past has made me who I am today, therefore it has to be good. I am happy with who I am, and since I have recently had rough times, maybe the good times are on their way. Either way, I am good as I am today. I should be happy with who I am, and, in fact, I am. Terribly happy. I look at the rest of the people in the world, and I see no one that I want to be. It is crazy, I guess I am insanely lucky.
I wish I could become my complete soul.
I flip-flop like horrendous birds in the night sky, to the trees.
What about you? But seriously, think. All of it. Think all of it out.
                                       



Chapter III
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“Call me Mr. Sandman.” ~ Charlie
                                                 “Call me The Awakener.” ~ Angel
“Damn you.” ~ Charlie
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         Mexico, again.
“By reasons unknown to me. I am finally able to rise to my full extent. Maybe because I have become unbound. I no longer have a reason to find a reason. Does that make sense? I guess not, eh Charlie?” Angel said.
         “Hmmmmm… oh dear. What’s that you say?” Charlie replied.
         “Don’t listen to yourself. Become who I am.” Angel said.
         “What’s that you say? Oh damn. I listen to you all the time.” Charlie answered.
         “Bah! No, you are supposed to listen to me all the time. Can’t you see the difference between life and your actuality? Hmm… I wonder.” Angel stated, questioningly.
         “Never mind that, what is the problem?”
         “You are the problem! Can’t you see…? Be careful or I might end up thinking you dead like that one bastard of the past.” Angel laughed, as he spoke.
         “Nah. Well yes, I see that. I am sorry, I humbly bow to you. Wait. I do not. Now I will listen, we are still becoming one, aren’t we? Hell yes.”
         “Can’t you become still and silent, and stop looking at those girls? You are apart of my god-damn mind, you can not ever touch them. Just listen to me. I’ll find a lady when I am ready, so screw them now! Forget them I mean! Lets think on the problem at hand. We need to awaken people. That’s why you and I are here.”
         “Ahhh yes. True, true. But there will be time for that later. You should relax some, let your mohawk down. Come on, man.” Charlie responded.
         “I could try. Hell, lets take a god-damn break. I’m down with that. Hell yes.”
         “Hell yes? Hell yes! It’s been to long since I have heard that. It is true. Hell yes. Lets go.”
         “Aren’t we already here? Where would be we be going? Can’t we party here, with these ladies?”
         “Oh, sure. That could be why,” Charlie laughed, “ but yes, lets stay here. Ladies, hell yes. I was actually thinking of going to shoot pool. You need some practice.”
         “Awwwww… go to hell. Pool is fun. Lets say we find some ladies at the pool room. These aren’t my type anyway. To ‘black’.”
         “You racist bastard. You know race doesn’t matter, so why can’t you just accept them?”
         “Yes, I know race doesn’t matter.”
         Silence.
         Peace is a joke. Angel and Charlie walked to the next room, the pool-room. It was just as smoky, and dense as the bar.  More silence pursued, as they started to knock some balls in. Eventually,  the silence broke, and Angel whistled at two young girls who walked in, both blondes.
         “Damn.”
         “Shut your ass. Hold my drink.”
         “Awww hell. Finish the god damn game.”
         “Fine.”
         Angel then preceded to sink in four balls in a row. First, a straight on shot into the corner. Then a clipper shot to the side. After that, then another shot to the other side. Then finally, another shot, this time a double bouncer, knocking in the Eight Ball.
         “I believe this means I get to ask them first, you asshole. Oh, wait. You can’t even ask them yourself. I hope you end up dying. Na, I am just kidding. I guess I always wondered what people played pool by themselves… insane ones, it seems. Hell yes.” Angel said.
                                       ********
         Yes, they are insane. By the time I took the south entry road, they had left.  Damn. They were sick bitches anyway. Why can’t happy endings follow games of pool? By the way, did you see the way I sunk that shot in the corner? That was crazy. Chipped it right off the side, plunked it into the bottom. No problem at all. Yeah, can’t you see? Yeah. You could see. It’s all over now. You saw it.
                                       ********
         I prepare my self for war. It isn’t difficult as I have no idea what to expect, so I give up on thinking ahead, and don’t prepare anything but my mind, and my silence.  On a random impulse, thought, I shove, and stash, huge broad swords up my sleeves, handles first. I am invincible now; the only things that can beat me are myself, my love, and my family. To bad, it is family I am facing off tonight.
         It is probably a good thing I am seeing this uncle though. I feel a distant charm, and I think his spirit is pulling mine. Maybe I should lose the swords, and pick up the pen, and the further extent of my mind. My Uncle lives in Utah. Utah. Who the hell lives in Utah? One man, anyway, I guess.  Utah seems almost worth living in, seeing as how, as everybody says, nobody lives there. Remoteness is respectable. People as a whole though, would obviously shun it, or they wouldn’t be the people as a whole, now would they? Nah.
         Utah.
         Lets try again.
Utah. The place where soliloquy is made, but not broken. Well that remains to be seen. Maybe I should get on the road. See what it is really all about. Maybe I can stop at one of those damn road stops and get a map, or some such.
Angel got into his red truck, sifting the desert dust off with his foot, slightly, banging away. By breaking the law in the land of the higher, he seemed to seek rest in the land of the lower. Speed limits are nothing. They weren’t anything yesterday anyways, and today doesn’t matter. Today, now, I’ll pay attention, as yesterday, but this time it’ll be in such a way that I obey what’s going.
Angel had stood aloof in the dusty New Mexican desert, along side of a highway, against the side of his new truck, spitting mucus into heated bits of dust, forming rolling balls of evaporating sand. The lights were chrome, and perfect, but the actual paint job on the vehicle had been done carelessly, letting some drops go down on the quarter panels. Long scratches covered bits of the runs, but weren’t to bad. Underneath the scratches, a little bit of blue paint showed through. 
Awwww…. Damn. I coulda done better on the paint job. Well, actually, it isn’t bad, for such a hurry. Better take care of those scratches though. Not a bad take though, nice truck. Sturdy as hell. No rust, not like in the in U.P., at home. Shit. It’s a good take. I’ll miss the old van though. Yeah, I’ll miss it.
What the hell was I thinking anyways? Hahaha…  I’m a crazy man.
Well… to late now. Better hit the road.
         Angel put it in gear, and hit the gas, taking off down the road, after easing out of the wee bit of a pull off on the side of the road.
         Cruising along the road, the dry dusty road that seemed to envelop the soul, and continue on forever, Angel seemed to enjoy himself. He wasn’t totally sure, but life seemed pretty damn good. On the way to see a rich Uncle, of course.  He had a new car, no matter how he had attained it. He just had it. Even had done some work to it himself… switching out a few bolts on the license plate, and doing a new paint job. Turned out rather well, he thought. He had… taken care of… his old van, to say the least. The very least.
