Blackhumouristpress's Blog

April 18, 2013

The Dark of Heartness

Imagine an actor as handsome as James Dean, as respected among his peers as Orson Wells who had previously won Oscars and had them sitting on the mantle of his fireplace in his mansion, on his island that was purchased from the CEO of Blockbuster Video. Picture throngs of adolescent girls, teens, twenty something’s, cougars and senior citizens secretly and not so secretly hoping that they could be with a man who encompassed everything a man should be if a woman could construct such a man.
Many men had decided that Prescott Hall had to be gay. No man can have a perfect face, a perfect voice, a perfect body; say the most perfect things to the feminine ear during interviews with Oprah. No man cared to be held up against the benchmark of masculine perfection.
As is often the case with humans who get everything and anything they could have ever dreamed of, Prescott turned to recreational drugs to escape the reality of perfection. Something had caused the man to snap. Prescott’s agent, two large body guards and a psychiatrist found Prescott in a secluded retreat run by born again Buddhist’s in the mountains of Los Angeles, overlooking the ocean. Prescott was surrounded by unclothed morbidly obese women in a large suite that was large enough to house a small wedding party. The grotesquely large women talked, laughed, swam and ate while Prescott washed his face in bowl underneath a mosquito net. Prescott was given an injection, put in a straight-jacket and held in a Beverly Hills hotel until the day of the Oscars. Prescott won his third Oscar and gave a speech after accepting the award that would have made Charlie Sheen cheer. The Oscar was for Prescott’s portrayal of an ordinary man whose mundane existence as an office worker, misunderstood husband that is coming to grips with aging and inevitable death. The role in itself altered the disposition and mind of the most sought after actor. When Prescott took the stage, he held up the trophy and looked down for a moment. His reflective aviator sunglasses prevented anyone from seeing Prescott’s blue eyes that were bleary and swollen from lack of sleep and over indulgence. His white linen suit looked as if he had slept in it and his dishwater blond hair looked oily which all went well with his ten day old scruffy beard. Prescott said nothing for a moment and then began speaking slowly and quietly.
“I was born in Toledo, Ohio … About two hundred miles from the Ohio River… I went down it once as a kid. When you take into account the numbers of people in the world, how is it that I am the most fortunate? Was it predestine, a predetermination by my father’s Methodist god of the Missouri Synod? Or was it just the luck of the draw? To study for this role, I had to wake up in a house in a subdivision that looked like all the other homes in the subdivision. I had toast and coffee with a make believe wife and make believe children. I was on the other side looking in. So many of you are watching me tonight when ice is melting and water is rising, you’re losing your job, you’re losing your home while gaining weight, getting diabetes and high blood pressure eating shit food. We were meant to hunt and gather… How many of you are hunting at Taco Bell for late night, fourth meal bullshit? You can’t perform sexually cause you might stroke out on a little blue pill… Fuck it; let’s go see a movie… Maybe you’re that one kid who joined the Army from down the street who is now watching my movie in a tent in Afghanistan and one of those people that you’re trying to win the hearts and minds of, has decided to strap a bomb on to his chest to kill you for trying to win over his heart and mind and provide a soccer team for girls and the right for women to walk side by side with men in a market place, right? Meanwhile the United States of Benetton pretend to sort out racial tension despite the fact that they voted for a man who is kind of white and kind of black. I am now enlightened defend your son’s right to marry another man. Wait a minute! My son is the fag? Hmmm, let me think about this some more… What’s that smell? Do you smell that? Smells like freedom, it must be killed. Why does nobody give a shit that a gallon of gas cost more than the tube of asslube it would take to make shoving so much shit up our asses, more easier? You have two choices in which to vote- and that is one more than the Communists had… Republicans are the answer… No wait Democrats are the answer… Now Republicans again. So you get fat, tired and bored and go watch a movie. You wanna know who I’m sleeping with? Want to know what I eat? Do I fart and does my shit stink? With so much starvation, war, greed and depletion of resources, with crazy fucks pointing nuclear weapons at innocent people in Samoa and children dying on the streets of cities like Chicago with guns and people want to know what I’m doing. I’m playing the ordinary man.
… Yes the ordinary man. I went back to Ohio to be the regular guy, the faceless man. I looked for that Gardenia plantation or whatever I thought it was when I was a boy and it was gone. I couldn’t remember exactly where it was and so I followed the river and never found it. It was a little piece of heaven from when I was a boy and it is now gone… From what I read, I hear that my methods are unsound and that I’ve gone insane. Who among you claims to be soldiers or assassins? You’re nothing but desk jockeys on computers at the café running errands like trained ponies. Popcorn value packs at the theater and you are watching me, watching you, watching me portraying you. Ordinary man indeed. A man who is used to acting in one way never changes; he must come to ruin when the times, in changing, no longer are in harmony with his ways… Of course I’m paraphrasing. Somebody else wrote that, somebody else wrote everything I ever said. The vulgar crowd always is taken by appearances, and the world consists chiefly of the vulgar… In any event, I’d like to thank you all for making me what you have wanted me to be… I mean this sincerely with true heart felt passion when I say what I am about to say to you all next…”
Millions of people who tuned in waited for something profound and way-out to end a ranting speech . Prescott scanned the room of quiet, pretty people who smiled nervously wondering what Prescott would say next.
“Have a nice day…”

