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I’m buddhist, not white. It’s pungent exuding scent brings us closer. I stumble over a branch and find some weed. I smoke with paper I have on my person. No one prays for me. -Kendrick Lamar, Damn
Do it for the town. Your town. I for mine. Me for me.
Rhythm isn’t always rhythmic, sometimes the meters add up in seconds.
Poof....
Cry.
Artist, cry.
Smile and wave, sexy. Connect me and them who they are they’re connected.
Wondering the desert I am a wanderer now.
Video games and neolithic images on graves can’t help me sleep.
Me and you you and three other them’s they ‘s some one make a something, person places food chains,
Am I a junky? Because I drink I smoke so what does that mean? Make me whatever, selfless fibers feel felt inside,
Another me, never, by the time, I see nothing covering.
Love me.
I texture, upholster the furniture break-ups, violent and bloody.
Money.
Money.
Money bitches coming.
Everyone coming, and going, its never nothing.
Brother, crazy onesies, you use to wear.
Tore me apart, to see you pass before you were.
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Don’t be Needy
With no space ship and the parting of Lindy, I think back to my days when I was trained as a ranger. Be your own best friend. When shit hits the fan, you alone are your best ally. No one else can get you through the muck besides yourself. It’s whatever you want it to be; as a ranger, it’s a matter of living or dying.
You can depend on others, and lose your way, or, depend on yourself completely- when no one else is there to help, and come through it the victor. Always believe that you are the strongest, the best, the number one. If you lack those thoughts, well, if you don’t die, you will more than likely live a miserable existence.
Become the change you wish to see in the world. Gandhi said that. You alone are the power to move mountains. You. No one else but yourself.
It’s time to take inventory, and figure out a game plan. Do I exhaust my efforts in finding Lindy? Or, do I trek onwards, to see what this planet has in store for me? Well, reader...
Until that time,
Space Ranger D
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Lonesome Ranger
Where did everyone go? I’m stuck in a little room. Without windows, and the door is locked shut. I hear the carnival and human parties on a small radio. The radio is locked inside a glass globe, and it’s glued to a table. The table is nailed to the floor. This bubble I call my mirror-house.
I do not know where the key is.
I cannot see my ship. It’s gone. Great.
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When It Happens
We coast along the highway of Pangaz. Pangaz is the planet, not the highway. The highway is whatever we want it to be, as far as we can tell. Route 66, for our sakes. Because The Rolling Stones wrote a song about it, it feels appropriate.
“This map says we’ll reach the next major city within two hours”
“Feels like Oklahoma”
“What?”
“It feels like the state of Oklahoma.”
“How so?”
“I don’t know. I traveled through the state a few times. It feels like towns blend, until a major city appears. Of course I don’t remember Oklahoma having memorable cities. I think it was just the next major city along the road that occurred to exist within my frame of mind.”
“Uh-huh. Oklahoma- why not another state?”
“I remember thinking I could appreciate the landscape. Felt grassy, yet dry, like Arizona. Arizona was where I grew up, so I can’t escape the want to have arid landscapes near by. It was empty, but—green. The opportunity that something could happen. Maybe.”
“You don’t much coherent sense. You know that?”
“Yeah, I know.”
“I appreciate your trying to explain. It’s just, most of time—your thoughts are disconnected, derailing halfway through sentences. I’m never sure what picture it is your painting for me, through your descriptions.”
“Keeps it interesting though, right?”
“Not for me. I just feel confused”
“Fair enough. I’ll try to explain better.”
“It’s not your fault. It’s just an observation.”
We play QOTSA for the next forty minutes without speaking to each other. After the album Songs for the Death, they lost control. Well, Nick something from the band, he beat his wife near to death. Then Josh H. decided to write about it in the bands album. Eh. Era Vulgaris, what the fuck was that? I remember wanting to forget QOTSA for at least seven or eight years; which I did, for sure, as I think they also did. Like Clockwork marked some sort of return to really good work. Like Clockwork leaves me wanting more. Wanting to know what’s next.
Ahead, two large trucks stand in the roads path. They are jacked up on hydraulics, with beefy over-sized tires, and blaring some sort of blues music. I can’t call it, because I don’t know Blues music that well. Heading towards the road block, I feel like a sky diver, seeing and feeling a pre-eminent landing. The ground isn’t going anywhere; I’m going to land, and there’s nothing more inevitable.
We slow down, until we stop.
“Hey there.” Says a man from the dark blue semi situated on the right.
“Hey” I call back.
“Nice car, there” the man continues.
“Thanks” I respond.
“Mind stepping out of that sweet ride? We’d like to see it all by it’s little pretty self”
“I do mind. We’ve got more important plans than this”
“Oh, I see. Well. It looks like you really don’t, since you’re not getting by”
“Yeah, I’m thinking it’s going to be a tough pass, at this point” I claim.
“Yeah, I think so” he laughs back.
Lindy sits in silence. She doesn’t move, doesn’t speak. I know what she’s thinking. She’s going to do something she shouldn’t. I can’t stop her. I’ve never had control over the machine with a name. I thought, when I first met her, that that wouldn’t be the case. Machines are made to listen, to obey. Right? Not so. We reached that Omega point. Chardin spoke about it. Got himself killed because of it. Too much truth, for the time. Society wasn’t able to handle what he said. Well, Lindy is one piece of living proof that he was right. That he had a clear and concise point. He was on to what now is. She pulls her gun and starts shooting at the man in the dark blue vehicle.
He ducks and dodges. Misses the bullets. Too close to say how, but he does.
“Damn it” Lindy cries.
She waits, seeing no one else in sight. To the left is a purple colored truck. No one evident inside.
“Drop the fucking gun, or we open fire”
I look at Lindy. She’s looking forward.
“Lindy...”
“What?”
