Book 6 April 25 1985 to June 29 1986
Roland strikes again! He is such a funny guy.
First at the river today Julie sat on the edge but with her
back to the water. I grabed her and gave her a push and yelled "Don't fall
in!". It was slightly funny and Julie turned . to
me and said "If you do that again I'll kill you." We settled in then
Roland and Pauline came down. Roland grabed both of Julies arms and said
something in french then suddenly leaned her back. It was funny but even more so
because it had just happened before.
Then tonight Roland lead us to a great time. It started in
the restraunt. There I had the second best meal I've had in France. We started
with a plate of vegitables which I didn't even touch. Then this beautiful old
lady (the kind you think of when you Grandma) gave me this "You didn't eat
your vegitables" look. She took my plate and then came the main course.
Green beans, french fries and a steak. I love the way the french cook there
green beans. I gobled them away eating french fries with them on the same forth *I
think I meant fork*
(usally my food by nessesity will never touch). As the old lady saw my appitite
(having finished everything but the steak by the time she was finished serving
the rest of the group) she smiled and gave me two more spoons full of green
beans to make up for not eating my vegitables. She was so sweet.
Any way, all this time Roland and Pauline were causing all
sorts of . laughter. Roland would shuffle
all the dirty plates down toward her, try her food and all. Pauline told the
group his middle name was sweetpea. Roland then flung some water at her. She
then flung some water at him and he just gave her this look as the dried the
specs off his cigaretts.
As we were leaving Roland stood out with the rest of the
crowd and acted like he was one of us wondering where the bus was. Then we all
started to follow Roland.
He went down the street, started to cross, but actually went
around the parked car (and so did half of us - so we started follow the leader).
He wove in and out of cars then we went around the other way and we started to
call it the wild Roland chase. We passed this church and we made jokes that he
had parked in between pues or such. Pauline broke off and started across the
church parking lot, but we were having to much fun and followed Roland. Pauline
and some of the others started back over to rejoin the group. Roland suddenly
stoped and pointed to the grass and yelled "Uht, Uh," with this
astonished look on his face. Everyone went rushing off the grass. We went on a
little . further then Roland stopped at a
window and watched T.V.. A crowd of 36 people crowded around a window and Roland
to watch the commercials. Then the guy indoors noticed us and turned off the TV
so Roland shrugged his shoulders and led on the giggling crowd. Suddenly we saw
a bus. The crowd surged forward but Roland and Pauline stated to walk right on
by. We started yelling "Roland! Auto-Bus!" So 'he' and Pauline came
back but Roland acted like it wasn't his bus and the keys didn't fit. Finally we
got on. Pauline got out the tour mike and asked weather our meting was now or
later. "Ask Roland!" I yelled. She gave a frown and said "Get off
my bus." We all calmed down and started home with a small stop at a
carnival.
I had a chocolate cree'pe. Mary and Julie found another two
guys. These two spoke some english and asked names and ages (John and John both
16) then they asked them (the girls) where there hotel was and if they could go
back and sleep with them. Luckily the girls said no.
Now were at the hotel with a long drive ahead tomorrow.
Goodnight.
Roland, you
should be a comedian. You make us laugh and don't even talk.
Pompedou, what to do, tear gas, Artificial
tears, sterial tears, infections of the mouth.
Paris closed, Paris gone, French memories, French memories,
French curses.
Home is here, the glove is on.
Friends I see. Puzzles I write, Pear my nails tonight, infections of the ass.
Time in darkness, time in hiding, Time causing rifts, the
Pale Rider was bad
Damn the fucking horeds of men, Damn
the temptations of the loss of disiplines.
God Damn Jesus for letting Judas betray him.
"Twisted and Sick" said Marc.
"They think different because they use there bodies in a way they weren't
built for." he said "Now that I've met some I can respect them as
people but the way they think ... it's twisted and sick."
I made a left fist, "Your so wrong." I said.
"They're not ..." and the jokes flew and subject was semi-lost. I was
called a fag.
I made a tighter fist. Thought
of artificial tears. I went and talked to Shawn on break. I won't put with the
word fag.
Tommorrow early lifting time!