February 18, 2011

Habeas Corpus Christi

Filed under: Uncategorized — blackhumouristpress @ 4:35 am
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“Son… and I call you son because you’ve always been a son to me despite the fact that your father is my son.”

Walter took a sip of ice tea as he looked across Ocean Drive into Corpus Christi Bay. Walter pushed chunks of chicken that were lodged in his teeth through by forcing air behind his tongue. He looked at his grandson, Walter III who was youthful, wiry, serious and obedient.

“Us being military sort of men, know that there is something that supersedes and protects evrah one of us in this land. They ain’t no mistaken the fact that gawd has chosen this country as the standard bearer of freedom for the world. As you will find out during your tour of duty on this planet, truth is painted and decorated and covered so as to keep hidden the actual truth. What is the truth is not exactly certain and we all have our version of what is true and so forth. We live in a time of deceit and lies. I don’t blame your father for wanting to escape from these things that plague us all but moving to Cambodia won’t work in the long run. When you have lots of money you cain be a quirky bastard. They refer to you as eccentric but when you ain’t got but a pot to piss in, they call you a po crazy bastard. Going from a Vietnam Veteran who wanders the street and drinks cheap fortified liquor to being a multi-millionaire and I mean getting over $100,000,000.00 all at once is more than the common man cain handle and now winning the super mega power ball or what-have-you, ain’t much different than stepping outcha house an being struck upon y’head by a Soviet era satellite. You following mah line of reasoning, son? Chances are remote but they’s always a chance.”

Walter III looked intently at his grandfather and marveled at the scenic route he always took at explaining a situation rather than a quicker and more direct path.

“Now yo father and I say yo father because in a biological sense he is the tree that bore fruit. Though you call me granddad it has been a well establish fact that I have been yo daddy since the beginning. Some folks ain’t made to have babies nor pets an yo father is clearly in both camps in that respect. Having said all this, after nearly forty years of being the caretaker of your father who has suffered the effects of alcoholism and defoliants, money is not going to solve the issue of marginal functionality to live, thrive and exist within the boundaries of our society. There has to be boundaries. There has got to be rules that have to be adhered to. It would be remiss of me to write off my son and if it were possible foh my seventy seven year bones to traverse land and sea to collect my boy, I would not be having this conversation with you. I put it upon your shoulders to convince your father that living on a plantation in the middle of the jungle is no way to live. There is too the matter of bills that your father has left me with as the saying goes: to hold the bag. I put it upon you to collect your father and bring him back even if it means with extreme prejudice.”

