The Queen, Part 13 – Comfortable Violence

 

spiffynorthwest

The throbbing in my shoulder matched the muffled sounds from the headers of the car. Sweet liquid morphine and shots of Jack Daniels had their desired effect, easing my body and mind out the bowels of this craziness. It’s amazing how fast life can change, from dreary and boring to “What the fuck!” in a hot quick second. I noticed things were getting easier, surprises less surprising, and choices made by previous choices. Violence became a common thing, life and death, no longer fragile and precious, but cheap and forgotten. The only lives important were ours. It wasn’t the fight for life, because I had life and it never was this exciting or crazy, but it was the fight for survival. I know survival is life, but there’s something about staring at the wrong end of the gun on a regular basis that ingrained a grit, a hardness that’s comforting and that sedates the complacency experienced by the blue and white collared grunts, performing the same routine, longing after a little dough to buy a house or car, or the beautiful trophy wife. I imagine cavemen had this same excitement, and really, that what this was. Caveman style, fight for survival, kill and maim to push ahead and escape. Some men are born for this lifestyle, and for me? Well I didn’t know, but I knew that guns now felt comfortable, my aim was sure and not shaking, my stride confident with my queen by my side. I guess that even if I didn’t start in this “trade” it seemed that it grew on me. These thoughts eased me into another deep sleep, the lullaby of mufflers at 70 mph, and the comfort of cold steel pressed against my skin and delicious lips, parted slightly with just a little strain visible on her china face. Where this was going, I didn’t care and it seemed my career description was rapidly changing from my old mundane, back breaking job, but the goal was the same, that I might see her and escape from the listless world that was mine, outside my Queen’s castle.

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The Queen – Chapter 12

picture credit:mnginteractive

Leaving with my head still full of meds and wine, my lust still on her lips, we knew our next steps controlled the destiny of years. I didn’t care for what my life was before her. To be by her side, to feel her hair brush against me, to hear her voice call my name, these are what my life consisted of now. We waited on the corner for a ride she arranged while I was asleep. I nodded briefly, a victim of my hangover, and woke when I heard the muffled, “thump, thump, thump, thump” of its muffler.  The car reminded me of an older converted cop car. The hard seats were uncomfortable as I slid in, as my knees rubbed against the armored back of the front seat and I stared at the only eye I could see of the driver in the rear view mirror. Putting my finger through the holes in the security screen to pull myself forward and maintain my balance, I used this distraction to subtly adjust my gun. He deposited a short rubber burn on the road that left a wispy smoke reminder marking our departure from this nether world. I liked riding in this unmarked car, it was sufficiently close enough in appearance to standard issue PD vehicles that it garnered startled reactions from the ambling drunk zombie-like old men, twitching meth addicts, and keen-eyed dealers of illicit pleasures. I laughed at the antics of the riff-raff loud enough for the driver to give me a warning look through his one-eyed mirror. He took his job very serious, and I did as well, knowing that these paths took me through dire straights of exploit and malice. His eyes were cold, like looking down a deep sinkhole, the kind that scared me as a kid but provoked me to explore their dark depths. I loved and hated the feeling of danger. I wanted to both challenge any intimidation of my world, and run like a scared rabbit. She looked out the window, soft hair flowing over her shoulder, holding my arm with a vigorous grip, like a bear holding its prey. My emerging knighthood beckoned me to protect this vixen queen, facing the death-wish actions I had all my life. Thousands of insults and shame producing injustices added many logs to this bonfire of rage. Having held rejection as a lover, I didn’t really give a shit whether I died or lived. But now my anger and boldness met my fear and insecurity, and as I reached under my shirt to dig the gun’s hammer out of my side, I remembered that this is why I work my mundane, back breaking job, so I might see her and escape from the listless world that was mine, outside this Queen’s castle.

Russian Roulette – Inside the mind of one pushed to far

 I slid bullets into the chamber, spinning the cylinder, my world balancing on a razor’s edge, looking down the barrel of the gun.

