what is , is all that need be

what is ,  is all that need be
If I told you what it means to me, It would change what it menans to yoy

Friday, July 27, 2012

“The Living Paintings, vol,1 & vol.2”

    It took 56 small collages, 71 pieces of art I created, painting drawing, etc. Note the amount of time This would have taken. Bit of carefully edited film. Film shot in a regular way.  The film composed of the art & collages. It could take an hour or more to pull off, 40 to 50 seconds of film.
    Now the soundtrack. Each contain a spoken word part & songs. These in themselves were no small feat, but still a labor of love. “Art for Arts Sake”. Twelve tracks of  analog audio run into a 24 track mastering station. Consider the time composing music, writing lyric, going through countless hours of sound effects in my library . There is no accidents in these pieces of art, these, “Living Paintings” Listen carefully, everything is there, and where it is for a reason.
    Now last but not least, the studying, the manuals, the film & recording process. All this to bring an Idea to life
   To think is to create, following that is the desire to manifest the thought into reality. Then the reality.
                                             Robert K. Allen Feb. 28, 2011
TAGS=roballen2   allentheartist  roballen2writings  roballen2artwork  roballen2video  roballen2musichttp://youtu.be/5uBeYVDzs0c

"The Death of the Hippie








The video I speak of, "Mr. Manson telling the D.A. how he made up the "Helter Skeleter" thing, It is NO LONGER on "You Tube" 'SOMEBODY' is censoring the internet.  I hope "Wattpad" hold to OUR 1st amendment rights and keeps the current one posted.
The new video. Fucked up. They monitor what I write so much...This is made After roballen2 wrote this. When if you see them, "Later" looking for OTHER victims, they are doing it with a bulldozer.(?)
....are they REALLY looking for other victims or covering up their own incompetence?
The press and the DA pinned that "Helter Skelter" label on this shit. Millions of dollars in book rights, movie rights etc., etc.. Money is still being made of this atrocious crime. Sheeple will never stop being entertained by the misery of others.  L.A. (Daughter of roballen2)
Read on.


"The Death Of the Hippie" By Roberto Dilemma                            1-2011

    First off, let me state here for the record. NO ONE IS PAYING ME TO WRITE THIS. I AM NOT ASSIGNED TO WRITE THIS FOR ANY PROJECT OF ANY KIND.(involving any journalism contract, or student activities)
1-A Rough Start
    Charles Mills Manson was born on Nov.12,1934. His mother’s name was Kathy Maddox. For the first few days of his life he was referred to by hospital staff as, no name baby Maddox.  He probably never knew who his real father was. He possibly never even met him. His mother was living with a man for a time by the name of William Manson. Hence, the last name, “Manson”.
     When he was a very young child his mother was arrested for robbing a gas station with her brother. She was sentenced to five years in prison. While she was in jail Charles Manson lived with an aunt. His mother was paroled in 1942.
This would have made the boy, Charles Manson, eight years old at the time.
    In a 1981 interview with Tom Snyder, Mr. Manson himself said, “This is the sole sappy memory I have of childhood”. In 1947 at age 13, his mother turned him over to the state to be placed in a foster home. There would be no foster home for this  13 year old boy. He was placed in the, “Gibault School for Boys”. After ten months there he ran away to be with his mother. She rejected him. Now you have to think about that for a moment. First, when his only, “sappy memory of childhood” was his mother’s embrace upon being paroled from prison.
She gives him up.
    After trying to get back to the only person he thought loved him, he was cast aside, and rudely rejected.
    What affect would that have on a kids mind?
    What affect would it have on YOUR mind?
    I am not defending Charles Manson. I am not Stating that he should not be where he is. My intention here is to for once, put it in the proper light.
   