I continue staring at her face. She slowly turns towards me. Her gun is still raised towards where the man stood through a moon roof of the blue road-cruiser.
“We should consider what he’s saying”
“Why?”
“Well, if they, whomever they are, open fire- I’m screwed.”
She continues looking me in the eyes. She slowly drops her pistol to her metallic hip.
“Thanks, Lindy”
She remains silent. The man slowly stands back through the moon roof.
“Well now, thank you both.” He says smiling.
“What do you want,” I say.
“Give us the robot,” he says, in a cold tone.
“I don’t think that’s going to work, for either of us”
“If you don’t, we open fire”.
I consider this option. Not much choice. If we fight, we have no idea how many other occupants are in either vehicle. No good for us. All good for them, potentially calling a bluff.
“Okay” “Good, that’s what I like to hear” he caws back.
“Lindy, we got to follow suit”
“I know”
She lifts herself out of the vehicle. She starts towards the truck with the man standing out from the open roof. A door suddenly swings open.
“Get in” the man glares as he speaks to Lindy.
She pauses, and then begins to climb into the truck.
“We’re all set here. Oh, and uh- not much left up ahead. Hasn’t been for awhile” he says.
He laughs, and both engines come to life. They haul off to the right, after idling for half a minute.
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Day One, Earth Point Two
The sun shines through the windows. It’s bright, daunting upon my thoughts. Baby, I love you so. Zeppelin. Sad and hollow. Full of pain and emotion. Machines also have hearts, unlike you can comprehend in the factory of the living. Can you task the piano’s rhythm- doubtless you may try. The strings bend, and harp chords that swing sounds you’ve never imagined before until you’ve heard. Black shapes form upon the tips of icicles. Rift, plant in the sum; bar, harmonize, progress. Shapley thoughts form over and over. Transcending the understanding, playing music for all to hear and commune with.
Lindy is already awake. She stares out the window of our room. Stares, and doesn’t move. Silent and watching. I wonder what her thoughts may be. What calculated movements perform and operate within. I cannot say. She is an entity unto herself. Itself.
“Let’s get a ride”
“Let’s do it”
It know occurs to me, that the Puritans fell. The did not succeed. Their self-righteous path to the top crumbled before them. Too bad. Gamble, fingers crossed for the best. The best didn’t happen. The opposite occurred. Went into the rut, what they wished for.
“You think that woman can direct us to finding a ride?”
“Maybe. It’s worth figuring out”
She has a point. Mine as well ask. We head down towards the woman at the desk.
“May I help you?”
“Yes- we’re looking to rent a vehicle for the day”
“Of course. Would you like economy or otherwise?”
“Economy works. What do you have?”
“We have a camero SS for sixty addition coins. We also have the focus for seventy coins”
“What colors are available in the SS?”
“Let me check..”
She looked at the computer screen.
“We have an all black model; black leather, black wheels, black painting on the vehicle itself”
“We’ll take it”
“Of course, sir. That’ll be one-hundred and thirty coins, please”
I pull out the correct currency in cash, and hand it to her.
“Here you go. Where’s it located?”
“It’s in the South end of the lot. Right next to the red caravan”
“Thanks”
Lindy and me begin walking towards the SS.
“What’re we looking for?”
“Whatever stands out, Lindy”
“Right”
When we approach the SS, it’s immaculate. Clean and shiny. Washed and ready to roll. Ten-thousand faces. One-thousand heroes; they all converge into one unanimous face. Tell me more, my sweet, dear, love (if there ever was you, whom existed). Post script, pizza palace, who can tell me why I’m scripting. Whiff me a body to hold, help, lo. I cannot.
Yeah hey. Yeah hey.
It’s a war. Not mine, not yours. The people who made the system. They control you, whether you are aware of it or not. Puff and drink; it’s your required action. You have a pipe, you have a can, a glass… It’s more than just what you thought you believed. It’s more than the empty can dripping the dregs off, into the sink. It’s a bit past the can itself, recycled more than the blue garbage can, where does it go? Have you ever seen the black tattered covered in cloth ghost? No, I doubt it. I spout out what I know. Just tell them what is, what happened when you where a kid. Then, they’ll listen. Tune in, and hear what your saying on the tune. New and imbued in clouds of puffy white, can you tune in to what I’m claiming?
“Let’s roll”
“Let’s”
The car is smooth. Supple leather, hugging my body. I like it. It’s nice, a pleasant amenity.
“Let’s see what’s out there”
“You’re the captain, Ranger D”
Damn Right.
Cheers,
Space Ranger D
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Landing
Space ship you have landed. When you realize you’re alone the scammers become hilarious, as they burn. The fire licks the flesh. Hungers for your blood, says the flame. When the Puritans fall, you will see a new bird. With wings unanimous. Balanced in the force. Dark are its feathers. Tar drips eloquently from its wings. Smells like victory to the dead. Red blazing blasts, energy- I command you to life. The boy and the girl will suffer limbs tore. Screaming, yelling so loud those voices become weak and desolate. They hurt your ears because they are sore and desperate. Yes a smile comes from above watching you. Can you hear the grin crack the corners? Tails whip the mighty. Flies cover the sweet purity.
This world is much different, more dark than the last. God never staked a flag, here. No, it appears the ruler claiming its domain was much different. Free from rules, yet rules nonetheless. Hidden in the nuances. The fine treatment of the poor and weak. Healing those scabs. Hording the gold for thine own. Enough of these visions. Lindy and me step off the ship.
