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Russell's Buzz
Dad would be so proud, his baby glistening in the sun as Russell cruised the
English racing green machine at a bit over 2800 R.P.M.s. He knew every rattle
squeak and nuanced eccentricity of this complex little car. Even though it made
him half crazy with worry at the temperamental unreliability he still adored it, quite
the symbiotic match. Motoring in the open-air cockpit tickled his senses with
unfamiliar scents. He could actually smell the tropical flowers that appeared
artificial in all their exquisite beauty. The clean breeze from the ocean air was
quite unlike the clam like odor that emanated from the Jersey shore, which
attacked you from miles away. The clean green was everywhere so unlike home
everything appeared new and young compared to the culture of the north in which
he was accustomed. The radiant cotton like clouds contrasted a satin aqua blue
sky, lazily these puff balls floated soothingly across the smog free sky. He
marveled at the dream homes in tropical pastels. Mediterranean Spanish stucco
styles quite distinct from the dreariness of the worn out neighbor hoods of south
Jersey he thought. If he would miss anything of the north, it would be Old City
Philadelphia’s fascinating architecture rich in our national heritage. His father
introduced him to history through springtime walks marveling at the strength of
our forefather’s master plan for the greatest country in the modern world. He was
particularly shocked at the portrait of Sam Smith an eerie identical likeness of his
grandfather.
As he motored along in a perfect world he thought, he could enjoy all the gems
that this new environment offered; his cloistered existence would not allow such
recklessness. The warm sun nourished and reinvigorated his newly transplanted
body with much needed calming serrotonin. This late January morning was
literally just what his doctor ordered, no rain and plenty of sun. He had always felt
that Florida was rainy, not today; to him it was a perfect spring day, no
precipitation on the forecast. He checked the average daily weather and found it
hard to believe being trapped on three sides of the huge bodies of beautiful blue
ocean would generate rain on a daily basis. Beach side had a natural barrier
supplied by the Atlantic’s sea breeze keeping the brewing afternoon
thundershowers west of interstate 95 sort of a line of demarcation up and down
the peninsula. Unk had to prove to him from the net that Daytona Beach went
nearly 5 months rain free in 1999. The year of the great summer fires practically
leveling whole neighborhoods at the same time killing the tourist season with rain
of gray ash and toxic smog filled air. Uncle Dan related to him that it really was a
bureaucratic bonfire run amok in a so-called control burn, “right a real oxford-
moron” he said in his favorite hick shit-kicken voice.
He lived in enigmatic complex worlds, the one alone in his condo grounded in
command of his peaceful center of the universe. In the real world as he referred to
it in his self imposed exile away from the contorted faces insulating him from the
harassing symptoms. Though, when forced off his island with the obligatory
interactions he lingered in limbo in a sort of deafening fog anchored to unending
fear and worry shrouding his every thought aware of potential attacks of
paralyzing anxiety. The obvious nagging tics and twitches periodically rocked his
entire body attempting to adjust his natural rhythm. Obsessions dampened
virtually every mundane public task; left unchecked his unfounded fears could
short-circuit his internal transformers leaving him drained of reality, destabilizing
his mental capacity. Technically his neuro-transmitters were off schedule with
delivery of their regulating soritonin. He rationalized this by comparison, his
internal wires were not up to code relative to his twenty amp breakers which
called for 30 amp, consequently it was overheating circuits tripping and resetting
emotional relays as he multi-tasked the overloaded junction box in his brain which
in turn left his natural batteries drained of power. At times, he felt his mind was on
a treadmill going nowhere fast unable to decelerate. He could come up with
numerous analogies to compare the strange mind bending events in his head.
And for these reasons he did not mind being alone fully aware of the risks of
isolation with the fears of additional hysterical destruction in his somewhat safe
havens decompression chamber. At times, he counted the minutes that would
end each day to find escape in sleep. But lately his “ phobes ” were even
invading his sleep, recurrent dreams in vivid living color ending just as he is about
to find his hearts desire the faceless silhouette fades out of reach in the morning
light.
It required intense concentration to venture into the realm of prying eyes with the
threat of a mental Chernobyl to fully appreciate his fathers dream machine but he
managed. Cringing from each rattle of the roads slight imperfections, listening to
those valves in a perfect pitch at least for the time being he thought. Worry has
been part of his existence for sometime, fixed negative impulsed distractions
interrupting his thoughts from moment to moment, cutting in on his simple
pleasures. Come on funny feelin he thought…. Buzzzzzzz it was a warm secure
feeling that tickles his body from inside out up his spine into his head bringing on
a secret calming to his racing body and soul even if only for a few short minutes
each hour, more or less, more he wanted….
His lack concentration provided his fertile imagination allowing him to drift back
into his father’s lonely past by just taking a simple glance at his own hand to see
his father’s hand, the catalyst to set him off on the portentous journey back in
time…… Okay fire it up Sandy he said her. If ever anyone fit the name he
thought she did, her perfect smile accurately lit her face, it beamed
blemish free radiant skin. She was indeed a rare first edition, out of print.
No Not book smart no not by a long shot, a kind of naive street smart,
devoid of deceit. Despite her lack of culture and polish she had a way of
illuminating her way powered by her own brand of pure compelling
panache. No act, no props no pretense just pure joy encapsulated in a
seemingly flawless aura. She was not classically beautiful, hardly just an
earthy slender more or less shadowy figure gliding through life framed in
shoulder length mousy brown hair, weak chin and huge ears, however
the eyes and smile pretty much completed the hundred pound alluring
paradoxical package. She could quite literally show up Miss America and
her running mates with her stimulating smile coupled with her genuinely
innocent unscripted demeanor. Yes she turned heads and even her
feminine counter parts were mystified at the absolute incorruptibility she
exuded. Amazingly envy and jealousy was tempered and thoroughly
disarmed by that intoxicating magnificent mug, she was so real, angelic
poetry in flight.
Sandi his heart did skip a beat every time he looked her way in his open
air cockpit, he could still feel the thumps pummel his rib cage pulsating
his hot raging little tadpoles to life in a frenzy of anticipation hopeful of
unadulterated escape. What did he know this 21 year old his puny frame
barely over 5’7 and 145lbs soaking wet. It was difficult for him to look her
way he could scarcely believe she was at his side, that’s why he loved his
MGB seats two. Most his peers were thundering down the highway with
300 plus horses under their hoods guzzling mother nature’s precious
starting fluid. His noble nineteen sixty four conquering chariot
accommodating a cozy couple mastering the reigns and his Cleopatra by
his side he felt like an invincible Roman God”….
He raced down the Atlantic City Expressway constantly monitoring the oil
pressure and temperature gauge painfully aware of every out of the
ordinary sound that this English Tonka toy made that could grind his
plans to a screeching halt…… “Ground control to major Tom, Can You
hear me Major Tom Can You Hear as I” sitting in my tin can far far away
planet earth looks blue and there’s nothing I can do”
His mind wandered back and forth from both his loves the second hand
sports car to his second hand girl. She’d been married less than 6
months to some other bloke and now she was adorning him for how long
he wondered, blind faith. He found himself confused about her as his
mind raced back to his mission Wildwood, find a secluded dune he
thought to gaze upon perfection with funny ears for that was his time, his
girl, his world, eye on the prize release those anxious little drops of life….
Battle won….
She was more suited to someone a bit more seasoned as he would
painfully learn….. War Lost…. Still he would float in that beautiful balloon
as long as he could….. He was never quite comfortable always
consumed with self-doubt particularly in crowds, he was a solitary guy.
She did little to augment his seemingly adolescent bravado. What a
curious contrast he thought his the loners immature uncertain
questioning self esteem, her an original self assured unpretentious free
spirited innocence of the 70s love generation she was a full bloom flower
child. He always knew he could never measure up; he in no way gave in.
What he lacked in confidence he made up with a quick wit and good
command of the kings English and of course good hair waving in the
breeze flying his dreams down the highway, top down and black roll bar
at his back, it felt and sounded like an old bi-plane he thought, he
wondered when will the bubble burst. For the moment, he was happy. He
dared to wonder is this love, especially after she flashed a bus full of
unsuspecting recipients a free preview of her perfect breasts.
He took a hit from the perfect joint she rolled and wondered, how can she
roll them so good compared to mine resembling bent little twig’s, kind of
a self portrait he thought. He tried not to gaze too frequently at her for
sure he will jinx this day, brooding over everything as he tried enjoying
this serendipitous moment in time. In his 21 short years, confidence was
not his strong suit; he still looked maybe fifteen years old even with the
scruffy mustache…… Black Magic Woman,
she’s a black magic women trying make a devil out of You
And she was doing just that. As the music played in the back round he
went from song to song squeezing in life, using the lyrics to fit his.