2-The Start of Manson’s, “Big Time” criminal Career
    Charles Manson Again breaks out of the school for boys he was living in.
He breaks into a grocery store, for money to rent a room. He is caught and sent to, “Indianapolis Juvenile Center”.  He escapes after one day there and is placed in, “Boys Town”. He spend four days there and escapes again with another boy.
On the way to this other boys uncle’s house, where they no doubt thought they’d be accepted. They commit two armed robberies. Then during the, “break in” of a second grocery store, they were caught.
    Mr. Manson and the other boy, needed FOOD. Food and probably money. How much money do you think they left in a grocery store in the 1940’s after it was closed? Enough to make change for the next days till. I think I’d be safe in saying their prime motivation was feeding themselves when they were very hungry and, “on the lamb”.
   So at 13 years old he is sent to, “Indiana Boys School” where he was first documented as being, “sexually Brutalized”. (first time, “on record”)
    Now let this sink in your heads a minute. I been pretty cool so far in just giving you the facts. But now I’m at a point where I feel a need to interject opinion.
     Charles Manson’s childhood, up to this point; sounds like one hell of a, “mind-fuck mess“. Off the record is no doubt worse.
    After many failed attempts to escape this new, “hell pit” they put young Manson in, he succeeds. With a couple other boys they get out, steal a car, break into a couple gas stations. They get caught in Utah. Now it’s a federal crime and he’ll be treated as an adult.
    After four years of schooling, here and there. “On record” as an avid reader. Learning many  jail-house games, from young men much worse then he was, “criminal wise”.  Not to mention  how he was treated by fucked up cops, authority figures etc., etc.. Physical, sexual, and mental abuse, to the maximum.
    How do you think this would affect YOUR, “worldview”?
What effect do you think this would have on anyone’s, “self Image”?
    He gets an I.Q. test. On the first one he scores 109.  A short time later he’s given another, he re-tested at 121.
    This is very smart for a young person making such bad decisions, all the time.
For reasons unknown some, “caseworker”  deemed him illiterate, and aggressively anti-social. “No Shit” Makes me wonder what he might have said to this case-worker? He’d been fucked with, and jacked around by every authority figure, and  the very ones that were, “suppose” to love him. No fuckin’ shit he’s anti-social. Illiterate, no way.  If that was the case how could he even have taken an I.Q. test and score so high?
3Dashed Hope/Government Involvement
    He finally gets out of all this mess. He still holds onto a hope for a, “Normal” life. He finds his mother. Re-connects with her. He gets married. For about one year he has a happy life with a woman he truly feels love and affection for.
    Any thinking person would have to wonder, “what the hell would Charles Manson, after all he‘s been through…so far, equate with love”?
    One thing we can take for granted here. He’s become much smarter. His I.Q. is no doubt much higher.
    His wife gets pregnant. She gives birth to a son. They name him after his father.
He’s doing odd jobs. Money’s tight. He attempts to forge a check. He gets caught. Ten years in prison. Being a thinking person myself, and having researched this this much further then I’ll write, or even like to admit.
    This was a time when many drugs, etc. were tested on prisoners. (soldiers, volunteers, etc..) If you read between the lines. L.S.D. and similar, mind altering drugs were the governments choice for drug testing then. The C.I.A. the F.B.I and a number of other, “Medical” companies and organizations under different names. For many reasons, were all doing different types of research. Some “Good” while most, especially those associated with “The Government” were, “BAD”.
They were trying to create mindless soldiers that could kill without thought or conscience.
    Just think about this for a while. Take a minute and do some research. What do you think might have been tested on Mr. Manson, knowingly or unknowingly?  Who do you think was really responsible for dropping massive doses of LSD, etc. on college campus throughout the U.S.A.
Well needless to say that shit back fired on them. Young people with increased awareness, and a certain level of intelligence DID NOT suddenly become ultra-patriotic. The saw through the bull shit, too many friends coming back in body bags, and Flag draped coffins. I lived through these days. They had what they call, “A Generation Gap”.
That was a wide space between, the new way of thinking, and the Conservative
Old Guard .
    This was a time of a mini cultural renaissance, in art, music, fashion, etc..
Young people got thrown out of their parents house and un-welcome, for dressing the wrong way, smoking pot, listening to the wrong type of music. Or simply having a different attitude then their parents, Different politics.
    They were not in any hurry to go die in a money war, that had never been declared. One which the U.S. was fighting for vague reasons.
   The very drug, a legal prescription drug  made by “Sandoz” labs, that was put on college campuses to help with, “Mind Control” and “Behavior Modification” just increased the young peoples awareness of how very wrong their own government had become.  L.S.D. This was, and could be a very helpful medication for a lot of  varying conditions, shutting it out IS NOT A GOOD THING.
    His wife visits for the first year. Gives him reports of how his son is doing. Then after a year the visits stop. His mother comes to give him the news, his wife is now with another man. She is going to get a divorce. Which she does, and promptly disappears.
4-Setting up, “The Death of the Hippie”.
    In 1966 he’s sent to, “Terminal Island”. By the time they grant him early release
In March 1967, he has spent more then half his life in prisons and institutions.
    He tells authorities, “prison has become my home“. He requested to stay.
Let me repeat that so it sinks into your heads, HE REQUESTED TO STAY.
    Never for one second let yourself think, or believe that in all the time Mr. Manson spent in prisons, etc., that he didn’t have, “A Plan”.
Even requesting to stay in prison, was the beginning of his,” Plan”.
    Don’t doubt for a minute the government didn’t know exactly what they were doing. This was a mutually parasitic relationship between these two parties. The government KNEW, they were using and playing Mr. Manson.
The one factor they didn’t figure into “Their Plan” was the FACT, Mr. Manson was equally, or to a greater extent, “playing Them”.
    In prison, Alvin “Creepy” Karpis taught him steel guitar. Gave him his start learning the instrument.
    Mr. Karpis was nicknamed, “Creepy” because of his smile. He was the last of the, “Public Enemies” to be arrested. He ran with the, “Barker Gang” of, “Ma Barker fame.
    His early release comes in march 1967. He’s granted permission to move to San Francisco. With the help of a prison acquaintance, he gets an apartment in Berkeley.
    This was also another government ploy. They take this, “described” anti-social
ex-con. They know how he thinks to a certain extent. He’s asked to stay in prison, stated it had become his home. Then they set him down in the HEART of the “Hippie” scene. It was the spring before, “The Sumer of Love”. He was a time bomb. You can be sure, the manipulative, charismatic, Mr. Manson had part in steering this arrangement. It was what he wanted. It would work in his favor.
    With his intelligence, talent at songwriting, guitar, and manipulating impressionable young people using, “Jail House Games”.  Charles Manson soon established himself as a Guru in Haight-Ashbury during the, “Summer of Love”.
   He also carries THE prison house “mantra” in his head, “payback is a mother fucker”.
    Now one thing I’d like to point out here. Charles Manson NEVER hurt or killed anyone, while committing, Mostly petty crimes. The majority of which were committed as a minor. He was NOT a KILLER. He didn’t do any crazy slicing and dicing. He didn’t even beat people up. (outside of jail or juvie) Keep this in mind.
No where on his public criminal record is there a violent crime.
This is what is, “ON RECORD”.  Now anyone that has ever done anything wrong, KNOWS. What they got you for is NOTHING compared to what you got away with. It’s usually not even the tip of the iceberg. It’s what THEY don’t know. What a clever person didn’t get caught for, that’s always MORE & worse then what is known.
    So he goes about collecting pretty young hippie girls/women.
Now Charles Manson didn’t just collect pretty young hippy girls, there was also a few young men in, “The Family”. What they all had in common was: they were discarded by their families, thrown out like garbage. They were highly intelligent and had a bend toward, insanity, violence, and the macabre.