That was how it ended up, but the beginning was only moments before…

a-sinister-kidd

The cabinet was open. I fancied the .38, it’s slight sheen producing a dull rainbow of metallic colors. I loaded it with hollow points, short and thick, like me. Looking curiously at the soft lead, its deep hole a receptacle for my soul, I held it up to my temple. Looking, without seeing, in the glass of the gun cabinet, my reflection taunted me, but I felt nothing, ignoring the repeating insults. Not satisfied, I put the cold barrel in my mouth, tasting the metal and bitter gunpowder residue. I cocked the hammer back, almost slipping, figures I would shoot myself before I was ready, just like the rest of my life, fumbling and awkward. My heart hurt, my chest was heavy, depression, lost love, rejection, a lifetime of bullshit. I always ended up a loner, never popular or following a crowd, no entourage to accompany me through my days. I’ve shared my experiences with many lovers, counselors, friends, acquaintances, and drinking partners. Many stared in disbelief, claiming I was full of shit, no one could have all that happen to them, so many horrific events…I would gather my brokenness together, and stuff it back inside. No matter how I tried, no one would believe me. No one believed the rapes, the molestations, the beatings, the humiliations, the rejections, the tortures, the fear, the disconnected feeling of having no family, a stranger everywhere, the loneliness. Loneliness and fear, they followed me everywhere, and now I sat next to them, with this instrument of death, toying with my life. I held it for a long time, feeling the coolness of the barrel, playing with the trigger, testing the pressure needed, which, being modified, was barely a touch, a hair-trigger. I felt the texture of the pistol’s grip and holding it up backwards, stared down the black hole to infinity. Intriguing, I can leave this place in a second. I can end all the pain, the despair, so easily. This wasn’t the first time, oh no, I did this before, this time though, I felt tears lubricating my will decreasing my resistance, from attempt to success. My stomach felt, hollow, a deep hunger gnawing at me, a hunger for someone to care enough to reach out, but how could they? No one knew. When I did tell them, they wouldn’t believe be, laughing at times, staring in disbelief. I admired the gun, it offered no ridicule, only relief. I loaded it again, emptying the chambers, reloading, emptying, reloading. I had control over nothing in my life, being forced, with no mercy, to do the will of others, who had no remorse or compassion at what they did to me, to my mind. I was beautiful, my mind whole and brilliant. Now, my mind suffered violence. Daily, the visions rushed in to terrify me, thoughts racing down black paths of paranoia, self loathing, violence, and lust. The pistol gave me power, I could change the course of my life, not only mine, but I could execute revenge on those, my tormentors, my mockers, the laughing crowd that refused to respect me, or at least respect the fact that I could end their lives in a hot quick second. Would they poke a bear in the eye? No, they respected that the bear would tear them to shreds. They would respect an animal, but not me. That’s really funny to me. I smiled many times, through my shame, back at them. My mind hadn’t lost its brilliance, it just was transformed from lightness to darkness, creating a monster. I dreamed of how I would torture them, tease them, watch them puff up with pride thinking that their size, their alliances, their mind, would grant them advantage and victory at every turn. I smiled at them, through my tears, their life in my hands. I thought how easy it would be to make a name for myself, to ravage the bullies and tear their life apart they way they did mine….so easy, so easy. But for now, I pulled the trigger on me.



Also published in Broowaha 
12142011

Russian Roulette – Inside the mind of one pushed to far

 I slid bullets into the chamber, spinning the cylinder, my world balancing on a razor’s edge, looking down the barrel of the gun.