Somewhere along the Mekong River, Walter II bought enough land to make his own city. Walter or Junior as he was often called had finished a tour of duty in Vietnam volunteered to go back. It was during the second tour of duty, Junior was sent over the Vietnam border to flush out the Viet Cong or the Communists or bad guys in Cambodia. One never knows who is good and bad even when told. It was in Cambodia that Junior stood up to yawn and was shot through the cheek of his mouth. Five other soldiers around him were ambushed and died but Junior survived.

Junior came back from Vietnam a second time and never really assimilated back into society well. By most people’s standards, Junior was a bust-out, alcoholic that would walk the streets of Corpus Christi begging for enough change to buy booze. When things looked like they were spiraling out of control, Junior would come back to his parent’s home to “dry out” or “get on the wagon”. Junior’s parents would always help their son to get back on his feet. Junior would eat well and exercise to excess and before long he would be the picture of health. Junior would then go out and seek the companionship of young women. Very young women.

It could have been that young women made Junior feel young or it could also have been the allure of innocence of a blanker slate than most older adults that tend to have more baggage than younger ones. Then again it could have been that younger women were aesthetically more pleasing than older, saggy more lumpy, experienced and tainted females who understood the world more than the young and impressionable. With 100 million United States Dollars, Junior could live out the rest of his life as gaudy as possible and he did.

A twenty two room castle was built with a moat twenty feet deep equipped with Crocodiles and a private army to keep him well protected. On the compound was a harem of young Cambodian women that served Junior’s every want and need.

To occupy his time, Junior bought a television station and spoke about things that interested him. It was a mixture of Christianity and alcohol induced philosophy that would have been written off as drunken gibberish back before winning the super power ball. Junior began to feel that god had a plan for him. Living through two tours of duty, being shot, winning a lottery against almost incomprehensible odds had to mean something. Most of the people didn’t understand English but all of Junior’s rants were translated into Khmer and a white woman would do sign language in a small corner below Junior as he spoke.

“We’re all looking for that pop and that sizzle in life. That thing that keeps life full of zest and it all comes down to the fact that we are looking for harmonious balance of things that appeal to our vision. The vision we have in our heads and what we are seeing at the moment. The present becomes past immediately and we look to the future for the next immediate present, real time experience… And so it is that precision, that balance, that symmetry is what we look for. Babies know this without ever knowing anything. They stare into that aesthetically pleasing face because it is soothing. Religion is to art what history is to humanity. We take from that language and music and it is the crux of what becomes human knowledge.”

Translated into Khmer or sign, it was some strange babbling that really meant very little. It always appeared to be on the way to shedding light or leading to something and then the page turned. It could have been the effects of Agent Orange on Junior. Junior suffered from short term memory loss and poor concentration. When one has money, people are always interested in what they have to say, what they eat, where they live and who they’re fucking. Junior’s father caught replays of his son’s rantings and his cult like status and decided a monster must be stopped. People from around the world were beginning to build huts and pitch tents near the moat so that they could brush up against one who was deemed to be touched by god. Walter knew his son was just a lucky bastard. It became Walter’s grandson’s job to rein his father in.

Walter III got in country, hired a boat with a guide to help him up the Mekong River. While in a bar, Walter III ran into a British photographer who was hoping to get his own television show on CNN or even Fox where he would get to things of interest before others, Liam felt he was onto something with Junior.

“Your father! Do you believe thaat, mate. He’s your fucking father. And you’ve come to understand the greatness thaat exists in this man? God truly touches very few of us in this world. I mean, who would have the toime to fuss with us when you’re about the business of making everything just little bit bigger. Your father spoke to thaat not too not long ago. If everything is everything then how is it possible that it everything is expanding even further and when it reaches a certain point, will it just snap back like a fucking Tsunami? Go out and collect fish before the water comes roaring back? Eh?”