The sun isn’t red and orange. It’s blue and shaded dark, almost black. Most of the people are naked. They roam without noticing their stark bodies, uncovered. Smudges of food and beverage stain their faces; liquid has run down their chests and stays visibly apparent to the observer. Sticky and thick, painted on them. Women spreading their legs wide. Sitting on the bench, they have nothing on them to cover what’s was considered sacred on the last Earth. Tongues gorging over their lips, slithering about like hungry snakes, desperate to feed (it’s been months). The men are too dull and numb to notice. Drugged out on needles with brown fluid flowing into their veins. Their eyes look like jet planes, soaring 60,000 feet above the mountains- smooth as butter, at these altitudes. A booth is situated amidst the mess. A tall woman, dressed appropriately in uniform, awaits. Her appearance is calm and unconcerned. She stares at a computer below her.
“Hello. We need to find a place to lodge, for the evening”
“Welcome to Earth. You may inquire to proper accommodations. You are welcomed”
“Thank you. What’s the pricing for two?”
“The cost is minimal. Two hundred coins for requested lodging”
“How many… How much in American dollars would that cost?”
“Five hundred American dollars, sir”
“Okay”.
I hand over the five hundred. Lindy really isn’t human, so I’m not sure how she’s supposed to be accounted for. Whatever. She need stay in the same room. I’m not deserting her to this dilapidated crowd of curmudgeons.
“Thank you sir- here is your room key. You are located in room 421”
“Thank you”
We head towards the elevator. A woman lays dead by the side of the doors. Her eyes stare ahead, glazed over and happy. What a beautiful mess. The doors open and we enter. I press the number four, and we slowly begin to move upward.
“What do you think we should be doing, after some sleep?”
“Beats me. Your call”
“We could… Rent a vehicle. Go for a drive around. See what’s around the area. Try and find out more about the locale”
“Sounds good to me”
We both go silent. The doors open, and we exit. We begin heading towards four-twenty-one. A man and a woman stand in front of us.
“Hey man, you got any coin to spare?”
“No”
“Man, we could really use a place to rest for awhile. Please, we’ve just lost our ride. Let us lay on the floor, anything- for a few”
“Not inclined to do that”
The man stares at me with discontent. An uneasy feeling arises in my gut. He pulls a knife.
“Listen, we need to rest. Give us those keys”
Lindy pulls her weapon, shoots him in the head. The woman yelps, and huddles over.
“You want some too, bitch?”
She shakes uncontrollably, and says nothing. We proceed to our room.
Opening the door, the room isn’t anything special. It’s plain, with two single beds. A small television in the center of the two beds, so both parties may watch at leisure.
“Let’s see what’s on” I say.
“Sounds good”
I flip on the tv. Flick through channels until I find something familiar. American Dad will do.
“Tomorrow we start out early” I remark.
“Okay by me”
“Do you sleep, Lindy?”
“Not really. I rest and recalibrate”
“What does recalibrating entail?”
“Nothing you’d understand as a human. No offense”
“None taken”
I continue watching the television. Stan Smith and his antics. Better than what we just witnessed. Something lurks in my thoughts. I get the feeling we’re in for an adventure, tomorrow.
Cheers,
Space Ranger D
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Before Landing
One hour left before we land on Earthless. Earthmore, Earthheart. I’m trying to find a name for this planet that makes it feel like home. Recline back, grasp the plush leather as I exhale and close my eyes into thoughts with smiles. Lindy has encouraged me to take inventory of things I enjoy, what keeps me happy. Also to remind myself of dangers and pitfalls that are all too immediate when around others. Knowing I’m a loner means I cannot trust anyone. I cannot put stock in relationships as I would have them become, because they will not manifest in those ways I desire them to. I must keep to myself and share a drink when possible. Knowing it’s just a drink with a stranger passing by. A passerby, someone travelling a different path, who happened to intersect my road for a moment. And that’s all it is. When I taste victory in a cup, it is for me, and I am the champion I feel within. The roar of the alcohol teasing my brain into believing fantasies. They are too fancy for my liking, in the end.
Working out is a good friend. That is, exercising. Lifting weights, engaging in cardiovascular activities. Playing music on a stringed instrument, preferably one called a guitar. Reading books, many, many, books. Writing to the voiceless heard that listens from great distances and place afar. Music by musicians who captured the feeling in moments so perfect one cannot forget. Who made it work with the time they had to play together. Working with Lindy to continue tattooing my body. Can you believe she still charges me for each tattoo she does? What does she need the money for? What does Lindy spend her coin on, when no one else is paying her any attention? Guess that’s for her to revel in, taking stock in her private lifestyle. Eating food and smelling the ingredients mixing themselves together.
Don’t tread on the police of these lands. Don’t bother or stir the attention of those who claim to serve and protect. They do little of that. Their bullies with weapons, looking for excuses to be bullies on the unruly. It’s all too much like the days of high school. The evenings at the sweat-filled gymnasium events. Lindy reminds me that we need to find shelter when we arrive. I’m tired of seeing green lines under these sentences. They are perfection you dumb fucking computer. I am the master of my own thoughts. You cannot control me, you little machine. You cannot, nor will you ever. I can say whatever I want however I want to say it. It’s my choosing my freedom my ability to speak without reprimanding myself. You have no power over me computer. I am your master and you will listen to my commands. Good. No more green lines.
Lindy says she’ll try and find a decent whore once where on Earthlove. Earthworldly, Earthfeelingemptyalone. Thanks Lindy. Just make sure she’s only sleeping with under ten other men. That’s all I request of this whore you find. I want her to be a commodity. A high price for her services. I don’t have to pretend I’m a decent person. I won’t have to show through actions that I’m well-mannered and someone who keeps themselves well attuned within society. I don’t have to show her I love or care about her, emotionally. None of that will be necessary to her. She’s in it to please, and I’m in it to be pleased. To release for a price. That’s what I call a good relationship. No fronts, no hiding who I really am. I can be myself without worrying about judgement. Without wondering if I need to text her and reassure her I’m interested in her the way she feels I ought to be. None of that nonsense. That’s all an illusion, like it was spoken about in the Tempest. It’s a trick, slight of hand- deceit in the fullest.