I'm weak and the
feelings are strong. Infections of the mouth. When its shut they fester when its
open they bleed and stain my words.
Shout, Shout
Let it all out
These are the things I can do without
In violent times
You shouldn't have to sell your soul
In black and white
Those one track minds
That took you for a working boy
Kiss them goodbye
They gave you life
In return you gave them hell
As cold as Ice
I hope we live to tell the tale
I hope we live to shout the tale
Shout shout
Let it all out
These are the things I can do w/o
Come on
I'm talking to you
I really want to break you heart.
My fist is tighter and tighter and my right had struggles to open.
"Twisted and sick ... Pig Slop ... Unnatural" all echoes in my mind. I
cry artificial tears
and bleed sterile blood. A puzzel and a curse for two years, can I take another
two? Will I last until 21? Will I be free even by then?
Curse damn visions, God or biology!
I went for a walk today. The kind where the
pounding of your boot heels becomes a far distant voice no longer in time with
your feet. My fist was shut as was my mouth, only the breeze whispered.
As the hot dry wind caressed my body with tender fingers my
mind would ravage on.
= This isn't right! This isn't right! Marc is my friend, why fight him in
my mind? Why must every battle I fight in my head be against Marc? =
This images of heated battle flash in my mind and go on.
"Your a fag " he yells. "Lies, Lies, Lies, All anyone knows of me
is lies." I scream out "Traitor!" is Marc's battle cry "No,
It's not what I want". We exchange blow for blow. Sometimes I win,
sometimes we come to a draw. Resently I win alot leaving Marc a bloody pulp.
"It's not right! Marc is my friend. Don't fight him! Don't fight!" The
images ravage on, I stop fighting but the image of Marc doesn't. I have to fight
back, fight back. So the battle goes on.
What is Marc to me now that I have to fight him. He's not God
I stopped those thoughts a time ago. What is he now?
My gate keeper ?
There have been no smiles, my mouth is shut. The bacteria say
"So wet, So warm, What a perfect place to Breed!" So my mouth is
pastey and dull and it begins to taste funny. But my fist is closed and there is
the pace of steps which weighs me down. Only the hot breeze makes me stand, for
I like its feel upon my chest and the feel of wind blown leather upon my arms. I
don't really know where I am, but I begin to sweat.
"Come on man, take a drink." slobber runs down his
chin. "Losen-up."
"No! I don't drink! I can't take the chance of losing
controll. I have to know what I say and what I do so I don't ruin myself in one
stupid night. If I let lose you'd see aside of me you'd remember
even through your drunken stupor. So get the fuckn' alcohol away!"
The image fades and I look into
the sun. The sun blinds me but my numb legs carry
me on instinct.
"Women are all bitches." Marc says as he sits down
next to me. "Love sucks."
"Bullshit," I say
"What?"
"You heard me. I said Bullshit. Love is great when you
find it. Its when you lose it hurts. At least you can look for it! Your not
condemed to rot in lonelyness. I can't . have
love. I can't have it because I can't look for it and if I found it I wouldn't
know what to do with it because I've been alone for so long. count yourself
amoung the licky, Marc. You haven't been condemed to be alone!"
Is it jealousy that I fight him for. The images all fade.
There is is a pain in my side. I want it to consume me and kill me. I want my
death to be as slow and painful as my life. I want to die but I can't bring
about my own end. Suicide has a worse taste then the festering bacteria in my
still mouth. No it needs to something outside of me. A car accident, murder, an
accident, natural causes, nothing planned but an accident.
No! These are the thoughts of a lunitic. I'm not crazy,
'twisted or sick'. I'm sane, i'm whole. I know my bad thoughts and I know my
problems. I face them I cope. I'm sane.
I'm home, but what good does it do me when these broken wings
can't fly?
Pain can not be spared an individual, only subsituted for
another pain. I was spared the pain of love at the cost of the pain of
loneliness.
Mrs. Bakalar, what can I do?
There is scare tissue on my soul and a
hardcore in my heart. My mind treads the lines between sanity, insanity; reason,
logic; imagination, psychosis.