Day dreaming and slightly stoned he thought of the clumsy night in his
brothers borrowed yellow uncomfortable 1969 Chevy Camaro, finally
over Jennie he smirked, if she could see me now with her super hiney
and flat chest as friends had often referred, they liked her, big mistake.
He went back and forth from highs, and way too many lows, such was his
life.
IT WAS RAINING HARD IN FRISCO,
I NEEDED ONE MORE FARE TO MAKE MY NIGHT
A LADY UP AHEAD WAVED AND FLAGgED ME DOWN
SHE GOT IN AT THE LIGHT
OH WHERE YOU GOING TO MY LADY BLUE IT’S A SHAME YOU RUINED
GOWN IN THE RAIN
SHE JUST LOOKED OUT THE WINDOW SHE SAID SIXTEEN PARKSIDE
LANE……
His mother was quite the babe his dad would remind him in every remarkable
detail keeping in mind his remaining pain free precious days, dad would try make
sure that he knew he came from at least half of a worry free gene pool in his futile
attempt to impart some buoyancy in his sons other wise dreary future.
His Dad told him in his last days what he wanted for him to find, what he always
wanted he said. "Want to be someone's special man…. I do not want not go
through the candy store and play hide and seek and examine the samples and
also be examined…. I know what I want, what I always wanted a warm heart to
open and take mine in and beat as one… I need to be needed, I need to worry for
someone, I need to flip out when she is a little late, praying that everything is okay
that she is not hurt, and when she comes to the door I want her warmth to let me
know everything is alright, I want to hug her until a solitary tear of joy wash away
my fears, I want a fire of passion to burn always… I want my love to satisfy her
deepest desires, I want her whisper in my ear as love is in motion I love You, I
want silent communication from her smiling eyes, I want her to tell me to calm
down as she takes my hand to her face. I want to be her man, to be a man and
want no other in my way, I want to grow younger as we take on the years…. If I am
reaching too high and fast I am sorry, I am not needy nor would I smother her
creativity, I may surround her with love and affection, She would be a thousand
thoughts throughout my day, my first in the morning and last before she dances in
my dreams as we hold hands and take flight all through the night"..... Oh God he
was so right, and that solitary tear found it way down his own face as he recalled
his Father's wish for him.
Buzz “Is this what it felt like”? Not sure if he liked it or not.
“Dad said it felt like a warm buzzing feeling from head to toe”, good pot he said
made him feel at the right speed, he reluctantly admitted when his pain killers
kicked in to ease his own unbearable, unrelenting pain, he should have stuck with
pot instead of the nasty cancer sticks. What’s it like to concentrate on just one
single thought for a few minutes every now and then, was it too much to ask….
Dr. Mack the Quack Meyer said these little buzz bombs would work over time.
Dad always laughed when I called them that, when he was able between the
morphine hits from the drip, drip, drip like sand in a one-way hourglass signaling
the end. He feared the last precious grain of time and knew it was coming.
He would set the multi colored stabilizers on the antique hand painted lustre
nappy at his seat at the breakfast table so I would not forget to keep my head
tuned up, “come on Dad” I griped ‘I’m not a total idiot”. Will I ever run out of tears?
He mourns throughout the day sprinkling the seeds of his warm memories as
would a sweet summer rain. I wish he was here to remind me again as he
painfully remembered the day that changed his life and kicked him in the head
leaving him in a surreal drama scared and bitterly alone truly alone for the first
time in his confused life… I miss You Dad, and cries to salute him in silent
repose…
I ain’t missing You at all since You been gone……. No way………
His Mother was every tender love song, a mysterious gentle flower. His
father sheltered her memory in the deep recess nursing a life long broken
heart and left them both with a tale of an ageless wild flower taken at full
bloom adrift in time kept alive floating in dreams captured from time to
time on the winds gentle breeze of days gone by.
Etched in his mind the day he was ushered to the unwelcome seat in the
abandoned theater displaying his own personal horror film above the marquee.
He fought off the shocking news his father was compelled to deliver in the early
fall, taking it for the most part like a man and perhaps sleeping way too much
through out the fall and winter. Not knowing the mad alchemist was slowly having
intercourse with his brain chemistry coinciding with the life-taking grip tightening
on his father. Initially he was strong, but the full force of the blend aging all winter
delivered a full force near lethal dose with a crushing blow shortly after the long
wintry weather subsided. The other shoe was in the air.
At long last the wintry season of death had finally given way to the new season so
it was natural for him to be outdoors to take in the sounds and the beautiful
change from dismal gray to the warm vivid colors of spring. He needed to shake
the dreary wrinkles of their confining apartment for an invigorating afternoon at
the park with a good book to welcome the glorious rebirth that is spring. With
every breath, the sweet fragrant air filled his senses as few could appreciate. He
regarded his diminished hearing as one positive aspect to his heightened sense
of smell.
As he enjoyed the grandeur and peace it offered it was briefly interrupted by an
aura of fear, nothing new here he thought such was becoming normal in his
otherwise chaotic existence just another day he thought, it came again stronger
moments later. He was reading more and more to reign in his phobia also to
occupy his racing mind. A slight chill coursed through him and lingered long
enough to rattle his attention followed by subtle tremors entering his fingertips
rumbling slowly up his arms. Then his thoughts started summer salting upside
down and inside out, along with tightening pressurized explosions in his chest.
Shivers shot up his spine like a bitter blast of winter air shooting arrows up into
his temples numbing his brain. This strange unfamiliar creature took hold it
squeezed out measured but sharp persistent waves of lightning bolts and thunder
beating in his ears seemingly expanding his skull with every shivering electrifying
pulse. He felt his blood running like drops of white-hot ice swelling through his
eyeballs blinking tears flooding at a racing pace out of control down his cheeks.
The full throttle death grip tightened around his neck muscles constricting as a
boa on helpless prey closing off the clean spring life giving air. Piercing through
his body were spasms pounding shaking, spinning like a blind folded dizzying
roller coaster ride. In his near sightless panic gasping for air and his sanity, what
is happening to me was all he could think in the distance. Hot blasts of freezing
pain kept flashing around his brain he was dimly aware of the horror show going
off in his head, pleading to know what hit him. Feeling his existence fading away
through the black holed tunnel spiraling gradually descending into desperate
darkness. He struggled to hold on. Just barely able to keep from passing out,
trying to maintain some sort of focus and hang on. Watching his life go by in time-
lapse black and white, faster and faster, I am dying…. This is the end, the
ultimate rush. It felt like hours in as little as a few breathless minutes. Almost as
quickly as it came this paralyzing rage evaporated into the afternoon breeze
leaving him dazed and confused. He gazed up to the perfect blue spring sky not
quite sure where he was or what had happened. All he could think of as his
scatter brained mind slowed back to a normal pace, is it over? He retraced his
limited reality, what was this was I caught up in some sort invisible tornado, heart
attack, stroke, all breeds of morbid scenarios crept into his foggy mind as he
blindly navigated the tight rope back to reality knowing that he nearly fell into the
bottomless pit of insanity. He laid down amid warm fragrant grass weak and cold
from the sweat and fear that consumed his aching tense body and regained a bit
more of the here and now. The temporary death grip subsided as the calming
warmth of natures afternoon sun allowed him to slowly come back to reality.
He rested motionless for any remaining terror to slither away. Slowly his body
temperature reset to 98.6 and he silently considered the totality of the
experience. He gathered his thoughts questioning this unknown fury hoping he
could keep this mental monster stuck somewhere in time……
Several times an hour those little buzz bombs would go off more or less relying on
loud noise and stress to literally jump start the buzz. They turn up the juice then
the panic switch goes off and he tries to disappear and hide, physics, it just don’t
work, he can’t hide. It started slow just after he received the news of his fathers
death sentence a few years back it was getting too comfortable to stay in almost
24/7 7 depression had set in, days a week he tried faking it but he could not let
the asthma take the blame for hibernating. He could not put a name on the
debilitating disaster until taking his father in for weekly treatments it was noticed
and discussed with his father’s doctor who mentioned the dark circles that were
Russell’s eyes…..