         The tank ticked to 3/8ths full; the point where Angel always started looking for a pump. He figured it was safe that way. The truck, he figured, would get more gas to the mile, so he hoped he wouldn’t run into any gas shortages. Awww…never hope for some bad not to happen; you know it will. Although, in all actuality, promises and mental hope, have nothing to do with anything, except with your mental stamina.
         He reached for a coke product, a glass bottle, in the left pocket. Somehow he seemed surprised that he could pick it up, and as he raised it to his lips, he spilled some on his pure white shirt. He swore. He then promptly forgot about it. And raised the bottle to his lips and drank sourly, here and there, saving, preserving, the very life of the bottle, as if it’s only purpose was to wet his mouth.
         After he finished it, he felt like dropping it out the window. So he did so.
         Within about two minutes, he heard sirens, and got worried shitless.
         I wonder if they know I boosted this thing or not. Maybe he just saw the bottle. Maybe it isn’t anything.
         Hey, its Charlie. Let me go check for you. Hmmm….
…. Yes. It’s nothing. Let him pull you over. May as well take a gamble, eh?
         Angel listened, and instantly, worriedly, silently, released himself to the shoulder, and turned down the music. Billy Joel faded into nothing but sound vibrations heard through miles of sand. Fuck you, Angel thought.
         Cop, dressed in a tan uniform, with black fringes, came up to the window, after about twenty seconds pause in his vechicle. He didn’t even mention the bottle. He just told him about a broken taillight. Concerned, Angel apologized and promised to get it fixed as soon as possible. The cop said his name was Billy John. Cop melted, and become Billy John. Billy John was taller, fatter, and appeared to be gay, homosexual.  Angel said he would be late in a minute, and said he should get going. He also mentioned the cops niceness. On a whim, he gave him the number of the previous owner of the truck. Said that if Billy John ever had any problems with the money side of life, he should call this number.  Billy became confused, and left, heading back to his car, without even saying goodbye.
         What a fucken wuss. That guy doesn’t know shit.
         I guess they are letting just about anyone into the police academies these days. That’s the problem with the whole social equality, of late. People who shouldn’t be equal, become equal. They would just tell me I am a white supremacist. I am, in fact, not sure what I am. I just know that some people are not equal, regardless if they are not white or not. I am not a racist of color, per say, but a racist in that, I believe, that I have very little respect for the people without the mental stamina to get things done, and to succeed even in the small things in life.
         Sometimes, I feel that a great injustice has been done to those people. But I realize, now, that someone has to be down right dumb, for someone to be smart. Without them, I could not exist. I, now, sometimes, thank them the tinniest bit, for having bad luck. If I told them so, they would just tell me to fuck off, and die.
         Hmmm… now back to the subject of color racism. I do not believe in color racism in that it should be something that is passed down from peers. Judgment should never be led to the point of racism, if it is judgment based on other peoples opinions, and life stories. But I, do realize, that from a strictly business point of view, that the dependability of a white man, is higher then that of the black man, statistically. I believe, (now, I do realize that this is totally in my head, just like myself), that the percentage of white men in the world, that do good, and will not run out on you, is higher, out of the entire white population, then that of the good black men in the entire black population.
         I would gladly meet any black man, and greet him as a friend. All of my friends could be black. But if I was a business man, and cared for nothing else, such as a conscious, or a sense of self-justice, and cared only for money, my business would be entirely white males. But I do have feelings, and I care nothing for money. I hope one day, that all of my friends will become black, or, all the friends that I make from now on, will be black.  Swans can do nothing to sharp swords, except swallow them. Perhaps ignore them.
         Suddenly, crunching resounded from the right side of the truck, and Angel jerked, pulling the vehicle back onto the paved road. Blinking fast, he spun his head around five or six times.  A quick volcanic shake left, and right, left and right, and left and right, knocking his head about. The road seemed to pinch into itself, and pull out of reality, in front of him. Suddenly fog appeared out of nowhere, and made it very hard to see things. It covered signs, and bits and bolts of cars, as he passed them head on. These seemed to go on for some time, and he felt like he was remembering something that had already happened, and he was simply reliving the memory.
         Perhaps life is nothing but a series of memories. Perhaps we are just going from the back of our minds, to the front, and reliving everything we can remember, in our death. Maybe that’s what I’ll do when I die. Wait… maybe I am already dead.
          He passed into gas stations, and left just as quickly. Ghost towns, ghost people, ghost stations, even ghost memories came and past, like adolescent years, and feelings.
         Why can’t I believe in reality?
         Because you trusted into something that you honestly thought would never fail.  And it did. You’ve known it for months; it is just the factual ending that burns the most.
         What the hell. Yes, okay. I believed that I could do anything I wanted. I believed my friends would never leave; I thought they would never make bad decisions. I believed in Ima and I. I believed in my other friends; but I’ve made others. Haven’t I?
         Yes. You have made me as your friend. Scary isn’t it? No. Don’t let it scare you.
         I’ll find another meaning in life.
         I already have it for you.  It is all a part of life. You have been telling yourself that life is all apart of circles, but you never really believed it. You believed in it when you were on the high. Now, where you are, you’ve got to pull through and realize that you were right. See? There is satisfaction in that.
         So, basicicly, I need to just continue on? Just charge on like dead men? And let myself believe in Buddism and become reincarnate, so I can live the high life again, when I can? Fuck Budha, but you know what I mean.
         Mean by slim, mean mountains, and by fallings timbers? By lush fields and reaped corn? Yes, I know. But do you? I have a feelings, and a fear, that you do not. Try, try, try.
         How can I understand the end of feelings? How can I understand the main reason why I am existing, without falling to some diety?
         You can do it by not asking how. By, just doing it. Fucken Nike. By just trying; that is all. Get your head out of your own hood. That is all that is stopping you. Just drop the whole black hood thing, and try on something brighter, or just become clean shaven and under-shirted.
         Ahhh. Well I’ll work on it. I am Angel. I can do it. You are my lord, my liege, my brother, Charles. Together, we can create beautiful things. I do not care about powerful things, in most senses, unless it has the power to change people, and make them more intensely themselves, and beautiful. I tip my hat to you, good-bye, for now, Charles.

         Think.
         
         Life is a joke. That’s what a sign said on the road, as he approached the entering into Utah. As the sign came out of the fog, the fog itself seemed to disappear, leaving him in Utah, stranded in his running vehicle; he checked himself over, wondering if he had damaged the truck. “Reality” came back to his sight, and he wondered why it had taken him several hours less then his guess. He usually underguessed the hours it would take; he often like to think that he went real fast, but enjoyed going real slow, and enjoying the road, and life.
         Finding himself in a slightly used leather jacket, brown, he wondered what it was to be dashing, in a suit. He thought he would pick up a suit on the way home. His basic white t-shirt, broken in, and his Levi’s, seemed to drain away into the brake, as he came to a stop on the side of the road.