    The main players=Charles “Tex” Watson, Susan Atkins (Sexy Sadie),Linda Kasabian, Patricica Krenwinkel & Charles Manson.
There were many, many others, big players, Lynette “squeaky” Fromm, Steve Crogan, Etc., and bit players too…but this is not going to get me to the point I want to make…in the time I want to make it.
    Well the family got around. They met a lot of very talented, very famous people of that time. Dennis Wilson, the drummer and brother of Brian and Carl Wilson, the nuclease, and founding members of, “The Beach Boys”.
He let them stay with him for a while. He shelled out  (appox.) $21,00.00 for V.D. treatments for  “The Family”. Gave Mr. Manson almost all his earthly possessions,
Including his gold records.
    Mr. Manson is a very charismatic fellow.
    Dennis Wilson also introduced them to powerful, and influencale people in the recording business at that time..
5-indirectly Responsible
    Terry Melcher was one of these people. He was a record producer, and no one mentions this too often but the son of Doris Day (A pretty big movie star in her day) Glad that day is over.
    While they were staying in a Conaga Park house,  Mr. Melcher was suppose to pay them a visit. An audition of sorts. They cleaned the place up nice.  The women/girls cooked a very good meal. They were  ready to wine & dine, Suck, fuck, eat him and scratch him where the scars won’t show. A good time was to be had by all.  They practiced all the songs. They got prepared.
   Mother Fucker never showed up.
   Fuck, disappointment.
    This, “white bread” mother fucker, pampered, rich, suite, piss-fuk, didn’t show up.
Now that might not be the way that you would see it, or think it. But…some people would. “At that time, I’m not knocking it or putting it down. I’m just saying it, it’s a fact”
     So maybe? He gets word? They got REAL ready and they were REAL disappointed. (Think he gave a shit about that?) Maybe he gets a different word. He could have got fucked, sucked done anything he wanted to any woman, man or everyone, and he fuckin’ blew it. Now that’s probably more like it. Or the word, they are crazy and pissed!!! I think your in trouble. I don’t believe those words were going around yet. Or another word. The one in his suite wearin’, white bread head. Damn kids had charisma, the little bearded Guru Guy was Great, with his music, the ladies…I COULD HAVE MADE A LOT OF MONEY$$$$ …or maybe a little bit of all that shit,  …fuck us!, we don’t know the half of it!
    Well on May 18th 1969, Terry Melcher finally visited, “Spahn Ranch”. Which was where Mr. Manson and his family were now living. It was an old movie set where they use to film westerns. An old guy owed it, by the name of, George Spahn. He was very old and nearly blind. “The Family” helped take care of him.
    Mr. Terry Melcher brought a friend along. He had a mobile recording unit.
He recorded Mr. Manson and the girls singing. I’m sure he was treated, “Very Special” by the members of the “Family”. I’m sure they all got real stoned, had a good time.  A lot of things were said. When all was said and done. The most important thing Mr. Melcher said was, “I’ll get back with you”.
He didn’t. Then he must have done something else. Perhaps he gave them some shit about their music. I sure they would have tried to contact him. Somehow, for some reason, he blew them off. This wouldn’t have been what they were expecting.
  Why the hell am I getting into all this shit about this guy?
Well…He use to live at 10050 Cielo drive. He rented that house to Sharon Tate and her husband, Roman Polanski. This is the address where Sharon Tate and five friends were murdered, in a most bloody and dramatic way.
    Did they think, Terry Melcher Was there? No. Where was all the tape? Were they even using tape. What happened to the recordings. They would have surfaced by now.
    Manson knew Melcher didn’t live there anymore, he just knew someone rich live there. He knew Melcher moved to Malibu, he claimed he didn’t know exactly where.
6-The First Raid
    The first time the cops raided “Spahn Ranch” it was for suspected auto theft.
While they were holding key members of, “The Family” three other “family” women were arrested for credit card theft; and false identity. They had a stack of credit cards, and a stack of I.D.s. Who did these belong too? Where were these people who didn’t report their credit cards and I.D.s missing?
    I went into the files of the California Justice Department. I went into the public record of the California Attorney General’s office. All information concerning missing persons, and unsolved murders from late 1968 through 1972 said the same thing. “This page has been deleted”.
     The Murders and the auto theft arrest was thought “un-related” by law enforcement. The members of the family, including Mr. Manson were released.
Now keep this credit card thing in mind.
 (Atrocious Murders)
      Now if your not familiar with the crimes of, “The Family” and Mr. Manson;  go to Wipapedia and brush up.
    This is a SHORT essay. I will not get into the atrocities of the, “Tate, 5 others and The La Bianca” murders, It was a bloody bad-wrongness. Let it suffice to say, it’s rivals the Nazi’s, The Inquisition, Genghis Kahn’s cruelty or any especially bad things humans have done to one another throughout history.
     Now the other, “Family” murder, (ON RECORD) is Gary Hinman. “That was payback for a dope deal gone bad”. One of the main jailed murderers involved, Bobby Beausuleil said just that in a “Oui Magazine” interview.
Hinman was suppose to sell them $1000.00 dollars worth of mescaline. He ripped them off. Sold them strychnine.
    When Gary Hinmans body was discovered. Tex Watson, the main killer in this murder was picked up just a short drive away. Sleeping in the victims car. Bloody, crashed out. He still had the knife that was one of the murder weapons. Look up the rest. I’m not here to make that point either.
7-Second Raid, Rounding up Killer Freaks.
    So…Spahn Ranch gets raided, “AGAIN”. They arrest the whole “Family”.
     I’m not writing gore for money so, no details. Let it suffice to say, Susan Atkins did,  “set design“, etc. with all the victims blood“. She was involved in all the murders. She bragged about the murders to a couple other women she was locked up with. They informed the cops. Miss Atkins implicated herself for this INSANELY CRUEL murder while being questioned by police. She gave shocking details in her testimony. Always seeming proud, and even happy about what she had done. This is part of, “Public Record”. If your one that likes to be horrified, shocked, and appalled; by all means look it up.
    What the fuck does this say to you…The Reader. These murders were a point of pride she wanted to claim.
     So now they got, Charles “Tex” Watson, Susan Atkins, Linda Kasabian, Patricia Kenwinkel…and Mr. Charles Manson.
    Manson wasn’t even there when these murders took place. He may or may not have threatened Gary Hinman. There is absolutely no evidence to say he was there. Although by most accounts he was there at the beginning, of the Hinman encounter, not for the murder.
    Why was he tried for all those crazy-ass slasher murders?
    The girls said, “Charlie told us to do it”.
    Now Mr. Charles Manson, (or so “THEY” say) says, “The Beatles”, yes…the Famous, fab four, the darlings of the decade. “They told him to direct these young people to kill. “
    “They did it through secret messages hidden on, “The White Album”