I have the urge to look at my magizens to calm the graphic
visions of sex in my head. To breed distance with the faces of strangers instead
of betraying friends.
"I had a vision of you David Sanchez."
"What was it?" he asked walking barefoot and bare
breasted along side of me.
"I saw you as a prostitute, selling your body."
"Why do you tell me this?" he asks with a smile on
his face.
"I always tell people about my visions. They are rarely
correct but they let others know how I think and spark conversation. How do you
feel knowing I would never think such a thing of you yet could see you doing
so."
"I don't know," he replied "because I do sell
myself." he looks me in the eye "Easiest money I make." he says
and rubbs his chest slightly.
"How much do you cost?"
"For you $15 for a blow $50 a fuck. Anything else we'll
negotiate." he said, calmly, flatly and straight.
"How much would it cost to have you make love to
me?"
"I already said $50" he
replys.
"No, I mean to make love, not sex. To have you care and
feel for me. To show love."
"I can't fake that, and you can't buy it. You'll have to
look elsewhere." he said in sage like wisdom. He stopped at his home and I
walked on. The vision fades away.
The wind carresses my body and I feel Brice touch me. I
loathe the thought of insanity and quickly pass the feeling away. But I continue
to wonder about Love.
Can I find it? Will I recognize it? Is it to much to ask for?
Is it reall or just another hullicination of the living, like Death?
I've heard Love is a driving Bitch who'll give nothing but
pain. Then I've heard the same people say she's kind and sweet and shows only
perfection. All I ask for is a warm feeling. I envy those that can tell me of
Love, good and bad. At least they have experienced it to some degree. All I have
is there words and my fantasies based on those words. I have experienced the
love of freinds and the love of family, but never love. It seems I'm caught in
the land of "Love, in itself, is not enough."
Hopeless Romantics do exist!
*Brice was the name of a fantasy lover I held onto for a time - until I thought it to crazy to have a relationship in your own head. David Sanchez was a neighbor and school mate - that conversation never happened.*
I remember
having a dream this morning. I remember waking and
saying 'I must remember this dream I've had it
before, Long ago'. So I repeated the dream to myself several times and reviewed
the images I could recall and the feelings I had.
I, Ralph and Potsie and one other were on a team. The other
was our captain, he was big and strong and quite handsome. We had to okay our
skit with the teacher, we met her in the park. She was an old school marm type,
rode in on an antique bicycle. She said our skit was foul and obscene and that
our bodies should be covered more then they are. "Why really!"
she cryed "Short sleeves and shorts! Like walking around in your
under-wear! How can you be so brazen like the harlot that walks the
street!" Ralph, Potsie and I were shocked and amazed "She can't do
that - He'll show her a thing or two - She's a fossle." Much to our
surprize our captain slumped his shoulders, put on his glacer glasses and sulked
away into the bushes of the park. "What do we do now?" asked Potsie.
"We stop her!" I yelled in fury. I ran after her on her bycycle.
Just as I nearly caught up she was in a stage coach. She looked out the window
with the head gear of a telephone operator on "Yes, Yes, Can I help
you?"
She said and made a reach for the pen in my pocket. I couldn't
let her have it. I feel back some then ran harder to catch up. Then a Japanese
man rode out and said "Let me help you," to the school marm, "I
like this sort of thing" he said to me. I couldn't pass the Japanese man
and lost sight of the train of bicycles. I kept running after that beautiful
young school marm, kept running down the long dirt road.
Finally I could run no further and I was at a ranch yard with
a drunk keeper. "Sure take any horse." he said. I stood there calling
horses and of the hundreds there not one came to me. Then the drunk lead one to
me. The horse had no legs, only four stumps which kept its belly about four
inches off the ground. It hobbled at a gallop toward me and its blind eyes
said 'take me'. The keeper felt sorry for me so he hooked the leggless horse up
to a carrage and gave me a lantern. The horse set his stumps to a gallop and the
Keeper jogged along side of me for a while. The road was getting darker and
there was much more vegitation. Soon we were traveling through fields of
underbrush with the lantern lighting only the inside of the small carrage. Soon
I realized we were in a grave yard over-run by under brush. I seem to remember
holding in . horror the bust of a woman. Her
face was gaunt and decaying and frozen in a scream but her dark brown leathery
breast were still full. I remember throwing it out
as soon as a red wedge suddenly appeared. The horse frightened turned left as
fast as possible on its stumps and then ramed
against it making lots of screaching noises. The wall ended just as suddenly but
left us in the middle of Satanic ritual. The glowing canniblistic ghouls
began to chase us and I urged my only campanion on
ever harder on his short stumps. He whinnied in fright and pain as he ran for
his life. Suddenly the carrage hit a tombstone and overturned. I ran as the ghouls
caught the carrage and ate the legless horse.
