Johnny Wraith Stories - Latest Blog Entries

Workers' Compensation in a Nutshell

Thu, 10 May 2012 19:48:00 -0500

Workers' Compensation, in a nutshell, is coverage an employer provides to an employee when an employee is hurt, made sick, or disabled on the job, usually on a temporary basis. On a permanent basis or for permanent disability, there may be coverage through the employers' policy, or the government may provide assistance. Coverage is for work related injury or illness, which can arise from a single event, like a machine accident, or multiple events, such as daily typing on the job for years, which may result in carpal tunnel syndrome. So let's answer the question what is workers' compensation by exploring a hypothetical involving carpal tunnel syndrome. And really, this is the same question as what is workmans' compensation? The terms workmans' and workers' are commonly used interchangeably. Here is an instructive hypothetical involving Betty, who comes down with carpal tunnel syndrome:

Betty's wrists start hurting one day. She's been a secretary at ABC Corp for 30 years. Her fingers just don't hit the keys like they used to. Her hands seem to tie up. She goes to the HR department and is referred to the the safety officer, who is in charge of filing workers' compensation claims. She interviews Betty, fills out some paperwork, Betty signs it, and Betty goes to see a doctor the saftey officer recommended. Upon a number of tests and x-rays, it is determined Betty has carpal tunnel syndrome and it is a work related injury. Betty is scheduled for surgery and spends the next 5 weeks healing up. During this time all of her medical bills are paid and she recieves compensation of 60% of her usual wages during this time. She returns to work and everything is back to normal again. The surgery was a success. Betty didn't have to sue her employer and her job was still available for her upon her return.

You Can Fight Wage Garnishment!

Thu, 26 Apr 2012 11:49:00 -0500

Life is a tough cookie. Making it day to day, is hard enough. Get up early, shower, eat a fast breakfast, drink some high rev coffee from 7-11. Work all day for barely enough money to get by on and hardly ever get overtime like you used to get. With gas prices going up every day, you're not sure you're going to make it. You don't even want to get into the grocery bill, or even talk utilities. Last month you lived the last week on your credit card and now that is maxed out. There are even rumors you're going to be cut from 40 hours a week to 35. You know what to do. You can cancel your cable bill and eat more Ramen noodles. You are going to make it. That is, you were going to make it until you received notice your wages were going to be garnished. Wage garnishment is all you needed. It is an old debt for an apartment lease you broke, and somehow they got a judgment against you for $5500.00. Now your employer is going to be taking 25% of your hard earned money out of your paycheck. You have just 10 days to fill out some forms and ask for a hearing.

You don't need to ask what is garnishment? You know what it is. You just need to know how to fight it. There are several arguments you can make. However, in your case, assuming you don't have any other obligations or garnishments or whatever, and you are receiving ordinary wages, and the judgment is valid and you know it, you probably only have one good argument. Don't take this article as word for it because every case is different and you should talk to a lawyer. But, with this said, you can argue economic hardship, and if you are successful, you can get the garnishment reduced to 15% or even less in most jurisdictions. Basically, you usually just check a box for "economic hardship" or write about your hardship in the forms you have that allow you to request a hearing. Then when the court day comes, bring printouts of all your bills and show how you'll end up on the street if you get 25% slashed from your check.

How Jenny Found a Boyfriend with HDMI TV

Fri, 13 Apr 2012 19:42:00 -0500

Jenny was all smiles and giggles, and she hadn't been all smiles and giggles for many years, not since the terrible automobile accident. Since then the once prom queen and head cheerleader had been a sad, disfigured girl and her fake eye was always wandering in the wrong direction. She hadn't had a date in years, but everything changed when Jenny, who happened to be a millionaire because the auto accident had involved a very drunk politician who cannot be named due to issues involving author safety, decided to fix up the living room of her 5000 sq ft house in the hills. It wasn't just a 5000 sq. ft. house. It had 25 ft. ceilings.

The doorbell rang, and it wasn't just a doorbell. The veritable mansion's doorbell was essentially a pipe organ.

Jenny was all smiles, or at least half of her face smiled because of all the scar tissue and nerve damage. Her good eye sparkled, though the bad one wandered.

"Becky!"

"Jenny!"

"Oh Becky, it is so good to see you! Come in! Come in!"

"How have you been darling?"

"Oh Becky, you have to come meet Jimmy! He is the bomb! And he loves me! Can you believe it?"

By the hand Jenny dragged her friend through the house, down the foyer, through an atrium. through a grand room or two, and finally they arrived at what appeared to be a dark home theater. The sounds of gunfire and screaming zombies filled the air. A young disheveled man with two automatic electronic pistols in hand was reclining in a fancy chair firing away at the zombies coming at him on the 20' screen.

"Jimmy love! Meet my friend Becky!"

"Dude," mumbled Jimmy without looking their way.

"Hi Jimmy," Becky tried to say nicely without grimacing.

The girls then traversed the house to another room and began having tea.

"So tell me Jenny. How did you find such a wonderful man?"

"Oh Becky! I met him on Craig's List! His name was GamerBoy696969."

"Ok. So next thing you knew he was here?"

"Yes! He just moved in! I am so happy!"

"Ok girlfriend, out with it. How did you win his heart so quickly? This has moved pretty fast."

"HDMI in TV! That plus the home theater, the Playstation whatever number special edition or whatever it was, and Jimmy just couldn't live without me. Can you believe his mother wouldn't let him play his games on her television? The nerve! He is a 34 year old man and should be able to make his own decisions. He loves me because I take care of him. He even said I'm beautiful."

"That TV HDMI home theater with Playstation will do it every time!"

How to Collect Money

Thu, 05 Apr 2012 19:06:00 -0500

I read an article a lawyer wrote about collecting old debt. Suppose your company is behind in collections. You keep resending invoices and emailing but the past due accounts keep growing and growing. It is pretty simple. You just pick up the phone and start calling. Make sure you get ahold of someone that can actually pay you, you know, get the check cut. Sometimes it takes a while, but be sure to ask the person you are talking to if they have the authority to pay you. If they say no, ask who does. Get that name, write down their number, and call them. When you talk to them, see if they can actually cut the check, and if they say no, ask who can. Get that person's name and number. Finally you will talk to the right person and they'll be able to tell you why you haven't been paid, and either get the check in the mail or tell you what you need to do to make them happy. Collections is a grueling task. Keep on it through the phone and email, making direct contact and putting commitments in writing. Keep at it. Fix the problems that might be holding up payment on the inside. So this means you have to keep badgering the person that owes you the money, as well as anyone at your business that is slowing things down because they aren't getting their jobs done. Be sure to get the help you need from higher ups when you can, and don't forget you can always issue a credit memo for anything prematurely billed. This will help AR look a little bit better, even if revenue has to take a hit.

How to Get a Product Trademark

Sun, 01 Apr 2012 21:52:00 -0500

If you have a really cool product and you've thought of a good name for it, you want to protect the name. You want the name recognition so people can pass on the good news that what you are selling is really awesome. If you get the name all to yourself and keep it that way, no one can jump in a start using your name and start taking your market share. Anyway there is a good article about how Blue Ocean Capital got their name for their product, the Brush Gripper registered with the Trademark Office so only they could use it. The first step was making sure they could use the name and then once they knew it was kosher, they filled out and filed all the paperwork. While they waited, they put a "TM" after the name to let everyone know it was theirs.