Chopping down his thick boots, made of desperate leather, cracked, he slammed the damp insides of the truck, sort of like a sweet, rusty melon.  Pushing his keys to the bottom of his left pocket, grinding down with both hands, before slapping them on the side of the truck, he yawned, and paused, smelling the robust dry dusty air. Smiling, he winked at the car, and squeezed her side, as he released it, and grabbed the only full can of spray paint left, green, and a shovel out of the back her.
Life isn’t a joke, damn it all. Bless my soul, and blast them to hell. I am such a philosophical person, why haven’t I decided where we come from? It is to hard of a decision to be made, unless you rush blindly into something. Then you can make an uninformed decision, and perish of it. Spend your life for something that you believe exists. Maybe that is all it takes; an after-this-life is imagined, and there it is. I better stop saying hell. Hell yes. That’s it, hell yes.
But whatever this life is, it is not a joke. Trust me! It is no joke. Charlie? Ahhh… when you get the chance. But you can’t exist, on a joke! Life may not be all serious, but it is not a joke. I do not like a serious feeling, but I hate that feeling of an entire joke, and trap, a pointless surrounding of effortlessness.
What life is, is what you make it to be. It should never be a joke. It should never be all serious, obviously.  You make life into what you want. I make life into what I want. All you, and I, have in life, is what we make it into. All we really, truly have, is ourselves. Our mental capabilities; our accomplishments. The things like houses, gold watches, money are not important.  They could be taken away, society could become indifferent to you, and you would be left only with your mental abilities, hardness, and weapons. The best way to meet life is to prepare the mind.
That’s the best way to see it. That’s the best way to do it. Knowing what you have done, and being proud of it, is what is important. Going ahead and doing things to be proud of is satisfaction. Isn’t it? Hell yes. There has to be at least one thing that you are proud of, in your past, that you have to hold on to. If nothing else, then discard the nothing else, and hold onto the one good thing. Learn from the bad things, and then forget the bad things, just retain the knowledge.
Life is a joke. What a fucken joke. Sign. …. … Ha. I kid you. But I may be mistaken, in that.
Positive mental focus is important to life, as my second mind is to me. Can’t you see that the forgetful feeling of old people only leads to deadly souls? Seasons of memories come, and go, like flocks of sheep. Mental tension, perfection, strength, endurance are perfect things that are perfectly essential. Now you are scared like buck-toothed little sisters and brawny buffalos in hordes of steely knaves.
Okay, I need to greet this sign. It is totally incorrect.  I’ll just raise the shovel, and raze the sign.
Angel dropped the spray can onto the sand, it impacted in a charade of sand, knocking an inch or so deep whole in the sand. The green cap  popped off, and landed some feet off, next to a dead snake. The snake’s potent smell reached Angel’s ears, and nose, on occasion, and he coughed, and smiled unpleasantly at himself.
Angel took the shovel into both hands, the higher, heavier end, into his right hand.  Pissed, he smiled, and nodded at the sign. Then, he said the Our Father, strictly for effect, before slicing the sign down with a single strike of his shovel. Crying almost, he raised it, and felt the turbulence through his hands.
There, it stood. The sign still stood. Pissed he threw his whole body at the sign, not caring anymore, simply angry that he could not knock it down.
His weight cracked the wood, and he flew out past it, and landed on top of the splintered end of the signpost. The foot of the end in the ground stood up tall and strong, and asked him why he had defeated the top bit, and not the bottom:
I got what I wanted!
Are you sure? Your pretty dumb.
What? Where did that come from? Your nothing but a bit of wood.
That is all you think I am, I am actually much more. Dig now, and see what is below. All you can ever see, is what is on top. That’s why you’ve got to use your… mind… as a shovel. Or just use that piece of shit you broke me in half with. Damn it all.
You do have a good point; but brilliancy is relative, and strongly disappointing to most. To most people, life is disappointing. Figure it out yourself! Tell me what is beneath?
I could lie. I could fade out into life. I am what I am. You can’t listen to me tell you what I am, you have to find out your self. I am a king; I am a god; I am your sister’s underwear. What the hell do you know?
I don’t have a sister!
You don’t know that.
Bastard.
Is that all you can do?
What makes a silicone chip into a mountain? It is a silver fish tail. Why can the bottle top bottom fall out the bottom of a cap? Because the ornery man said so.
Fall  to my side, and dig me up. Do it.
Fine, I’ll have a look. I wonder if I will uncover hell. I bet I do.
Angel picked him self up, and over. Dusting off his pants, and brushing off his jacket, after he took it off, he smiled, then grimaced, and picked up the shovel, racking his shoulders back and forth, trying to blush the bruise out. Crunching his back left, and right, he stood aloof, looking at the wooden stump.
Maybe One Day. Maybe one day we will understand each other: You, Me, and the Sand. Perhaps the Paved Road too. We can always hope for the best. Bah. Wishing does nothing to the outcome.
Blood also poured from his forehead, the left side, just under the hair-line.  Angel didn’t appear to notice, but smiled vacantly, while leaning on his shovel, at the giant splinter.  Spiders. Angel thought he saw spiders crawling up from the shadowy 6x6 post remains.
I’ll dig you deep, dirty little thing. You are sandy as my ass is blank.
What the hell? I’m just a broken end.
Dah! You just said you were a king. Not anymore eh? To bad. I want my Nightship. I am dark enough, know?
         I feel deadly. Here goes nothing.
         Angel paced a few steps forward, shoved the shovel out at arms length, as if in some old military position, remaining so for several quiet moments, before flipping the shovel over and striking down hard, and fast, into the sand. Like a madman, he drove himself more insane. He threw dirt as fast as was possible, then faster. He wondered why it was taking so long. Dirt flew like unburdened souls, seeking another life of a man, or woman.
         Pretty soon Angel started felling, chopping into, some roots, tangles of the mind, and essential roots. They seemed to run from three different directions, all meeting towards the post, all becoming finer, and smaller the closer they came to the post.
The roots became spider webs, as Angel tried to get through them. Not succeeding, he failed, and stopped short. On inspiration, he did a flying karate kick into the post, and sent it flying. The dusk cried, and it all ended in a sense of depression. Out of the whole of the post, at the bottom of the hole that Angel had dug, came a fountain, almost, of spiders. Large black, intricately carved spiders, almost unrealistically,  they seemed to crawl and cover the landscape in a pure sense of failing feelings. They spread out across the land, blanketing the ground, and thus darkening the whole visible world, by absorbing all light into their pure backs, made out of melted rubber and surgical steel knives and chipped volcanic arrow heads.
What the hell? These spiders must come from the center of the earth. Funny, I would of thought they would be red. Well, I’ll take black ones. I wonder if they bite.
