"All Your Letters In the Sand Cannot Heal Me Like Your Hand"

Weird night at the Post. So I'm sitting there minding my own business trying to get a buzz, when the usually kind and decent Donna (who was literally too drunk to recognize me) asks me in a rather brazen tone what I'm writing about. The kind of tone one gets when they're really annoyed, which astonished me at first, but anyway. I told her it's nothing and she could read it if she wanted to, while I threw it down the bar a few stools to her. So now her drunk as all Hell boyfriend starts asking what I'm writing and of course "when did you finish your academy?" as if I am some pig spying on him. By now I'm pissed and starting to think that maybe I should let this get out of hand. It would've only taken a weak shove to plant this guy on his head, he did after all have tons of trouble just getting off his stool to come and spill his vile breath all over me. The motherfucker spilled my beer, and that's precisely when Tiffany the barkeep came over to me and said "stop". I looked at her with those eyes that say "damn you evil woman" and she repeated her request in a much more direct manner. So I stopped and sat there for the next 15 or 20 minutes staring at my newly acquired beer and fondling a few quarters I had on the bar in front of me, listening to CSN (thank God I had the foresight to put that on....) and thinking how to remedy this situation. The idea of letting it go crept around along with the dozen or so other ideas I was having. Like cutting the breaklines on his bike or crushing his skull with a Louisville Slugger complete with nails which kind of makes a decent mace. In the end Tiffany explained the trouble the bar was in and that somehow was responsible for this paranoia as of late. See I hadn't gone to that bar really at all during the Fall and Winter months other than to pick up a sixer or something. I was completely out of the loop but apparently there has been problems with people coming in and asking questions. One thing about a biker bar is they don't like questions.

In the end the guy must've realized he made a mistake, he did replace the beer he knocked over. It was an accident and I was more pissed about being called a cop than anything. That's another thing about biker bars. Once someone labels you a cop, you're fucked especially in the already dangerous Iron Post.

I remember Coop grilling me subltly one time about how I knew that the bar was on the verge of being sold. I had made the mistake of saying something stupid like 'Is it true this bar's in trouble?'... Dumb. Coop was good enough to not worry about me of course, because he knows Doby who I am old friends with. Doby of course owns the tattoo parlor just across the street and is a regular at pretty much every single bar that I've been to in this county.

The irony is, I didn't have a fucking thing to write about. I racked my brain desperately trying to come up with something to say, and it took an altercation to do it. I knew once the rage subsided that I'd end up saying something about... shit was it Tuesday night? Monday perhaps? Anyway..

See that's why I don't get plastered at the bar. I'll get a good buzz going, then walk out with a 40oz or a sixer, get drunk and watch the news. At least then I can't hurt anyone or get hurt by anyone. Sure I get pissed off and end up ruining a night that started off well, but then if I try to not ruin it, stupid shit like that happens. Oh and I was just using those examples (cutting the break lines and such) for dramatic effect. I doubt I'd ever be capable of doing something like that to anyone. I didn't actually think of doing it at the time but it might give you fuckers a good idea of the frame of mind I was in at the time. I would, however, have beat him sober if that role was forced upon me.

It was Tuesday....

Recent events have taken the will to conjugate verbs out of me, but I feel it steadily returning.

Tiffany and I had a talk about something other than what I wanted for a drink. She's a cool chick. She's tended all around and she knows me by now, not very well, but well enough to have what I want there before I sit down.

She also kept me out of jail that night, and for that I am grateful. The fucked up thing is if Donna was tending she'd of put a stop to it straight away and not waited for the next words to be uttered.

I was ready and in the mood. I felt like a youngster again, hoping to throw down for even no reason at all. I've been in my fair share of bar fights, (some of you reading this may not know that and I'll pay for it later I'm sure) but I've mellowed a great deal since my younger years. I felt like leaving that place and finding a real fight to get into and I wasn't even drunk at that point. It's as if it all came back to me. Hustle the fucker... Play drunk and when the shit goes down fucking throw a few at his adam's apple and brace for the thud of him hitting the floor, then RUN LIKE BLOODY HELL BECAUSE YOU'RE UNDERAGE AND YOU HAVE ALL KINDS OF DRUGS ON YOU!!!