Is she telling you the truth?

Thu, 29 Mar 2012 11:19:00 -0500

You don't always know if your girlfriend is telling you the truth or not. You met her online and she goes for hours without answering your text messages, and sometimes you just lie there at night wondering if she is with another man. Things don't add up. You've never even seen her driver's license. You are smart to check her personal history because for all you know she's a felon, has a warrant out for her arrest, or is even married.

North American Van Lines Reviewed

Thu, 01 Mar 2012 13:54:00 -0600

A came across a Tweet a few days ago warning of North American Van Lines (NAVL) business practices. I followed the tweet to a site that was one of many other North American Van Lines Reviews posted by other bloggers. The consensus seems to be that you should avoid using NAVL for any long distance moves your might ever have.

The review linked above was particularly disturbing because it reveals multiple mishaps by NAVL to a client on a single move. Not only does NAVL avoid any extra effort to resolve their issues (which they caused) but they refuse to reimburse them on claims that they caused. Even after the family paid $500 to NAVL in extra insurance to cover such mishaps.

Three weeks late on delivery, which directly leads to many of their belongings be stolen, only to then be denied their insurance claim because the boxes (that NAVL packed and labeled) were not labeled appropriately.

Read the review linked up above yourself and let me know what you think...

HDMI works for my cable channels, but not for my DVD movies!

Wed, 29 Feb 2012 15:14:00 -0600

You have HDMI for TV and it is working like a charm. You are the life of the party because all the guys can come over and see the game crisp and clear and you can call the plays better than the referees. The guys even bring the beer. Life is good. However, even though everything is worked out for the weekend games, at night when you and your lovely wife sit down to watch your next Netflix movie on DVD, it just doesn’t look so good. You have your HDMI set up just right. The game is always crisp and clear, and when you flip through channels 1000+ they look good too. However, the DVD movie looks no better than the non high definition channels provided by your cable company.

What gives? Well, we know you splurged on even your Type A connector with the 19 pins and it has the “HDMI” logo on it. You didn’t buy your HDMI cable cheap. You paid $119 for the blasted wire. Nevertheless, let’s start at the back of your television and find the wire running from it to your DVD player. Yes, the same Type A wire with the 19 pins goes to the DVD player, but when you get to the DVD player, you see the problem. It is an old DVD player. You need a Blue Ray player! And if you have a Blue Ray player, you need to also be playing a Blue Ray DVD. Yes, every part of an HDMI setup has to be HDMI compliant. Your display is only as good as your worst piece in the puzzle. To play DVD movies in HDMI you need the HDMI TV, a Blue Ray player, and a Blue Ray disk, and make sure it is all connected by a good HDMI Type A cable.

About JW Stories V I

Mon, 01 Feb 2010 00:51:00 -0600

For the record, Volume I contains most of the stuff I once had to say so badly that I started writing in order to say it. It is also the stuff I couldn't speak through any mouth but that of Johnny Wraith. Johnny is real, don't get me wrong. He is out there somewhere, on the streets, at your office, in your classes, sitting next to you at a pub or in church. He is your muse and your conscience, but for each of us he has a different voice, motivation, and song.

Now available: johnny got his gun

Mon, 01 Feb 2010 00:44:00 -0600

johnny got his gun

by Johnny Wraith
Paperback, 196 pages

$13.99
Ships in 3–5 business days

Johnny is just about to pull the trigger and blow his brains out, but the memory of one of Marcel Marceau’s acts gives him hope. Johnny then explains how he got to the point of suicide, and in so telling he realizes his soul was taken from him by a succubus nearly 10 years before. That’s why he’d been filled with such despair and emptiness only suicide seemed an adequate answer. That’s why all the drugs, alcohol, women, and long nights at the Indian casino just didn’t cut it. In an effort to save himself, Johnny finds the entry to Hades and descends into the underworld in search of his soul.

Purchase a copy

Now available: Johnny Wraith Stories Volume I

Mon, 01 Feb 2010 00:40:00 -0600

Johnny Wraith Stories Volume I

by Johnny Wraith

Paperback, 148 pages

This is the first compilation of Johnny Wraith's short stories. They are often loaded with debauchery, but in the end Johnny the anti-hero is always a beacon of hope and a light on a hill amongst all the evil and tragedy and meaninglessness the world so generously provides.

Purchase a copy

$10.00
Ships in 3–5 business days

johnny got his gun: more than a story

Sun, 01 Nov 2009 05:44:00 -0600

I'm selling johnny got his gun as more than a story. Yes it is fiction and yes it is a literary work, but it is also a self-help book. In these pages you will discover that there is a way to survive and thrive in a universe that makes absolutely no sense. Sometimes there is no hope, but that's because you are looking for it out there somewhere, when the only place you're going to find it is under your skin. Sometimes you will suffer and there will be no happiness in anything, but you just have to go the distance. Life is full of loss, challenge, and agony, but in the end each of us must be steadfast in our pursuit of the Holy Grail. The Holy Grail is something different for each of us, and only by living and taking harsh beatings do we mold the cast for the golden chalice we shall one day tilt to our lips, but only once we have endured and bled enough. Joy is the compliment to tragedy and to have a lot of one of these passions is to bear a lot of the other.

FLOWERS FOR ADAM - 13 - The comedy channel

Sat, 05 Jul 2008 11:30:00 -0500

Hades’ suburbs. The biggest planned community I’d ever seen. Tract houses in the millions, packed together so close neighbors could reach out their windows and shake hands. Everyone had the same floor plan. I just sat there, looking out the window, watching it all pass by. My train could have been going in circles, though it seemed we were chugging straight ahead. I’d just keep getting off at each stop and taking a look around. Maybe I’d solve the riddle of how to get out of Hades? Maybe I wouldn’t. Seeing Gina again wasn’t pleasant. Somehow she’d managed to win a ticket to suburbia. I wasn’t sure her suicide was her condemnation’s culprit. Adam had said there were 3 Torments in Hades, and which one you got depended on whether your Vice was Idleness, Rigidity, or Greed. Who knows which one was hers? Maybe she had all of them? She was sitting there in the tub all day, hogging all the bloody bathwater and razorblades, bitching and complaining about the same shit over and over again. I could see how all the Vices were possibly manifest in her eternal Torment. Let her be friends of Brutus, Judas, and Cassius.

The train arrived at the next platform. I jumped off. The conductor waved goodbye and I waved back. Next thing I was back on the sidewalks, counting my steps, 1,2,3,1,2,3, “don’t step on a crack…”

When the time felt right, I broke the flow, stepped on a crack, and looked up to find myself standing in front of Larry’s old mobile home. I knew I could walk in the door any time I wanted, so I didn’t knock. The rusty screen door slammed shut behind me. It was dark and cool inside, the blinds were all closed, and a large screen television in the corner was the only source of light. When my eyes adjusted, I could make out Larry’s giant form. There he was, all 300lbs of him, reclined and snoring, bare feet up, a padded easy chair serving as his bed.

“Larry?”

“Eh? Snort! Grunt!”

By lunging forward on the springs and kicking at the footrest with his heels, Larry half sat up and looked at me with surprise, but the surprise quickly turned into a gap-toothed smile on his big, round face.

“Johnny!”

“Larry, what the Hell are you doing here?”

“Hell if I know. But before we hug and kiss, go get us a beer out of the fridge.”