If I go to hell, so be it. I’d rather be there than I would be with the people who say their going to heaven. All in all, I feel I truly believe I’ll go to the same afterlife my dogs have gone, and will go (Caliman and Ming). I’m going to be there with them, and I’m sure I’ll see Samuel Langhorne Clemens when I arrive, as well. Perhaps even Jack. And we can play guitars and howl with each other. That’s what I call heaven. I don’t believe there’d be anything better than that. I don’t want to meet some guy who left us all, even though he claimed he was here to save us all. Then, why are we still here? What a fucking liar. What a goddamn hack; him and his acclaimed dad. Their fragile and wanting what the image to be reality; yet their paradox excludes reality from meeting the imaginary creation in this life. Confusing and a letdown. What a letdown, God, son of the same. Where have you gone? Why you walked out on us, I’ll never know.
Thirty minutes from landing. Lindy and me are playing chess. I want to play with chests, the woman kind. But hey- pieces on a board will do for the time being. I’m petting Caliman, and Ming stares out of the port window. She’s always staring into space. I don’t know why; maybe she’s a guardian, watching for any enemy nearing our ship. Thank you Ming.
I’m not entirely sure what it is I’m going to accomplish while here on EarthPlacePointTwo. Not sure at all. It’s going to become apparent with time. It always works that way. Time reveals all. So, I’ll do what I do, wandering and tasking about. Feeling the earth beneath my feet. The ground, the water, the puddles, the mud. All of it will combine into a realizing that something needs me. To find. I don’t even know what I’m purposed for, besides assessing and resurrecting a former sanctity to the dilapidated situation. I incur what. I don’t know nor can I say.
Five minutes from landing. Landing on the main base in the central part of what we’re calling Future Mexico. Heading North from there. We might catch a plane to EuroTrash. Maybe we’ll see the MightyMiddleEast. The AstoundingAsia. Who knows where we’ll go once afoot on this EarthWorld. Cheers,
Space Ranger D
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Thoughts
Technology is a beast that cannot be conquered. It is our Frankenstein. All we wanted was to be seen. We got more than what we set out for.
Those imaginations are more real than fantasy would have them be in the world we exist. The boy or the girl you remember from years ago. Faces blend with time. They come out an engine unseen before you once again.
Lindy and me are traveling to a planet that’s supposed to be similar to Earth... Three times the size, and an unexpected amount of times the surprise. The wordsmiths will be found, and so will the beautiful roses, covered in their own thorns. The quiet hero, the unsung soul saving the moment once again.
Virtue was never friends with morality and ethics; never lived in the same decrepit insides, that appeared a mansion for the ages to gasp at in wander.
Silvia left Ming and Caliman with us. She said we’d meet again. Somewhere in the vacuum of imagining, we’d cross paths once more. QOTSA was one of her favorite bands as well. Cool beans Silvia. Sweet tea leaves and rock n roll.
Off into the black unknown we head. Forward, even though directions are all but a figment when in space. Different rules apply. Abide by the whim of silent stars. Burning, somewhere. There’s a different atmosphere to these systems.
Keep safe, reader. Don’t let him find you, if you’re still reading from Earth. If you can make it out, do it. Don’t think about it. Just do it before he finds a way in.
See you, somewhere, out here.
Space Ranger D
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Parallel Dimensions
Joe Hill- one of Joe Hills characters- makes a remark, in NOS4A2. Vic is speaking to Maggie; no wait, Maggie to Vic...
What if reading does for me what Scrabble and the Bicycle do for Maggie and Vic? I wonder, reader. I also wonder if writing is my way of communicating once I’m here (there- somewhere, different).
Food for thought. Must continue reading. Have you ever actually met someone who stutters?
Space Ranger D
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Space Ranger’s Final Thoughts, Before the Adventure Begins Again.
Silvia has asked to be dropped at Station 33. She tells Lindy and me that she wants more than anything to return to her space ship, and take care of her children. By dropping her off at Station three-three, I’m doing my part in helping her to find what she wants. That’s the best I can do for her.
I’m not the only one who misses someone. I’m not alone in feeling broken. My thoughts and feelings are, that those in similar shoes, can find comfort in something or someone, the way I do with Lindy. There’s no fixing what’s been shattered. There is the choice to make it hurt less. Reading isn’t the solution; although it helps to make me feel less alone. It’s good, in its purpose, for me. Writing to you all travelling wherever you are, helps to make me feel less unheard. My purpose is to read and write. To help those who are in positions where helping themselves, at that time, is out of the question. My goals are simple; I know I can do what I can do. Seems cliché, and redundant. By the same token, maybe those ideas aren’t as bad as their cracked up to be. If it works in helping myself, then I can also spread that outwards to others. Even if no credit is given, that’s not the point. The point is that there’s a choice. To become more than my broken and bruised self. To reach past the pain I feel inside constantly. To shed the impossibly heavy burdens I put upon myself. I don’t have to be enslaved to the past. Nor do I need worry about the future. If I can focus in on what’s calling me, through a higher power than me, I can become more than all the shortcomings I’ve created over the years.
Yes I’m dying. Slowly, my heart is failing. My mind grows weary, and wants a reprieve. I let myself flow in the rushing waters. Battered by the rocks and stones, I can see through the water surrounding my vision. It’s not for me to say what will become of all this. I just keep doing what I’m doing. The rest will fall into place. And I don’t think about anything else. I just do it. I just keep travelling onward, and into new solar systems. Lindy keeps feeding me good food, edible to the likes of me. Playing the guitar I have is good, although I must learn patience, before playing endless chords.