It's amazing the only thing on my record (of any real consequence) is a charge of disorderly conduct for getting busted with weed way back when I was only 18. That was a fun night... God...

We're going up route 61 towards Hamburg to a party and we're speeding probably about 80, big mistake on that road... So we're smoking a blunt and all of a sudden...

"Drive step out of the car please". I'm sitting there with my buddy (at the time) "Shotty" and he's crying like a little girl (and understandably so). I'm just saying "No no no we're not going to jail dude.. They'll slap us on the wrist and send us on our way". Man I was never so happy to be right about a prediction as I was that night. Justin gets back in the car, looks at me, and says "I just got busted for weed", then gets out again after retrieving his wallet. Shotty freaks out even more "What the fuck did he say?? Awww shit we're going to jail for sure now". "No no man trust me we'll be fine just stay cool and everything will work out". "Fuck you man we're fucked we're going to fucking jail, Jesus we're going to die!".

Cops come back saying "This guy was honest with us, why don't you do the same?" I handed my newly handmade metal piece to the guy and an almost empty bag containing maybe a bowls worth, and we step out of the car to the rear. One of the cops say "we're searching your car now so if there's anything in there we should know about, you better tell us" and all three of us knew that Shotty had kicked a blunt under my seat in a panic (I can understand blubbering like a little baby in a situation like that, but not panicking completely)... The cop who searched the car came back and said "You guys like Alice in chains??? Man I fucking love Alice in Chains. Well anyway just relax let us get your information and you can be on your way". The look on Justin's, Shotty's, and my faces must've been something incredible. Like the look on a guys face when he realizes he just shit himself with no warning, in the middle of a yuppie meeting, in some yuppie office building, in the yuppiest city on the planet NYC. I could not fucking believe it. Firstly we were going to get off with a slap on the wrist, secondly we were going to get high on the way home. The party wasn't an option anymore. The plan now was to go back to Justins, somewhere along the way smoke that blunt, and explain to Cindy (his mother) what had happened. I guess it might be important to mention this was a Saturday, 1 or 2 or 3 days before Christmas, so maybe that had some bearing on the almost human decision the police made that night.

All in all. I loved every single second of it. It will always be one of my fondest memories, getting busted by the police. Don't get me wrong, I've gone well out of my way to ensure or try to, that it never ever EVER happens again. I don't think I'm cut out for jail. I can hold my own in a street fight or bar brawl, but a gang rape??? No thanks.

Then again most of the bar fights I've been party to, you end up either buying a beer for the other guy or getting one bought for you.

Hell I remember one night when this old friend of ours Craig kicked the absolute shit out of Jesse in the alley behind Jesse's house. That night Craigs cousin got it bad and so did Craig though. Craigs cousin decided to grab the little Dutch Firecracker, Josh by his shit collar and ended up face down in the stones getting punched in the back of the head 4 or 5 times before I could call Josh off of him. I told Josh "Dude you almost killed him" and Josh thanked me for not making that true. That night we all smoked a blunt together once again as friends. Well everyone except Craigs cousin who was pretty severely beaten and ended up in the hospital later that night. I had to hand it to Jesse, though he stood no chance at all, and knew it, he still stood up and fought bravely. I tapped him on the shoulder and in front of everyone said "You got balls man" to which everyone cheered him especially Craig. I wouldn't take Craig on, no way. He's short but he's got some pounds of muscle strapped to those bones of his. Never forget it, Jesse went up, and down in a powerbomb of sorts. You could hear his head hit the concrete. I didn't throw a single punch, not because I didn't want to, but because it was already 5-2 counting me and while I can play dirty Craig was a friend and to sucker friends like that isn't my style. So I decided I'd sit back and play referee which in the end was a wise decision considering the damage done to that poor boy, getting nailed by the firecracker all those times in the back of the head.