I went to the kitchen and came back with two cold ones. Larry didn’t get out of his chair to hug me. I bent over and put my arms around his mass while he pounded my back with his palms. We cracked our beers and smacked the aluminum together in toast.

“Go grab that folding chair ‘gainst the wall and pull it on up!”

I unfolded and pulled the chair up, sat down, and took a swig. Larry started talking, and he didn’t give me a chance to say a thing. It had likely been a long time since he’d had company, so I let him talk. He went on and on about the movies, shows, and standup routines he’d been watching on the comedy channel. I pretended to listen as I remembered the events surrounding Larry’s death. When he was 27, his heart began failing – something about an enlarged heart. When he was 28, he had a heart transplant. When he was 29, his new heart failed and he died. I’d known Larry since grade school. I was one of his pallbearers. He was a good old boy that lived in the country, wore overalls around his big belly, drove a beat up Ford pickup, and was always filling the truck’s bed with empty beer cans. I helped with the task. As he drove, and we drank, we’d throw the empties out the truck’s rear, sliding window. They’d usually land in the bed with the other cans, but sometimes they’d jump out onto the highway and end up rolling into a ditch. Larry never worked any job more than a month, and he’d dropped out of high school. Half the time his utilities were shut off. His grandfather had died had left him with the mobile home and pickup. The only thing that stopped Larry’s nonstop talking was the start of a comedy channel sitcom.

“Don’t mean to be rude, but I gotta watch this. You’ll like it. Go get us round 2.”

I didn’t find the sitcom funny. It was something about the life and times of some white guy with an afro.

Larry found it quite funny. Every other line or so, he’d let out a booming laugh.

“Hahaha! Hahaha! Hahaha!”

And he’d laugh some more.

“Hahaha! Hahaha! Hahaha!”

And some more.

“Hahaha! Hahaha! Hahaha!”

It was horrifying. Though we were watching comedy, the whole scene was something out of Hitchcock, or the Twilight Zone. When commercials came, I went to the refrigerator for more beer, and while I did so I had a chance to ask a few questions.

“Larry, don’t you want to get out of here?” I wasn’t sure if he knew he was dead, so I said “here” instead of “Hades.”

“Hell no. This is where I live.”

“What do you do all day?”

“I don’t have to do nothin’. One day I was sitting here watching my shows and was all bummed out about the empty fridge, but I got up and looked in it hoping something was there anyway. And wouldn’t you know it! It was full of food and beer! I ain’t goin’ nowhere. Ever!”

“Who’s been filling the fridge?”

“Hell if I know, but he’s a pal of mine. Sometimes I drink all the beer and munch down all the eats, and then I take a nap. When I wake up, the damn place is cleaned up. Not an empty is on the floor where I throw ‘em, and the fridge is all full again.”

“Don’t look a gift horse in the mouth.”

“You can say that again! And let me tell you. Since all this good stuff has been happening, I haven’t been constipated once and nobody’s shut off the water or electric.”

“You don’t want to go anywhere with me, I take it?”

“Like where?”

“To the train.”

“Nobody rides that train. I wouldn’t if I was you. Besides, I think I’m too fat to fit through the door.”

The commercial break ended and the sitcom about the white guy with the afro came back on.

Larry found it quite funny. Every other line or so, he’d let out a booming laugh.

“Hahaha! Hahaha! Hahaha!”

And he’d laugh some more.

“Hahaha! Hahaha! Hahaha!”

And some more.

“Hahaha! Hahaha! Hahaha!”

I stood up and walked out the door without saying a thing. I don’t think Larry realized, or cared, that I left without saying goodbye. He had comedy channel sitcoms, beer and food, air conditioning, and never had trouble taking a shit.

FLOWERS FOR ADAM - 12 - Suicide girl

Sat, 28 Jun 2008 17:36:00 -0500

I hopped off the train. From behind rows of small windows, the conductor waved goodbye. I waved back. The train belched smoke, began pulling its cars up the track, and then chugged away into the greater depths of Hades’ tract housing. Still wearing nothing but a canvass sack, I took the stairs off the platform and headed into the suburbs.

Block after block I walked, and still the cramped tract houses all looked the same. It was row after row of continual sameness. At least the blue sky offered my bare back warm sunlight. Block after block I walked, and I just kept walking. Every once in a while I’d turn a corner or cross a street, or look up to see the same front yards and houses. Mostly, I just looked down at the sidewalk and watched my feet taking 3 steps on each concrete slab before stepping over a crack and taking another 3 steps, over and over. There was something to getting into the rhythm of walking, 1,2,3 and 1,2,3 and 1,2,3. With my steps I began saying aloud, “Don’t step on a crack or you’ll break your mother’s back.” 3 syllables per slab, 4 slabs each time I said a whole line. Rhythm. That was it! 1,2,3, “Don’t step on,” 1,2,3, “a crack or,” 1,2,3, “you’ll break your,” 1,2,3, “moth-ers back.” 1,2,3,1,2,3,1,2,3… I realized it was Rhythm! 1,2,3,1,2,3… Swim with the currents! Don’t seek answers, but find questions. Stay in motion and the stage curtain will open. Your eyes will be filled with light. I stopped in my tracks and stepped on a crack. When I looked up from my feet, I was standing in front of a familiar house. It was just like the one I’d lived in with my 2^nd wife.

It was so familiar I felt as if I’d traveled back in time, as if I were returning home from work like so many times before. Maybe I really was? The only indication to the contrary was that I was wearing nothing but a canvass sack and bare feet, not a suit and polished wing tips.

I opened the front door. There was my old denim jacket hanging on the coat rack. The familiar silver mirror set in a wrought iron frame was hanging on the foyer wall. Stairs lead up to where I knew I’d find her. My body tensed with anxiety. Oh god, I don’t want to go through this again… My last encounter with Gina had been a horrible one. The last time I saw her. I could sense I was reliving that encounter.

“Johnny! Come on up! I’m in the bathtub!” her voice carried from upstairs.

I sighed with relief when I heard her voice. She sounded happy. Could she really be happy? She sounded like she was glad I was home. Had she decided to love me again?

Old feelings of love flooded my heart and I suddenly felt light and free again. I had loved her. In an instant, I suddenly loved her once more.

“Johnny! Get up here!”

I darted up the stairs, ran down the hall, into the master bedroom, and through the open bathroom door. There she was in the bathtub, just like she had been the last time I’d seen her. She was sitting in tepid water mixed with dark blood. Her wrists were slashed open, and an open package of razor blades lay on the floor beside the tub. I suddenly felt heavy and chained again, cursed with old feelings of grief and guilt.

She wasn’t smiling, as usual, but this time she was alive. Gina’s blue eyes were piercing me with hatred. By her look, I realized she’d feigned her tone of voice to lure me up the stairs, to find her bathing in blood.

“You did this to me!” she accused.

“You cut your own wrists,” I retorted, and in so doing I was surprised how quickly my old combative attitude returned.

“You were never there for me.”

“All you ever did was complain, nag, and bitch.”

“You and all your friends, the drinking, the casino.”

“I liked being happy.”

“That isn’t what life is about. Being happy. Staying away from me because you couldn’t stand how I was or how I felt. For you being happy was being irresponsible, refusing to see things the way they really are, and not being able to understand me.

“We can all choose to be happy. You just wouldn’t ever try. So I gave up.”

“There were too many problems to be happy! How could you have treated me the way you did, when I was suffering so much?”