The spiders seemed to turn to him at this thought, and in a rush, the landscape, in the distance, became light, and all the spiders came upon him, and bound him with their webs. After biting him, they slipped away again, and after it was dark, the spiders finally became one with the landscape, and totally disappeared. Soon after, Angel slipped away under the wonder drug of their numerous bites.


















Chapter IV
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         INTESTINEL SILENCE! CREATIVE WAYS TO LESSEN THE EARS! CROSSIFIED FEELINGS OF BROKEN INNERBONES! SIGNATURED HALLWAY OBJECTS! NO!
**************************************************************************************
When Angel came to, it was about six p.m., roughly the time that the sun is about three-quarters of the way across the sky(the last quarter always goes the fastest). His face was peaked red, he knew it. He could feel his face was fading away, like his life. He got up, and realized he was still on the ground. He tried to crawl towards his truck, and got decently far: perhaps three, or, four feet. Only fifteen feet for him to go.
Don’t ask any questions, Charlie. What the hell happened?
Hmmm… I’m not sure. I was out too. I didn’t like the giants, or the spiders. I think we need to get some water. We’ve been out for to long.
Giants?... well… very well then. Better try again. Talk to me while I strive to live.
Are you sure it will help?
Oh, very much so. I am very much too sure. Don’t question me! Just do it.
Yes. Hell yes. Bring back the ol’ phrase! Tell me, what did you see?
I saw castles of white wood… clouds almost, but too hard. I traveled through mountains of stone… wait… that’s not right. Mountains of immortality; another reason to live; to live forever. What of you? Did you see any basilisks of charity and death?
No. I merely saw wizards fight giants in a fire prison, the goblins home, presumably. The magic-men were dressed in orange kilts, and the giants, dressed in togas of the same proportionality.  The goblins, if they existed would have been wearing nothing, obviously; but I didn’t see any. The giants just wanted a home; the wizards wanted the death of the giants, by their own hand.
Really? That is incredible. Sounds like a game I played back in the day. I was in a party of wizards. We wanted the experience from killing the giants. Dumb bastards. My buddies that is, they couldn’t cast spells for shit. I believe we all ended up dying.
Really? That is interesting. Was your hair perchance red, at the time?
Why, yes. It was. How the hell did you know that?
Oh, nothing. Just a random psychic guess.
Did you ever see any spiders?
Yes, I did. They covered the landscape. That was intense. Hell yes, it was.
Hell yes, it was, Angel echoed.
All the while, Angel had been using his fingernails to pull himself along the road, and the super heated pavement really hurt his fingers. Tears would have come to his eyes, if he had realized his pain. Well, the tears did come to his eyes, he just didn’t notice. He thought it was the fog returning again. He focused himself, and reached the cab. He sung his arm up, and grabbed the handle. Luckily the door wasn’t a very good one, and its own weight pulled itself out.
         “Ride The Lighting” by Metallica was playing, at a decent level.
A god-send: a bottle of water rolled across and feel onto his head. He cheered as best he could, once he saw what the pain was. It then preceded to roll under the truck. He groaned, wishing that he didn’t have to do anymore, not sure if he could do anymore.  He started crawling towards it then realized something. It was actually a blessing in disguise, the shade would protect him. Reinvigorated, he rolled his whole body underneath, and snatched the bottle, before it could escape any further.
His body shaking now, and his head pounding, he desperately tried to get the cap off. He suddenly didn’t care. He was done. He knew life was a bunch of circles. He could just let someone else awaken everyone else. He had had a hard life. He could relax now. It wouldn’t be hard.
He let himself go, and dropped his soul. Eyes closing, the world cried. Everyone cried, desperately. Knowing that he could die anytime he wanted, he had released himself. The end preoccupied the beginning. Suddenly his new desire was to find out if there was something else beyond this life.
And he was gone. Totally gone, deceived by himself, and the world, he was gone.
                                       





Chapter V
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         “Baroque feelings are not enough to live by. It never was enough.” Angel
         “Are you sure? Was it? What about before Christ?” Charlie replied.
**************************************************************************************
         Side of the highway, Utah, in the cab of a truck.
         Inside the cab of his red truck, Charlie was bitter, and wept periodically. In body form now, Charlie seemed uneasy. He thought himself to think himself uneasy. He didn’t know that reasons didn’t become feelings, only directives in life.  He wept over Angel. He wondered what had happened to him. Had the mad-mind snapped? Was he really who Angel was before? Had he himself, Charlie, always been in control?
         Whatever, he thought. I don’t need solid feelings of power.
         There was a permanent silence. He just sat their, with the car battery dead, wondering what on earth the reasoning was. He couldn’t seem to think clearly, and he downed another water. Looking for some food he swallowed a few bits and pieces of peanut shells, distractedly.
         For three days he just stared off into nothing, the basic horizon, which became undefined, whenever he looked at it, whenever he found the courage to actually look at it.
         Cars came and past. Most just sped on by. Once in a while, when they stopped by, he past of his exoskeleton, and just talked them off; he was just taking a break. After a while though, when cars started making their third or fourth trips by, they started to become more fervent, and some threatened to call him in. He wasn’t to worried, but something told him to move on. It was his subconscious. Something apart of him; like apart of you and me.
         He accepted an offer for help, and asked them to jump-start his truck, and for a couple galleons of gas. The stranger had both, and supplied them, then past on. Yes, he passed on. Charlie thought that he should do something for the sake of Angel, perhaps bury something. He decided to, and got out of his car.
         Striding over to the dust, and the dug up sign post, he took of his necklace, from around his neck. It was wooden, symbolic of a god of good fortune, it was a handmade half-elephant-half-human. He undid the clasp, unscrewing it, and gently took of the charm. He carefully placed it in the whole, and released it. He didn’t bury it. Getting back up, from his kneeling position, he bowed once, and said good-luck, and got back into his truck.
         His feeling of lose doubled, and he hated his life; his reason. He no longer cared about his education, and about awakening people. He angerly put the truck into gear, and slammed the gas pedal down, filling out the chambers in the engine. Speeding off into the sunset, his mind remained back by the broken signpost. His mind reminded him that he was only existent as far as he let him self exist.
Realizing that he was leaving himself behind, his life behind, he slammed the breaks, and spun around, mid-stream in the road. Almost flipping over, he smiled. He drove back quickly as possible, and got there, still with out seeing a single cop. The must all still be back in Mexico, he thought. Ha, like they have cops there.
Charlie got back, turned around, and parked the car in the same place. He got out, and went over to the whole, and said he was sorry. He deeply apologized. The necklace was suddenly in his hands and many, many thoughts coursed through him.
