Charles Pendelton
      © 2008 Marty Langdon
Chapter 28

                           A pleasant journey to the Hash Hut

As we floundered the streets of Huguenot, pondering what to do with the remainder of the
evening, I began reflecting back to last summer. The summer of ‘81. During which time,
I experimented with large doses of mescaline, carefully documenting the experience as
always, in my mind until I could eventually bring the experience to life on paper by giving
it words. I had not taken it since then, and honestly thought I would never take it again.

Of that day, I for one can remember clearly, the sun descending over Oakwood Heights.
I had just purchased four large nickel bags of weed at the station, along with six hits of
double barrel purple mesc. Upon doing this, I decided to pay my friend Richie a visit, and
so I hopped on the train and got off in Huguenot. Rich greeted me at the door and from
there we shuffled upstairs to his room. I showed him the four bags and his eyes widened.
I then proceeded to unveil, the world's smallest pills, sprawling them out on his dresser.



They were roughly 1/16 in diameter, and looked quite harmless under the warming glow
of a forty watt table lamp, cast in the delightful shape of a little red train. I would say his
room had not changed a wink since he was five years old! Such a calming effect it had on
me, I could have almost stayed there. Rich knew nothing about psychedelics and would
not agree to have any part of them. He said he only wanted to smoke. I was now in a
precarious situation, for the night was at a standstill until the little dots were gone.

Why was he being so stubborn?

Did he not trust me?

Were we not friends?

Eventually, he would agree to the taking of three as would I, and all seemed to be
on an even keel from that moment on. Some time elapsed before we gathered what
we needed for the journey and left. As we carried ourselves to the station, I would
begin to ascertain in no uncertain words, a mild feeling of intoxication followed by
delight. Then a disoriented mood accompanied by sluggishness and impaired judgment.


An angel crossed my path with amber eyes and a low cut dress.
She was as beautiful as an evening primrose in the dying sun
and while her image left me like a falling tear,
her perfume stayed behind to tantalize my senses.




I now felt as though I had no name.
I was alive, but had I ever been born?
Similar to a blade of grass that grows slowly,
or an ant peeking up through a crack in the concrete;
tonight, I would be traveling incognito.


                                                                               Pg 132
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A dazed and confused feeling turned to self awareness as I boarded the train.

Casually, I sat down, but couldn't help feeling odd about our voyage into the
unknown. Doubts and reservations filled my head, until I found it difficult to
sit there. Restlessness soon overtook me. For a brief moment I closed my eyes,
whereby allowing myself to open an imaginary door within. As I transcended
the illusion, I allowed my thoughts and dreams to manifest themselves into an
aspiration of hope. The world was now at our feet, and these pathetic people
who were restrained by time to forever live their lives inside a cubicle, no bigger
than the size of an average conference room never knew how free we really were.



When the conductor came toward us to stretch out his hand, my first impulse
was to shake it, and I like a fool almost did. Stuttering, I bumbled my words
before grappling for change in my pocket. Rich began laughing uncontrollably
and nearly fell to the floor, while the conductor appeared to be growing more
impatient by the minute. I was finally able to give him the desired amount in
silver coins which he immediately deposited into the rapid change dispenser
attached to his waist. Rich had a harder time for he was debilitated by laughter.

As I watched the conductor eagerly slide open the door and enter the next car like
a simplistic human robot, I looked around like a playful insect for any indicators
of concern, before coughing gingerly into my hand. This action brought about
no response from any of the other passengers, and I began to feel almost invisible.



        As I looked around at all these strange yet interesting people,
            I thought of the prospect of one day living a normal life.




There was a venerable woman alongside of us sitting next to an Asian man who had
between his legs a tan briefcase. He was reading a newspaper and I assumed it was
stocks, but what was in that briefcase I wondered? I suppose that will forever remain
a mystery. Sort of like, what exactly was it that was thrown off the Tallahatchie bridge?

                                                              



An elderly couple to the right of me were holding hands and seemed so
genuinely happy together it made me feel as though I could have cried.


How long were they together?

Could they have been in love since high school?
The more I found myself observing them, the less happy I became.

A sadness had begun to well up within me, and in no time at all it was
boiling over into my subconscious thoughts. A sadness I could not control.
A sadness that would take hold of me and consume me if I were to let it.


Two rotund women dressed in black were seated together at the far end of the car
and seemed to be communicating with each other solely by using their hands. There
was a bald man whose head appeared to be filled with knowledge. A timely gentleman
who resembled an aged Dr. Martin Luther King and a quiet young boy who adhered
to the hand of a beautiful brunette, while looking patiently out a dark window.



Who is this fashionable woman with a widow's peak, and why is there no wedding band
on her ring finger? Better still, who is the subdued young boy cleaving unto her? All these
questions that needed answers would eventually be long discarded. Meanwhile however,
in my heart, I was vicariously yearning to be that boy again. I then realized something was
missing from this train car. Reduce the amount of wall space by having fewer windows.

Now add some paintings to the wall and a lengthy elongated mural on the ceiling to make
all the passengers feel the comforts of home! I didn't find it necessary to tell anyone about
this interesting idea of mine. This profound revelation! Not even my insane friend melting!