“What do you expect? I grew tired of all the bullshit, the depression, the constant therapy sessions, the complaining, nagging, and bitching. I could have lived with a year or 2 of it, but you just wouldn’t give up being miserable and blaming me for all of it.”

“It was all because of you!”

“I tried and tried. Nothing I ever did was good enough. I could never change enough. I never showed enough empathy. I couldn’t understand. It was too much!”

“You never listened. You never cared!”

“Like I told you, I couldn’t live with the complaining, nagging, and bitching. The world was nothing but a bad place for you. You wanted me to live in it with you and accept it. Sorry. I couldn’t. Sorry. I wouldn’t. Sorry. I won’t. I’m going to leave you to your own misery, again. There’s too much of it for me here. I’m getting back on the train.”

“You aren’t going anywhere this time!”

“Why not?”

“We have to talk.”

“About what?”

“Our problems. Why you make me so depressed and miserable. Why you made me kill myself.”

“I don’t have any problems, and I never made you do or feel anything.”

“Yes you did! You need to take responsibility!”

“I’m leaving.”

“Just like you did last time?”

“Yes.”

“You can’t leave me! You can’t leave this place! No one can!”

I turned away, walked down the steps, and out the front door. All the while she was screaming this and that. None of it mattered. Issues. Problems. Incurable unhappiness. The misery I had caused. Everything was my fault.

As I headed back to the train platform, the guilt and grief over Gina’s suicide left me. I no longer felt bad about finding her dead in the bathtub, floating in her blood. I’d done the right thing by just calling 911, giving a statement to the police, packing a suitcase, throwing it in the car and driving away. Though I’d ended up with a foreclosure on my credit report, I didn’t care. A mortgage just ties a man down. I’m not sure who took care of Gina’s funeral, or if she even had one.

I sat on a bench and waited for the train to come. I remembered the Gina I’d fallen in love with, the one I’d known before Gina that had fallen apart.

Before she’d changed, there was a time we’d hiked deep into a thick forest of Redwood trees. We had a blanket and a basket filled with bread, wine, cheese, and apples. It was chilly beneath the lofty canopy – not at all accommodating for a picnic, but to our joy we discovered a clearing filled with sunlight and warmth. We threw the blanket down, rolled around in one-another’s arms, laughed, and got drunk on wine. While making love we spotted a stag and a doe in the tree-line shadows. They were watching us, and we them, and we were mimicking one-another’s erotic motions.

I’ll always love the Gina I first met. Somehow she’d died long before I found her body and blood in a bathtub.

Some of us give up the journey. Some of us stay a while and get back on the train.

FLOWERS FOR ADAM - 11 - Idling at the first stop

Sat, 14 Jun 2008 11:47:00 -0500

The train chugged along for what seemed many hours. Through the windows an endless array of tract houses flashed past, and kept flashing past. Was Hades nothing but an endless suburb? Who’d have thought? What was I supposed to do here? You can just walk out of the place, but no one ever has, I’d been told. You can’t get off track because the journey through Hades is one way, it had been said. Adam’s talk of the torment found here – the vices. Or were they virtues instead of vices here, as the conductor suggested? What was I supposed to do with them? I wasn’t seeking any torment. Oh, what the hell. I was in Hades now, and I had to deal with it. I’d done it to myself by falling for a snake. I’d stepped out of permanent stone and into temporal flesh and sand just for a bottle of Chardonnay and a girl in a sundress with no underpants. Come to think of it, that wasn’t why I was in Hades. That girl and the wine were the lure, not the cause of my being here. The sin, or the injustice for which I was suffering, at least according to the snake, had something to do with my being a pillar for so long. I had held up the flux and chaos for everyone else by just standing there, a pillar in the desert, watching the seasons turn with every slow blink of eye. So, if I accepted all I’d been told as truth, I was in Hades because I’d been changeless too long. Was I somehow being punished for having taken a taste of immortality? The tree in the garden is forbidden for a reason, be the tempting fruit a chance to turn to stone, to sip of Chardonnay, or to have lust with a snake. Partake of the fruit and you just might be in for a ride through Hades’ suburbs. Or was it the shrooms, absinthe, or hashish lollipops? If only I’d never tumbled off the bridge and into the water. Still, I was glad for it. Sometimes you have to seek the glimmer in the darkness, and that is the beauty in fireflies. Ever since meeting Vatsulu, I’d been on quite an adventure. It was a welcome change of pace. Who else gets to swim with a fish with a man’s face, be swallowed by a whale and escape from it by breathing through a mermaid’s tit? How often do we get the chance to stand as a pillar in the desert for more than a thousand years, take instruction from a talking skeleton, sleep with a snake in a sundress, or plummet into Hades wearing nothing but a canvas sack? Oh yeah, and the barkeep’s whiskey was free of charge. How often are the drinks free in any tavern? Change and flux, the chaos of it all, we have been and will be all things, dogs, cats, men, women, snakes, and foul again. Seek not the answers but the questions. The vices… the virtues… eternal torment. Ride the train. Wait for nightfall. Catch the fireflies and put them in a jar to light the way.

Someone was shaking me. “Sir, sir! Wake up! We have arrived at the first stop.”

“Er, eh… what?” I’d fallen asleep and the conductor had his hand on my shoulder.

“We’ve been stopped here for a while, and it’s about time to depart. Don’t you want to get off at your first stop? Why have you just been sitting here, sleeping? Your ticket will still be good when you want to board again.”

I looked out the window. “It looks like the same place. Haven’t we gone anywhere? All the houses and streets still look the same.”

“Johnny, it’s all a matter of perception. I understand where you are from the sun rises and falls over and over again. The days go from Monday through Sunday over and over again. Every two weeks you receive a paycheck for sitting at a desk and doing the same thing you did to get the previous paycheck, and the one before that. I hear you have to pay the same bills every month: mortgage, utilities, cable television, water, and trash. I can’t fathom how you can tell one day from the next where you’re from. I think it is kind of the same thing for you, being a stranger here. Just how you see nothing but sameness in my world, I see the same thing in yours. Everything really is different here, even if it looks the same as everything else from the outside. It all depends on how you look at it, or maybe it is how you live it.”

I scratched my head. “O.k., so if I get off at this stop, and take a look around, I’ll start noticing everything isn’t the same?”

“Probably not at first,” grinned the conductor. “You need to start by looking into things.”

“Oh, come on, please not another riddle!”

“Try knocking on a door or two.”

“Who will answer?”

“It can be anyone you have known that has died.”

“Everyone here is dead?”

“Yes.”

“Even me?”

“Some questions shouldn’t be asked, Johnny.”

“Then this really is the land of the dead?”

“It is Hades.”

“And no one has ever left it?”

“Nope.”

“What about Lazarus?”

The train conductor grimaced and his silence spoke clearly. Seek questions. Don’t ask them.

FLOWERS FOR ADAM - 10 - A light touchdown

Thu, 12 Jun 2008 19:28:00 -0500

Again I was falling into the blackness, but this time it was because I’d leapt back into it. As I dropped, the spirits of the dead once more came swirling around me,

“Hey buddy, got a cigarette?” asked a bum.

“Sir, can I have a puppy?” inquired a small child.

“Can you show me the way to Toledo?”

“Sorry, can’t help you, but do you have a parachute I can borrow?” I smirked to each in reply, and this caused each of them to offer sad faces and swirl away.