Meds Funny one got rid of one ailment only to trade it in for another, Meds he
thought again new kind of candy, not sweet unless Your broker made sure he had
You in the right portfolio. Unsweetened tiny candy magically made in some
spotless lab by an egg headed geek with a $90,000.00 BMW convertible. The
one with a screaming nuclear comb over with those silly little strands from that
weird looking birds nest that has come unraveled flapping in the breeze. Poetic
justice he thought here I am with great hair thanks to Moms genes fearing
invisible hair stealing gremlins obsessed with the potential loss and this whack
job gets blindsided by his chrome domed skull. Wondering all the while, why he is
unable to invent a pill that re-grows hair, so much for a level playing field……..
Buzzzzzz His mind raced from thought to thought second to second minute to
minute buzz to buzz. He often knew his father was in his head flashing back and
forth as if he were both at once as if it were possible, nuts he thought I must be
nuts, a mind like a computer in dire need of a complete defrag or complete re-
start disc is lost somewhere in his mind. Concentrate he said to himself blow out
the cobwebs, as dad would say. Buzzzzzz
Star Trek daydreaming part of life with no control, Star Trek watching those corny
sci-fi with dad when the headaches allowed. No wonder we loved those, our
favorite we agreed was Spock stealing someone’s line when he saved the
Enterprise. Admiral Kirk sitting there wearing his perfect hair hat, distraught
pressing against the glass talking to Mr. Spock for the last time. Spock should
have been glowing in the dark from the super nuclear plutonium fatal zap saving
the ship said to his friend Admiral James T Kirk asked “why Spock”, and Spock
with his putty ears and Frankenstein hair replied” THE NEEDS OF THE MANY
OUT WEIGH THE NEEDS OF THE ONE, I cried silently as Spock died, not dad
he got something in his eye. I always wondered why he never had his eyes
checked. I later figured out that he was sentimental fool, a broken heart can do
that to you. Buzzzzzzzz One thousand miles south, a bunch of years later like
father like son we both loved old movies and hated the cold.
Motoring down A1A Daytona Beach in his little ride seemed out of place in
NASCAR country and so was he, it may or may not have been Daytona that
made him feel that way it was just part of life. The dreaded D word was always
lurking from buzz to buzz. Russell felt like a senior citizen with all the separation of
Alzheimer’s the difference was that he knew what had changed; from time to time
his mind had a way of sparing him with an odd-ball sense of humor. At times he
would laugh out loud, sort of like a defense mechanism unlike the life taking
Alzheimer’s total alienation from society.
His gated townhouse was well suited to his claustrophobic nature with the
spacious open floor plan that supported obsessive-compulsive proclivities. He
could come and go nearly undetected with perimeter walls encapsulating a
driveway, garden court yard, cascading waterfall, private pool, lanai and covered
patio complimenting his peculiar needs fueling a somewhat normal life style that
fragmented his concealed life style. The down side was the echo chamber effect
from the wall-to-wall porcelain tile, noise was disturbing to his tenuous ability to
maintain calm. He can rationalize the up and down side of everything the chronic
condition holding sway in his surreptitious mind. He understood consolations
would be made so he appreciated antiseptic cleanliness diminishing allergic
episodes; conversely, carpet crawled with maniacal micro menacing bugs, pun
intended. His day was regulated starting with the sunrise and ending normally
with the dusk. Any kind of TV or radio news was simply out of the question, being
susceptible to the metaphor “if it bleeds it leads”. He limited his TV time to old
movies comedy, science, building and educational programming. Accepting pop
culture poison in non lethal doses, PCBS, “politically correct bull shit” live and let
live Seinfeld’s sophisticated northeast humor was one of his favorites, George
being his most identifiable fiction/nonfiction character “art imitating life imitating
art, begging the question where does it all begin noting that there is a little bit of
George in everyone, unfortunately too true “serenity now, Yada, Yada, Yada”…..
He drowned drinking in tear streaked movies, finding his life in perfect romances,
he was Joe Black, Cary Grant, Tom Hanks, Jimmy Stewart finding his ideal mate
in Kim Bassinger, Sigourney Weaver, Deborah Carr and Maureen O’Hara
His kitchen was spotless, refrigerators contents perfectly aligned, Milk, V-8,
Apple Juice, Ginger ale on the top shelf, bottled spring water stacked horizontally
atop each other, he kept the fridge full knowing it lent efficiency to the compressor
motor. On the lower shelves plastic containers with portion controlled leftovers to
streamline time. He would have nothing to do with canned or frozen foods: he
feared anything prepackaged with carcinogenic preservatives, Coke out of the
question, he had his own coffee grinder, coffee hot black perked on the stove top
in a 50s Pyrex see thru coffee pot. Pasta plenty, meat and fish sparingly, fresh
vegetables, fruit, an apple a day everything in moderation blah blah, blah…..
He never used a microwave, as he knew that at least for him to use it left him
unable to assimilate dairy products of any kind. Pushups and sit-ups, at least one
hundred every morning, mountain biking from garage sale to garage sale, church
weekly. Lonely Yes, grateful, Yes, going thru life quietly discontented knowing life
could be far worse. He kept a good thought for the future his time would come.
He never lacked things to do, his home/office was his most productive outlet for
any inexhaustible manic phase to steer scatter-brained energy. He feared the
end of the mania knowing it could ultimately lead to the dark destructive
kamikaze crash dive into mental quick sand. These mental menstrual periods left
him drained of energy sleep and nourishment forcing him on a doctor ordered
daily diet of emotional starvation. The regiment of M & Ms reigned in the invasive
incessant jabs enabling him to duck the crippling blows and function on an
otherwise unruffled consciousness. If not for the miracle meds the internal puppet
master stretched the tension of his biological strings off balance out sync with
time and space.
Promise kept 9am to 11am 3 days a week he said it helps, the real therapy is the
after torture drives, forced panic attacks with these strangers that is me and
others that need some help. Then the others unaware they need help. All they are
doing is taking up badly needed space so as not to occupy another ominous
space in a gray walled razor fenced dungeon. Many arrive like it is party time
some like hunters scaring the hell out of the new prey not knowing that their own
insecurities are doing the tracking. Many of these lonely people from all walks of
life are afraid of their own shadows. I am keeping my word to dad to make the
best of it tough as it is. How to fix myself and not let the horrors of these lost souls
seep into my mind. It is sort like a real live version of Jerry Springer without the
bouncers, bleeps, and boobs. Douglas middle aged slightly over weight genius
fending off the urge to call his crack connection for one last dip into the ten minute
euphoria all the while afraid to meet anyone’s eyes. Derrick, a handsome 24-
year-old boy who stares at the ground, and when speaking if at all it is barely a
whisper. Then the truly hopeless trapped in a place called oblivion. Brenda a 25-
year-old crack whore, mother of 2 kids wondering why her mother refuses her any
contact with her little gifts from God Curiously funny it would be interesting to chat
with the chump who unwittingly named crack “Crack”. It truly opened up the earth
as a 9.9 Richter quake swallowing up its victims in a massive human crack of
despair. We all have demons that trudge through our minds, some of us here are
remote controlled to one degree or another, like my hi-tech toys I build, if it were
just that simple to change out microchips in our heads, a scary thought.
Sometime soon asking the moral question, which would be worse manufactured
demons or life’s natural wrecks. The miracle workers who show up seemingly
with super-glued smiles to great us and treat from a bottomless well of
compassion. Who fixes them when they bleed, who administers the hugs, what
demons invade their space, how can they continue to go to the well before it runs
dry.