                                                                               Pg 133
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Everything was now coming together in such a blundering way, I wasn't sure I could
stay on the train a minute longer. Rich had become silent and looked like he was piecing
together something in his mind. A tiny watch perhaps, but it was a complicated movement
and the balance staff was missing. Was he reaching out for something within his universe,
or merely calculating errors? Indeed, he bore the oddest expression I had ever seen!!!



As the train jerked away from the Bay Terrace station, I felt like a comic book character
that longed to be back in the book. Far away from civilized man and the pointless routines
he created for the soul purpose of earning lots of money, so that he can boast about it.




I then looked at myself and wondered if it was so terribly wrong to be part of a civilized
community; always having a roof over my head, money in my pocket and the ability to
obtain almost anything one could ever want in this world. . . That was the kicker.

Conflicting thought patterns made it difficult to remain on the train;
The thought of getting off in New Dorp made it almost impossible!


There didn't appear to be an end to the current impasse which would shroud
me in doubt, leaving me with options that could not be refuted, and analytic
notions so complex, they created their own square routes to obliterate me.



My emotions were scattered and so we exited the train at Oakwood Heights. One stop
shy of our intended destination. Stepping across the gap that separated the train from
the platform was like reaching out to step over a small creek, while trying not to get
one's shoes wet. Waking life had suddenly undergone an intense transformation and
was now overblown and baffling. While the ascension was somewhat taxing, the view
from the moderately enclosed walkway was rather pleasant. As the train rolled away
down below us, it caused the metallic structure to rumble, and the vibrations could be
felt coming up through the concrete staircase, reverberating the old withered footpath.

Walking alongside me was a woman with an aura of great intensity. From the exquisite
structure of her facial features alone, it was indicative to her own personal makeup that
she was of foreign origin. She smiled softly as we made eye contact, and even if the sun
had gone black, the innocent radiance produced from that gentle smile would forever
renew my faith in mankind. Upon reaching the street, Athena took another direction.

                                          I can still see that smile.


                                                              The Liverpool Echo - Girl on the train


As I continued my analysis of man's perception in its moot order, the very night itself
which seemed to be pulled from the sky was now falling. So terribly thick, so viscid was
that spectral haze that lined e'er pleasant things. Things no human being should ever fathom,
but in this current plane of time, inceptions had already danced around the deja vu.


                                                Two parts logic
                             A breath into the overture of madness.




Impulsively, a clan of rowdy children began taunting each other, while laughing
rather forcefully. Immediately, I threw my mind's switch to the ON position and
jumbled a phrase in my head. Be not deceived by the jeering of the procacious.


A leaf scuttled near my foot before stopping,
and I froze in anticipation of its next move.


It then made a run for the trees down on Guyon, and I was relieved. I knew that by
hurting the thing would have brought God's wrath down upon me faster than a harlot
with a hankering for obliquity, and so I allowed him the dignity to continue leafing.



I then breathed a sigh of relief before motioning across the street where my friend followed. 


Suddenly, he let go a burst of laughter where he stood teetering in the mild breeze!
He then looked dispassionately at his feet, as if he were staring down
the precipice
of a tall building while attempting to meld within the housing of
a dream! Rich come
on man, focus! He did as he was told, and together we walked the portentous road.




Lifting my head like a whooping crane, I gazed up into the tunnel of foreboding trees.
Pointing at them, I stood staring, entranced in a setting so magical! So beautiful!!!



Ever since I was a young boy, I loved it when trees on one side of the street connected
with trees on the other side of the street to form one joining. I used to call them tree
tunnels, but that was before the city changed the streetlights in the late 1960's from an
off-white luminescent green to gentle amber glow, and I found my attention shifting
toward more delicate matters. Matters that would slowly begin to take precedence over
everything else that was going on in my young developing mind. On some exceedingly
narrow streets, you will come to realize these tunnels can even blot out the sun!




Rich looked up into the fabric of time, ever
wondering, yet never knowing what lies ahead.
Hampered by nothing and empowered by all, his mind dripped in a dreamlike setting.

He appeared to have a vested interest in things which had no purpose being, such as I,
and I tried to ascertain if he was learning. Without warning he began twirling round and
round, 'neath the limbs which skirted the sky, and I could see in his eyes he wasn't there.

                                                                The Legend - Enjoy yourself



When he stopped to look at me, I must have been everywhere as his equilibrium shifted,
sending him down to the fading tarmac. He looked up at me, his face in awe as if I had
just materialized before him and when he stretched out his arms, I could now envision
him somewhere on a beach in Aruba! Sprawled out on the sand like a dying porpoise!

                                                             The Gnomes - The sky is falling


Trying to locate my shirt, he reached out and grabbed
only air. After this we proceeded to walk to Master's.


The difference between one and two hits was enormous.

It is the difference between that of night and day.
The difference between two and three hits is beyond logic.
It is the heart of delirium. It is madness redefined.


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As I bathed in the glow of a red neon sign, I watched people enter from afar. I observed
the anomalies of life that craft and shape to create interesting replicas. Strange prototypes
of beings unlike their former-selves walk alone, and seem to be preoccupied with living.