To kill the time during this long drop, I started doing summersaults and cartwheels. I practiced spinning like a top. Sometimes I sang children’s lullabies, and at others I found my body still, my mouth quiet, my mind pondering this and that. What if I’d gone to school to become a chiropractor instead of a lawyer? What if I’d married that accountant girl back when I was 23, had a few kids, and a house in the suburbs? What if I’d been a religious man? What if I hadn’t lost so many friends over the years as a result of getting so outrageously drunk at so many parties? Falling into Hades really gave me time to think.

Once I’d tormented myself with enough “what ifs” and “why did Is,” the darkness began to dissipate and light appeared. It became brighter and brighter, and blue, as if I was falling into the sky. Fluffy clouds emerged and I fell through them. I dropped straight past birds. I saw pastel and striped hot air balloons sailing about. Hades? This couldn’t be Hades. Now I was really confused. I’d had enough. I didn’t need any more adventure or any more tests. I should have drowned long ago, when I fell off the bridge. Don’t resuscitate me. This was too much and I was tired of it all. When the suburbs and lush parks appeared below, at the speed I was going I was satisfied I’d land hard enough to splatter. Being ready for the end, I crossed my arms in resignation, let out a sigh, and closed my eyes. It had been a good life… I’d seen and done a few things with it, though not nearly enough, but who dies satisfied? All our works are dirty rags, eh?

Just as I had offered my resignation and exhaled, I was snatched at the elbows. I abruptly stopped midair and started floating. What now? I opened my eyes to find my mood suddenly and positively changed. What appeared to be 2 angels had taken hold of me. They were slender, smiling, and beautiful, with feathered wings, bare breasts, and were wearing diamond-studded g-strings. Each wore a peacock’s plume on her head. All right, Adam, I’m game for another test. Just one more! How quickly a couple pair of tits can divert us from suicide.

The plumed girls didn’t say a thing. They just kept smiling and flapping their wings. Gradually the ground grew nearer. We flew over tract after tract of suburb housing, thousands of little rooftops that all looked the same. A master-planned community stretching to the horizon in every direction, and the only things breaking the monotony of the dense, checkered patterns were lush green parks and lakes. But there was something peculiar about the orderliness of it all. Nothing was unique. That was it. Even the parks and lakes were identical. In each park, children were playing kickball and dogs were chasing Frisbees. In each lake, couples were floating along in kick-paddle boats. The sight of it all gave me the same feeling as listening to a broken record skip and play the same line over and over again.

One of the winged girls tapped me on the shoulder and pointed. Up ahead, the monotony of the track housing, parks, and lakes broke. We were approaching a small train depot. An old black steam engine was idling next to the platform and choking out smoke. When we got closer, I could see a train conductor standing there, waiting. The girls put me down in front of him, giggled to one another, and fluttered away.

“Welcome to Hades, Johnny.”

“You know my name too? I should have guessed.”

“I do keep track of all the passengers,” he winked.

“This is Hades?”

“Sure is, at least the suburbs of it.”

“I thought it was a dark place filled with ghouls and tortured souls.”

“Look around you. That’s exactly what this place is – a dark place filled with ghouls and tortured souls.”

“Then where are the pits of flesh and lakes of ale?”

“My goodness, Johnny, if you are looking to find any of that, I’m terribly sorry to tell you you’ve come to the wrong place. You aren’t looking for Hades. You’re looking for Paradise.”

“Let me guess. Your train won’t take me there?”

“Nope. Sorry to disappoint you. Do you have any other destination in mind? I just may have a ticket.”

I scratched my head. Let’s see, I thought. Adam said something about vices. The vices must be part of the riddle.

“Where do I go to confront the vices?”

“Vices?”

“Yeah, you know, Idleness, Rigidity, and Greed.”

“Oh goodness. Johnny, in Hades, these vices you speak of are the virtues. And I’m not sure there are three virtues. There may only be one,” winked the conductor.

“Let me guess. Here darkness is light, so vices are virtues. Everything is upside down. One big tangled cluster fuck.”

“Well, not exactly, but don’t you worry my green friend. You have an eternity to seek your answers now.”

“I was taught to seek questions, not answers. Don’t you know Vatsulu and Adam?”

The train conductor offered a big smile, and his silence told me I wasn’t going to get any more out of him.

“Alright, I’ll take a ticket. What are my options? Do you have a schedule?”

“You don’t need one. The train only goes one way, and with one ticket you can get off at any stop and stay as long as you want. You can get back on the train and keep going whenever you decide the time is right.”

“What’s at the first stop?”

“It is a different place for each person.”

Shit. Hades. A one-way street, or should I say train track? It is tailor made for each of us, probably to make sure the marginal utility of our pain is maximized with every step we take into the mire. All you have to do is walk out of the place, but no one ever has. Maybe no one ever will, but fuck it. I’d give it a try just to take pride in knowing I did my best to defy Orcus.

I held up a finger. “One ticket. I’m getting the hell out of here.”

FLOWERS FOR ADAM - 9 - Descent into the pit

Mon, 09 Jun 2008 19:47:00 -0500

Hades’ Gates are not guarded. You won’t find Cerberus, a hydra, or a band of skeleton warriors trying to stop you from getting into the place. In fact, there are no obstructions or locked gates to Hades. There are no barriers to entering the Mouth of Hell. You just walk right in. Everyone is welcome, living or dead, though there is only one place where the living may enter, and only a guide can get you there. My guide, as you have seen, was the scorpion. Funny I call him a guide. After all, he did throw me into a canvass sack, tie it shut, and carry me a distance before dropping me off at the entryway. I suppose it doesn’t matter whether we make it to Hell through a guide or via a courier. What is important is that we make it there.

I tied the canvass sack’s string around my waist, took a few breaths, got down on my hands and knees, and crawled into the little hole in the ground. There was not enough room to stand, so I had to keep crawling. An eerie, gray light somehow glowed from the jagged walls of the twisting passageway, so I was just able to see which direction to clamber. It was so cold, my teeth were chattering and I couldn’t feel my hands, feet, lips, or ears, but I kept going. It seemed I was slowly descending, and I kept going. If I had to guess, I crawled nearly a mile into the earth before finding what appeared to be an end to the tunnel. In the ground I discovered a little wooden trapdoor. I bounced on it, tried to pry it open with my fingers, knocked on it to see if someone might open it from below. Nothing. Finally, I found a little wire loop sticking out of the wall and gave it a pull.

The trapdoor opened!

I dropped straight into nothingness, pure black nothingness. I fell. I fell for a long time. I fell. At first, the horror of suddenly plummeting into a pit with no bottom in sight, an abyss, made me shut my eyes tight and yell until all my air was spent. Something about having my stomach thrown into my throat made it impossible to refrain from screaming as loud as I could, like a girl, over and over again. At some point I pissed and shit in the canvass sack I was wearing. It was quite a drop. It was quite a dump. I tumbled, and screamed, tumbled and screamed.

Eventually, I realized how ridiculous I was being, so I came to my senses, straightened out, and opened my eyes.

All around me, what appeared to be souls of the dead were swirling. They were holding out their hands to me in supplication. I had always been afraid of ghosts, but it is amazing how you overcome your fear of everything else once you have come to terms with the fact you are freefalling to your death in an abyss.

“Hey buddy,” said a fat man in a panama hat, “do you have anything to eat?”

“I want my daughter back! I was young when I gave her away! Please give her back to me! Please!” cried an old woman.