For me it happened gradually at 16 years old self-medicatiing with rolling rocks
with my buddies for the first time gave me the courage to flirt with the girls, of
course I got carried away. Five or six Rolling Rock beers and I was spider man or
super man, weekend to weekend with those green bottles of balls. Suddenly
Karen and her gorgeous wavy brown hair, clear blue eyes were within reach. I
dreamt until she reduced me to mush, I was out of my league. Then Cindy with a
strange accent for this area considering everyone had that south jersey twang
straight from the streets of south Philly her voice was music, sweet as candy I
listened. She was my first real crush in 4th grade she broke my heart when she
moved away, she never knew. How could the 3rd smallest kid in the class with the
biggest front teeth ever have a chance, with her? I was a determined little runt I
rode past her house day after day just to get a look and hope she’d say hi, I was
a grade school stalker and never knew I was ahead of the curve. Then
miraculously she moved back in 7th grade, it must be a sign I thought, She had
not changed her angels voice it was straight from the willows of Mississippi, I
would learn in show and tell. It was a tough lesson learned that some things are
just out of reach. That did not stop my heart when she caught my eye. I would
have to settle for second best, such is life. Eighth grade came and somehow I
became friends with Becky Williams because our parents knew each other, how
convenient I was more or less stuck with her, she was no Cindy. Her friends could
have been Miss Teen This or that Karen & Diane and of course Cindy it kept me
happy just to be near her. It would be 3 years until my first official date, I was
hopelessly immature and scared to death as it was just a preview of things to
come. Buzzzzzzz
Running always running Just when I was starting to get used to these mental time
travels from past to present today was different things were starting to freak me
out a bit more than normal, Ha what’s normal I have had to adjust to something
slightly off kilter on a daily basis. I always sort of had a degree of seeing things
like an uncontrollable ESP, incidental things, occupations, first names, birth signs
and where they were from but lately it was getting spooky. Just this morning I was
feeling kind of good and as usual I talked to my self in a positive way instead of
beating my self up so there I was at the computer figuring out what I was
supposed to do, written word did not work half the time as I could not read my
own hand writing. Computer on to the sandy beach wall paper and I said as
Scottie would say in his unique accent Computer. I said Okay computer “ Things
To Do” and it opened to Things To Do, That will freak You out when Your
computer acts on a voice command, I abandoned the TO DO list and got the hell
out of there as I must be working to hard Buzzzzzzzzz
How many times can I ride down to Ponce Inlet light house, it is a challenge just to
get out, morning I can do with little fear. Later it can get a bit skitsy with the
ubiquitous afternoon storms launching lightning and thunder that seemed to
almost paralyze me. I traded one poison for another take your pick crash, bang,
boom or nasty cold isolating winters. Dr Quack Meyer said the winters could put
me in a tailspin like cabin fever so he suggested Florida, which was not too
difficult a decision cause dad loved Florida and Daytona Beach.
Noise, crowds make me sweat, chest pounds, dizzy just your normal everyday
anxiety/panic attack, come on funny feeling. Then I just laugh at how nuts I am
getting, asking the question “would it be crazy to embrace my insanity” I have to
laugh cause the buzzes start to feel good which makes me know that I am a crazy
as about half the country thanks in part to the biggest drug pusher in the world the
US government Buzzzzz
High tide my favorite rock is getting soaked, why is that making me feel wet, how
can that be, I am discovering that depressed people can also be a bit
compulsive, what am I going to do give it a name my pet rock. Perfect
Aquamarine water good wave action not surfer waves chamber of commerce
waves to be sure.
Therapy they call it, sure, more like torture, however it is working…. I am out
He had come to know that people are all like flowers all with different seasons.
The tropical red hibiscus will bloom year round if protected, watered and adored,
with their almost artificial perfection, their flowers are delicate as they are
beautiful, conversely a solitary cactus flower miles from anything surrounded by
thorns in a dry lonely desert no one will ever see the splendor of natures creation.
Me I am a late bloomer, not quite sure when or for how long I will flower. Buzzzzzz
Most guys would love my life style from an outward prospective, if they only knew.
Mediterranean block & stucco condo a block from the beach, a custom chopper
64 MGB enough money in the bank to live good for the next 10 years provided I
didn’t go completely nuts, my own internet business providing plenty of money.
My neighborhood a secure gated community surrounded by geriatric busybodies
that taught me one of the secret ways You can tell that You know you are getting
old, a short lesson demonstrated, yes when you can’t hear Your own farts. Me
with my bad hearing as it was I thought I was hearing things. Yes, I was also sorry
to say my smelling is so perfect, sorry as I digress here I am again embracing my
nuts again, so to speak…….
I was miserable, scared and lonely as has been for the last 8 years, not really
knowing my mother. Dads attempts at having surrogate motherhood were short
lived thou well intentioned, Bonny, Lisa & Nina, made us both hopeless in the end
of those futile affairs. I am not sure who suffered more him or me. Dad and I were
both sentimental who saw life as an old black & white movie, they all ended
happily ever after. He would always apologize when he had a few too many beers
that all he wanted for us was to be a family like his “ Leave It To Beaver “
childhood. My generation was somehow supposed to be smarter than his. At
least Dad tried at love, it would appear that mine as far as I was concerned
accepted the fact that there was a shelf life dated in time in the not so distant
future of all love affairs, today we just “ hook up “, I used to hook up my trains, not
quite the same. We go from chapter to chapter in a book never completed “
Those ill fated arrangements did not live happily ever after” Dad said he caught
the very beginning he referred to it as sport sex generation, he said it was safe.
Never will there be fifty plus anniversary notices in the newspapers, we have
replaced that with nuclear families. He joked to me after a few beers to let me
know about the birds and the bees, he said when he was sure I understood about
it, he said “ The difference between love and herpes is herpes lasts forever.
Accurate true, not funny not!!! Then add 5 or 10 more unnamed love bugs and
you are sort of playing Russian roulette. Me, I would settle for something, anything
was better than this self-imposed exile from the human race. I am just wound too
tight for anyone including mostly myself so I struggled day to day, pill to pill, buzz
to buzz to get through it all, I wanted desperately to know what “it” is…..
The sunlight came on as usual and peered in the window, 6:12 AM, I jumped out
of bed feeling strangely motivated to start the day. How can they make those pills
allow me to get up so clear headed, normal wake up pattern not a bit tired the
customary stretch clear headed ready for the day. I am not sure why I would drink
that black starting fluid I didn’t need it and, I had no one to enjoy the ritual of fresh
perked coffee right off the range, just like dad, just like dad, but my routine is a
not like dads. I am not completely alone I have to eat my friends all 225 plus mgs
otherwise within the hour I will be sitting transfixed by my feet as they hop up and
down from the irrepressible movement, mind racing, breaking records going
nowhere fast out of control just another lonely day. The uneventful itinerary, off to
school 2 days a week to play with toys like a 9 year old. Going to college with 19
and 20 year olds that looked older than me at 25 years old, playing with million
dollar machines just to stay in the game of life. The head hunters could never
understand why I would turn down mega bucks and play in those sterile steel
trapped labs to do essentially the same thing I am paying for school at
$14,000.00 a year. When I tried to explain how this dopey depression could
control me and that it would take me down. A regimented surveillance camera,
cloistered environment was a sure way to put me over the edge they all looked at
me as if I were his red headed stepchild. Moreover, I wonder how they can track
me down at least once a month to offer me a once in a lifetime deal, it ought to be
illegal. I thought, but then again I stalked my precious Cindy ten years ago didn’t
I…..buzzzzzzz
I was not totally alone I had a friend well more or less an uncle thou he wanted me
to be his friend for whose benefit I am sure. Uncle Dan Dads friend, Dad said
they met in nowhere Texas better known as Jeetterville population maybe 2000
when they were both trying out a life style change that included new wives. They
stayed friends ended up in Daytona Beach that is how I picked here as well as
the school. He was sort of a retired hippie biker antique dealer all rolled up in
one. Dan was taller than dad but just as skinny which made him pass for late 40s
then mid 50s. I learned a lot about my dad from him he said dad was the nicest
little wiseass he ever new with a heart of gold and guts to match, he said You had
to have guts to live in Jeeterville with all those fat ass cowboys with their Billy Joe
Bob this or that embossed on the back of their belts. He said they wore their
names on the back so they knew who they were screwing in a more colorful
vernacular as you may have recollected. The both of them were lucky they did not
get killed making fun of those country boys before they left. You recon they would
say back and forth a private joke I’m sure. One visit in Kansas City they knocked
off a bottle of wild turkey and it would be You recon this and recon that. One of the
funniest was what they called a bar ditch, a bar ditch was something “You ran into
on the side of the road on a Saturday night after You left the honky tonk in your
pick up truck at 3:00 in the morning beginning a hang over like a big dog “ but
they realized that they did not know the origin of the word, dad said lets see in his
best shit kicking draw B A R D I T C H. They talked about writing a Texas
dictionary about the peculiar way they talked back then in the 80s. I remember
dad and me both having an asthma attack laughing so hard as the 2 of them
reminisced about their mixed up past in a place they called Tex-Ass Buzzzzzzzzzz
As he sat on the rocks and went back and forth from his fathers past reality to his
own lonely moment in time he could not help feeling they shared the world as a
couple of grains of sand on a cold windy beached being pummeled by the
incessant fierce waves of a blue norther.
Russell monitored the weather channel ready at a moments notice to seek refuge
in his make shift sound proofed shelter. Thunder could kick him right into an
anxiety attack or panics horrific hold. Florida’s weather could change from minute
to minute, it pleased him knowing that the annoying precipitation was for the most
part steered west of interstate 95, it acted as an invisible buffer keeping the rain
and noise strangely controlled.