Shotty stretched Craig though. It's hard to say who actually won that one. I'd say the winners would've had to be Josh, Jesse and I.

Ah those days are long gone now. It just made me think the other night that maybe I'd have a chance to recapture some stupidity I thought I had lost all those years ago. One thing it took me a while to realize is the fact that I never really had Josh's respect before that night. It was obvious in the way he treated me after that night that he looked at me differently, like I wasn't the scumbag Aryan Nations fanatic that he thought I was, which he was right. I just didn't want any of us to get really hurt or end up in jail. "The best part of all of this" I said "was that we're all cool again and no one is going to jail".

Craig asked me a day or so later if I had used a weapon on his cousin. I said and I quote, never forget it... "No man... He tried to grab Josh" (Craig going aww damn....) "Yeah, and Josh clocked him 4 or 5 times across the jaw. Your guy fell on his face and then Josh mounted him and slugged him a few more times against the back of the head.. I jumped in at that point, I was like 'woah...'... I let this go on and this boy gonna die here tonight in Jesse's back alley". "Yeah ok man I didn't see any of that.." (Yeah no shit, you were being stretched in some weird Japanese move I never saw before)

What caused all this? I'm not sure really even to this day. I remember Craig saying something while being racked about a girl and it wasn't worth it, but a lot of shit was going on back then and... you know teenage angst.

Now that I think about it I did take Craig on once. Not in an actual hatefilled killing spree of a fight, but a simple one on one wrasslin' match at the playground. Despite my efforts I tapped. I'll admit it he beat me down. Damn these Irish.... haha.

I talked to Craig a few times in the last couple of months on the phone. He's still the same ol' Craig. That guy took beatings constantly when we were really younger. Now no one would fuck with him at all, ever, unless they wanted to end up dead, or severely wounded. I admired him, because while everyone was kicking his ass (except me, I loved the little bastard) he was out getting laid constantly. At the last count he had an actual count of 300 ladies he fucked at some point. Now that was some 4 or 5 years ago when he still lived around these parts. Amazingly, no diseases (he did get checked regularly, we weren't evil) and no pregnancies until now... actually I think the little brat was born already... I have only just above 10 percent of what he had 4 or 5 years ago... I always kind of saw him as a mellow Oscar Zeta Acosta.

While I love these memories, that's all they are. I don't want to fight anyone ever whether it be verbal or physical or some fucked up passive agressive bullshit. I don't condone most of what I did in my past, and yes I'm a hypocrite for telling you to not do these things. I'll admit it, someone has to, it was a blast. While the majority of time spent was boring, these types of moments kept me alive. I didn't know any better. I thought niggers, spics, jews, everyone should die and leave the world to me and my friends and allies. Then I realized that I didn't even see one of my closest friends as anything but a human being, while on the outside he had darker skin than I. Some things I did made me deeply ashamed for quite some time, and perhaps in the future I'll spill those beans, but that's what made me who I am now and while I'm not a good person, I am trying hard to become one. I've worked very hard, even tirelessly to find love. Not that romantic stuff, I can find that with a 5 minute walk, but real love. The type that makes you want to scream in anger, about injustices and hate and war, and also scream about good people doing great things for one another whether it be a sandwich to a homeless man or a 50 cent donation to a library or freeing an entire country with civil disobedience.

I've come to realize that Willem Dafoe was absolutely right. The soul is the foundation. Civil disobedience in America will not work unless the soul is free. Maybe that's what draws me to the 60's so much, is that they at least seemed so free. Maybe that should be my goal...

Anyway, thats enough and it's time for me to listen to some music, get drunk and high, and relax.

PS: the irony? The message of this post? Figure it out. Don't over-analyze it. Shit I just hope you enjoyed reading it a fraction as much as I enjoyed writing it.