I think, “The Establishment” at that time saw, “The Beatles” as the main group spearheading this counter culture, “Revolution”. They grew their hair long, all the young people grew their hair long. They advocated POT smoking, and all the kids now wanted to smoke pot. They took LSD, admitted it…and the youth of the world followed. There’s no doubt they had a lot to do with the advancements in music and culture. They were a reflection of the times. In a lot of instances they were just bringing to the fore front, the underground movements that were already occurring. They certainly didn’t flood amerikan campuses with LSD.
But they would make a handy scapegoat and perhaps while the hippie fire was being stomped out, the powers that be could topple these idols of the time.
White kids that like, “The Beatles”, that was a very, very, common thing.
    The Beatles were subpoena by the court, their press person at the time, Peter Brown, replied something to the effect that not one member of the group would be in the middle of some dumb ass media circus, and that if they had a nickel for every freak that heard messages in Beatles albums they wouldn’t need to make any more, because they’d be richer then anyone could imagine.
       Well the Cali/L.A. media and cops got it all now. Witches, a Guru, SEX, drugs,
Horror show murder, celebrities, and Rock & Roll…and not just Rock & Roll…the most popular band then, ever …so far.
    In a film encounter with the DA, you hear Mr. Charles Manson yelling at the DA, “You made all this, “Helter Skelter shit up…good press, nice label, your lucky I’m going along with it.” (something to that effect) This bit of film is posted on, “You Tube” right now. Check it out before the ruling elite takes control of the internet and pulls it. While they pull away our first amendment rights, and remove anything else that makes, “Big Government” look bad. Bottom line, This, “Helter Skelter” label was a type of “marketing ploy” by the newspapers and Law enforcement groups. Notice, there’s always a nick name, a clever moniker given to all big time murders. (and serial murders being written about in the press while still under investigation) There always has been.
8-”Let The Pig Circus Begin!”
     So while they are holding Mr. Manson and His “Family”. He’s got his followers out in the street. A bunch of raggedy-ass hippy chicks, “Free Charles Manson”. He’s got long hair and a beard. The government run media, (Then & now) jump on this like flies on a steamin’ shit log. They been trying and wanting to beat this hippie fire out since “THEY” started it. (by doing LSD tests in college labs on college kids)
    Mr. Manson, is called a guru in the press, a christ-like father figure to these, “Young” hippy girls. Satan…the father of all their children.
    Could it have been their own cast off children, their throwaway trash kids. Most were from good families, educated. Could they have been the real “Mind-less cut ’em up‘s” without their leader, this ex con…this “career criminal”. No not their throw away kids.
    Mr. Manson would be a perfect scapegoat. Gave them drugs, like they wouldn’t have been doing them anyway. He brainwashed them. Yes, that would be the angle.
9-A Dead Movement/”Peace, was just a FAD.
    Now let me finally make my god-damn fuckin’ point here.
    Have you ever cleaned and gutted a fish? How’d you like that the first time?
Most of you never done it. Now lets take that a step further. Have you ever gutted and butchered a deer? Most of you hunters have. Did you like digging those steaming guts out the first time? Did you ever really get used to it?
    Well read the details of what the Girls in, “The Family” did during these
Horror show murders.
    This is NOT a natural thing for a human to do, to any living thing. This is especially a nasty thing to do to another human.
POINT BEING…IT WOULD TAKE PRATICE. A type of conditioning that would take months or longer.
     NOW…On the day the verdict was laid down for Mr. Manson and his girls,
A badly decomposed body was found between two large rocks, right in the neighborhood of the court house. YES, some man that worked for the L.A. court system gave Mr. Manson some shit.
    In 1977 one of the men up for parole  disclosed the location of another body. A Hollywood stunt man in his early thirties, they dug him up. The body was right where they were told it’d be.
    Now if the D.A. wasn’t so fuckin’ Hollywood. Working on his million dollar book deal, lets not forget, “The Movie Rights”
    If the god-damn police wouldn’t have been so busy mugging for the fuckin’ cameras. The whole Pig Circus going for, “Face Time” on T.V..
    Maybe it should have entered their tiny little brains that the fuckin’ desert
was full of bodies. A lot of missing persons cases could have been solve with that move. Remember the girls that got caught with the pile of  stolen credit cards and different I.D.’s? Did they even think of checking those against some missing persons. NO.
   Too busy making money, mugging for the media Now this had gone world wide.
    Then you got to think, the “Manson Family” girls and guys were from good families. There was also a lot of money getting thrown around to just let things be.
    Now let me put forth the TRUTH. On some level of government agency, “They” chose to set Mr. Charles Manson down in the middle of the hippie hot-spot of the world. They knew he would do something. He didn’t want to leave jail in the first place. They under estimated him. They didn’t think he’d take their own children and turn them into mindless slashers, horror show murdering freaks.
Well that’s just what he done.
    Well the desert is a dry place. I’ve lived there myself. There’s still a lot of mummified corpses out there. Family practicing, for when, “Helter Skelter” comes down.
    During his time out he got a lot of pussy, got stoned beyond belief. Couldn’t have had more fun spending other peoples money. Became world famous. The, “Beach Boys” covered one of his songs on the “B” side of one of their 45’s. It’s been covered by Axl Rose, and quite a few other groups.
He got the attention of the world, he’s still getting it.
That’s why I state in the beginning of this…NO ONE IS PAYING ME SHIT!
There’s a lot of cock suckers still making money off what happen when the system “Killed” the hippie.
    Because that’s what they wanted to do. They succeeded there. People no longer thought of hippies as…peace, free love….flowers in their hair. Fuck no.
They couldn’t even look at each other without a certain suspicion.
    The old guard that had just laughed them off at “Woodstock” were now downright  afraid of them. Long hairs…fuckin’ drug crazed maniacs!
    All this and Mr. Manson got to go home. Back to the prison he didn’t want to leave in the first place.
    Humans can be down right fucked up. Much more extensive then just unpleasant behavior. I can not believe they are naturally atrocious.
That takes practice, conditioning, training. They have to train, use behavior modification drugs, psychological mind fucks, and no telling what other modern techniques to make soldiers, infantry personal, etc. accept their enemy as something, “Less then human”. “SomeTHING” to be exterminated, mercilessly, with no respect for life.
There’s still a lot of mummified  corpses in that desert.           A lot.                        
                                                            “END”
Get off your ass, if you curious, research this in full,  this isn’t even the half of it!