“He went to prison because I lied! I’m the one who stole the money!” confessed a man in a fancy suit.

“Sorry, I can’t help any of you. All I have is shit in my pants, and regrets I just pulled the wrong wire.”

The desperate souls made sour faces and abandoned me. I kept falling.

I don’t know if I fell for days or weeks, but I had long given up hope of splattering at the bottom when a powerful gust of wind swept me up and began carrying me somewhere. When I looked down, I discovered my body was in the grasp of a monstrous, ethereal hand. After being carried a short way, a little wooden tavern came into view in the distance. It was hovering midair in the abyss, among the absolute darkness coming from every direction. Through open windows and the swiveling doors, a warm fire glowed. The hand flew me to the entrance. The swiveling doors flew open, and I was gently put down on the welcome mat. The hand disappeared.

“God damn! What’s that smell?” demanded the bartender. Like the best bartenders, he was a surly man, balding, and had a distinctly protruding belly that stretched against his greasy, white apron.

I looked around, and discovered I was the only other person there.

“Sorry. I shit in my pants.”

“What the hell you do that for?”

“I fell into this hole and it scared the shit out of me.”

The bartender grinned to his bushy sideburns. “I’d shit too if I fell so far. Tell you what,” he pointed a fat finger, “through that door is the washroom. Go wash up. Rinse out that damn sack you’re wearing and hang it by the fire to dry. I have a clean apron for you. I wouldn’t leave here with only an apron on though, so stay a while. Have a few drinks. As you can imagine, in Hades you won’t be a virgin long if you’re running around with your bare ass showing.”

I returned wearing an apron and smelling of lye soap.

“I’d ask you your drink, but here we only serve various devils’ brews you ain’t never heard of and can’t say,” explained the barkeep.

“What do you recommend?”

“Depends on what you need.”

“I need to get out of here.”

“There ain’t no drink for that.”

“Then how do I get out of here?”

“You just have to fall to the bottom, get up, and start walking. There’s only one way in and one way out. There’s no way to get lost, and no one is going to stop you from leaving this damned hole. Just remember, along the way there will be a lot of places where you’ll want to set up camp and stay forever, like at the ale lakes, the shroom fields, or one of the pits of flesh.”

“You gotta be kidding me! Ale lakes, shroom fields, and flesh pits?”

“I’m kidding,” winked the bartender after a pause. “But there are powerful temptations here, and no one has ever turned his back on all of them. That’s why no one has ever left Hades. It’s something about the personalities that fall into this pit in the first place, because everyone is free to leave. But nobody ever has.”

“That’s what I’ve heard. Sounds like I’m in for trouble. Give me your strongest drink, and make it a double!”

As I put down round after round and took back my warmth, I pondered. I must say that though I can’t pronounce what I was drinking, it was strong and didn’t taste bad, like aged whiskey from a foreign land. What did it mean to find myself falling into a strange place? Maybe it was like being born? Isn’t being born like falling into a strange place, you’ve never been before? Living life is like falling into an abyss and you can’t see where you’re going. Could smashing on the rocks at the bottom be like getting to the end of life and dying? If not death, what is at the bottom? When we are born, we are shitting in our pants, and throughout life we shit in our pants a time or two. Sometimes strange spirits plead to us for things we cannot give. Other times we run around with our asses hanging out, but here and there we find solace. A gentle hand sweeps us up and carries us to a safe place. There we clean ourselves and find a fire’s warmth. Then we must go on. We jump back into the abyss. Once more the darkness swallows us up and we are falling. Adam and the barkeep claim there is a way out. It is a one-way path to the exit, but no one has ever chosen to exit. It is something more than suicide.

And so I had my last drink, gave back the apron and put my dried shorts back on, took a deep breath, walked out the swiveling doors, and jumped back in.

FLOWERS FOR ADAM - 8 - Journey to Hades

Sun, 08 Jun 2008 06:13:00 -0500

I left footprints in the sand, and the wind blew them away as I drank the Chardonnay, and sang songs, danced with the girl in the sundress. I have to admit it was a good time, at least for the time being. Sometimes throwing it all away is worth it. There can be joy in being as a comet, speeding through the universe at the cost of burning your body away. If you didn’t spend your flesh on going somewhere, you’d never go anywhere. You’d keep your body – be nothing but a fat Buddha sitting in the same place, contemplating nothingness, or nirvana, though your belly’s substance was profound and gravid. Nevertheless, when the comet burns out and reaches the end, it doesn’t always end well, though getting there was glorious.

As I lay there on top of the girl in the sand, my belly large with wine, my back streaked with sweat, and my loins spent, she turned back into the snake.

“Ouch, ouch!” hissed the snake. “Get off of me you oaf! You’re too heavy!”

I rolled off into the sand. I felt sick to my stomach. Had I committed an act of bestiality?

“You tricked me,” I whimpered.

“Oh, shut up you idiot,” you knew what you were doing.

“I screwed a snake!”

“Do I have to call you an idiot again? Look, you really did get with a girl, a real flesh and blood human girl.”

“But you are a snake!”

“You’ve been a snake with a lot of the women. So don’t cast the first stone. You weren’t a snake in body, but you were a snake in spirit.”

“Payback… …I suppose what goes around really comes around.”

“Yep. Eventually. And Johnny, if it is of any consolation, I am a girl snake.”

“Really?” I sighed with relief. My stomach started to feel a little better. Of course I couldn’t resist asking,

“Snake?”

“Yeah Johnny?

“Was it any good?”

“What? The sex?”

“Yeah, the sex.”

“Bad sex is still good sex, but you were a little rough. I could have used some foreplay.”

“I’ll keep that in mind next time.”

With that, the snake slithered away. She just left me there, lying in the sand next to the ziggurat I’d abandoned. In the corner of my eye, the bonze goddess in gold adornment glinted in the brightening sunlight, which was getting hotter and hotter. I did not dare turn my face to her. Without looking, I knew she had once again covered her breasts and her smile had returned to stoicism. I feared she was disappointed in me for abandoning her eternity just to temporarily frolic with a snake. Perhaps she was causing the desert to suddenly become so hot. My flesh began to sizzle and bubble. It peeled off as the wind swept it away to reveal my bones. All I could do was scream and kick as my flesh was cooked and stripped, as I truly became like Adam. When the job was finished, my bleached bones lay in the sand, my lower jaw flapping, “Oh god, this is worse than a hangover. Woe is me! Shit…”

When you are a skeleton, you have no flesh. It is flesh that gives you a sense of time. The stomach becomes hungry for breakfast at morning, the eyes sleepy at night. Bones, they just lay there, never desiring sustenance. The skull’s sockets are oblivious to light or darkness when the eyes are missing. I don’t know how much time passed before the scorpion returned, gathered up my bones, and carried me back to Adam. I probably reviewed my life a million times, maybe a billion, and the odd thing I discovered is that no matter how many times I mulled and pondered it all, all of it remained shrouded in mystery. I am fairly certain that man’s primal questions will never be answered. Where did the gods come from, if there are any gods? What is my purpose? What, where, how, when? Why? Give up my friends and rejoice! I have been a pillar and a pile of bones, and thousands of lifetimes have I known, and I am no wiser than you are wise. Sometimes the wine and the girl will get you because we know only they give us temporary answers to all the mystery. The answers beg us to give it all away so our flesh dries up in the desert. It is swept away in the wind. We become nothing but bleached bone. Just as Adam.