Dad would be so proud, his baby glistening in the sun as Russell cruised the
English racing green machine at a bit over 2800 R.P.M.s. He knew every rattle
squeak and nuanced eccentricity of this complex little car. Even though it made
him half crazy with worry at the temperamental unreliability he still adored it, quite
the symbiotic match. Motoring in the open-air cockpit tickled his senses with
unfamiliar scents. He could actually smell the tropical flowers that appeared
artificial in all their exquisite beauty. The clean breeze from the ocean air was
quite unlike the clam like odor that emanated from the Jersey shore, which
attacked you from miles away. The clean green was everywhere so unlike home
everything appeared new and young compared to the culture of the north in which
he was accustomed. The radiant cotton like clouds contrasted a satin aqua blue
sky, lazily these puff balls floated soothingly across the smog free sky. He
marveled at the dream homes in tropical pastels. Mediterranean Spanish stucco
styles quite distinct from the dreariness of the worn out neighbor hoods of south
Jersey he thought. If he would miss anything of the north, it would be Old City
Philadelphia’s fascinating architecture rich in our national heritage. His father
introduced him to history through springtime walks marveling at the strength of
our forefather’s master plan for the greatest country in the modern world. He was
particularly shocked at the portrait of Sam Smith an eerie identical likeness of his
grandfather.
As he motored along in a perfect world he thought, he could enjoy all the gems
that this new environment offered; his cloistered existence would not allow such
recklessness. The warm sun nourished and reinvigorated his newly transplanted
body with much needed calming serrotonin. This late January morning was
literally just what his doctor ordered, no rain and plenty of sun. He had always felt
that Florida was rainy, not today; to him it was a perfect spring day, no
precipitation on the forecast. He checked the average daily weather and found it
hard to believe being trapped on three sides of the huge bodies of beautiful blue
ocean would generate rain on a daily basis. Beach side had a natural barrier
supplied by the Atlantic’s sea breeze keeping the brewing afternoon
thundershowers west of interstate 95 sort of a line of demarcation up and down
the peninsula. Unk had to prove to him from the net that Daytona Beach went
nearly 5 months rain free in 1999. The year of the great summer fires practically
leveling whole neighborhoods at the same time killing the tourist season with rain
of gray ash and toxic smog filled air. Uncle Dan related to him that it really was a
bureaucratic bonfire run amok in a so-called control burn, “right a real oxford-
moron” he said in his favorite hick shit-kicken voice.
He lived in enigmatic complex worlds, the one alone in his condo grounded in
command of his peaceful center of the universe. In the real world as he referred to
it in his self imposed exile away from the contorted faces insulating him from the
harassing symptoms. Though, when forced off his island with the obligatory
interactions he lingered in limbo in a sort of deafening fog anchored to unending
fear and worry shrouding his every thought aware of potential attacks of
paralyzing anxiety. The obvious nagging tics and twitches periodically rocked his
entire body attempting to adjust his natural rhythm. Obsessions dampened
virtually every mundane public task; left unchecked his unfounded fears could
short-circuit his internal transformers leaving him drained of reality, destabilizing
his mental capacity. Technically his neuro-transmitters were off schedule with
delivery of their regulating soritonin. He rationalized this by comparison, his
internal wires were not up to code relative to his twenty amp breakers which
called for 30 amp, consequently it was overheating circuits tripping and resetting
emotional relays as he multi-tasked the overloaded junction box in his brain which
in turn left his natural batteries drained of power. At times, he felt his mind was on
a treadmill going nowhere fast unable to decelerate. He could come up with
numerous analogies to compare the strange mind bending events in his head.
And for these reasons he did not mind being alone fully aware of the risks of
isolation with the fears of additional hysterical destruction in his somewhat safe
havens decompression chamber. At times, he counted the minutes that would
end each day to find escape in sleep. But lately his “ phobes ” were even
invading his sleep, recurrent dreams in vivid living color ending just as he is about
to find his hearts desire the faceless silhouette fades out of reach in the morning
light.
It required intense concentration to venture into the realm of prying eyes with the
threat of a mental Chernobyl to fully appreciate his fathers dream machine but he
managed. Cringing from each rattle of the roads slight imperfections, listening to
those valves in a perfect pitch at least for the time being he thought. Worry has
been part of his existence for sometime, fixed negative impulsed distractions
interrupting his thoughts from moment to moment, cutting in on his simple
pleasures. Come on funny feelin he thought…. Buzzzzzzz it was a warm secure
feeling that tickles his body from inside out up his spine into his head bringing on
a secret calming to his racing body and soul even if only for a few short minutes
each hour, more or less, more he wanted….
His lack concentration provided his fertile imagination allowing him to drift back
into his father’s lonely past by just taking a simple glance at his own hand to see
his father’s hand, the catalyst to set him off on the portentous journey back in
time…… Okay fire it up Sandy he said her. If ever anyone fit the name he
thought she did, her perfect smile accurately lit her face, it beamed
blemish free radiant skin. She was indeed a rare first edition, out of print.
No Not book smart no not by a long shot, a kind of naive street smart,
devoid of deceit. Despite her lack of culture and polish she had a way of
illuminating her way powered by her own brand of pure compelling
panache. No act, no props no pretense just pure joy encapsulated in a
seemingly flawless aura. She was not classically beautiful, hardly just an
earthy slender more or less shadowy figure gliding through life framed in
shoulder length mousy brown hair, weak chin and huge ears, however
the eyes and smile pretty much completed the hundred pound alluring
paradoxical package. She could quite literally show up Miss America and
her running mates with her stimulating smile coupled with her genuinely
innocent unscripted demeanor. Yes she turned heads and even her
feminine counter parts were mystified at the absolute incorruptibility she
exuded. Amazingly envy and jealousy was tempered and thoroughly
disarmed by that intoxicating magnificent mug, she was so real, angelic
poetry in flight.
Sandi his heart did skip a beat every time he looked her way in his open
air cockpit, he could still feel the thumps pummel his rib cage pulsating
his hot raging little tadpoles to life in a frenzy of anticipation hopeful of
unadulterated escape. What did he know this 21 year old his puny frame
barely over 5’7 and 145lbs soaking wet. It was difficult for him to look her
way he could scarcely believe she was at his side, that’s why he loved his
MGB seats two. Most his peers were thundering down the highway with
300 plus horses under their hoods guzzling mother nature’s precious
starting fluid. His noble nineteen sixty four conquering chariot
accommodating a cozy couple mastering the reigns and his Cleopatra by
his side he felt like an invincible Roman God”….
He raced down the Atlantic City Expressway constantly monitoring the oil
pressure and temperature gauge painfully aware of every out of the
ordinary sound that this English Tonka toy made that could grind his
plans to a screeching halt…… “Ground control to major Tom, Can You
hear me Major Tom Can You Hear as I” sitting in my tin can far far away
planet earth looks blue and there’s nothing I can do”
His mind wandered back and forth from both his loves the second hand
sports car to his second hand girl. She’d been married less than 6
months to some other bloke and now she was adorning him for how long
he wondered, blind faith. He found himself confused about her as his
mind raced back to his mission Wildwood, find a secluded dune he
thought to gaze upon perfection with funny ears for that was his time, his
girl, his world, eye on the prize release those anxious little drops of life….
Battle won….
She was more suited to someone a bit more seasoned as he would
painfully learn….. War Lost…. Still he would float in that beautiful balloon
as long as he could….. He was never quite comfortable always
consumed with self-doubt particularly in crowds, he was a solitary guy.
She did little to augment his seemingly adolescent bravado. What a
curious contrast he thought his the loners immature uncertain
questioning self esteem, her an original self assured unpretentious free
spirited innocence of the 70s love generation she was a full bloom flower
child. He always knew he could never measure up; he in no way gave in.
What he lacked in confidence he made up with a quick wit and good
command of the kings English and of course good hair waving in the
breeze flying his dreams down the highway, top down and black roll bar
at his back, it felt and sounded like an old bi-plane he thought, he
wondered when will the bubble burst. For the moment, he was happy. He
dared to wonder is this love, especially after she flashed a bus full of
unsuspecting recipients a free preview of her perfect breasts.
He took a hit from the perfect joint she rolled and wondered, how can she
roll them so good compared to mine resembling bent little twig’s, kind of
a self portrait he thought. He tried not to gaze too frequently at her for
sure he will jinx this day, brooding over everything as he tried enjoying
this serendipitous moment in time. In his 21 short years, confidence was
not his strong suit; he still looked maybe fifteen years old even with the
scruffy mustache…… Black Magic Woman,
she’s a black magic women trying make a devil out of You
And she was doing just that. As the music played in the back round he
went from song to song squeezing in life, using the lyrics to fit his.
