Thank You, Drive Through

There are times in my life that I'm glad I live where I do. Everything is within walking distance of me. Hell, if I just want smokes, I make my Matrix-style Neo Jump over the street and head on in to what used to be the Diamond Shamrock. For food...there are at least three burger joints and a chicken shack or two. The laundromat is just a bit beyond that. Two walking paths and the football field sporting the track around it are prime for going walking.

So what do I need a car for? I've got a computer and I can order things online that I might need. Dig long enough and you can get it slightly cheaper than shelling out the cash to go buy the goddamned thing at the store. Sure I have a couple of beaters. One in my name that actually belongs to a friend because of a paperwork SNAFU in Michigan (they keep up with the maintenance and I keep up with the insurance) and then the other...well...it's carbuerator is fucked for some reason. Sure, it would be nice to have one that's working. Then again, with the Mongoose (the bike) I can tell OPEC to get fucked...they're making a minimal amount on me. When all others are in a crunch, I can still get to work. It will take me about 30 minutes and I may have to brave the elements...but I can still get to work. That reminds me...I oughtta clean that damned thing.

I love my bike. My bike, my backpack and my waistpack...that's really all I need and off I go to Destination: Whatever Is In My Backpack. Normally, it's laundry...wet laundry which makes it a shite sight heavier than you might think. I know you're thinking, "Just how much laundry can one backpack hold?" Next time you wonder that, if you're in WalMart, go check out the "cargo backpacks. The types with wheels and the extending handle...yep...THAT backpack. I can fit up to five days worth of laundry in that fucker. Sometimes...it's more than that. I know what you're thinking and let me confirm that it is true....Heavy As Shit. On a hot day, it's misery and combine that with a laundromat that likes to trap in heat from the day (No AC whatsoever in the place...just an enormous fan) and you have pure Hell. Most times you can spot me kind of easily in the laundromat. I'm the figure clad in black that sits there, loitering outside, smoking and listening to the iPod. I let my thoughts wander then. Not to any one place in particular but just...wherever. Sometimes I'll write a letter to my penpal Ann. She's great. She actually puts up with my insanity and, like this state, she gets the category five version of the insanity superstorm. How she's put up with it this long...well...either she's really bored, really awesome or she's found a kindred spirit.

Once the clothes are done in the megadryer then it's time to pack them away and head home. Now, when it comes to t-shirts...this past year has been kind to me. Too kind as a matter of fact. I have tons of them and I can fit them all into two drawers. How this works comes from an old military space-saving trick I learned from co-workers, family members and even Zephyrael. Yep, all of the above were ex-military. Each t-shirt is rolled up as tightly as humanly possible and then set aside. Pants, socks, towels...everything gets rolled up into tight little units. Sometimes, enough to only take up half the space in the backpack. This is when I get taps on the shoulder. I pull out my headphones and look at the person. Sometimes, they'll apologize for interrupting my listening. To them, I'll simply tell them no need to apologize. I'll do that for people that nice. One man has shaken my hand in an iron grip and saluted me. I never understood why until I got the first question. I'm thinking that, by my appearance (bald, somewhat athletic, West Memphis Three Dogtags), some of these people were happy to have met a soldier. That's when I apologize and have to tell them otherwise. Now, if the person just rudely interrupted my listening, I get really shady.

"Several years," I tell them, "Formerly Marines. Two tours in Afghanistan, three in Iraq, Purple heart...took some shrapnel to the knee. I've moved on to other things...oooh rah...." and I give them that cold, dead look.

"What other things?" they'll normally ask

"I'm sorry ma'am/sir," I respond robotically, "Due to national security interests being protected I am not allowed to divulge that information. Have a nice day."

I spin on my heels and go back to packing. This causes even more confusion and usually gets them and their kids to staring at me. As those people look at me, their folding suddenly gets rushed. I swear I've heard one say, "He's a spook! C.I.A. type."

No doubt I'm a spook. Gotta add that "y" in there.

Speaking of C.I.A. operations, some of you who come and read this still haven't read Trance-Formation of America or it's companion book Access Denied: For Reasons of National Security by Cathy O'Brien and Mark Phillips. You should. Currently, I have the second book and the DVD of A Trance-Formation: From C.I.A. Slave To Whistleblower coming to me. This story is either a total work of fiction great enough to rival Tom Clancy or it's breaking news of the biggest government cover-up shitstorm of all time. Personally, from all that I've observed and have been reading...I choose to think it's the latter of the two. I recommend just shelling out the $60 and getting the entire package. Go to the Trance-Formation Website and have a look.