"The Night I Stuck My Hand in My Face"

The 6 & Davidson Series-Part 3

This part of the “6 & Davidson Series is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
The author assumes no responsibility for the loss of consciousness, life, bladder control, loved ones, or sanity.
ANY resemblance to actual events, locales,  persons living, dead, or anywhere in between, IS ENTIRELY COINCIDENTAL.
Because it is written as a first person account does not mean in any way this happened to ME, or that any of the places and people are not as stated-”A product of the authors Imagine Nation“.
Due to the content of this story…it should not be read by just anyone:
you agree that this story and related materials will not be rented, leased, loaned, sold, transferred, assigned, broadcast in any media, publicly exhibited, reproduced, copied, recorded, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, or otherwise.
It has course language
Adult situations..
And just bad-craziness.
It will be rated accordingly
…stop reading now!!
“The Night I Stuck My Hand IN my Face” (By; Roberto Dilemma)
   

    Now this takes place in another time, at another place. Same characters, but earlier in, “The folly of youth.
    One night Dean and I met a person. This person we ran into twice.
The first time being while we were sitting on the playground at, “The School”. A lot of kids/young people hung around the school. In the summer there was summer Rec. This stood for summer recreation. It was usually overseen by a couple college kids, a young man (that seemed old to us then,) and a young woman.
This made it so the gym would be open, They would also be able to close off this little street and open a fire hydrant with an attachment on it that caused it to shoot straight up in the air. This was done on hot days. It keep us kids cool, gave us something to do. You see, I personally didn’t know of anyone with a pool at that time.
    This would also be where we sometimes took our little three piece band to “Jam” in the gym. A lot went on around this school when it was closed. Sort of a hang out, or meeting place.
    Anyway, we were in a stranger part, the place in the big field.. Where the grass grew a little too long and it met this, “Other Stuff”. Not gravel, Not sand…something ground up and organic, fine, but not that fine, weeds had a lot of trouble growing through it.
Well we were on the edge of the grass, both playing folk guitars, singing, practicing harmony.
    I had gotten these two colorful buttons or pins from a black dude I got mushrooms from. Good shrooms, dried. The man was a Devil worshipper . Paranoid, as fuck. I met him through a friend/middleman. I was always trying to cut out the middleman. I heard all the shit. He doesn’t want to meet anyone. He’s paranoid, weird,  kind of a freak, devil worshipper.
    Believing all these things were just meant to deter me from cutting him out of upping the price, pinching the stash I would not give up.
    Finally the guy says, “your both freaky, I’m getting spooked out by this mother fucker…and you and your brand of…whatever it is you believe. Well I told him about you and he’s willing  to meet you”.
    I was kind of aware of the area where this guy lived. Sometimes I’d have to drive with my, “connect” (middleman).  there and park around the block or whatever, while he went to, “get the shrooms”
    When I’m Introduced, we talk philosophy, comparative religion, theology. We touch on Occult issues, having read, “The Confessions of Alleistor Crowley” and thought it completely gross bullshit.  Having researched Automatic writing. Direct writing, ectoplasm, materialization . Played with A Ouiji Board, been involved in séances. I seen photos of what was supposed to be spirit photography.  I also tried (in vain) at the time to obtain the level of a “trance“. Plus I seriously looked into the more famous Mediums & Psychics.
This being as it was, I could carry on a intelligent conversation with the man.
    I didn’t strongly let him know that although I was somewhat versed in these subjects, I really put no stock in what the belief system represented. In other words, “Fucked up bullshit”. The flip side of the religious coin. If I wasn’t going to get sucked into the myth that was socially accepted,  and “supposedly positive“.
There was no way in hell I was gong to be persuaded into this macabre crap.
As I grew older and my balls got big and brass. I became better informed through research, I’d blow these mother fuckers out of the water like any other fanatics.
    Now I was green and youngblood, just after some shrooms, so I’d patiently listened till I satisfied his urge to run his mouth, then  proclaim my tardiness for a preplanned event.

Part 2...be patient…I’m leading up to something.

    Well on one  venture to score some shrooms. I get to the guys house. Now I’ve been there quite a few times now. He always had a buzz going. Always burned the best hash. But this time his eyes were straight up pupil. He was sputtering, Cheering, Chanting blindly, like the ghost god himself. Now his claim was he had continued communication with he Devil himself through a full leant, rather large, Black Mirror.  
The Mirror was on a wooden and brass stand of sorts.
Now he blabbering and he wants to show me. I’m more then a bit freaked out. Not of the mirror, but of him. What was in his head. What he might believe. Me being a sacrifice was not something I didn’t consider.
    He had all kinds of strange looking things around his house, many being knifes with bizarre symbols  on them.  Needless to say I turned him onto four, ten milligram Valiums. He was talking fast and that white shit built up in the corners of his cotton mouth. I handed him my  half of bottle of, “Wild Irish Rose”.
I told him, “go ahead and kill it”.
For this he seemed grateful , It smoothed my way for a hasty exit. Before I left he rummaged through a dish, a crystal bowl of sorts and gifted me with two pins or buttons. They didn’t say anything. They just had weird looking, kind of psychedelic faces on them. They were about as big as a nickels. I pined one on my jean jacket pocket flap. The jacket had a funeral flag sewn on the back , and a Stones “Lapping Tongue” on the sleeve.
The other I put in my pocket.