Day dreaming and slightly stoned he thought of the clumsy night in his
brothers borrowed yellow uncomfortable 1969 Chevy Camaro, finally
over Jennie he smirked, if she could see me now with her super hiney
and flat chest as friends had often referred, they liked her, big mistake.
He went back and forth from highs, and way too many lows, such was his
life.
IT WAS RAINING HARD IN FRISCO,
I NEEDED ONE MORE FARE TO MAKE MY NIGHT
A LADY UP AHEAD WAVED AND FLAGgED ME DOWN
SHE GOT IN AT THE LIGHT
OH WHERE YOU GOING TO MY LADY BLUE IT’S A SHAME YOU RUINED
GOWN IN THE RAIN
SHE JUST LOOKED OUT THE WINDOW SHE SAID SIXTEEN PARKSIDE
LANE……
His mother was quite the babe his dad would remind him in every remarkable
detail keeping in mind his remaining pain free precious days, dad would try make
sure that he knew he came from at least half of a worry free gene pool in his futile
attempt to impart some buoyancy in his sons other wise dreary future.
His Dad told him in his last days what he wanted for him to find, what he always
wanted he said. "Want to be someone's special man…. I do not want not go
through the candy store and play hide and seek and examine the samples and
also be examined…. I know what I want, what I always wanted a warm heart to
open and take mine in and beat as one… I need to be needed, I need to worry for
someone, I need to flip out when she is a little late, praying that everything is okay
that she is not hurt, and when she comes to the door I want her warmth to let me
know everything is alright, I want to hug her until a solitary tear of joy wash away
my fears, I want a fire of passion to burn always… I want my love to satisfy her
deepest desires, I want her whisper in my ear as love is in motion I love You, I
want silent communication from her smiling eyes, I want her to tell me to calm
down as she takes my hand to her face. I want to be her man, to be a man and
want no other in my way, I want to grow younger as we take on the years…. If I am
reaching too high and fast I am sorry, I am not needy nor would I smother her
creativity, I may surround her with love and affection, She would be a thousand
thoughts throughout my day, my first in the morning and last before she dances in
my dreams as we hold hands and take flight all through the night"..... Oh God he
was so right, and that solitary tear found it way down his own face as he recalled
his Father's wish for him.
Buzz “Is this what it felt like”? Not sure if he liked it or not.
“Dad said it felt like a warm buzzing feeling from head to toe”, good pot he said
made him feel at the right speed, he reluctantly admitted when his pain killers
kicked in to ease his own unbearable, unrelenting pain, he should have stuck with
pot instead of the nasty cancer sticks. What’s it like to concentrate on just one
single thought for a few minutes every now and then, was it too much to ask….
Dr. Mack the Quack Meyer said these little buzz bombs would work over time.
Dad always laughed when I called them that, when he was able between the
morphine hits from the drip, drip, drip like sand in a one-way hourglass signaling
the end. He feared the last precious grain of time and knew it was coming.
He would set the multi colored stabilizers on the antique hand painted lustre
nappy at his seat at the breakfast table so I would not forget to keep my head
tuned up, “come on Dad” I griped ‘I’m not a total idiot”. Will I ever run out of tears?
He mourns throughout the day sprinkling the seeds of his warm memories as
would a sweet summer rain. I wish he was here to remind me again as he
painfully remembered the day that changed his life and kicked him in the head
leaving him in a surreal drama scared and bitterly alone truly alone for the first
time in his confused life… I miss You Dad, and cries to salute him in silent
repose…
I ain’t missing You at all since You been gone……. No way………
His Mother was every tender love song, a mysterious gentle flower. His
father sheltered her memory in the deep recess nursing a life long broken
heart and left them both with a tale of an ageless wild flower taken at full
bloom adrift in time kept alive floating in dreams captured from time to
time on the winds gentle breeze of days gone by.
Etched in his mind the day he was ushered to the unwelcome seat in the
abandoned theater displaying his own personal horror film above the marquee.
He fought off the shocking news his father was compelled to deliver in the early
fall, taking it for the most part like a man and perhaps sleeping way too much
through out the fall and winter. Not knowing the mad alchemist was slowly having
intercourse with his brain chemistry coinciding with the life-taking grip tightening
on his father. Initially he was strong, but the full force of the blend aging all winter
delivered a full force near lethal dose with a crushing blow shortly after the long
wintry weather subsided. The other shoe was in the air.
At long last the wintry season of death had finally given way to the new season so
it was natural for him to be outdoors to take in the sounds and the beautiful
change from dismal gray to the warm vivid colors of spring. He needed to shake
the dreary wrinkles of their confining apartment for an invigorating afternoon at
the park with a good book to welcome the glorious rebirth that is spring. With
every breath, the sweet fragrant air filled his senses as few could appreciate. He
regarded his diminished hearing as one positive aspect to his heightened sense
of smell.
As he enjoyed the grandeur and peace it offered it was briefly interrupted by an
aura of fear, nothing new here he thought such was becoming normal in his
otherwise chaotic existence just another day he thought, it came again stronger
moments later. He was reading more and more to reign in his phobia also to
occupy his racing mind. A slight chill coursed through him and lingered long
enough to rattle his attention followed by subtle tremors entering his fingertips
rumbling slowly up his arms. Then his thoughts started summer salting upside
down and inside out, along with tightening pressurized explosions in his chest.
Shivers shot up his spine like a bitter blast of winter air shooting arrows up into
his temples numbing his brain. This strange unfamiliar creature took hold it
squeezed out measured but sharp persistent waves of lightning bolts and thunder
beating in his ears seemingly expanding his skull with every shivering electrifying
pulse. He felt his blood running like drops of white-hot ice swelling through his
eyeballs blinking tears flooding at a racing pace out of control down his cheeks.
The full throttle death grip tightened around his neck muscles constricting as a
boa on helpless prey closing off the clean spring life giving air. Piercing through
his body were spasms pounding shaking, spinning like a blind folded dizzying
roller coaster ride. In his near sightless panic gasping for air and his sanity, what
is happening to me was all he could think in the distance. Hot blasts of freezing
pain kept flashing around his brain he was dimly aware of the horror show going
off in his head, pleading to know what hit him. Feeling his existence fading away
through the black holed tunnel spiraling gradually descending into desperate
darkness. He struggled to hold on. Just barely able to keep from passing out,
trying to maintain some sort of focus and hang on. Watching his life go by in time-
lapse black and white, faster and faster, I am dying…. This is the end, the
ultimate rush. It felt like hours in as little as a few breathless minutes. Almost as
quickly as it came this paralyzing rage evaporated into the afternoon breeze
leaving him dazed and confused. He gazed up to the perfect blue spring sky not
quite sure where he was or what had happened. All he could think of as his
scatter brained mind slowed back to a normal pace, is it over? He retraced his
limited reality, what was this was I caught up in some sort invisible tornado, heart
attack, stroke, all breeds of morbid scenarios crept into his foggy mind as he
blindly navigated the tight rope back to reality knowing that he nearly fell into the
bottomless pit of insanity. He laid down amid warm fragrant grass weak and cold
from the sweat and fear that consumed his aching tense body and regained a bit
more of the here and now. The temporary death grip subsided as the calming
warmth of natures afternoon sun allowed him to slowly come back to reality.
He rested motionless for any remaining terror to slither away. Slowly his body
temperature reset to 98.6 and he silently considered the totality of the
experience. He gathered his thoughts questioning this unknown fury hoping he
could keep this mental monster stuck somewhere in time……
Several times an hour those little buzz bombs would go off more or less relying on
loud noise and stress to literally jump start the buzz. They turn up the juice then
the panic switch goes off and he tries to disappear and hide, physics, it just don’t
work, he can’t hide. It started slow just after he received the news of his fathers
death sentence a few years back it was getting too comfortable to stay in almost
24/7 7 depression had set in, days a week he tried faking it but he could not let
the asthma take the blame for hibernating. He could not put a name on the
debilitating disaster until taking his father in for weekly treatments it was noticed
and discussed with his father’s doctor who mentioned the dark circles that were
Russell’s eyes…..