I got to this by looking into David Icke's stuff. Interesting shit, let me tell you but brace yourself, Trance-Formation of America is not for those faint of heart. The things Cathy endured...I wouldn't wish that on Osama. Trust me, you need to know this stuff...big time.

The juicy gossip section:

I've gotten closer to The West Memphis Three case. I'm currently talking to not only Mark Byers (who's been cooler than IceCast with me despite the fact that I'm a supporter) but also Jason Baldwin's brother, Matt. Since 1996, when I saw the first documentary Paradise Lost: The Child Murders At Robin Hood Hills, I never dreamed I'd get this close to the case. I'm still not sure how it happened. It just did. My own life has been a string of these coincidences. When you just roll with things to see where you'll end up...sometimes the results can be amazing. Right now, I'm also planning a few pics of me in my Free The West Memphis Three t-shirt. The planning came from the lead singer of a band who locked handcuffs on her wrists, thrust them into the air and screamed "FREE THE WEST MEMPHIS THREE!!!" Inspiration. I've planned on doing a few Riddick-style pics like that myself and have the photos manipulated. In case you're wondering, yep, I'm going to be in restraints for the photos. Trust me, it's not my first time.

Misty's stay down here with me was nothing but a joy. We had a lot of fun taking pictures, looking at stars through her telescope, watching a bootleg copy of X-Men III: The Last Stand (though I didn't like the way it ended), doing the shows and otherwise just plain floundering about, doing nothing in particular, talking about nothing in particular and going over the subjects of life, the universe and everything. The answer to it all is still 42, though I don't know the question. She'll be back in March of next year and I can't wait. I'm sort of caught in a conundrum. I can't wait for her to come in March but I miss my Long-Awaited Winter.

A few weeks ago, I welcomed new kittens into the household. Muffin and Anastasia had been born to Nermal and Nermal had chosen to give birth to them in a hidden location in the house. That hidden location was given away when Muffin (who was old enough to have her eyes open when I found her) began crying out to Nermal...from under my ottoman. Later that day, Nermal brought Anastasia to the doorstep of my bedroom. Now, they're getting to where they can eat solid cat food but they're still nursing from Nermal.

I beat Enter The Matrix with the Ghost character. Quite a bit about this secondary character from the movie was learned and it was really interesting. There are scenes that were filmed strictly for this game that weren't in the movie and provided a little more of the backstory. For instance, there's a scene where Ghost and Niobe make it to a hardline (pay phone) in an abandoned subway tunnel (where Smith fought Neo and got his Elrond-looking ass kicked) and Ghost jacks out of the Matrix. Just then, the Trainman shows up, wearing his vast assortment of watches, looking like a street bum.

"72 hours," he says in the sort of ominous tone that makes you worry.

"What?" Niobe asks

"The last Zion only lasted 72 hours," he mentions...then he says something else but it slipped my mind.

I can't wait to get my hands on the game Enter The Matrix: The Path of Neo to see what that's like...hopefully they'll have it for PC.

Now, let's do some sex talk. About the closest I've gotten in two years is a ton of net porn, my subscriptions to Penthouse, Playboy and Hustler and, XPosed Radio. Now, I'll be interviewing porn stars and the music I play will be something optional for people to listen to as the girls of CamGirlsXPosed.com dance on webcam. Oh yeah, physically, I have a two time a day habit that has been going pretty well. Hey, I've been good for two years here. Over that, really. I dunno, hell, maybe I've started to view sex as something that could just ruin everything else I've been working on lately. Then again, it might be overrated. I've long since forgotten what it feels like and, to be honest, with how busy I am at times, I wonder if I'd be really effective in a relationship anyway.

Time for me to close this thing out. There was a point to this somewhere, but it was lost in the maelstrom. Perhaps there is no point. Perhaps this is just another path for me, another series of coincidences set before me to do what I've been needing to do most. Maybe life is really predestined and pre-ordained. Who knows?

Oh well, whatever, nevermind.