That was how it ended up, but the beginning was only moments before…

a-sinister-kidd

The cabinet was open. I fancied the .38, it’s slight sheen producing a dull rainbow of metallic colors. I loaded it with hollow points, short and thick, like me. Looking curiously at the soft lead, its deep hole a receptacle for my soul, I held it up to my temple. Looking, without seeing, in the glass of the gun cabinet, my reflection taunted me, but I felt nothing, ignoring the repeating insults. Not satisfied, I put the cold barrel in my mouth, tasting the metal and bitter gunpowder residue. I cocked the hammer back, almost slipping, figures I would shoot myself before I was ready, just like the rest of my life, fumbling and awkward. My heart hurt, my chest was heavy, depression, lost love, rejection, a lifetime of bullshit. I always ended up a loner, never popular or following a crowd, no entourage to accompany me through my days. I’ve shared my experiences with many lovers, counselors, friends, acquaintances, and drinking partners. Many stared in disbelief, claiming I was full of shit, no one could have all that happen to them, so many horrific events…I would gather my brokenness together, and stuff it back inside. No matter how I tried, no one would believe me. No one believed the rapes, the molestations, the beatings, the humiliations, the rejections, the tortures, the fear, the disconnected feeling of having no family, a stranger everywhere, the loneliness. Loneliness and fear, they followed me everywhere, and now I sat next to them, with this instrument of death, toying with my life. I held it for a long time, feeling the coolness of the barrel, playing with the trigger, testing the pressure needed, which, being modified, was barely a touch, a hair-trigger. I felt the texture of the pistol’s grip and holding it up backwards, stared down the black hole to infinity. Intriguing, I can leave this place in a second. I can end all the pain, the despair, so easily. This wasn’t the first time, oh no, I did this before, this time though, I felt tears lubricating my will decreasing my resistance, from attempt to success. My stomach felt, hollow, a deep hunger gnawing at me, a hunger for someone to care enough to reach out, but how could they? No one knew. When I did tell them, they wouldn’t believe be, laughing at times, staring in disbelief. I admired the gun, it offered no ridicule, only relief. I loaded it again, emptying the chambers, reloading, emptying, reloading. I had control over nothing in my life, being forced, with no mercy, to do the will of others, who had no remorse or compassion at what they did to me, to my mind. I was beautiful, my mind whole and brilliant. Now, my mind suffered violence. Daily, the visions rushed in to terrify me, thoughts racing down black paths of paranoia, self loathing, violence, and lust. The pistol gave me power, I could change the course of my life, not only mine, but I could execute revenge on those, my tormentors, my mockers, the laughing crowd that refused to respect me, or at least respect the fact that I could end their lives in a hot quick second. Would they poke a bear in the eye? No, they respected that the bear would tear them to shreds. They would respect an animal, but not me. That’s really funny to me. I smiled many times, through my shame, back at them. My mind hadn’t lost its brilliance, it just was transformed from lightness to darkness, creating a monster. I dreamed of how I would torture them, tease them, watch them puff up with pride thinking that their size, their alliances, their mind, would grant them advantage and victory at every turn. I smiled at them, through my tears, their life in my hands. I thought how easy it would be to make a name for myself, to ravage the bullies and tear their life apart they way they did mine….so easy, so easy. But for now, I pulled the trigger on me.



Also published in Broowaha 
12142011

The Stairway to Heaven is not for sale

“In the blink of an eye wealth disappears, for it will sprout wings and fly away like an eagle. ”- Proverbs
 


I believed that an abundance of possessions would make me happy. My entourage followed me around faithfully as long as the money and parties flowed. I took security in my future by how much I could stash. During these anxious moments, I felt pressured. Pursued by the need to get more, to be more, to gather and gather until my storehouse was overflowing. The more I gained, the more I obsessed over security to protect my belongings and hold on to my little corner of the world.  I started packing guns and rigging traps. Sorry man I was, now that I had all this: money, women, “friends”, pretty things and wild times, I felt burdened with the care of a shaking empire. The weight bore heavy on me, knowing that if I skipped a beat I’d lose it all. Responsibilities put their chains on me and whipped me into submission.