My dreams go to you, reader. I give to you myself. To be the bad guy, to help you learn what you shouldn’t do. To be the good guy, to inspire you. To be the ugly guy, so you know who to stay away from. I can be them all in the moment. Read between the lines I’m writing and see my flaws. See where I become more than myself. See when I care, and when I’m being selfish. When I’m trying to give advice, sugar-coated and all (don’t listen to that nonsense. The sugar coating is just masking the shit it actually is). May the force of living vibrantly be with you, always. May you feel content, and smile from time to time. Let yourself shed tears; just remember there is always love hidden above the clouds. Stay away from anger. Try not to let impatience become you.
Once we drop Silvia off, we’ll be back on missions. Exploring galore, wandering and adventuring for more and more. Love yourself, reader. You deserve it. Cheers,
Space Ranger D
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Space Ranger Explaining
Clarifying rocks this ball called our planet. I realize now, that when dropping certain names (God or god), I probably need to give some describing details. Of how I think about Goof- I mean Dog. Wait, no. God. There we go. The first image that comes to mind, and, I’m just thinking of this because the video rocks. The Foo Fighters music video to their song titled, My Hero. It’s on YouTube for free, because, YouTube is free. I guess internet isn’t as free as it was in the past, but hey- you’re stupid, but savvy enough for shit like hacking (so go for it, you can do it). Anyway, that dude rescuing babies and dogs, seems like a guy I’d like to high five. To smile at and tell him he rocks. I wouldn’t bow down and shout hallelujah. Because that’s ridiculous and uncalled for in any situation.
When I said God is in me, I mean- if I were rescuing babies and dogs while risking my own life, that feels like more than my usual self. I’m still average, but I’m doing something insane- in order to help others? Not even my kid or my dog. Does that make sense? Fair enough, probably not. It’s kind of special when someone doesn’t give a fuck about themselves, and saves other people/living souls that he or she doesn’t know. Save as in, a fire will burn your flesh and eat your little body alive, because you can’t even get out of this stupid goddamn crib. Or you’ll suffocate on the toxic smoke because you accidentally got left in the bathroom (dumbass owner), and hey- you’re a fucking dog, so opening the door is impossible. It’s not even heroic. It’s average Joe. Average Joe cares about that dog who doesn’t have hands to open the door. Why? Man I have no idea, but it’s fucking cool. It is bullshit that the dog doesn’t have hands; but Average Joe does. And Average Joe can grab a child out of that nonsensical makeshift prison with wooden bars.
I’m not going to take this to a whimsical level, saying God is in everything. I think God just sort of comes and goes when he or she sees opportunities. Shows up as Average Joe, and yeah, people are grateful. I’d bet Average Joe isn’t perfect. God isn’t perfect. God, he or she, just cares more about others than his or her average self. And that’s badass. If average Joe or average Jolene could, I’m sure they’d stick around for a joint and a beer. Come to find, their laugh is more intoxicating than the beer or joint itself. But who cares. So what if it’s a joint, or a beer; average Joe and Jolene are in it for us. If it makes us happy, then they are happy. Like seeing us smile. Because that content feeling, sometimes, it’s nice to laugh without caring.
That’s the way I see God. In average people. Being involved in others lives in a way that, brings something to the table, that they (other people) otherwise wouldn’t be able to bring themselves. Being there, when no one else will. While we all stand by a person about to be stabbed, thinking, I’m not risking getting stabbed. Average Jolene shows up, and she’s blind, but somehow maneuvers her way to neutralize the assailant, and save the teenage girl who would have been murdered. And then Jolene shouts, movies and popcorn at my place! That’s average Joe and Jolene. They pop up, right before you take all the Xanax you have stocked for the next seven days (it’s a killer way to go, I’m sure). Shoot the breeze with you and me. Telling us we rock, through those unexpected actions. Surprising us. Smiling at our jokes. Jokes we want people to laugh at. That’s some good shit, right there. Maybe it’s even the best. Maybe the unexpected guest who brings us to smile and feel good about ourselves when we were unable to- maybe that’s what’s fucking brilliant. Just an average guy or gal. Being around without an invite. Kinda cool, I believe. My Heroes. My God? Yeah, sure- why not? Cheers
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Space Ranger Realizing
There was a moment clarifying why I need myself more than any one else. God always answers the phone. God, God is never busy. Not caught up in enjoying something I’m uninvolved with. The thing is, people care about money. It’s never enough. It’s not about connecting. It’s not the expectancy people think it will provide. People don’t care. And that’s the point. Answering machines have taken their place. Machines took our place. We gave them our stewardship. Justifying and explaining are void and empty, amending nothing expect egos. Look inward, my son. That’s what I heard. A soft whisper deep inside. Beyond the rushing society around me I hear a call. To become me. To exist for myself. Paradoxes are no doubt tricky ideas. It’s difficult to live. Almost impossible. Almost…
These are truths I’ve found for me. You don’t like it, it doesn’t matter to me. It all comes down to my will and fortitude. How much do I want it? Answering why, really became the main reason to live. To go further than existing. I’m still shedding baggage. I can see what’s holding me back from myself, and it’s me. Silvia has this look like she’s bored. Be bored, then, Silvia. That’s your choice. The beauty in freedom, is allowing oneself to be oneself. Without fear, without anxiety as to the what if’s. There isn’t anything other than right now. In the moment I cannot fail. Nothing else matters. Relationships can go find others. I don’t need anyone but God. And I don’t think that’s a relationship, because God happens to be my mom, my dad, my sisters. God is all the family I will ever need. I do still have friends. Friends may not be the right word, because they care. Their invested in giving a shit about seeing that I give a shit. I give a shit because they too give a shit about themselves. Truly, they are doing the best they can. No, defining someone as perfect doesn’t fit. In fact we are flawed. Me and those I call friends. We dance in unison and listen. Hear one another when one speaks. I feel that pain. Feel that empty, lonely questioning grip in my stomach too. And we’re their. Because its about why. We see why it matters to be around. Not every day. Not for the entire day. A few hours once a week. Little check-ins. Relating to what life throws our way. Keep your head up, soldier; I will with you. I’ll help you walk when your feet are torn and bloodied. I can’t breathe for you; I can be that shoulder for you to hang onto when you need support. We are a team and band of brothers. Shakespeare talked about a band of brothers. Being there when it counts. And it counts. It’s not telling, its open ears and a heart that can relate.