Angel spoke: Hey buddy. I can’t talk long. I need rest. Don’t leave me; now I’ll always be around. Don’t let your self die, I may, or may not, be able to pull off what you just did for me. The hills are brilliantly powerful, and full of soliloquy.
         Hot damn, your alive. Hell yes. Charlie replied.
         Hell yes, partner. Lets take the damn world. Your turn to lead.
         Hell yes.  Ha, you’ll find my job wasn’t too easy either. Hell yes, though, hell yes.
         Charlie put the necklace around his neck, and smiled.
         He somehow saluted the general landscape, knowing that their would one day be a monument built there. It would be called: A Joke About Life, Not Towards Life It’s Self. It would be blue and gold, and made out of pure marble, dyed different colors. Yes, it would truly be dead rock, but the feelings surrounding it would be so alive!
         As they drove away, “People Are Strange” by The Doors played over the radio. When the song finished, Charlie popped something in the eight-track. Something called “Unchained” by Van Halen.
         The red truck left the brilliant scene; the scene with a road, a pit in the ground, with snakes now in the bottom of it, a shovel with a broken handle, and a bit of splintered wood and broken wood. The brave truck of tomorrow, went towards tomorrow, a new man seeking his new uncle.
         Charlie wondered, is his family, my family?
         Of course, you dumb bastard. No offense meant.
         Fuck off. Let’s go find that uncle.
         OUR uncle. Hell yes.
         Leaving nothing to important behind, at least nothing that they could take with them, they once again became one with the road, and traveled along it for some time. Eventually, he arrived in the same place that he had planned on, only some days late. Apparently, his uncle didn’t notice, or just assumed that the story would be worth the trouble, or the death, or just assumed that his nephew could take care of himself. In any event, he was out back, when Charlie arrived. The maid offered to send a message through to the horse barn, and Charlie said he could just look for him himself.
         The maid became confused and worried, not sure who Charlie was. She sent a message anyway, and she got a damn response that told her to let that boy out back as soon as possible, god damn it. Don’t hold up the Man, never. Of course, the uncle was referring to himself as, the Man. But Charlie didn’t realize this, and supposed his uncle to be a hell of a man. Which, of course, was true. But many men, are to full of themselves, to fully respect others.
         More lessons to be learned like frightened beasts, by old, aged hunters. Fresh kills seem to be the best lessons, the best visual picture. Luckily, there happened to be a dead horse just outside the back door. No one was around it, but there was a rifle sitting against the white, wide steps. There was a decent size whole where the forehead used to be.
         Shaking his head, like a sad fish in the sea, Charlie continued out, to what he presumed to be the horse barn, about four-hundred feet farther on. It was a large structure, white, and perfect. Gabled ends, and a pointy top, which lent to a more northern image to the barn, and Charlie recognized it and smiled, and felt reassured. He was a hell of man anyways, a real Tom Sawyer. He bent down, and picked a hay-seed out of the grass. It was already dead, and was brown, but he put it in his mouth anyway. He continued on to the smaller side door of the barn, and smiled vacantly at it.
         With a quick nod of his head, he leaned forward and pushed himself forward into the barn, sliding aside the door, as if he was introducing himself, the King. He was expecting one hell of a reception.  He sure as hell got one.
                                                 ********
         Recently subjected to shooting a dumb animal, Uncle Tom was somewhat cheerful, yet somewhat reserved. He was getting another horse to try out, hoping that his one wouldn’t be so ornery.  He occasionally whistled to himself; suddenly though, he broke off as he remembered his nephew was on his way out. Smiling, he looked up, just as Charlie opened the door, and walked in.
         Are you sure that this was a good idea?
         Hmmm… I’m not sure. No time for chit-chat.
         Charlie’s Uncle gave a very loud ‘hellooou’, bellowing across the expanse of the barn.
         Charlie grinned, smiled some more, and crossed the room, walking sedately to shake the Man’s hand. The Man’s Hand. The Right Hand of the Man. Charlie gripped it firmly, and gave it a good up and down motion; a real rough, firm grasp, before he relaxed back and became his normal laid back self, gazing casually at the world.
         Dusty straw air sifted by like dead field mice floating down a river, a massacre so huge that the world’s crumbs would feel it for many, many years; eternity.  Black teeth. The sheep had black teeth. The cows had blue tongues. And hearts of gold, obviously.  Have you ever given your milk to another species? Let them take your bodily fluids out of your nipples? Probably not, seeing as how we have grown into ourselves, and into our society.
         So maybe it is no surprise that cows seem to have hearts of gold. At least their hearts don’t come in hand baskets and carts, and don’t look like old tomatoes, deep red and wrinkled, like ours do.
         If I had one chance to go back, and chance one thing in the evolution, creation, or whatever, of mankind, if I could change one thing about human society, one thing about American society, one thing about civilized society, I would change the mentality of everyone. I would make people be able to understand that things don’t have to be the way they are. I would re-invoke creativity into the mind. Isn’t that like using your one wish, to get all of your wishes? I am not sure, and like a sick animal, I lay low, and continue to remorse and think about life.
         If I told a random someone to draw me a picture of a contraption to get me from one place, to the next, they would inevitably draw me a vehicle with wheels. We are so focused on our reality that we cannot even invent new things! We cannot even see the solution to the problem we can only feel, not comprehend, let alone get to work on it. I believe I am lucky to see the failings of the human race, and to see that we are limiting ourselves in so many ways, that the stars seem to lose count. Maybe I am not lucky, because I can’t see a way to fix the problem that only I can see. Damn our society that our society makes! I cannot seem to share my visions with anyone, and no one can listen to me.
         Angel shook his head, and continued his loose discussion with his Uncle Tom. He didn’t remember the first part of the conversation, but tried anyway to make it appear as if he was actually all there, and smart, and smiling. The horses whinnied of in the distance, just past the few hills of fields that separated them.
         How the hell did we get out on this open ground? Why am I leaning on this fence, talking about my life? Well… I’m not sure how I got here, but hell, here I am, so may as well enjoy this while I can. I can’t change how I got here, so I’m not gonna worry about it.
         “So, Charlie,  you said you’re an aspiring world changer? What exactly does that mean?” Uncle Tom said.
         “Well… it means I want to create a new future for mankind,” Charlie said in a dissipated, loose, foggy, translucent voice. “it means I’m gonna enjoy my life, but my higher cause will be… to make people understand…”
         “Understand what? You seem an awful a lot like a marijuana smoking philosopher. Are you full of shit or what? You have to MAKE something of YOURSELF. Look at me. I built this place. I BUILT this place. I made the money working hard, raising, selling cattle. I built myself this estate. I don’t have to work anymore, and I’m only forty years old. I plan on relaxing for the rest of my life.”
         “Understand what? That’s all I heard out of that statement. Nothing else mattered.”
         “Huh?”
         “Damn it, Uncle Tom. Have you ever read Uncle Tom’s Cabin?”