Walter III interrupted the man who gushed about a man he knew nothing about. Walter III adjusted his granny glasses and held up a hand so as to get a word in edge wise.

“Have you ever been to Corpus Christi?”

“No I aven’t”

“Okay…Never judge a man until you’ve walked in his shoes… Through the streets of Corpus Christi.”

Liam thought that was a tad profound like a chip off the old block and so he hitched a ride up the Mekong River with Walter III. Liam had been to the compound several times and knew that on Monday mornings, it was possible to hear Junior speak as if the Pope were saying mass at the Vatican. Strange creatures from far and near showed up to hear Junior speak of things that almost made sense and yet many felt that Junior was just too deep for the common man to understand him correctly. None of that was the case.

The boat crept up on a humid morning where the sun already hurt fair white skin. Hoards of people stood and sat on the hilly land that was separated by a wide and deep moat and a huge wrought iron fence that would have made Queen Elizabeth a bit jealous. As Junior descended from the castle with dozens of scantily dressed small, thin and young looking females that escorted him to the sound of Devo’s Corporate Anthem which blared from loud speakersNobody had any idea that it was nothing more than an instrumental by a New Wave Rock band from a state in America called Ohio. The song was a little over one minute in length and sounded a bit like a dissonant sounding, Here Comes the Bride. Junior had long hair that was greased back and a tan. He wore a loose fitting white linen suit and dark sunglasses. He looked like a cross between L. Ron Hubbard and Jim Jones. Behind them ten small Cambodian men carried a giant Catfish that was caught by Junior while fishing on the river. This fish was about eight feet long and weighed almost five hundred pounds. Junior wanted to have the fish sent to a taxidermist that he knew back in Texas and decided that the huge fish should live. Junior decided mounting a catfish on his wall that was the size of a Beluga, might be too gaudy and so he chose life.

Junior said a few words prior to leaving the gates of his compound and assisting his servants in freeing the fish back into the Mekong while a brigade of small Asian men stood by in fatigues, sunglasses and automatic weapons.

“Life as we know it is what we know to be in our existence. We are nothing more than organisms trying to reproduce and replicate our kind in harmony with one another. Within our ability to grasp the crux of what life is we strive to understand our purpose in this which we call life. To end the life of this magnificent creature would not be right in our conception of what god meant for us in breathing life into this creature.”

The giant fish was at that point fighting to breath and the shirtless small men stood stoically trying to contain a creature that weighed about as much as a small automobile. Junior cut his speech short and helped lead the enormous fish to the bank of the river. The fish bounced as if it were made of rubber and then pounced into the water and disappeared. The crowd roared in approval. Walter III moved quickly to reach his father. He called out as he ran towards him. Several shots rang out. Nobody was killed but people were hit in the hands and legs and Walter III point blank in the chest. Nobody was aware that Walter III wore a bullet proof vest under his clothing. Junior witnessed his unconscious son slowly coming back to life and dropped to his knees and clutched his own chest. It may have been the shock of seeing his son 13,000 miles away from Corpus Christi or that he was shot several times and lived but Junior dropped to his knees with his hands across his chest. Walter III sat up and was face to face with his father who was having a heart attack. Walter III held his father’s arm. Junior trembled and asked his son a vague question.

“Did you see it, my son? I’m glad you’re here to see it with your own eyes.”

Walter III wasn’t sure how to respond to the question and really didn’t want to ask his father to clarify what he was referring to as he was under cardiac arrest. Was he referring to the crowds, the under age army of beautiful Asian girls or the private soldiers of fortune? Was it the enormous fish or the moats full of Crocodiles or the fact that he returned to land he once fought in as a successful man? It wasn’t clear and yet nothing had ever been clear between junior and his son. Walter III answered the best he could.

“Yes dad… It’s a beautiful house. You certainly bought at the right time.”

 

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