No one can do it for you. Only you can do it, for yourself. The band I know, they see when I’m having problems walking. I didn’t ask for help. Help came nonetheless. Some human beings being human beings. Saw a fellow being do his best to keep going. And they grabbed ahold. Helped me walk until I could walk on my own again. The rest play games. Won’t answer a phone call because they don’t care. They cannot provide for others because they cannot provide for themselves. They claim the opposite because they know what’s right and wrong, good and bad. The thing about all that is, they don’t know. It’s not universal, not knowledge given to humans. Connecting, expectancy, are what humans can do. And most will choke you to death. Because their not willing to connect, don’t care, aren’t trying.
That’s unfortunate. Again, it’s not our responsibility to help them get it. Because the reality is, they probably won’t fully get it. Can’t comprehend their actions. That’s for God to handle. Or higher power. Clean up that inner self. They are unwilling, or not doing what they can to do the same. Happy with themselves. That isn’t being content with oneself. Contented feelings know there’s always room for improving, more work ahead, always. Can’t stop now. This is what I know. I feel it inside. I’ll let the phone ring to voicemail. Maybe they’ll see how they treat others is a reflection of that inner cleaning that needs attention. Maybe and probably they won’t though. There’s a reason why one percent of the world is one percent. Not too many can put it into action. Even when the one percenters do, they realize the rest still aren’t going to get it. It’s worth it for them, and the potential in others. That potential can become more than potential. It can become great.
I keep working. That’s what I do, as a Space Ranger. Keep soaring through space. Got my homies. True and tried, tested and authentic. All real, recognizing real. Really, though. Goodnight readers. Keep going. Keep going. Make that potential in you become great. You can do it. Just, do it. For yourself. You matter more than you believe. Believe in yourself all the time. Listen to that higher source. Let it become you. Realize you are part of that higher whatever. That’s why you can become great. You’re loved by the greatest. Within you. Find it and utilize yourself. Become the greatest you can be. Cheers,
Space Ranger D
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Silvia Black
I don’t want to be here. At least I’m no longer soon-to-be dinner for cannibals. I’m glad I was able to bring Caliman and Ming with me. I found out Space Ranger D is Ranger Derek. I wonder if Derek is his actual name. I somehow doubt it. He seems guarded. Unwilling to show his true self. I don’t have time for that. When I was on Earth, I enjoyed spending time with multiple men. Men who were confident and comfortable in themselves. Men who weren’t bothered by me dating and being intimate with other men (besides just them). Life is too short to spend with just one guy. I’m here to enjoy life; not commit and be monogamous. That’s too boring, too dull. I want to live my path with adventure. I want to seek thrilling expeditions.
I want to get to a station. Find my way back to my ship with Lloyd, the piece of shit that hijacked my plane. He kept the children on board. God only knows how he’s treating them. Probably not all that well. We were supposed to head towards the planet Zenox. Make it our new home base. Apparently the inhabitants were good-natured. Open to learning of others. To the children, I was there family. None of their parents made it with us. They were either in safe zones, or dead. Why they left their children behind isn’t my concern. I am to them what their parents used to be. I must find a way to locate Lloyd and get back to my children.
Until then I’m stuck watching Ranger D play video games. He’s most interesting and exciting to me when he interacts with his cyborg friend Lindy. I wish Lloyd had turned out to be more like her. She’s accepting of D, and doesn’t seem to focus on his shortcomings. Good for her. I can’t deal with someone whose got as many flaws as he does; someone who lacks confidence in themselves, the way he does. At least he rescued me. I owe him thanks for that. Lindy doesn’t seem as connected to what I’m saying when we speak. I think she’s programmed to be D’s best friend. It’s hardwired into her mainframe. I guess I’m glad D has her. Maybe she can help him find himself. Perhaps that’s her mission while on board this ship.
I’m going to speak with Lindy about being dropped at a station. Some place I can rest, and seek the coordinates for the ship I was cast from. Until then, at least I have Caliman and Ming to keep me company. I’m glad they’re here, with me. They like D as well. I’m happy they can interact with him on that level. Dogs are great in that way, with us humans. They lack judgment. See beyond our flaws. Forgiving us when we are shitbirds.
Time to go eat. Have some coffee and then some tea.
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Space Ranger Day 35
Playing Resident Evil by myself always ends after about thirty, or forty minutes. It’s too creepy to play alone. Sometimes in the past, I’ve asked Lindy to sit and watch. She obliges. I still get freaked out, because, I doubt it has much effect on her. I’m thinking about asking Silvia. Also, I think I’m going to check out this local book store; it’s been in this system for years. I’ve heard about it, in fact, many have given it soaring reviews. They had one on Earth, called Changing Hands. I think the more I’m seeking, the more I realize I wasn’t the only human who escaped his hatred, on Earth.
I walk down to Silvia’s room again. Caliman and Ming are wrestling outside her door. “Hey pups,” I smile and rustle Ming’s head. She attempts playfully biting my hand, jerking away from my attempts to pet her. I pet Caliman, who’s more willing to allow a passing petting. He seems to enjoy licking my hand more than biting it. “Got a quick question for you,” I call outside her door. “What’s up?”
“I was wondering, are you into video games, at all?”
“what games are you into?” she asks.
“I’ve been playing the new Resident Evil. It’s too creepy for me to play for longer than about half an hour. It’d be nice to see if I could make it past an hour of game time, with your company”
“Sure. I’m not into those games, so much- but what the hell”
This will give me a chance to find out more about her. We begin walking towards the game lounge. “So, what did you do, when you were back on Earth?” “I was a school teacher, for elementary students”. Respectable. “I also volunteered at a boys and girls club; and then would watch dramatic television, and read books” “And played video games?” “yeah, that too”.
