Bias: The Whelming



It all started with booze, a mailbox, and a question: How does time move without us?
01/03/2004, 7:58 pm
Sunny and brightly cold outside, the nose begins to weep from the wind – moisture frozen to my face by the time the short odyssey from the bar to the post office. I seal the letter, the envelope gets married to the stamp, and I drop these words from Here and Now for you to get Tomorrow.
I tell you I want back the one, the time, and the magic that I left behind.
“How to fix a broken life?”- One you might be able to find parted out and empty at a junkyard - was the thought as a look to the left gave the a view of a man not really enjoying his watered-down rum and coke washing down over salted pretzels. This reject from whatever a normal life might be is looking for that answer in the atomic bomb potent black hole of a drink that calls his name like the echo from a longed for but lost lover at least once a week. Once again the Past speaking through the spiced rum induced fog reminds me that time is illusory and unanchored in space.
So I write my letters on paper that outclasses my lunatic handwriting to the Past and Tomorrow from Now and wonder when the four of us can meet again.
The man to the left is beginning another drink, in hopes that more of the same will be better than the last time, his voice rumbling, “The past is not unchangeable,” through the bar like whiskey soaked thunder.
Up the hill through the cold, once greeted by the dogs and at home I read the only mail that is not a bill or disconnect notice, a letter from Tomorrow, and you tell me that you are waiting for my scribbling of madness in my barely legible hand. You say that I am the man at the bar and that Time is a steamroller forever moving and that we must either ride, walk behind, or run ahead of it. You anticipate my questions.
You tell me that Time is paradox; once you begin running you need only to stop and wait for it, if waiting, you are already behind it – these options are meaningless as they are the same. If riding it and you get off – you step outside of Time, this is the difference. You say that we are either in time and moving like swimming in a pool or standing outside of it watching, waiting, and finally jumping in where ever we decide. You say time is fluid like water in a stream, Time fixed until the container is removed. Time is something that should be changed regularly like your socks.
I told you I want back the one, the time, and the magic that I left behind. My question is how?
Your answers are never concrete, and always maddening.
~Angus Torn

Coyotes at the Bar:
(1)I have never met Frederick before, but we speak as friends reinventing each other. Frederick speaks with an accent thick like half cooked buttermilk biscuits. The accent of Senegal, almost tangible – inviting appetite and conversation.
Frederick Likes to write and read, and like most fresh transplants to America he doesn’t like to take no or be told that he can't do something. He tells me to read Mandela “The Long Road Home” and look in the 9thchapter where I will find a letter he wrote to Mandela. Frederick keeps asking if the bartender is my girlfriend – repeatedly “no” I tell him. Frederick wants to ask her out and writes down his number to give to her, Frederick’s handwriting makes my mad scribble look like the Illuminated Manuscripts.
Frederick’s boss comes over, smooth and icily intelligent. He has been in the states longer than his employee and the rough edges of his accent have been rounded off giving his delivery perfection – an exceptional cadence that no family in America for more than a generation could match. It marches with confident intelligence and pride – full of desire.

(2)Now the fool arrives.
Saw him earlier as I was loping from bar to bar, think his name is Denny. Denny interrupts the seemingly random conversation (as all drunken conversations appear to outsiders). I look him in the eye and as politely as I can tell him that I am talking to my friend and that whatever he has to tell me – he had already told me hours ago, unfortunately this comes of very Roman and like a checkmate insult. He sits down, I go to smoke a cigarette– my patience thin, and I revel in the Mark Twain victory over the hulking fool coming my way. Denny steps into my circle, “So now you want to fight me too,” - “Why would I fight you, good night sir” as he walks away, and like a caricature I finish my cigarette and go back to my drink at the bar.
Earlier I am greeted with a mix of welcome and apprehension something is askew. “It’s an obnoxious drunk that we stopped serving,” Troy tells me. Troy is brilliant in handling awkward situations. The cocktail waitresses had been getting the rude and back handed remarks that alcohol seems to expand from the spoiled children of every age. A few whispered words to the manager from Troy and the bitch is escorted out. “See, no worries CJ – the energy at this bar has a way of working these things out – just ask David, he shows up and the assholes leave” Troy is one of those I would like to be a peer of. He is not lying though – something happens at this bar that I don’t care to know the reasons for – I show up when Troy is working and the assholes go away – maybe they can sense the masters in their presence and are ashamed. Maybe they see the pack of Coyotes gathering at the bar and sense their own weakness.

http://toonlet.com/creator/rev.eggplantjones

http://toonlet.com/creator/rev.eggplantjones

let's just act like

I am not a product

of my name or my past

and that my actions will

not be understood

by looking backwards -

-Angus Torn

"I don't wish for words to make sense, but to make feelings rise up through your pores. I want the aftertaste of my insanities and my rare moments of dark brilliance to to taunt you for days, well at least minutes. I want to stick with you like a re-occuring dream or nightmare. To make my words tangible" ~ Magnus Ripp

Hate your job; I have years of experience in hating my jobs. For the low price of twice your daily pay and legally binding contract to bond me out should I get arrested I will got to where you work on your behalf (anonymously if need be) and rant and rave like a freshly escaped unmediated loquacious lunatic. I may not know your job, but I already know how to hate it and be frustrated by it.
Some company your inconsolably furious with - send me and I will rant away.
Extra charges if you want me to use your words or specific phrases unless of course it's awesome - than an appropriate discount will be applied.

Pay Me To Rant For You
Sincerely,
The Reverend Eggplant Jones

Today I could find out how much, not if, the universe hates me, but I have no interests in letting it win me over with the flattery of hatred - just go on ignoring me as usual" ~Magnus Ripp