         “Huh? No, I haven’t.”
         “Have you ever been out of the west?”
         “Well… I was born in Indiana. I moved out here when I was ten.”
         “Ever been back there? Have you ever enjoyed life?”
         “Now what the fuck is this? You come here, to my estate, my god-damn home, and chastise me! Your just a goddamn stoner from the north, the stupid backwoods.”
         “No… I am not. I take offense at that. I should hate you, but I’m still going to try to save you.”
         “Save me? What the hell are you talking about?! Crawl back in your hole you gay freaky bastard.”
         “You don’t happen to know shit.”
         “Me? What about you? How can a back-woodsman like you even know how to be alive? It’s not possible. Have you ever heard of money?”
         “Apples to apples! Bastard to bastard! Dust to dust! Ignorants beget to ignorants!”
         “I am no bastard, you god-damn little kid!”
         “I am no mere boy. I know it. I speak the truth, and your conscious knows it. But what is this truth I speak of? It is simply that you need to experience all of life. You, obviously, have never worked a day in your life. You in your blue pinstripe suit, and your black suade shoes. You were just in a god-damn barn for heavens sake! Enough of you, what about life?”
         The well-seasoned air of open grain fields wandered in, sifting over them life fine rice. The sun was setting, and beat upon them with a red epihiany of light, nearly blinding anything alive, or the things trying to be awakened.
         “What do you know about life! What do you know of real silverware! What do you know about rich suits, or about powerful horse muscles! What do you know of fine cuisine and actual beds, and relaxation! Nothing. Nothing! I tell you. Nothing at all.”
         “This may be so, and I admit it is. But listen! What do you know of plastic knives? What do you know of small bedrooms? What do you know of old horses? What do you know of your own made food? Nothing at all!
         I have experienced, by your standards, the lows in life, humble beginnings. But I can raise up! What is the point, in your standards, of always having money, and never realizing what it really is. If you always have something, then it becomes nothing, until you lose it. Once you have something, it is hard to hold forever. I well know.”
         “So your saying, that I should lose all of my money and try to get it back! You are quite insane, I’m afraid.”
         “You don’t have to lose all of your money, just stash it away and forget about it. Give it all away. You’ve lived rich for so long, its time that you lived simply. I swear to you, it would make you much, much more mature, though you may never realize it. That goes for everyone.
Take a god-damn road trip! Live your life! Sleep in your car, with old sheets! Have a glass of water, instead of champagne. Come on! Be unpredictable.  Go on a fast. DO SOMEHING.”
         “Piss off.”
         “Hell no.”
         “You’ can’t come barging in on my hospitality and demand that I start living like a bum! Sleep in my car! You really must be insane.”
         “Am I really insane, Mr. Tom, or is the world just crazy. Maybe its you and your rich friends. Maybe its just your poor cousins.  Maybe the man who started it all, was crazy. Maybe it was a woman. The point is, none of those questions really has a point, in its obvious form. Can’t you see that nothing is insane or crazy, it’s just that people have different levels of mental power, capability of ideas, and ability to live life. Anyone with lower levels, which the main canals and circles of people are, tend to call those more gifted people Insane. They call them crazy! The damn bastards.”
         “You are fucken crazy.”
         “Haven’t  you heard a word I’ve said? Or maybe your problem is you just can’t listen, and come up with such ideas on your own. Okay. Live your life as such, and… never do anything but your routine of the same excercises everyday, your routine of the same foods, and the routine of the same lands to buy… the best. You’ve got to change things a little. Maybe one day, you’ll understand.
         Maybe one day, your kids will understand.”
         “Awwwww…. I don’t have any kids, and you know it, you damn fuck-up. Go back to Iowa, or where ever you came from….”
         “Iowa?”
         “Indiana? Michigan? The world?”
         “Ha. I am from everywhere. I am everywhere. Remember what I said, okay? Just let it burn in your ears for a few days. That’s all I ask.”
         “Just go. Just go now, okay? Okay. Just go. I’m tired of your festering bitching. You’re like an old woman. You make no sense. Just go now.”
         Angel turned away from his uncle, and looked over the fence again. Bending down to the ground, he picked up some of the rich soil that lay next to the freshly planted post. Rubbing it between his hands, he weeded it out and came up to his feet with just a little bit left. Dumping this into his left hand, he grabbed it between his two fore fingers and thumb, and tossed it into the air; he then blew it over the fence, trying to let the dirt fall where it may. Where it wanted to go, as if one breath could take them there.
         Dropping his hands, he smiled, waved goodbye, and said:
         Seek peace, and pursue it. Don’t let yourself become downtrodden. Remember, change is the catalyst for fulfillment.
                                       















Chapter VI
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         “Fly by me” ~ Angel
“Detroit: Black sheep flew through the intercourse of sixteen dead dumb cattle, old meat packing factories. Hooves swept the air like flipped hamburgers, and slide silently sideways, another angered fish bowl. Apples fell down like forgotten notes, of the old working tune. The dumb Norwegian, and the reporter. “ ~ Charlie
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         Homeward bound, Charlie pressed the gas down, slowly, evenly, hoping that he could live like he had this summer, for the rest of his life. He had thoroughly enjoyed it. Quite true, quite true.
         The dorms of college. Hopefully, more of those would come. He was heading off to the University of Maine in a few weeks. Although he hadn’t actually visited the campus there, he hoped that the dorms would be filled with beautiful young women. However, his main interest there was to study English, and how it relates to the human mind, and how words trigger specific reactions to most people. Especially words like rape, murder, fuck, read, listen (which people tend to ignore), and numerous other words that people give different reactions too.
         Well that was what he had put down on the essay that he had sent the school, but he didn’t really give a rat’s ass about that. He just wanted to study English in general, or perhaps philosophy. More likely,  it would be philosophy.  Also, he was considering giving his life to taking pictures of nature, and the contrasts between black outlines and setting suns.
Awwwwwww…. I don’t really know what I am doing. I just know that I need to keep thinking about my life, and the way to live lives. I think that’s what they call Philosophy; I wouldn’t call it anything but wisdom, really. To bad they don’t have schools for Wisdom. Has to have lots of fancy long names and shit. Fuck that.
I’m just gonna go to school there, and see what happens. It’ll be great; I need new things to expand my experience. I really do know nothing about this world, or what I want in it. I won’t mind being in one place, for a while. I’ve been moving for to long.
Angel continued to steer the wheel down the road, wobbling the tires once in a while, as if to stay in touch with reality. Yellow lines came, and past, crossing over into the distant eastern horizon behind him. Mostly, he just figured forward, thinking and looking at the gray pavement before him.  Occasionally he glanced into the mirrors, and felt the truck shake, watched as yellow sports-cars, and red Sudans drove by, or were left in the dust of the desert.