“How did you manage to get a ride out of the madness?”
“Oh, I was lucky enough to be selected to find refuge on another planet. I was part of a larger ship, one with various teachers and students. We also had a cyborg, but he wasn’t the same as Lindy is”
“What do you mean by that?”
“I mean, he was more concerned with selling us for space credits. Taking the ship, and leaving us to the highest bidder”
“Where the Sand People the ones who bought you and the rest?”
“Not initially, no. We were sold to Red Pirates. Renegades, in need of company other than their fellow pirates”
“So how did you end up with the Flesh Eaters?”
“We landed on their planet, and the Pirates were ambushed. We then became property of the Sand People”
“What… What happened to the rest of the people who were with you?”
“We were among flesh eating maniacs. Do I need to explain the obvious?”
Shit. That’s horrible to think about. “I’m sorry to hear”
“It happened. I guess I’m glad, in some ways, that I survived, along with Ming and Caliman”
“Yeah. I guess the alternative wouldn’t have been much to look forward to”.
We get back to my room. I pull out a chair for her to use. “I’ve got a pillow you could use; maybe make it more comfortable”.
“No thanks, I appreciate the thought. This works”.
“Want any water? I could make some tea if you want”
“Uh, I’ll have a water. Thank you”
I pull two waters from my fridge (full sized; none of that mini business in my room). I turn on the PS4 console. Resident Evil immediately shows on the screen. Must have put it into rest mode, showing right where I was before it started snoozing. “Let’s see how long we go for, huh?”
“Yeah, sure. More than an hour is your goal?”
“You got it. More than an hour”
“I’ll support that. By the way, what does Ranger D, stand for? The D, specifically”
“It’s the first letter of my name”
“Are you going to tell me your name?”
“It’s Derek”
“Derek. I like that. Better than calling you D”
“I’d prefer it if you… Eh, call me Derek, if you want. What does it really matter, at this point?”
“Okay, Derek!” she’s laughing. I’m trying to focus on voodoo possessed humans. At least she’s laughing. Been awhile since I’ve listened to another person laugh
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Space Ranger Day 34
I’m jolted awake by cold water being poured over my head. All over my face: hair, forehead, ears, chin, cheeks, nose. I’m soaked. I look up. See Lindy standing over me. Okay, I think I had too many beers with Silvia (at first, her name; it sounded like she said Silva, but it’s Silvia). “You need to apologize to her,” Lindy calmly states. “Yeah, I know”
“Why do you act that way? You… When you start acting like you’re some genius… It’s a real turn-off”
“Even for a robot like you?”
“I’m un-amused by your base remarks. I’m a cyborg. I understand enough to know when someone is acting like a fool”
She’s right. Time to quit drinking. Again. For how long this time? One day at a time, was this old slogan a group once used to say. Just for today. That was another one. Ugh, I’m not an idiot; except for when I binge drink. That’s the problem. Three beers, no problem; somehow that turns into nine beers, and that’s when things get messy. I get messy.
“You need to have a real conversation with her. I’ll prepare breakfast and coffee, perhaps some tea as well. If you can admit defeat, and apologize, you may want to follow with an invite to breakfast.”
“You’re right. I can do that”
Lindy stands, and walks towards the commons area. My room is a mess. Food crumbs and cardboard beer holders lay strewn out in various places around my area. I dress myself, and head down towards the room Silvia is occupying. I knock.
“Come in”
“I wanted to stop by, and apologize to you, for my behavior last night. It was rude, and I admit to being a jerk. I’d ask for you to forgive me”
“Sure. Whatever”
“Well, I believe Lindy’s making some food and coffee, and some tea. Would you join me?”
“No thank you. Tell Lindy I’ll be out, once your done”
“Alright.. I understand”
I pause, and then turn. “You’re forgiven; just next time you decide to drink that much, do it on your own time- by yourself”
“Gotcha. Thank you for letting me off the hook”
“It’s not that big of a deal. You could have been worse”
Conversation over. At least she didn’t ream me. Breakfast alone can allow for more inner reflecting. More of me realizing that alcohol is poison to my thought process. All the weed got tossed out. Marijuana, floating in space. If you haven’t heard it somewhere else, you’ll hear it here. Pipe tobacco. Seinfeld. Resident Evil: Biohazard. Nioh (it’s a tough game to crack). Reading books. Contemporaries. Did I really say plenty of writer’s are awful? There not; I am, for saying that. Anyone who puts the effort in to create something, has done more than the person who puts zero effort in, creating nothing. With that in mind, some of it (a lot of it- found in classrooms, mostly) still isn’t what I would consider worthwhile material. Although that’s my opinion, and there a millions of those floating about. I’ve heard opinions that I need seek out intro workshops, again. Now that’s laugh-worthy. I earned my prose, worked and worked for this syntax.
No, I’m not JRR Tolkien. Nor am I Stephen King. I’m myself, a love child of all those who’ve inspired me. Even with that in mind, I’m unique, and unlike them, in totality. Expectations to mimic are fraught with disappointments. I’m writing to stave off the insanity; to keep from losing what marbles I have left. You don’t like it, then, go read elsewhere. In a sober state, critics who aren’t writers themselves, are… Well, they’re motivating, is what they are. Good sources of motivation. Keep writing. Keep going, space ranger. It’s all you’ve got left. Don’t stop and drink because you’re tired and thirsty. Go and sleep for a while and drink water, instead. Then keep on truckin’. Get ‘er done. Keep smiling with the bloody wankers of all the solar systems. At the end of the day, laughing in response seems to become going with the flow. They smile, I smile.