Part 3, Getting Back to the Point…

    I never returned to his house again.  Don’t know what ever became of him. I thought of him now and then. I’m glad I made a good decision. In my gut I knew this.
Upon seeing Dean my friend, I told him the story.
In a minute by minute life of bad-craziness, who’s to say if he remembers?
Anyway…I gave him the other pin. He was my best friend. My partner. There was no one I trusted or respected like Dean. He thought it strange, funny looking, and pinned it on his jacket. Each pin had a different face on it..
     Well we were playing and singing and this, semi-hip looking stranger comes walking across the field. From the backstop of the baseball diamond. We had a long time to study him as he approached.
He came, sat cross legged, politely let us finish the song we were playing and immediately asked where we got those pins. I made the long story short, and told him they were a gift from some freaky dude I knew that fancied himself a Devil worshipper.
    He said, “they are very negative”.
    I asked what he meant.
 He said, “They are not intended to do you good”.
    I replied, “what do you think we outta do?” and continued, “It don’t really mean shit to me I just thought it was colorful and funny looking”
    To which Dean added, “Just a weird pin”
     Then I said, “Fuck. We’ll just throw them out”
     The stranger says, “You have to destroy them”
Then he offers, “Give them to me, I will destroy them”.
    Well the guy found a couple of big rocks, took a walk over to the curb, beyond the fence. He spent at least a half hour mashing and bashing these things up. Then he dug a hole, best he could with just a rock, and buried them. He patted the dirt flat. Tried as best he could to make it so you couldn’t tell anything was ever buried there.
    We watched. We were somewhat amazed at the trouble this guy was going through.
     Then he comes back over to us. He sits back down, pulls a fat jay of “good-ass-smoke” out of his jacket pocket, fires it up; take a long toke. In the voice of a man trying hard to hold in a big toke of good weed he says in a deep kind of hushed voice, “good move with those pins”.
     He didn’t mention them again. He finished the joint about half way with us, said, “Finish it off, gotta go” and he left.
   
5. “It Just Get Weirder”?

    Well, about a month and a half later, we’re hanging  out by Dean’s house. He lived on a corner. Side streets,
Well traveled because at one end there was a little shopping center. A K-Mart Dept Store. ( in which we caused minor annoyances on a regular basis) A Super Market, called “Farmer Jacks”. At the end a small Liquor/party store
Named, “Party Center”. I worked there after school as a stock boy. Got Paid $1.10 an hour. Not much. I did it with a good attitude. I was honest, and took pride in doing my job well.
     This was also where I sold my bags of spicy Mexican weed. Oz.’s, Quarter pounds,  everything up to an Lb..
I kept trash that needed to be taken out near the back door. When someone I knew, “WELL”…came in.
They’d buy something, a six pack, whatever. Then they’d give me a sign, “The Nod”.
I knew what each of my few customers always got. I considered myself quite a organized young business man.
I was fourteen years old. This was a good public place. Cops didn’t watch it too well. 
    Now and then they’d pick up shoplifters from K-mart. No big deal, I knew what time it was.
It also gave me a reason for having money. I had a job.
    On the far end of the same street there was a public park.
    Well the same guy we met. The one that didn’t think, “The weird buttons” with the colorful demon faces were , “Cool”. He comes walking by from the K-mart side. He wasn’t carrying a bag. He was smoking a cigarette, You could see a new pack in his pocket. I figured he walked on up there to get some smokes.
It’s been, “Many Moons” since then. I only met him twice. I don’t remember his name.
“It’s on the tip of my brain”…
    Well this time, It was Dean and myself that had some really good weed. Not the spicy Mexican I sold. New
“brands” were starting to rear their heads, raise the quality and prices. I had a sack of “Brown Jamaican”, and a gram of a beige powder that was  called,  “Crystal Tee”.  I’m not sure to this day what the shit was, but it turned you into, “Gumby”. (The Green Rubber Toy guy with wires inside him. He had a horse named Pokey.) One tiny bit in a pipe, either alone, (if you had six or seven screens in it) or on top of a pile of weed. You’d hear the shit sizzle when you lit it. Then your friend took the pipe gently from your hand. You’d drop it if they didn’t. Our preference was on top of the pile of weed method.  It gave the rest of the, “Bowl” a flavor that didn’t just make you “think” you were getting a better buzz. You were getting a better buzz. It was a one “Toke” drug.
     Dean was allowed a decent level of privacy in his room. He shared it with his brother Brian. My younger brother’s best friend. Well Brian and My brother, Rick were, “out and about”.  After cluing our new friend as to what we had. We invited him up to Deans room to, “Get Baked”. We told him, This shit is, “The Bomb”.  That being the ghetto slang phrase at the time for, “real fuckin’ good“.
     The sun was sinking like a ship.
    He took us up on our offer. He’d never tried, “Tee”. He’d heard about it and was wanting to see what it was all about. (The weed was our private stash,) The tee, was $35.00 a gram. We usually sold three dimes, to get most of the money invested back. Never whacked it. (Meaning cut it with something else to make it weaker and produce more…that wasn’t our way) This left us with a considerable amount for only five bucks.
     Needless to say, we all got pretty fucked up. A good time was had by all. After straightening out awhile
The man said I gotta split.
    We said, “it’s dark now, we’ll walk you home”.
    He said, “If you just walk me to Van Dyke that’ll be cool. It’s a big major street and it well lit”
    “Then V.D. it is”, was our reply”.
     (We had our own language/slang, Van Dyke was called, “V.D.”…another street near by was Outer Drive, that we referred to as O.D., Etc..)
     Well in our partying we didn’t realize time was jetting by and it was now, “The Middle of the Night”.
We walked with the dude, talking, getting some fresh air. Straightening out a bit. We had “Turned him on” to a Jay, laced with about a nick of Tee, he offered money but we refused,
    “It’s all good”, I told him.
    It was about a seven or eight city block walk. Short blocks. Not that far really. 