My bones clattered into a pile on Adam’s crypt floor. My skull bounced a few times, jumped up over the edge of his sarcophagus, and landed face to face with his skull.

“Oh Johnny! You’re back!” chuckled Adam. “How nice of you to join me like this! This time we can have an intimate chat, skull to skull.”

“Hahahaha!” our lower jaws flapped together.

“Hahahahahaha!” we kept flapping, the dust swirling.

Adam looked at me with deep, black eyes and said, “Johnny, the scorpion is going to put you back together and restore your flesh. He will lead you to a cave that will take you into Hades.”

“Hades? It’s a real place?”

“Call it what you want, but it is where souls go for eternal torment.”

“Wait a minute, I thought everybody kept changing forms? The snake told me I was the last one that had stopped changing forms because I had been standing there in the desert, a pillar, for so long.”

“She was right. You are the last one that hasn’t changed forms that is still outside of Hades.”

“Oh shit! Are you telling me I have to go there now because I haven’t changed forms?”

“That’s right.”

“Can I ever leave?” This was becoming quite concerning. Had I been more than bone, I’m fairly certain I’d have felt fear in my heart and my stomach.

“No one has ever left Hades, because, as I said, souls go there for eternal torment. But, from what I hear, anyone can leave. All they have to do is give up their suffering and walk out of the place. But, no one wants to leave, or has ever wanted to leave, after getting there. It is a horrible place, with nothing good about it. Why souls stay is a mystery to me, so I don’t bother asking.”

“What kind of torment is in Hades?”

“There are 3 kinds of torment. It depends on whether your Vice is Idleness, Rigidity, or Greed.”

Another test? Maybe it wasn’t a test, but the result of my having failed all the tests. I’d learned not to ask questions, though my impulse was to ask more about Hades, how to get out, whether I really had to go, what the Vices were all about. I was just going to go along with it. I remembered Vatsulu’s words,

“Just keep swimming my brother. Go with the currents.”

“Bye Adam, I’ll telephone from Hell.”

“Hahahaha!” flapped Adam, the dust swirling.

One by one, the scorpion picked up my bones and put them in an old canvass sack. He tied it shut, and threw me over his shoulder.

Clank! Clank!

We swam up through the ocean and onto land. We traversed forests, mountain passes, rolling hills, grasslands, and tundra. When we arrived at a place of eternal winter, we stopped. The scorpion untied the sack, dumped my bones into the snow, and went to work arranging them in proper order. He stuck his tail in my eye socket and returned my flesh.

“Brrrr! It’s cold and I have no clothes!” I blurted as I hopped around in the snow.

The scorpion didn’t say a thing. With his pinchers he cut two holes in the canvass sack and threw it to me. At least I had shorts.

The scorpion pointed behind me, then turned and scurried away.

I looked behind me to discover a small opening in the earth. A cave.

FLOWERS FOR ADAM - 7 - Off the pedestal

Thu, 05 Jun 2008 19:50:00 -0500

I stood there a pillar.

The seasons changed and offered serendipity with every blink of my eyes. Close and open them to find the falling snow had turned to sunshine and blue skies. Wink again and I was amidst a hailstorm flashing lighting and screaming thunder, or there was darkness all around, but for the vast constellation glimmering above, which occasionally made a show of changing moons, fiery comets, and falling stars. Fall into sleep and arise to find the desert changed into grassy, rolling hills; wide rivers slowly flowing with fish springing out and back again. Nap an instant and wake surrounded by forest, or foothills rolling up into mountains. Each time the wind and rain withered it all away for something new, making way for the earth to give birth to other children. One day, or should I say one time? No. Not one day or one time, but something else. Nevertheless, the desert returned, and I was still standing there. A pillar.

In the distance I could see a black snake wiggling through the sand my way. It slithered up the steps and to the base of me, or should I say what used to be my feet? It raised its head, showed its fangs, and spoke,

“Hello Johnny.”

“Don’t tell me I’m not supposed to ask how you know my name. Besides, how can you recognize me because I’m no longer a man, but a pillar?”

“You aren’t much of a man after being a pillar for so many epochs, it is true, but I suppose it is a state of mind.”

“I thought it was a state of being?”

“Words, words, words…” hissed the snake. “Nevertheless, you’ve haven’t gone an entire round. Far from it, in fact.”

“Round?”

“Yes, during your stay here, all things that could be have become and have been every permutation of all possibilities, and now they are starting over again. In fact, since you’ve been here, several rounds have been made by most things, and at least a couple rounds have been made by all the others, that is, with one exception.”

“Don’t tell me. I’ve remained a pillar and haven’t changed at all, while everything else was making the rounds.”

“Vatsulu said you were sharp.”

“Vatsulu?”

“Yes. I had a chat with him before I ate him.”

“Ate him!”

“Don’t worry. I know he was dear to you, but he went in and came out, became something else, just as we all have before, and who knows when he will become a devouring snake and I will be the eaten mouse? After all, there is no escaping it. I suppose you can call it fate, or just the inevitable inescapability of the randomness and chaos that tears it all apart and puts it together again, just as it always has been.”

“If that’s the case, Vatsulu has eaten us many times before, and he’ll do it again.”

“That’s right, and we have done it to him and will do it to him again.”

“Then why don’t I remember any of this ever happening?”

“You will remember it eventually, and you have remembered it before. You just don’t have such memories as a pillar or as Johnny.”

“Wait a minute here. If it is all in flux, then how come my name isn’t in flux? That’s remained the same. I keep being called ‘Johnny’”

“That’s part of the problem, and that’s why I’m paying you a visit. As I said, you are the only one left who hasn’t gone an entire round, at least this time a-round.”

I’d always liked philosophy, and what the snake was saying made sense in a logical loop sort of way. But what if it was a trick? Snakes. They were always tricksters in all the stories I’d read. Yes. That was it. It was a trick! I was being tested by Adam, or maybe by Vatsulu? Maybe the snake was one of them!

“I’m not buying it. I’m staying put.”

“Ok… ok…” hissed the snake. “Have it your way. Just don’t come crying to me when you suffer the consequences. I don’t want to have to tell you, ‘I told you so.’”

“Go bug another pillar.”

“I can’t. You are the only one left. As I said, all the others have had their turns as pillars and are waiting for you to join them in becoming something else.”

“Sorry lizard. I’m staying put.”

The snake hissed, turned around, and slithered away.

Night fell and morning came again, as did the snake, slithering up to my feet, raising its head, and showing its fangs.

“Hey Johnny,” hissed the snake, “I hear you were once a ladies’ man. Back when you were a man.”

The beast did seem a bit lonely. I guess I was too. I hadn’t had a conversation in quite a while. Besides, I was a pillar and it was a snake.

“No. Not really. They came and went.”

“Yeah? What kind of girls did you like?”

“I liked all kinds, as long as they weren’t too fat or diseased. The crazy ones always had a special allure.”

“What about your dream girl?”

“Hell, I don’t know. They all caused a lot of trouble. I’m not sure I have one anymore.”

“Ok. Tell me how the ideal woman looks. Use your imagination! Give me a fantasy! Whatever your fancy is right now. What would she be like?”