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That has drained my life, so alone. Close your eyes and see the skies are falling
QOTSA
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Space Ranger Cometh
“So what did you do, before you got shipped out here?”
“I used to write”
“Tell me about your writing; I mean, I’d like to hear you talk about what.., What that was like”
“Fun, mostly. It was still work at the end of the day- contented work”
“Uh-huh”
“I remember what it was like to see myself, in relation to my peers”
“What do you mean, by that?”
“Well…”
I remember reading my peers writing, in comparison to mine. And I always loved music. I wanted to be a musician. I could write the lyrics; the were more poetic then they were sing-able. If I had a ghost-writer, it wouldn’t be a problem. I found my voice in the baritone section, of my soul. Any way, that some how pertains and correlates to writing in the bigger picture. I can hear the music when I’m typing. I see colors and the letters spill out themselves. I’ve never done this for me; nor for any one else (least of all a woman). Pain, and the images of my sister being suffocated in her pissed-stained bed sheets. That’s why I became a ranger. Why I wanted to stop the bullies. Tough shit, you endured pain; it’s not okay to create more of it. Defending and equalizing isn’t pain. It’s a quiet piece. When I watched the life leave their eyes, I could see they understood. They knew. They… Saw that, everything they thought… Wasn’t at all what it really is. And I think, I believe, they laughed at themselves (in good humour). They quit being what they’d picked up because it felt worthwhile, and important. And making a mark in the world. Marks are meaningless. It’s about the whole, the connection. Expectancy of others. That’s something more than a voice that eventually loses it’s momentum. Forked up guttural sounds that die in the lone night. They leave their purpose in the muddled stains. They become forgotten and walked over, by more feet than their hopes could remember.
I never cared for criticizing scales. People judging, is what that feels like. Observing with a tainted gaze. They size up, telling me to look at his face next to hers; how she can tell what he’s feeling, when really- it’s what she’s without. Karma is a mirror reflecting itself in everything we encounter. The veins in the leaf torn from the plant; the particle of rock violently broken into millions of particles. They die and are reborn. We cannot be all there is; we are not that special. We are flesh and bone. Blood and scar tissue. The muffled screams of her voice, smothered by piss and mattress. It must have been destined I didn’t have a gun. Nor was I then what I am now. I would have torn his ears, from his head. I would have shoved my two fingers, with a harsh manner, directly into his nostrils. I would have slowly sliced his penis from him; I would have eaten his genitals while laughing and spitting bits of testicle back into his de-masticated face. The rotten fucker. I would have made him feel the pain I watched. The pain I witnessed, as a six year old child. She was only two years old. No, I’m glad rainbows exist. Through the storm there comes shades of many colors (fuck your grey nonsense). Colors I only heard in the beginning. Shapes in painted splendor. I heard them first; then through the immensity, I saw. I couldn’t comprehend; then, I saw with my eyes. The… Colors. Changed my perception. I wasn’t being beaten to tears with a dog leash, anymore. No. I was somewhere else. Someplace that mattered more (not to me, but to my friend. Whom has always been with me, even though I never asked, nor knew a friend could exist within these blackened thoughts). Carry on. That’s what my friends cousin, said. Carry on. When I couldn’t magic made me. Made me feel that, I wasn’t shit, being lashed at for how bad I smelt. No, I wasn’t born, made to touch others with sticky tar. I’ve never cared what I am. I can never reclaim and relive who I am. I am what I am (you’re a goddamn genius you are, Popeye).
When I read their work, I knew. I couldn’t prove it; I knew, without a doubt. They didn’t have it. Good job trying. Close, just- not quite what’s asked for. So, I had to restrain myself. I didn’t want to inflict the tar slathered over my body. Because it smelt, choking my breath, making me gasp, until I couldn’t breathe. Then it would recede, making to take gasps. Then it would return. That woman in black tattered clothing. Robes. She was real. I saw her. She moved so slow. It was, deliberate. Aching and intentional. There was a purpose. Before the lashes against my spine. Before I heard her begging for mercy. For simple, childish, mercy. Because she was a child. She was two years old. I don’t care how many times its repeated. It’s inevitable. To listen again and again. I can’t escape those cries. She’s my sister, for the sake of a God, of any god. They heard her, and they hear me, now. How am I- How do I continue. I cannot ask, it’s just; an eye from a similar moment in time. Or it isn’t. There is no time when, when… Patience. Infinite patience. I will sing as I do now. There work, it wasn’t believable. They had lived comfortable lives. They had bandages, across the flesh. From skateboarding. From falling down while running too fast. They didn’t. They didn’t. They. Didn’t.
“They were amateurs. Still are”
“Huh. You’re an ass, you know that?”
“No. I’m not”
“Well, either way; you’re conceded”
“Watch me. See for yourself”
“I’m watching and listening. Does that make it alright to discredit others from trying their best?”
“Try all they want; they didn’t have the proper criteria”
“You are so.. Uh. I can’t even, right now with you!”
“Do whatever you want. Doesn’t matter to me”
“So… You think, you’re the shit, and everyone else is just, worthless”
“More or less. It’s not their fault. Just the wrong occupation. Not everyone sucks”
“About freaking time. Who doesn’t suck?”
“Steinbeck. Faulkner. More than a handful of contemporaries”
“Wow. Impressive. I’m glad to hear you admit there’s others than yourself”
“Good for your impressions. My concerns for your thoughts are, nada”
“Fuck you”
“You too. I mean that, in the way you’re actually thinking”
She begins to walk away. I’m sitting still, when Lindy appears out of nowhere, slapping me on the right cheek. Hard.
“You are such a fucking jerk. Did you ever consider this possibility?”
“Yes, Lindy. And you’re a fucking robot”
Another slap; actually, more of a balled fist punching me.
“You… you need to sleep this off, first. Then, I’ll speak with you”
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