5. “Surprize, Surprize, Surprize”!!!

    Well on the way back, Dean and I were talking and laughing. We expressed a bit of wonder as to where the man might live. We talked about it. Decided we both liked him.
He was smart,. Which meant well read to us. We were always reading something. Useally a, “Bear”, which is a big, dry book that we learned something from. We also read a regular book for entertainment, distraction, or just plain fun. To this day I know I read a lot. I’m sure Dean does also.
    The guy was also funny. We thought, maybe he’s got a wife, and he wouldn’t like her to know he’s hangin’ with “Youngblood” and getting buzzed up. Or hell maybe he lives with his folks? No matter.
    Then crossing an alley two blocks from Deans house. We’re strolling along, diddy-bopping just like back on the block. Laughing.
    When…
    I see this *MAJOR WHITE FLASH! Like lightening went off inside my head.
    Then I feel a pain in my face. I stick my hand up to my cheekbone, and my fingers go right inside my face.
I’m wearing a short sleeve shirt, it was a warm night. I look at my elbow and BLOOD is just running down my hand and arm,  pouring off my elbow. I’m starting to turn around, I never hit the ground…( being stoned delayed the big pain?) good thing, as you read on you’ll understand why. On my way to turning around I get it once more in the back/side. (not quite my back, not quite my side)
     I see the source of this. It’s an older man. Lived across from, “The School”. He’s getting ready for another swing of these police/milatry  issue Nun chucks (Traditional Okinawan weapon consisting of two sticks connected at their ends with a short chain or rope) I had seen this type before. Some type of black painted aircraft aluminium. Twist once right, pull, twist left, pull, They come apart, connected with a short strand of thick cable covered with a plastic of sorts. They were like two “Mag Lights”. I grab one.
I didn’t want to be hit again.
     I see this other man. He’s standing there with a 9mm automatic pistol . “Glock”?
He is shaking, shaking a lot. His eye’s are big and wide. He’s pale. It appeared to me that this mother fucker did not really want to be here. Either that or the shit was happening so fast, perhaps this isn’t what he expected.
The man that hit me was giving orders in a direct but quiet voice.
    “Come with us”
     “Come with us or I’ll beat your fuckin’ ass to death right here in this alley”
    We weren’t quite in the alley but we weren’t quite in the street. There was a big street light shinning down. I am not letting go of the other half of this weapon.
      I look from the guy that hit me, very quicky to the guy shaking with the gun. Then I look at Dean. He’s a true friend. He’s not going to leave me in this alley with these freaks. I figure, he could have taken off anytime during these streached out seconds of violence.
     Now on the streets I learned something at a very early age. “There’s a time to fight, and there’s a time to run”.
    This was most defiantly a time to run.
    So without letting go of the half of stick I had. While still listening to orders being hissed at me by some madman.
    “Just fuckin’ come with us, and you might live”!
     Might Live?, I’m thinking fast. I don’t like the sound of that, “Might”. I figuring, we’re going someplace close, to be tortured and killed. NEVER GO TO A SECOND LOCATION. Another street lesson.
When I figure the guy thinks we’re actually listening to him, considering his orders, I feel the confidence.
In his mind. He believes he’s in complete control.
    I let go of the half of weapon with my bloody slippery hand, and stick a bloody elbow in his ribs as hard as I can .
I look at Dean and holler one word loud and clear while the Nunchuck weilding Lunatic is doubled over, still holing the sticks with one hand and rubbing his side with the other.
Streached frozen seconds of fear.
    We run our asses off.
    Now I had already learned, in another hard instance, that fear out runs anger.
Now there’s hesitation with the psychopath, he’s not chasing, although I’m not really looking.
I hear him from the same spot, frantically urging his shaky gun holding partner.
“Shoot ‘em, Shoot ‘em”
    No shots were fired.  Even if he would have fired, he’d of had to be a hell of a shot. Quick moving targets, in bad light. Anyone that’s fired a pistol knows, it takes quite a bit of pratice to even hit a man size taget from ten meters. Within seconds we were much farther then that.
6. The results of this encounter.
   Well not wanting to bother Dean’s Mother, who had to wake up for work in the mourning, and the fact that my Ma lived about a half a block closer; I go to my Ma’s house. - Then I was not really liked to well there.  Only semi-welcomed about seventy percent of the time. Never  had a key. Now this is another story in  itself, not for now.
I knock on the side door. The side light goes on and my brother answers. He wasn’t sleeping.
    He says, “Holy Fuck you look super fucked up man”!
    I reply, “No shit eh?, I need a ride to the hospital”.
    “Man I’m gonna have to wake Ma up for this shit dude”, then he disappears.
    I can hear some talking going on upstairs. Still being scared, Dean and I step onto the landing. It leads to the basement and up three stairs into the kitchen. I shut the outside light off, close and lock the door.
    I guess my brother conveyed the gravity of the situation to my Ma pretty good. She comes down dressed. We’ve stepped up the stairs, into the kitchen. I’m holding a kitchen towel on my face. It’s already soaked in blood, it’s dripping on the floor.
    My Mom’s got a , “Not too good” expression on her face. I can’t read it.
    Then she says, “Let me see”
I take the towel off my face. My brother exclaims, “FUCK”!
    Mom is saying something about insurance. I’m not hearing. Rattled…She’s grabbing her purse and keys.
    Next thing I know we drop Dean off at his house and we’re on our way to the nearest hospital. It isn’t far, maybe a mile…tops. We get there, she’s talking to some person in the E-Room Admitting, and I’m bleeding like a stuck pig. They take me in the back faster then they ever did before.
    My Ma comes in and she’s saying, “I kinda faked you in with an expired insurance card. We gotta see how this plays out. One inch higher and you would have had trouble finding your eyeball.”