Meds Funny one got rid of one ailment only to trade it in for another, Meds he
thought again new kind of candy, not sweet unless Your broker made sure he had
You in the right portfolio. Unsweetened tiny candy magically made in some
spotless lab by an egg headed geek with a $90,000.00 BMW convertible. The
one with a screaming nuclear comb over with those silly little strands from that
weird looking birds nest that has come unraveled flapping in the breeze. Poetic
justice he thought here I am with great hair thanks to Moms genes fearing
invisible hair stealing gremlins obsessed with the potential loss and this whack
job gets blindsided by his chrome domed skull. Wondering all the while, why he is
unable to invent a pill that re-grows hair, so much for a level playing field……..
Buzzzzzz His mind raced from thought to thought second to second minute to
minute buzz to buzz. He often knew his father was in his head flashing back and
forth as if he were both at once as if it were possible, nuts he thought I must be
nuts, a mind like a computer in dire need of a complete defrag or complete re-
start disc is lost somewhere in his mind. Concentrate he said to himself blow out
the cobwebs, as dad would say. Buzzzzzz
Star Trek daydreaming part of life with no control, Star Trek watching those corny
sci-fi with dad when the headaches allowed. No wonder we loved those, our
favorite we agreed was Spock stealing someone’s line when he saved the
Enterprise. Admiral Kirk sitting there wearing his perfect hair hat, distraught
pressing against the glass talking to Mr. Spock for the last time. Spock should
have been glowing in the dark from the super nuclear plutonium fatal zap saving
the ship said to his friend Admiral James T Kirk asked “why Spock”, and Spock
with his putty ears and Frankenstein hair replied” THE NEEDS OF THE MANY
OUT WEIGH THE NEEDS OF THE ONE, I cried silently as Spock died, not dad
he got something in his eye. I always wondered why he never had his eyes
checked. I later figured out that he was sentimental fool, a broken heart can do
that to you. Buzzzzzzzz One thousand miles south, a bunch of years later like
father like son we both loved old movies and hated the cold.
Motoring down A1A Daytona Beach in his little ride seemed out of place in
NASCAR country and so was he, it may or may not have been Daytona that
made him feel that way it was just part of life. The dreaded D word was always
lurking from buzz to buzz. Russell felt like a senior citizen with all the separation of
Alzheimer’s the difference was that he knew what had changed; from time to time
his mind had a way of sparing him with an odd-ball sense of humor. At times he
would laugh out loud, sort of like a defense mechanism unlike the life taking
Alzheimer’s total alienation from society.
His gated townhouse was well suited to his claustrophobic nature with the
spacious open floor plan that supported obsessive-compulsive proclivities. He
could come and go nearly undetected with perimeter walls encapsulating a
driveway, garden court yard, cascading waterfall, private pool, lanai and covered
patio complimenting his peculiar needs fueling a somewhat normal life style that
fragmented his concealed life style. The down side was the echo chamber effect
from the wall-to-wall porcelain tile, noise was disturbing to his tenuous ability to
maintain calm. He can rationalize the up and down side of everything the chronic
condition holding sway in his surreptitious mind. He understood consolations
would be made so he appreciated antiseptic cleanliness diminishing allergic
episodes; conversely, carpet crawled with maniacal micro menacing bugs, pun
intended. His day was regulated starting with the sunrise and ending normally
with the dusk. Any kind of TV or radio news was simply out of the question, being
susceptible to the metaphor “if it bleeds it leads”. He limited his TV time to old
movies comedy, science, building and educational programming. Accepting pop
culture poison in non lethal doses, PCBS, “politically correct bull shit” live and let
live Seinfeld’s sophisticated northeast humor was one of his favorites, George
being his most identifiable fiction/nonfiction character “art imitating life imitating
art, begging the question where does it all begin noting that there is a little bit of
George in everyone, unfortunately too true “serenity now, Yada, Yada, Yada”…..
He drowned drinking in tear streaked movies, finding his life in perfect romances,
he was Joe Black, Cary Grant, Tom Hanks, Jimmy Stewart finding his ideal mate
in Kim Bassinger, Sigourney Weaver, Deborah Carr and Maureen O’Hara
His kitchen was spotless, refrigerators contents perfectly aligned, Milk, V-8,
Apple Juice, Ginger ale on the top shelf, bottled spring water stacked horizontally
atop each other, he kept the fridge full knowing it lent efficiency to the compressor
motor. On the lower shelves plastic containers with portion controlled leftovers to
streamline time. He would have nothing to do with canned or frozen foods: he
feared anything prepackaged with carcinogenic preservatives, Coke out of the
question, he had his own coffee grinder, coffee hot black perked on the stove top
in a 50s Pyrex see thru coffee pot. Pasta plenty, meat and fish sparingly, fresh
vegetables, fruit, an apple a day everything in moderation blah blah, blah…..
He never used a microwave, as he knew that at least for him to use it left him
unable to assimilate dairy products of any kind. Pushups and sit-ups, at least one
hundred every morning, mountain biking from garage sale to garage sale, church
weekly. Lonely Yes, grateful, Yes, going thru life quietly discontented knowing life
could be far worse. He kept a good thought for the future his time would come.
He never lacked things to do, his home/office was his most productive outlet for
any inexhaustible manic phase to steer scatter-brained energy. He feared the
end of the mania knowing it could ultimately lead to the dark destructive
kamikaze crash dive into mental quick sand. These mental menstrual periods left
him drained of energy sleep and nourishment forcing him on a doctor ordered
daily diet of emotional starvation. The regiment of M & Ms reigned in the invasive
incessant jabs enabling him to duck the crippling blows and function on an
otherwise unruffled consciousness. If not for the miracle meds the internal puppet
master stretched the tension of his biological strings off balance out sync with
time and space.
Promise kept 9am to 11am 3 days a week he said it helps, the real therapy is the
after torture drives, forced panic attacks with these strangers that is me and
others that need some help. Then the others unaware they need help. All they are
doing is taking up badly needed space so as not to occupy another ominous
space in a gray walled razor fenced dungeon. Many arrive like it is party time
some like hunters scaring the hell out of the new prey not knowing that their own
insecurities are doing the tracking. Many of these lonely people from all walks of
life are afraid of their own shadows. I am keeping my word to dad to make the
best of it tough as it is. How to fix myself and not let the horrors of these lost souls
seep into my mind. It is sort like a real live version of Jerry Springer without the
bouncers, bleeps, and boobs. Douglas middle aged slightly over weight genius
fending off the urge to call his crack connection for one last dip into the ten minute
euphoria all the while afraid to meet anyone’s eyes. Derrick, a handsome 24-
year-old boy who stares at the ground, and when speaking if at all it is barely a
whisper. Then the truly hopeless trapped in a place called oblivion. Brenda a 25-
year-old crack whore, mother of 2 kids wondering why her mother refuses her any
contact with her little gifts from God Curiously funny it would be interesting to chat
with the chump who unwittingly named crack “Crack”. It truly opened up the earth
as a 9.9 Richter quake swallowing up its victims in a massive human crack of
despair. We all have demons that trudge through our minds, some of us here are
remote controlled to one degree or another, like my hi-tech toys I build, if it were
just that simple to change out microchips in our heads, a scary thought.
Sometime soon asking the moral question, which would be worse manufactured
demons or life’s natural wrecks. The miracle workers who show up seemingly
with super-glued smiles to great us and treat from a bottomless well of
compassion. Who fixes them when they bleed, who administers the hugs, what
demons invade their space, how can they continue to go to the well before it runs
dry.