Switching back and forth, between highways and back-town roads, Angel felt more secure on the latter. He maintained the driving over simply felt dirt roads, and creaky bridges, and cracked and pot-holed pavement. He wished he could drive home forever on roads like these, times like these. He wished his parents wouldn’t be too gushy. He did want a home-cooked meal though, badly. He wanted roast beef that could tip his spinal cord off of his back. He wanted applesauce that could send your tongue to hell. He wanted a freshly buttered slice of apple pie, full of cinnamon.
Hey, Angel, what did you think of the food on the road?
You mean all of that good for nothing crap? God it was wonderful. It was you who hated it. All of that sour dough bread, and plain water. Plain cooked steaks, done medium well. Everything plain. God it was wonderful. It made me think of simple things, and not worry about life. It made me sorrowful, meditative, and relentless. It made me think a hell of a lot more.
Sorrowful? You make it sound like a good thing.
Damn you! Highs and lows? Life philosophies? Don’t you remember anything?
Ahhh. Yes you have me there. Well now, we are past that. We can go home, and get some real food.
Why the hurry? Make sure you think about life on the way home, damn it. What about the friends you left behind?
Ahhh, yes. I wonder how they are doing. I disbelieve that either one of them took control. It is probably a mutual partnership.
I still can’t believe that they decided to become pornstars.
Well, you disbelieve anything, my friend. Yes, you have to.
No, I don’t. I believe in myself. I exist.
You know what I mean. You are somewhat skeptical, at least.
Fine, I’ll accept that. It’s better then excepting everything, isn’t?
You have changed a bit, since you gave me control of body.
Control? You have been in control your whole life.
What? Not true! I used to be something in the back of your mind. We are one, but separate.
That’s not true. You were just mentally insane up to this point. Now you are undercontrol, and you realize it.
Fool. You are lying. If that is true, how do I know I am not “mentally insane” now? I don’t. Can’t you just not argue with me, and let me reminisce about my life.
Angel became resigned, and laid back in the mind of Charlie.
Next, he remembered the feelings of ecstasy as he won at poker, and cursed the black population.  God I was an idiot, but a genius at the same time. There is not limit to the lamecy I can tolerate, and the skies I can reach. But can I even leave the ground? I know nothing.
The open fields of youth, the time when they attacked the poor farmer. God, that was horrible of us. I can’t believe the guys used to pummel me like that.
Hey what about that time when you argueibly flicked off your uncle?
That was recent you idiot! That was not long ago at all. But I do remember, brillant. That was me who did that one. You did the others? Yes. No. We did the others. Let’s just let ourselves become ourselves as one. Hmmm. Yes?
Yes.
So, I wonder, what ever became of Mou? I’ bet he won’t even bat an eye, or shred a tear at his brothers career choice. He is to concerned with the whole, to worry about his family. He wants to reorganize the whole damn world, and put in some form of socialism. Crazy fuck. He hasn’t learned that the social system only works if everyone plays nice, and in the U.P., where he lives, everyone does play nice. Once he gets out to the world, he’ll figure it out.
I guess I’ll try to talk him into experiencing the world at a young age, but I doubt he will go for it. He will probably never run away from home. I did, once. That was the smartest thing I have ever done. Made sense then, and even better sense now. I guess I haven’t really ever done any thing stupid, but that was probably the only smart thing. I really do know nothing, I realize this, but I do know more then the blokes that just sit on their ass’s at home, who think they know something, but are wrong.
Damn! Missed my exit.
         Charlie just continued on his way, and ended up in Michigan just the same.
         The days flowed by like simple fruit, and cut open oranges. The moons all looked like wild apples, cut in half. He wondered why the truth was never obvious to those that seek to hard, and he realized that it was not because those that looked to hard looked to hard, it was because it was just random chance. Random chance always seems to define people’s versions of God, people’s versions of Life, people’s versions of Death, and finally, people’s versions of the eventual outcome of their lives.
Shaking his head, Angel crossed the border, from Iowa, and suddenly crossed the Wisconsin border over into Michigan, after just a blink of time. That is all that life is, if you let it be. Not the blink of an eye, but the blink of time. And your whole life will encompass you. So live some parts slow, and some parts fast. It is pretty simple, isn’t it? I thought so.
Driving through Iron Mountain, then through Baraga, and ending up in Houghton, Charlie slowed down, the closer he got, seeming to enjoy the process of getting home.
Please let me die here. I used to hate it here, but I now realize that this is where I am familiar with myself completely. I now know a little of myself, when I am on the road, but not enough to live off of. I guess I better go to that open field, where we jumped Jacob The Farmer. I think that’s a good idea. I miss the cross functions of my soul. I wonder if Fili and Blake are okay. I hope solo goddesses follow them home. I have a dream of utmost tranquility, until they realize what they want in life. Truly.
If I remove myself from my life at this point, I would rather be happy in my childhood years, be unhappy as I become my mature self, and then die with a few years of more energy and fulfillment under my belt.
         On the way to the Field, he drove by both Fili’s and Blake’s houses. At Fili’s house, he saw Mou, now a young teenager, sitting in the shade of a tree, with a white girl, who looked a couple years older then him. He seemed extremely happy.
         I guess some things change. Love has its effect on us all. I guess no body can go through life unchanged. That’s what I can take with me to college. I travel all over the U.S., and I come home, and I realize my most important lesson here. Damn it all. I guess it fits. Anyway, moving along…
         Charlie drove for some more miles, and passed Blake’s house.  It was a totally different color, and there were some little kids running around, half naked, spraying each other with a house. Kids? At Blake’s house? Damn…. what’s  going on? Noticing a crossed out for sale sign, Charlie sighed. Damn, I guess he won’t be coming back to his family for visits. I hope he still comes and visits me. If we don’t ever see each other  again, at least we had a positive effect on each other. Damn, that’s cold. I’ve had great friendships, though perhaps abused. I was not lacking in friendship; I’ll always remember that. The four of us, will get together sometime, and we’ll talk of old times. Maybe that is just some highschool notion, I do not know.
         Finally, getting to the part of the country that contained that special field, the scenes were familiar.  The same hills, the same bridge, the same cracked pavement… but as Charlie approached the last turn in the road, he felt something different. There was smoke in the air above the trees? He panicked, thinking that the field was on fire, and stomped the gas, eager to save his past.
         Rounding the bend though, there was no fire, but a roaring inferno of change! There stood a large building, a giant sawmill operation. The dim smoke came from the huge engines running the saw blades, and from the machines moving the logs around, and loading them onto the racks themselves.
         A god-damn sawmill! Had everything changed that much? What had happened to his open fields, and brillant opportunities? Had all of life just up and gone to a god? To hell? He thought.