     Then things get hushed as some medical people come and start working on me. Just getting the fucking bleeding under control till a doctor gets there. The Doc get there and talks his mumbo jumbo, and  I get some X-rays taken of my face. After that he makes a similar comment about my eye. He informs us that my cheek bone is broken. He explains that I’ll be admitted and tomorrow a plastic surgeon will have a look at me.
   He says, “If something isn’t done your going to end up looking like a monster”.
Crazy as I was in those days, I’m thinking about my girlfriends. I don’t think either of them is going to be attracted to a monster.
   Early the next afternoon this Doctor comes in. He real sharp. He explains to me that a staple of some type of medical steel will have to be put into the cracked bone. If this isn’t done my face will collapse and bone will over lap. It will distort the shape of my face and the alignment of my left eye. He also mentions that the scar won’t be that hard to put together. He assures me he's good at what he does and within a few years it will hardly be noticeable.
He explains quite a bit more. I’m not feeling all that hot,  it runs right over my head. Never got in the first ear.
7. What the FUCK!
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      
    So I find this man that busted my face is in his early thirties. He works at an auto Plant, U.A.W.(Union Man) He ran an over head Crain. He made around twenty four dollars an hour- “Straight Time”.  Time and a half on Saturdays, and double time on Sundays.
He had a good job and made a lot of money. Remember this was the 1970’s.
He had a cool car, and a very cool motorcycle.
    He also had a friend named, Walker”. Now this cocksucker looked like “Gollum” (from “The Lord of the Rings”) on a bad hair day.
    My Karma was slightly fucked up. I was NOT the man I wanted to be at that time. I didn’t have a clue who that man was.  I was busy living down to people’s expectations of me. Young, stupid, It would take another fifteen years of hard living and intense depression before I became the artist I dreamed of being. It would be longer till I was returned love.
    "The Butterfly Effect"...That butterfly lands and takes off from "The Karmic Wheel".
    What I’m saying is. I was a fucked up drug dealing, punk-ass, ghetto mother fucker. If I could go back in time, I’d go back just to kick my own fuckin’ ass. I can trace every bad feeling and nasty mistake to a bad Decision I alone made.
    Although I choose my friends better now. I “Try” to make sound decisions. I still make mistakes. I’m Human.
   The doctor was right, he fixed me up good. Within three or four years even the scar where my skin was busted open and stitched & taped inside and out... it didn’t look bad.
The guy that swung those sticks that day.
     A couple months later, he kills a co-worker. The Guy gave him one hundred dollars to get him a quarter pound of good smoke. Instead of doing that he almost emptied that nine on the guy. The man was sitting in the backseat of his car. Oh…he left one round in the gun,  had his friend, Walker blast him once.
 His thinking being, if Walker shoots him too, then he won’t be so fast to run his mouth about me.
They dump this poor mans bloody body near a school. It was shortly after a snowfall, one of those clear, crisp winter mourning. I heard about a hundred kids got his license plate number.
    I get  this call, the cops are starting to crawl all over his house.
    This was my stomping ground, this was the, “Hood” where my bro’s lived. News traveled fast.
So I go there to check it out. Cops already looked at the back seat of his car. Blood, blood, blood.
Then all these cops with their guns drawn right on his front door, a cop standing off to one side knocks on the door.
    He shouts in a clear commanding voice for the guy to come out with his hands on his head.
He swings open the door, stoned and cocky. The god-damn gun is right on the end table. Right next to the door. His hands were not on his head, but he quickly rose them into view. I am still surprised he wasn't shot twenty times in the head and chest. The bad guy, glances at the gun for a half a second. Oh that would have been suicide by police. He probably never put in a fresh clip or re-loaded.
Within seconds, he’s face down on his own porch getting cuffed.
    Of coarse the guy he shot was already dead when he handed Walker the gun. What the hell was Walker going to do, say, “Hell no man, I’m not doing it”
    We can assume that last shot would have been in Walker’s forehead. He was riding shotgun.
    Walker blabbed his ass off.
    Hell yes I called the police when he busted my face.
    Hell yes I told them the story, just about how I it's written here. You got the word of a punk ass minor (mostly) pot dealer, and a middle age hard working factory worker...yea
    Did they do anything. Fuck No!   Someone might be alive if they did?
    Dean and I were  a half a block from his house, in between his street and another street.   He told the cops he busted my face because I was breaking into his house.
    I filed a victims compensation form.
The city will pay your doctor bills if you were a victim of a crime that you were in no way involved in. They did.     My first GOOD Karmic move, get that doctor paid. He done me right.
     I heard some years later that my mother sued the Fuck out of his homeowners insurance company  for making that claim. She gave me fifteen hundred bucks of that coin. Three or four years later. (which is a whole different fucked up story) No telling what she got.
    Well the guy does eight years in prison for cold blooded murder.
   With a ignored former  violent assault charge. (Fuckin’ Lawyers?)

    And I think,... good thing he didn’t have the gun in his hand that night.
     Good thing that guy I never seen again busted up that Mojo Curse Pin. Some weird, "Guardian" came out of the blue to lighten my luck…and I used to think the world was, “A Flying Mud Ball”. Dirt, water, floating, spinning, flying in space.
Then I was reminded of the hot stuff in the middle…Now I know, the world is a baby star, waiting to hatch.


-The End-

Roberto Dilemma/ copyright 2009
* that, "white light" of pain when he hit me with those sticks, I saw & felt that much worse, "like a storm in my head"...just pulling an infected tooth I had. "Don't ever do that" (but I did a nice job)-