Fukushima Update: Corona

I know it’s him. Clearly I just witnessed him open the door with the brute energy of a man whose time is being needlessly wasted on something he had previously consented and arranged. Now, the serenity of patience has been drowned in the myriad of details required to bring this operation into fruition. A fragile layer of  fukashima atomic waste lingers in his anger, providing a distinctive line between bullshit and reality.  The spectacle of theatrics conceals the fury in his laughter. The gore drips off the chalice as the blade sears through the flesh.  It’s way too early in the morning to put up with any of this.

The wooden side gate slowly opens and some guy I don’t know was giving me the “welcome…introduction…” speech. This guy sounds like  a human resource manager giving a job orientation speech.  He finally introduces himself as Paul, but he’s really Giovanni Rigsby retarted cousin. After waiting a several minutes under the blinding scorching sun, we walk into the garage. The room is enveloped by the void of light, darkness devours our vision. No one spoke. The walls began to rumble from the overbearing silent tension. Each fragmented second interrupted the previous motion of awkward. Nervously spoken words drenched in anxiety and uttered with regret. The fear will not allow him to simply save his breath.

I know I said I would help you but something came up and now I can’t. Ok? I’m sorry but shit happens ok! I know I told you to come down so I’ll give you something for has, but it ain’t gonna be much either unless you’re lookin to buy then you can get what you want.

Now I am become death, the destroyer of worlds. With the calculated prescison of a surgical ballet,  I watched as Jonny destroyed a man in seconds with nothing but a simple phrase. The air became stale as this guy began to shrink right before me eyes, the confusion in his eyes Oxygen deprived. Stumbling for a thought suffocating for a word, he finally collapse into repeating evrything  he just heard.

“And you?” He says to me “you came for what again?” I feel the urgency behind his stance.  What some people forget, and I too am guilty of this condition, we are spoiled in friendship but we are disciplined as customers.  The red carpet treatment should be viewed as a gift and not an expectation.  I quickly reply “weed, I just need weed” now I understand why he had me wait. This particular transaction I am Paul the client , not Paul the friend. It makes more sense to deal with all your clients at once rather than frantically going back and forth each time. “Ok, here you go” I reach into my wallet for Two Amdrew Jackson’s and one Alexander Hamilton.

I walk away towards my car and glance over my shoulder. That guy Paul still hasnt said a single word since Jon came down and slapped him around. He was in such a great mood and couldn’t be happier to be there. Whatever he had planned,  it was going  to be the best day ever….and then, it  wasn’t.

Happy Housewives

BI’ve never encountered a woman that carries herself with such conviction of feminine dignity regardless of modern expectations. I gaze Into her face for hours at a time. I study her eyes, her flesh, her smile, her lips and hair. I can not look away no matter how hard I try. She is the most immaculate soul I have had the fortune to have met.

This wounded enchantress has brought me back to life. She recently escaped the grasp of a soulless narcissist. I do the best i an to offer her my comfort and support, but I can already sense this mystical being is healing herself in the way the Angels do.

I know that she is free to fly back to a celestial existence without limitations or constraints. So I try to be as loving as a man can be with a heavenly spirit. My heart’s intentions are noble and pure. I allow myself to listen and absorb all that she has to offer. I share whatever strength I have left to give, and her smile embraces me with her appreciation.

 

Reebox Pump Up Shoes

1991. Pater Noster High School. Northeast Los Angeles. San Fernando Road and the Glendale Freeway. Way too early 7A.M. This is not Saturday morning, this is Saturday mourning. High School Entrance Exams. The only other catholic high school in my area was Cathedral high school. The kind of education that school provided made public schools a more viable option.  So, by default, I applied to Pater Noster, and so did half the guys from my eighth grade class. The same bunch of close minded, pop oriented, fashion friendly, sons of Mexicans I hoped to never see again. As I walked up to the medieval green 1970’s chipped painted fence, I could already hear them calling out my name. I join the rest of the congregation at the gate.

Pater Noster High School opened in September of 1960. The Diocese Chancery Office suggested that the Brothers of St. Patrick staff an all boys high school.Brother Hillary choose what was once a hosiery factory as the best location for an all boys school. The Irish not having much of an imagination choose Irish Green as the schools colors. I could not imagine myself attending this school. Some of my classmates have older brothers that are big bad ass sophomores. I could already see the glimpse of entitlement in their eyes. Lame. In the midst of all that early morning teenage incoherence, there was a very strange white boy making his way toward the entrance gate.

Northeast Los Angeles does not exist. What voting districts, the fire department, and the police refer to Northeast L.A. is made up of the Parks. Cypress Park, Glassell Park, Highland Park, Echo Park, El Sereno Park, Elysian Park, Atwater Village and Mount Washington. With 167,674 residents in District 22 Seventeen square mile radius, there is 9757 people per square mile. Fancy and pointless math, isn’t it. Mexicans made up 65%, Asians 15%, left over Whites 15%, blacks 2 people and other. This help to contribute in the community being discriminated against not suffering from the kind of racial inequality shown on the news. There was no stereotyping or racial profiling of any kind. Out of all those parks, we grew up in Cypress Park. There is only one street light. One library, one public school, one church and one catholic elementary school. Divine Savior. I was looking forward to graduating from Divine Savior and never looking back again. I wanted to attend a high school where I could reinvent myself. Instead, I am stuck here listening to these idiots tell the same joke over time and again.

There we are, a bunch of nervous eighth grade boys segregated in a non inviting huddle. Waiting for the last minute to walk in and take the test. When suddenly, out of nowhere appeared a strange looking white boy dressed like some rich preppie with his hair combed like Parker Lewis and the cleanest brand new pair of white Reebok Pump Up Shoes with the blue trim and orange lettering. He was walking directly toward us when some yelled, “Let’s get his shoes!!!!” Immediately we launch into a wild and frantic dash screaming and whooping like some ancient noble savages hunting Bison or Elk. The look of stupidity on the white boys face froze in panic stricken terror. His eyes seemed to bulge out of their sockets like the Tex Avery wolf from the Looney Tunes. He turned around and began running for his shoes towards the safety of one of the classrooms. We were too busy targeting our focus on his pursuit to notice the principal and school pastor observing this behavior in disbelief and rage.

“What is going on here? Why are you guys chasing the poor frighten boy???” demands the priest.

Sound of Silence.

“Gentleman, I want an answer or I will take down all your names and report this behavior to your principal. Why are you running after him??”

“We weren’t running after him ok? We saw him run then we ran because we thought we were late for the test” I retort sardonically without a thought.

I can see the look of disdain contempt as the priest could see through my reply, but he didn’t have time to waste on us when he had classrooms filled with Joyful Welcome speeches he was about to deliver.

“Well, you’re not late. Now go inside and sign in. You are being seated in alphabetical order”

As my luck would have it,  I was the only “G” from my friends. I didn’t have to suffer the humiliation of recognition. I hear my name called, Paul Gonzalez. I take my seat. The next name is called out, Christopher Gundry. SON OF A BITCH!!!!!! The white boy. I can tell by the clumsy expression on his face he is going to talk to me. I know it. It’s inevitable. Even by not making any eye contact, or offering a warm smile I can tell this guy is the type of goof ball that doesn’t take a hint.

The moderator is giving instructions on the exam when I feel his fingers poke my back.

“Hey, why were you guys chasing me? ” he asked, still out of breath and scared.

“what?” I laugh “we werent chasing you”

“oh, i thought I heard some mexican say  ‘Les git hees shoes eh’