The pressure slowly drove me down. Finally, in an economic suicide, I began to let all these things fall through my fingers; every moment of letting go felt like razors drawn across my soul. Left with nothing, but a hurting body, tortured by abuse and late nights; I found myself there, broke, lonely, hurting, and questioning. My prayers turned from, “protect my stuff lord”, to “thank you for this beautiful day and health”. Slowly as I turned from my selfish pursuits and let my “stuff” go, I rebuilt my life. Things are returning again, however, I hold them loosely. I’m more than my belongings and my friends. This time I’m going to be successful, without the burden of having to be a success. Let go, look for those things which are above what you can see, you’ll then have riches without sorrow.


“The blessing of the Lord makes one rich and He adds no sorrow to it.” – Proverbs 

Also published in Life As A Human Magazine

video by Wes King taken from youtube: (http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fS5843K79NQ)


The Queen – Chapter 9

Image credit: ciracar.com
We walked out of the camps, no glances this time, no questioning looks, instead I could feel respect, an empowering feeling, especially for a man like myself, merely a subject of the Queen. My Queen now followed me, letting me lead for the first time, she was still in control, and where else should a shield be, but in front? I walked confidently, knowing the way back, my pants sagging a little from the weight of the black piece stuck in my waistband. It was nice that they filed down the sharp edges of the sight and other areas that might snag should I pull it out quick. Now the knight had a weapon other than that of brute force. Experience told me that this gave me another form of attack, that of threat, just seeing it would cause others to think carefully of executing their nefarious ideas. I felt solid, strong, and honored. My queen was close, every so often when I slowed, she pressed against me and put her hand on my arm, letting her elegant fingers trace softly down my dark tanned skin, then grabbing me firmly before letting go. This Queen, how is it she learned to use every element to communicate? I knew that firm grip she gave was a vote of confidence, not of me, but of her skill in leading us. It was an assurance that things were as they ought to be. Though I was first, somehow I knew that physically being in front did not put me higher up, but put me more in her control. That didn’t matter, what mattered was, tasting her again, pressing my mouth roughly against her, leaving a trail of wetness down her tattoo. I physically smacked myself to pull out of the day-dream, she looked surprised at the move, in fact jumped a little. I looked at her and made references to the bugs flying about, but surely she knew that this is the reason I worked my mundane, back-breaking job, to guard her and escape from the listless world that was mine, outside this Queen’s castle.


Related Posts: The Queen,  Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10,  Part 11,, Part 12, Part 13

 Also published in: Broowaha

The Queen – Chapter 9

Image credit: ciracar.com
We walked out of the camps, no glances this time, no questioning looks, instead I could feel respect, an empowering feeling, especially for a man like myself, merely a subject of the Queen. My Queen now followed me, letting me lead for the first time, she was still in control, and where else should a shield be, but in front? I walked confidently, knowing the way back, my pants sagging a little from the weight of the black piece stuck in my waistband. It was nice that they filed down the sharp edges of the sight and other areas that might snag should I pull it out quick. Now the knight had a weapon other than that of brute force. Experience told me that this gave me another form of attack, that of threat, just seeing it would cause others to think carefully of executing their nefarious ideas. I felt solid, strong, and honored. My queen was close, every so often when I slowed, she pressed against me and put her hand on my arm, letting her elegant fingers trace softly down my dark tanned skin, then grabbing me firmly before letting go. This Queen, how is it she learned to use every element to communicate? I knew that firm grip she gave was a vote of confidence, not of me, but of her skill in leading us. It was an assurance that things were as they ought to be. Though I was first, somehow I knew that physically being in front did not put me higher up, but put me more in her control. That didn’t matter, what mattered was, tasting her again, pressing my mouth roughly against her, leaving a trail of wetness down her tattoo. I physically smacked myself to pull out of the day-dream, she looked surprised at the move, in fact jumped a little. I looked at her and made references to the bugs flying about, but surely she knew that this is the reason I worked my mundane, back-breaking job, to guard her and escape from the listless world that was mine, outside this Queen’s castle.


Related Posts: The Queen,  Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10,  Part 11,, Part 12, Part 13

 Also published in: Broowaha