Posted by Edward on November 08, 1999 at 21:42:46:
This page is to the ultimate lady, and the struggles through my life as a creep. This memoir is my jury belief and mitigation plea: Life is the ultimate sruggle until you find yourself. So let the journey begin.
Time. Moments in Time. Vivid recollections of the moments that impacted our lives.
Where we were when we made our first steps. When we spoke our first words. How we felt when we stepped into school for the first time. And the difference in those fellings when we stepped out. The never ending shadow of how our destiny awaits us. And the way it turns out. Through the images and the feelings, there is always the music. The songs we played when we fell into love for the first time. When we fell out of love. And when we fell into love again. The story of life is about time. A simple mans journey through complicated times. The coming of age of ourselves and our country. And at the heart of the story is the music. Music that lives with us, is always there to remind us of the people, places, and events of our times. The music of our "lives" is as vital as any character-it is a character-complex and exhilerating, humorous and heartbreaking, the essence of what we once were and always will be. Here is one song that helped define myself. One song from so many, that will always be part of my history:
She was the blonde that redefined all blondes and rendered all other blondes obsolscent. She vibed divine intervention. She was tallish and slender. She had blonde hair and dark eyes. She vibed brain power and self knowledge. She was wholesome. She was young. She didnt now what she wanted. She secretly wanted yours truly. I managed this decree by the thoughts within my head. I gave her access to the secret most thoughts, I withheld from God and my buddies. She dug the whole quilt. At least my mind said she did. Women and girls scared me. ( The beginiing of my struggle starts now). I grooved on outdated hairstyles and clothes. Stylessness meant physic weight. Headlessness to current trends meant spirit. I grooved on solitary women. Solitary meant lonely. Lonely meant hungry. Hungry meant and estranged and thus accessible. I was picking up pop-culture vibes. Experimentation was in. The swinger ethoes transcended cl strictures. I said to myself it had to be true, it just sounded right. I set out to find myself on the eastside of town in an area named Bryers Park. It was an uppish section of town were people had more money than sense. Bryers Park was rife with fortyish women. I observed them obsessively, as they lounged by there pools and abused their Latin domestics. They were upper cl moms with teenage daughters and time on their hands. These women were bored, vexed, and most of all . Sirens went of in my head vigoursly almost to the point of being uncontrollable. I watched them shop on Carchmont. Their skirts hiked and stretched. I memorized their faces and gave them my visions body. I gave them a yen for young flesh. I managed this without human contact. Bryers park rocked to my fervor. And all that reigned was my own. Sex was divine and dirty concurrent. It was everything, and everything around me was it. It was a freakish glandular disposition. I reveled in God's joke. I shared it with my body. I screened womens faces until the screen went black. Time ped, I went no. Eventually the process of elimination would have to rule life in my favor. Or so I thought. I met some Bryers Park teenage girls. I co-opted with their pedigree and acted like Bryers Park was my birthright. I saw some Bryers Park interiors. I dug the wood-paneled walls and arched doorways of their homes. I met some fortyish mothers. They smiled and glowed and showed me their bodies in motion. It was divine. I dug the entire experience, even though it was taking me further away from my lifes true realities. Fly, crash, and burn. Dehydration, sleeplessness, exhaustion, and mental fatigue were all parts of the Bryers Park experience. The Bryers Park eviction blues. The great puch line to God's big joke. I went to some doctor for help and he feed me more inconsiderate falsehoods. I didnt but it. I didnt but it. I put out bad vibes. I couldnt con the collusively inclined. The widower bereft. The libertine shackled. I never let my buddies know how much I dug the Bryers Park district. They wouldnt get it. They would point to my origins and conclude that I coveted Bryers Park from an aggrieved perspective. They can kiss my . My ultimate mandate was excitement. My major course of study was women. My focus was faces read and assessedfor signs of my own hunger. My release from the harsh reality of society was a corrupted maternal bond. Women, girls,and me. Reconstructed families abed in Bryers Park. A warm hearth and a plaque inscribed WANTED was all I yearned for. I never received that until later. I decided it was time to close the book on Bryers Park or suffer the consequences of staying. I really had no choice if I wanted to survive, so therefore I rendered it complete. I moved on to a place that was the complete opposite of Bryers Park in every aspect but one. Sex still surrounded my every move. The Romliar district was my next destination. The Romliar's was a lower rent area on the Westside of town. Drugys, poverty, and cheap women were parts of everday living here. It was where an incompetent fool like myself could thrive. The Romliars hippie chicks fueled my imagination. Hippie girls sans hippie trappings. Less-than-perfect women with their legs spread wide. Guiless smiles. This is not degrading. I understood the aesthetics of this place. I grooved it. I screened impromptu fantasies and expanded them each time I ventured farther into the dark, which was Romliars. The hippie chiks fashion statement enhanced my creed. Heck with mass-market revolt of this area. If these girls dug there fashion thats all I needed to know. I started watching men and women together. Sweethearts in movie lines. Couples in parks. I envisioned them saying "Who's that geek staring at us".This really bothered me. I was falling closer and closer to the end of my existance. I had two choices clean up my life or parish by years end. Proper care would cure me, staying at the Romliars would kill me. Live or die. An easy choice once it confronts you. Or is it? Yes for me it was quite easy. I met a lady by the name of Annette Roberson just as I prepared to leave the Romliars. We meet in late 87. She was the poster girl for my every fantasy that I envisioned. The resemblance toward her and my vision of the perfect doll staggered me. Her faced matched point by point. Her body diverged. She wore loose clothes- her contours eluded me. I lost and regained a vision that day. I was starting to understand myself and my character. Annette was gracious, intelligent, stern willed, and funny. I groomed and prepared for our confabs. Annette was an occassion. I rose to it. I think I finally found the one. I didnt know if I was a chameleon or a square in waiting. I knew of one thing however, that I loved Annette Roberson. My restraints proved it. I excluded her from my sex stories, I viewed her as a person rather than an object. This was a first for me, and further exemplified my changing. This more than fueled my love and allowed me to listen. I assessed my situation as a threat to myself and no great threat to the world. To my disbelief everything was starting to make sense. Annette was the most loving and compassionate person my mind could ever script. I picked up a subtext that day: Love was a lock for the strong and the glib. Love took balls, and balls is finally what I had. Love and the feeling of being wanted were my ultimate visions from the beginning. It was 100% real and believed in myself for the first time ever. Thank you Traci Lords for helping me find my true reason for being. And helping me tackle my lifetime agenda head on. I will always be grateful to you for those reasons. I dug the fresh air and swank atmosphere of my new beginning. Life has taught me one thing. That everything happens for a reason. I attribute my survival to the seldom sought prescence of Almighty God. He's the one who sent Traci Lords to rescue and preserve me. Skeptics might scoff at this, they can kiss my . So let it be done. Thank you for listening. Have a nice day.
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