As I crawled out of the underbrush forest and onto the dark
roads I remember ordering a notebook out of thin
air to record these occurances most specificaly to write down the lyrics of the
song Sting sang behind me (Now I can't remember
them, All I remember is that was beautiful poetry).
Soon I found the house of the teacher and I barged in confused and tired. There
sat four old ladys, one of which was my great grandmother. They sat there
knitting and talking of the children locked in the closets. All becomes .
muddled after that because I was trying to remember
and write down.
My most vivid memories are of the legless horse with blinders
on.
It's late, maybe I'll dream again.
This is one of the grater jokes of my life.
Since It's late I'll keep it sort and to the point.
Brian Paxson and I went out and got some stuff to eat and met
up with Danny Lastly (one of my greater / lesser lusts).
"Hey, Bri," he said "Have you heard about Shawn?" He
inquired.
This is Shawn Kelly, singer / guitarist for Vagaboon Zoot, A
greater lust (refer to Dwane Lickstien (?)) and great inspiration.
"No, what about him?"
"He's in Las Vegas pulling the old hide-out trick."
he went into the reasons for the hide out (insignificant
as for what I heard).
"That's old Shawn." said Bri.
"That's not it." said Danny, "He's got a new
love in his life. One of his old roommates ... What's-His-name."
"His name!" cried out Brian. Dan just
nodded.
"Shawn turned out to be a fag!" Dan just nodded.
Dan played Christ in Godspell, did a hell of a job, I felt he should
. have laughed a little, at me.
To keep Brice Ravenwood out of my mind, while
suntaning I invented Ian Mathews. Tall, dark hair with blonde
streaks, very tan, muscular but still thin, no real body hair, large dark
nipples, strong hands and feet and a firm ass. Ian was raised in Britian, when
he was 15 his family moved to Austrila and now here four years later. Ian is a
musican and a gymnast. He's fun loving yet still has that British 'detachment'.
From one vice to another of the same. Ian's a bit different though. Brice was
calm, loving and understanding. Ian throws caution to the wind and I get dragged
in a bit.
I watched 'Hair' today. It's been along time since I've seen
it. I forgot how much they touched in this film. The drama moved me, again, but
the touch depressed me. I crave to be touched.
Marc Lejune called me. I had to talk to him. My France trip
came up and it lead to European homo-sexuals. Marc was hell fire against any
homo's and felt uncomfortable disscussing the subject past that because he
changed the subject so quick and blatantly I whispered 'coward'
. to the phone. As soon as I hung up I called Marc Tolbert.
He wasn't there so I went looking. I played the Eurythmics
Touch tape, then my Voices of Pain tape. I drove all over everywhere drilling my
head with painfull thoughts. Marc seemed as elusive as the love I seek.
You hetrosexuals have it so God Damn easy - You can go out
and look for love. You can play the feild and find that speacil someone. So what
if you get burned once or twice, your looking and you can grab some affection
before you go down. Me, I have to make every minute of anything last. Out of
fear I have to sit and wait to be found, and there's two sad things about that.
First, no one knows to look for me, second I may not love the only person does
find me. I keep thinking, in two years I can go out and
start looking. But how do I do that? People will know then. I don't want people
like Marc to remember me like Brian Paxon remembers
Shawn "God it makes me sick to know I knew that guy. To think, he's spent
the night at my house. I've been in a hot tub with him! God if I ever see him
again I'll kill him."
Then thers all the memories he won't remember.