“It depends on my mood, so right now, it would be one that’s athletic, with dark hair, smiles a lot…” I began to ponder, hmm. I hadn’t conjured up such a fantasy girl in a while. “Put her in a short sundress…” Yeah, that’s it. Now it was getting better. And with women there had to be wine. “A bottle of chardonnay is in one of her hands and…” I closed my eyes to focus on the details. “…and, I got it!” I blurted as my eyelids popped opened.

The snake was gone, but the girl I’d just described was standing there, in the flesh, and in a short sundress. A bottle of chardonnay was in one hand, and the hem of her dress was in the other.

“Hey cutie pie,” she smiled as she lifted the hem to reveal missing panties. “I bet you’re thirsty!”

Yeah, you know what happens next. I fell for the old snake in the garden trick. Funny how in life we have these great epiphanies and feel we are transforming into something else – something truly meaningful or profound. Along comes a girl in a short summer dress, lifts it up and offers some wine. You can see the shallow trick from miles away, but somehow it’s so easy to give it all up and take the bait. Such an easy trick even a dumb snake can pull off, and which snake is it, really? Eternity is so easily and ignorantly given away for a temporary drunken countenance, or the murderous explosion that comes from having a girl’s soft heels biting into your clinching buttocks. When we sober up, we are empty of drink and everything else, having given it all away – all but the headache. It is so easy to live and die. It is so easy to be as Adam and not something else.

My stone body lost its height and turned to flesh. With bare feet I stepped down from my indelible pedestal and into hot sand to make temporary footprints.

FLOWERS FOR ADAM - 6 - Scorpion on my back

Sat, 31 May 2008 09:13:00 -0500

“Why would I crush your bones to dust?” I blurted. It seemed to me Adam should be sending me on a quest to get his flesh back, not turn what little was left of him into powder.

“Johnny, I thought you’d learned to seek questions, not answers? Don’t disappoint me after you’ve come so far.”

Yeah. He was right. Don’t ask “Why?” Just go with it. Swim with the currents, as Vatsulu had taught me. As the red-haired mermaid had shown me, sometimes you just have to grab tight and hold on. Don’t worry about seeing or anticipating what’s ahead. That way you have less fear of what’s to come and can go deeper. You can go farther into the mystery.

“I don’t have anything else to ask,” I resolved, sat down before Adam, and waited for his question.

“Are you ready?”

“Yes.”

“Embrace every burden,” the bony, lower jaw flapped. “Every step is precious because you only have so many to take,” arose the dust. “Of every 10,000 steps you take, only 1 one of them will put your foot on something, and you’ll only be able to stand there for a moment before having to continue along. In that 10,000^th place, you’ll leave a footprint, but the wind and rain will come quickly to wash out and blow away the proof you were once there. When you take that 10,000^th step, leave more than a footprint. Cut off and abandon a part of your body at that place. Make it a stone pillar impervious to wind and rain, unlike a mere impression in loose sand.”

Light filled the room, as did intense heat. I shaded my eyes, stood, and turned around. A portal had appeared behind me, and through it I could see a vast desert of nothing but sand dunes and scorching sun all the way to the horizon.

“Get going before it closes up!” insisted Adam.

I clinched my teeth, bore down on the fear in my gut, and took a daring leap.

The portal disappeared behind me as I landed ankle deep in the sand. My soles began to burn, as did the skin on my shoulders. My mouth dried up and my eyes started stinging. I’d been in desert heat before, but this place was much hotter. So this is Hell? Every breath scorched my lungs with fire and grit. I became dizzy and began stumbling around. Sand-filled wind came and lashed my body about. It blinded and choked me until I was helpless, until all my strength was sapped. I lost balance, collapsed, and fell face first into a dune. As I lay there losing consciousness, I felt the flesh on my back drying up, cracking, peeling away, joining the wind and grit. It hurt like hell, and maybe it was Hell, but what could I do? It was either a test or it was the end.

I thought for sure it was the end when I felt something stab deep into my neck. I expected blood to spill out, but instead, I felt something cool and soothing rushing into my body and veins. The heat and the elements became less intense, and the wind quit stripping the flesh from my bones. It seemed I was being re-inflated with flesh after nearly becoming mummified, or turned into a skeleton like Adam. Whatever was being pumped into me through my neck flowed through and filled all my sinews and bones, restored not only my lifeblood, but also my muscles and skin. Suddenly, my strength and consciousness returned, allowing me to climb to my feet with ease. I realized I had been changed. Did I feel stronger? Smarter? The bright light no longer blinded me, and the wind and the heat were now bearable. However, one thing was of major concern. Something heavy was clinging to my shoulder. Something had stabbed into my neck and was still there, on me. I turned my head and found myself face-to-face with a black scorpion the size of a large cat. Its polished eyes glinted, as did its carapace, and its sharp feet were burrowed into my shoulder, neck, and arm. The tail disappeared behind me and I surmised it was its sharp end that was plunged into my neck.

Somehow, I felt no fear. I knew I had to walk. I had to carry the scorpion with me. Don’t ask why. Go with the currents. Start taking steps. Count your steps. That’s it! So I began to count.

1, 2, 3…

50…

200…

Here and there, my skepticism stopped me and I just stood there. Whenever I did so, I’d turn and look at the scorpion and it became heavier. The glinting, black eyes began to frighten me, and my flesh once again began burning in the wind, sun, and sand. My legs became weaker. Only by continuing to walk, counting my steps, did I lose all fear. Only then did the scorpion’s nectar flow freely through my veins, heal me, and protect my body from the elements.

I kept counting, 330, 331, 332…

And counting, 2000, 3000, 4000…

As I continued counting, I pondered the absurd rhythm of walking. I was going somewhere, and didn’t know where. It didn’t matter. I was moving, going, being. There was something to the simple rhythm of walking, traversing the desert, the action of it, my bearing of the scorpion. There was meaning in it all, but I could only feel it, not describe it, have faith in it, and not question it. To ask of it, “Why?” was to find its visceral essence dissipating. Only my savage intuition could be its successful captor, and all other devices of mind and logic set it free by attempting to bind it.

9998, 9999, 10,000…

10,001, 10,002, 10,003…

It wasn’t how many steps I took that mattered, I realized. So I kept walking. The sun sat and rose, and the sun sat and rose again. And I continued walking. Perhaps the days and nights came 10,000 times, but it didn’t matter. The scorpion became a part of me, much like an arm or a leg. The trance and rhythm of the walking was all I needed, and with it I was complete. Infinite time could pass without worry. Only when I came to know these truths as if they were a part of my being, the ziggurat appeared on the horizon. It was a great monument of stone pillars and stairs reaching upward into the heavens. At the top of it stood a 100’+ tall bronze deity adorned with gold. It had a scorpion tail and several arms, 2 across its chest, the other 6 akimbo. Its androgynous, smooth face shone kindly. Only its chin moved. It moved slowly downward, allowing its large, black, glinting eyes to watch me as I climbed the sandstone stairs.

I prostrated myself at the great god’s feet.

I did not pray, but listened. I knew not to ask a question, but to wait. The sun sat, the night passed, and the sun rose at dawn,

“Become a pillar,” whispered a soft, feminine voice from above me.

I stood, bowed before the great, bronze god, and looked up at Her. She slowly opened her embracing arms and hands to reveal Her breasts. She smiled down upon me. I bowed again, turned away, and descended the stairs of Her platform.

I searched the ziggurat until finding a missing column. I stepped into that 10,000^th place, folded my arms, looked out across the desert, and smiled.

My flesh grew tall and turned to stone.

I became a pillar.