For me it happened gradually at 16 years old self-medicatiing with rolling rocks
with my buddies for the first time gave me the courage to flirt with the girls, of
course I got carried away. Five or six Rolling Rock beers and I was spider man or
super man, weekend to weekend with those green bottles of balls. Suddenly
Karen and her gorgeous wavy brown hair, clear blue eyes were within reach. I
dreamt until she reduced me to mush, I was out of my league. Then Cindy with a
strange accent for this area considering everyone had that south jersey twang
straight from the streets of south Philly her voice was music, sweet as candy I
listened. She was my first real crush in 4th grade she broke my heart when she
moved away, she never knew. How could the 3rd smallest kid in the class with the
biggest front teeth ever have a chance, with her? I was a determined little runt I
rode past her house day after day just to get a look and hope she’d say hi, I was
a grade school stalker and never knew I was ahead of the curve. Then
miraculously she moved back in 7th grade, it must be a sign I thought, She had
not changed her angels voice it was straight from the willows of Mississippi, I
would learn in show and tell. It was a tough lesson learned that some things are
just out of reach. That did not stop my heart when she caught my eye. I would
have to settle for second best, such is life. Eighth grade came and somehow I
became friends with Becky Williams because our parents knew each other, how
convenient I was more or less stuck with her, she was no Cindy. Her friends could
have been Miss Teen This or that Karen & Diane and of course Cindy it kept me
happy just to be near her. It would be 3 years until my first official date, I was
hopelessly immature and scared to death as it was just a preview of things to
come. Buzzzzzzz
Running always running Just when I was starting to get used to these mental time
travels from past to present today was different things were starting to freak me
out a bit more than normal, Ha what’s normal I have had to adjust to something
slightly off kilter on a daily basis. I always sort of had a degree of seeing things
like an uncontrollable ESP, incidental things, occupations, first names, birth signs
and where they were from but lately it was getting spooky. Just this morning I was
feeling kind of good and as usual I talked to my self in a positive way instead of
beating my self up so there I was at the computer figuring out what I was
supposed to do, written word did not work half the time as I could not read my
own hand writing. Computer on to the sandy beach wall paper and I said as
Scottie would say in his unique accent Computer. I said Okay computer “ Things
To Do” and it opened to Things To Do, That will freak You out when Your
computer acts on a voice command, I abandoned the TO DO list and got the hell
out of there as I must be working to hard Buzzzzzzzzz
How many times can I ride down to Ponce Inlet light house, it is a challenge just to
get out, morning I can do with little fear. Later it can get a bit skitsy with the
ubiquitous afternoon storms launching lightning and thunder that seemed to
almost paralyze me. I traded one poison for another take your pick crash, bang,
boom or nasty cold isolating winters. Dr Quack Meyer said the winters could put
me in a tailspin like cabin fever so he suggested Florida, which was not too
difficult a decision cause dad loved Florida and Daytona Beach.
Noise, crowds make me sweat, chest pounds, dizzy just your normal everyday
anxiety/panic attack, come on funny feeling. Then I just laugh at how nuts I am
getting, asking the question “would it be crazy to embrace my insanity” I have to
laugh cause the buzzes start to feel good which makes me know that I am a crazy
as about half the country thanks in part to the biggest drug pusher in the world the
US government Buzzzzz
High tide my favorite rock is getting soaked, why is that making me feel wet, how
can that be, I am discovering that depressed people can also be a bit
compulsive, what am I going to do give it a name my pet rock. Perfect
Aquamarine water good wave action not surfer waves chamber of commerce
waves to be sure.
Therapy they call it, sure, more like torture, however it is working…. I am out
He had come to know that people are all like flowers all with different seasons.
The tropical red hibiscus will bloom year round if protected, watered and adored,
with their almost artificial perfection, their flowers are delicate as they are
beautiful, conversely a solitary cactus flower miles from anything surrounded by
thorns in a dry lonely desert no one will ever see the splendor of natures creation.
Me I am a late bloomer, not quite sure when or for how long I will flower. Buzzzzzz
Most guys would love my life style from an outward prospective, if they only knew.
Mediterranean block & stucco condo a block from the beach, a custom chopper
64 MGB enough money in the bank to live good for the next 10 years provided I
didn’t go completely nuts, my own internet business providing plenty of money.
My neighborhood a secure gated community surrounded by geriatric busybodies
that taught me one of the secret ways You can tell that You know you are getting
old, a short lesson demonstrated, yes when you can’t hear Your own farts. Me
with my bad hearing as it was I thought I was hearing things. Yes, I was also sorry
to say my smelling is so perfect, sorry as I digress here I am again embracing my
nuts again, so to speak…….
I was miserable, scared and lonely as has been for the last 8 years, not really
knowing my mother. Dads attempts at having surrogate motherhood were short
lived thou well intentioned, Bonny, Lisa & Nina, made us both hopeless in the end
of those futile affairs. I am not sure who suffered more him or me. Dad and I were
both sentimental who saw life as an old black & white movie, they all ended
happily ever after. He would always apologize when he had a few too many beers
that all he wanted for us was to be a family like his “ Leave It To Beaver “
childhood. My generation was somehow supposed to be smarter than his. At
least Dad tried at love, it would appear that mine as far as I was concerned
accepted the fact that there was a shelf life dated in time in the not so distant
future of all love affairs, today we just “ hook up “, I used to hook up my trains, not
quite the same. We go from chapter to chapter in a book never completed “
Those ill fated arrangements did not live happily ever after” Dad said he caught
the very beginning he referred to it as sport sex generation, he said it was safe.
Never will there be fifty plus anniversary notices in the newspapers, we have
replaced that with nuclear families. He joked to me after a few beers to let me
know about the birds and the bees, he said when he was sure I understood about
it, he said “ The difference between love and herpes is herpes lasts forever.
Accurate true, not funny not!!! Then add 5 or 10 more unnamed love bugs and
you are sort of playing Russian roulette. Me, I would settle for something, anything
was better than this self-imposed exile from the human race. I am just wound too
tight for anyone including mostly myself so I struggled day to day, pill to pill, buzz
to buzz to get through it all, I wanted desperately to know what “it” is…..
The sunlight came on as usual and peered in the window, 6:12 AM, I jumped out
of bed feeling strangely motivated to start the day. How can they make those pills
allow me to get up so clear headed, normal wake up pattern not a bit tired the
customary stretch clear headed ready for the day. I am not sure why I would drink
that black starting fluid I didn’t need it and, I had no one to enjoy the ritual of fresh
perked coffee right off the range, just like dad, just like dad, but my routine is a
not like dads. I am not completely alone I have to eat my friends all 225 plus mgs
otherwise within the hour I will be sitting transfixed by my feet as they hop up and
down from the irrepressible movement, mind racing, breaking records going
nowhere fast out of control just another lonely day. The uneventful itinerary, off to
school 2 days a week to play with toys like a 9 year old. Going to college with 19
and 20 year olds that looked older than me at 25 years old, playing with million
dollar machines just to stay in the game of life. The head hunters could never
understand why I would turn down mega bucks and play in those sterile steel
trapped labs to do essentially the same thing I am paying for school at
$14,000.00 a year. When I tried to explain how this dopey depression could
control me and that it would take me down. A regimented surveillance camera,
cloistered environment was a sure way to put me over the edge they all looked at
me as if I were his red headed stepchild. Moreover, I wonder how they can track
me down at least once a month to offer me a once in a lifetime deal, it ought to be
illegal. I thought, but then again I stalked my precious Cindy ten years ago didn’t
I…..buzzzzzzz
I was not totally alone I had a friend well more or less an uncle thou he wanted me
to be his friend for whose benefit I am sure. Uncle Dan Dads friend, Dad said
they met in nowhere Texas better known as Jeetterville population maybe 2000
when they were both trying out a life style change that included new wives. They
stayed friends ended up in Daytona Beach that is how I picked here as well as
the school. He was sort of a retired hippie biker antique dealer all rolled up in
one. Dan was taller than dad but just as skinny which made him pass for late 40s
then mid 50s. I learned a lot about my dad from him he said dad was the nicest
little wiseass he ever new with a heart of gold and guts to match, he said You had
to have guts to live in Jeeterville with all those fat ass cowboys with their Billy Joe
Bob this or that embossed on the back of their belts. He said they wore their
names on the back so they knew who they were screwing in a more colorful
vernacular as you may have recollected. The both of them were lucky they did not
get killed making fun of those country boys before they left. You recon they would
say back and forth a private joke I’m sure. One visit in Kansas City they knocked
off a bottle of wild turkey and it would be You recon this and recon that. One of the
funniest was what they called a bar ditch, a bar ditch was something “You ran into
on the side of the road on a Saturday night after You left the honky tonk in your
pick up truck at 3:00 in the morning beginning a hang over like a big dog “ but
they realized that they did not know the origin of the word, dad said lets see in his
best shit kicking draw B A R D I T C H. They talked about writing a Texas
dictionary about the peculiar way they talked back then in the 80s. I remember
dad and me both having an asthma attack laughing so hard as the 2 of them
reminisced about their mixed up past in a place they called Tex-Ass Buzzzzzzzzzz
As he sat on the rocks and went back and forth from his fathers past reality to his
own lonely moment in time he could not help feeling they shared the world as a
couple of grains of sand on a cold windy beached being pummeled by the
incessant fierce waves of a blue norther.
Russell monitored the weather channel ready at a moments notice to seek refuge
in his make shift sound proofed shelter. Thunder could kick him right into an
anxiety attack or panics horrific hold. Florida’s weather could change from minute
to minute, it pleased him knowing that the annoying precipitation was for the most
part steered west of interstate 95, it acted as an invisible buffer keeping the rain
and noise strangely controlled.
Russell's Buzz