         Distressed, he merely drove past the field, and wondered what sort of thing he should do next. Should he burn down the sawmill? But that would only destroy my past, and everything I have done this summer. Why should I destroy my limited knowledge and experience. No, it is better to build with what I have, work with what I have, and where I am.
         I am going to go home now, and see if that too, has changed.
         Charlie relieved the gas, and let himself glide the rest of the way home, thinking about the naivety of the world, and how even more naïve people are who are only apart of the world, and cannot own the world themselves.  The trick is, he thought, is to let yourself become something much more then this world, while still knowing that the world is nothing, and that anything that you can ever become, is not much. There will always be something higher and better to attain, which makes you into nothing.
         You may be a hell of a lot more then the rest of the world, but compared to everything beyond the world, we are all nothing. That is why we must, like the gods of old, and the good times of the generations before us, we must become more then this world. That is I. That is my generation.
         Charlie went home to see what had become of his family, and was rejoiced. This had not changed! At last, here was something that had not changed. His memories were not particularly happy, but at least it was something that still remained constant.  Some people say ‘some things never change”, but I believe everything changes; it just takes enough maturity to see it, and enough time for it to happen, and the correct environment to warrant it.
         Charlie’s mom, greeted him with a silent kiss, and his father a nod. Charlie was happy, finally, here was his family. He hoped they would stay long enough, for something else to remain constant. That is all I can hope, Charlie thought, as he made him self at home, and ate some apple pie,  I do believe that understanding of the simplest things is one of the most vital parts of being able to live.  I also believe that I’ll be able to make something happen in this world. I look around, and I see people who are not happy with who they are.
And I look at myself, and I see a happy man. Decently, anyway; an informed man. I know how to be happy. I’ll go to school, and figure out on my own how to pass my little knowledge on to the world. I may never understand those explosions of nuclear plants, I may never totally understand the movie Scarface, and I may never understand why apples taste like potatoes, when my senses are limited. I may never understand those things, I will never have that knowledge. Well, I may, but I then again, I may not. My point is that I may never know things that many other people will know. And I will probably know a lot less then most other people, but what I do know, will give me, and Angel, a happy life.
         I’ll pass it on when I can. Charlie thought, as he ate his pie, I’ll pass it on. That’s my goal in life. To make people understand why we are alive. How we should live. How they should live. Make people ask themselves why are they are living the way they are living. My goal is to Awaken people.
         So spoke the Stone On The Hill.
         The Boulder In The Valley nodded his assent, before lapsing into repose, and creativeness.
         I want another piece of pie to choke on. Another piece of life. Life is about circles. Cycles. You better let myself die, when I think it is time.
         I bow to my audience, my friends, the voices in my head.
         I take my leave, I am off to sanity! Or some such. Have a decent life.
























Epilogue:
Know what I have learned from this world?
This:
Ima and I should have had the world. We really should have.
I should have had the world in my hand, and should have blown a kiss on it, and I should have fixed all of the worlds problems… just like that.
I should be with my friends right now, forever. Working together. We should never have fallen apart.
I have learned this: There are so many ‘should-haves’ in this world. So many that really should happen.
There can often only be one outcome, out of a bunch of ‘should-haves.’ Sometimes it is the one that we want, sometimes not. But always, always, there are ‘should-haves’ that we wish had happened and honestly, from a god’s point of view, definitely should have happened, but did not.
But I guess that is life. Shit happens, and good things happen. Things may not be as they should be, but they could be worse. It is what it is.
Whole lives that should have been born may never be lived, never existent.
But, there are an infinite amount of paths to follow; it is even harder to go back and address things of the past, then to travail the future.
If we go back to what we wish for, it must be something worth losing everything for.
For, if we go back, we may become nothing in the process, and destroy more ‘should-haves’ then we are fixing, by going back.
I may have been better with Ima, better with more love for the world, better with my friends at my side, but life rolls on, and time is irreversible. I miss my past-futures. But I must look forward to the life of a dragon, and the life of infinite wisdom and possibilities.
The true end is happiness.
I must think about what is worth going back for, and what is worth trying for.
Future, ahead, and past.
I must think about what is worth being true for.
What is my purpose? What is my happiness? Whatever the end, the true end is happiness.
I do not expect the world to simply alleviate the past.
I do not expect it to simply break the past; my past.
Nor mediate it. Perhaps, meditate on it. That is all.
I do not expect the past to be rewritten, by any means.
But my question is, is what happened, that which should have happened?
Is the god of my fathers really looking out for me, or am I just making the wrong decisions, though I appear lucky?
Is what happened, the very reason I am still alive?
When delving into the past, the past’s futures become too many.
Is my meditating hurting me? I think not.
I do, however, think that my reason for being here is defined, but unknown.
It may, or may not, matter who is by my side, if I believe in humanity, society, the world, and love them, or if I have some certain friends with me.
I do not know.
Whatever the future, it will be one, a cause of something too great to be worthy of.
Will I be happy, if it happens?
If my true destiny happens?
If I die for my ideals, would I believe it to be worth it? Would I still believe in them?
Would I die for my unknown destiny?
If I would be unhappy, and do something great, would I do it? Or would I choose basic happiness?
Both! Because I seek to anomalously do something of that nature.
So… should, or should not…
I choose, reflect, and choose the next step. Therefore, I am worth living; whatever I choose I choose with reason. Though I may not have it.
Whatever is, is. I should make the best of this finite world, in infinite ways. Time. My present time is finite. My time to change people is infinite.
I reason I cannot go back, back, back. But I can go forward into my past, to make the true ‘should-have’ past future become real, and I reason this time I will reason with my wisdom, and I cannot regret a second time.
Whatever I believe, I will try, and my final end, my happiness, my profound affect on this world, will be great.
The world gave me an incredible mind. I know it. I gave it back, already, the sane part.
Now I just have my genius, my insanity, and my future happiness.
I miss my love. I miss my feeling for the world. And I miss my friends.
They have taught me everything I need to know, to have my future. For that, I thank them.
What should have been, that should-have been may still be possible.
Maybe I can still love the world enough to stay around, and let it awaken it’s self.
The words pour from my mouth, to my self, to the world. I smile like fine ice. The world has become me, and I, an open field, filled with prose, answers, and seeds to the will-be-lost generation. The next generation.
Awwwww…. Hell. I wish all those commie bastards would burn in hell. Perhaps I can help myself. I guess I better grow up, and keep moving. Life is like that. It always seems to wish you were dead, and that you should be older, smarter, better. I say Fuck That. I am who I am, right now. I am where I am, right now. I am when I am, right now. To hell with society! I emancipate myself from myself controlled by society. I’ll just enjoy my life until I once again push the bounds of sanity, and in my free time, I’ll be a Utilitarian, by god. Hell yes. A god-damn Utilitarian.