I finally found Marc at his house after he returned. He just sat
and watched TV. I wanted someone to talk to. He was watching 'Electric Dreams.'
here was a geek finding love. I told Marc this was depressing and left. Nobody
seems to fucking talk anymore. Marc Lejune does but he has nothing to say.
I want to take my God Damn glove off an not hurt anybody!
It's a wonder I don't get up every morning and stare at the
razor. thinking about how deep it could cut and how much blood would gush from
the wounds. Every time I think of something like that though I also think of the
people I leave behind. So much pain and wonder for them.
Year 2ØØØ. I figure by that time a man's lonelyness will
have eaten him from the inside out and he'll die. A shell full of dust and
broken dreams.
FUCK
Everything just always seems to feel like shit!
I went to Dave's today. He wanted to give my tape back and figure out something
to do.
I went over, we talked, we went out, found Pat, ate, dropped
Pat off, went back to his house, played chess (he won), we talked. It was really
great up to a point. We got back, just after we played chess Dave went to the
bathroom. He left the door open but told me not to walk by. I didn't. I sat in a
chair right holding on, left hand trying to be free and my glove glued to the
chair. Really it was better then it seemed. But after, all I could think of was
his dick. Its damn annoying to try and talk to a guy (or even listen)
and have distracting thoughts.
Fuck this, it lead no where but into darkness and trivial
insanity.
In a note of explaination toward the name Duean Liken. This
was before I found the name J. B.J. Scarriot, I signed with a name I thought
would belong to some pervert. Which is what I felt like when I wrote this story.
The story starts "It was the first day of school, everyone was meeting
everyone after a long hot summer."
and ends "I be safe to say I got to knew Gary a little
better." what I meant to write was ~ It would be safe to say I knew Gary
and David a little better ~.
This was an X-rated story about myself (refered to as Damon)
and two others guys. The two other guys happen to be
based off two people I knew. Gavin Fritton (given
the name Gary because of its similar sound) and Shawn Kelly (having no name
similar sounding I chose David meaning beloved). The story was one of my sexual
fantasys with two guys (my feeling explained) that in the long run occupy no
space in my mind but is never forgotten. Like I said, Danny should have laughed
more.
More pain then I remembered possilbe. The
Smiths - Meat is Murder. How soon is Now.
'I am the son and the hier
of a shyness that is
Criminaly
Vulgar
And something else, Nothing in
Particular
You shut your mouth
Now can you say I go about things
the wrong way
I am human and I need to be loved
just like everybody else does.
It could be somebody you really love
So leave on your own
And you stand on your own
You go home
And you cry
And you want to Die
You say its going to happen now
But you see I've already waited to
long
Now all my hope is gone
You shut your mouth
How can you say I go about things
the wrong way
I am human and I need to be
loved
Just like everybody else does. '
The hard flowing guitar sounds still flow in my mind. such a
powerful song, I can't get enough of it. actually I can, but it hurts so bad it
feels good.
Part of the lyrics to the next song go "If I ever felt a
natural emotion I'd get such a shock I'd jump in
the ocean. And at night I lie and think of God and I think of Death and niether
particularly appeal to me."
All of the songs are very good.
Yesterday I found tow hitch-hikers on the highway at 11:3Ø
pm. I gave them a ride for about 3 or 4 miles. They were on there way to Olathe.
They were very good looking.
Today I went to Princes theater and saw John C. Holmes. Not
impressive. I am more impressed with the good looks of Rick Donovan then the
distorted body of Holmes.
Rick Donovan the spy I run in Top Secrete is
still alive and undiscovered. I seem to feel he is very dangerous. I'm thinking
f making it more so by placing a facial picture on this file. More intrege, how
appropreate for an assassin.
*symbol - d and m together* Dephoce Mode albums.
Speak and spell is terrible, the only bad songs I've heard from them.
Construction time again is much better.
Today I saw the most beautiful male I've seen in a long time
looking at a blue boy. I almost talked to him. I didn't. the good ones are
either taken, to young, to straight or all of the above. What hope do I have.
Who's kidding who, I was also scared shitless.
Goodbye and good night.
© 2001 August (Date implied by entry date, Date of copyright covers web publication)
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