Those too small needed to be carried, or they would simply lay by the curbside and wail.



As I tried to piece together the puzzle of life between parent and child,
I only became more confused. . . The land of biology had me baffled!


Indeed, we are comprised of thoughts and ideas we need to process in order to function;
today, however, we remove part of that equation. Looking out from my upright casket
where I stand like a decaying mummy, I see a world of bitter consciousness. What if I
never moved again? Would they build dwellings around me or would they push me aside?



Perhaps they would not even notice I was there. What is real and unreal in the land of the
mentally disturbed? Perhaps it is the difference between normal and abnormal. Or perhaps
we must go mad to truly comprehend the degree of sanity we currently possess. Maybe
the only way to really “cherish life” is to know exactly what we are about to lose. . .


Whatever lunacies floated around in my head like feathers, I collected, t
rying to sort out, so my
brain might be able to compute on a higher level.
As I approached the store, I released these
thoughts into the
night air and away they flew; like burning cinders on an evening breeze.


Staggering into the department store, I found it to be as long as an aircraft carrier and as
wide as an airplane hanger! I marveled at it quietly for I was totally impressed! While my
outer appearance was one of pure contentment, on the inside, however, I was struggling
to comprehend the majority of everything that was going on around me.


We walked through a wide maze of clothing until I found I had gotten the both of us lost!

I listened to the instrumental version of a Diane Warwick song being piped in through several
inconspicuous air vents in the ceiling. I then asked my fri he knew the way to San Jose.
When he asked me who San Jose was, I knew it was going to be a very long and enduring night.
At which point I figured, why bother explaining something to someone who was slowly slipping
away and would soon be gone completely. Follow me, I said to my deranged friend who was
now more lost than even I, “we're going to San Jose!” We never quite made it there sadly
and ended up somewhere in the tobacco aisle.


Considering that the place appeared to be deserted and knowing full well that I was never
going to find a bathroom, I had to think fast. Feeling an intense urge to urinate, I looked
around carefully before unzipping my fly near a tall black column. I was in a state of complete
disorientation as my penis came out. Was I crazy? Did I become an animal, to stoop so low
as this? Not as long as I still had a shred of moral fiber left in my being, and an ounce of
intelligence, for that matter! With extreme caution, I slipped the dark adder back into my
pants and zipped up before turning to my friend who was found gawking at a mannequin.

“Let's pull out. . . We're pulling out now.”

I hastened from that building leaving a trail of electro-charged static in my ardor! Rich followed
behind me in pace, unknowingly collecting all the lost debris for it clung unto him like a magnet.


We then began the brief walk to my father's house where I was living. At a time when my
sisters were still very young and my step mom was really cool. As we walked, I noticed
all the phone poles were reclining back, as if they were all playing a lighted jazz horn.



How mellow was everything now in a grotesquely deformed kind of way! Not wanting
to go into the house as of yet, we went across the street to the rotting facade of the old
Calabrase house. Some people called it the haunted house, but me and my friend Steve
had nicknamed it the hash hut. Do I have to explain why? I didn't think so. On a vacant
stretch of land sat this dilapidated shack and to me, it looked like it would soon collapse.


                                                                               Pg 135
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Like it was trying so hard to keep itself fastened to the earth for fear of falling.

Its sovereignty had long since moved on, never to return, leaving
it to fend for itself and
from a distance, it resembled an evil doll house.
How daunting it looked toward evening!



When I asked my grandmother about the house, she told me that Pasquale and Mira
moved there in 1932 and left in 1956. She said they were very quiet people who always
kept to themselves and never bothered anyone. No one knew anything about them, and
they were rarely seen outside the premises. That was all she ever told me about the
Calabrase's. Why the house still stood, I could never know.


From the street we entered, moving the trees and shrubs aside and walking carefully to
the entrance way of the house. The door was not facing my father's house, but to the left
of it. Making my way through, I kicked an old rusty can of beer that had some living
matter inside it, making it feel almost half full. Before I could reach the door, I spotted
the torso of a long discarded doll. It was just laying there in its abandonment to make the
night seem even more creepy. If I had any hesitation, I wouldn’t have gone any further.

Richie didn’t
seem to notice anything amis, and wandered around aimlessly with a short stick,
like someone
from another planet who was studying the surrounding area for any signs of life.

                                            The Electric Prunes - Antique doll



We walked in white shadows of ominous street lamps glowing to a deafening stillness
within the portal of a dark domain. A place where memories echo in silence, the quietude
of an almost comforting despair. Dry air filled the melancholy room with an intriguing
odor of stale wood steeped in time, while the streetlamp on the corner cut through the
unsettled gloom like a torch shining underwater. Yes, the house was enticing us to stay.




Within its decaying structure were the ever present sounds that never really seemed to die.
The tail end of a comet which had burned out in an evening sky almost thirty years ago.
Eerie voices that cannot be heard by human ears, now seem to emanate in the void of
the misconstrued. The same words we speak today will be heard forevermore. That is
why we must be very careful of each and every syllable we utter! Shhhhh, don't say it!

What a weird layout, I thought as I made my ascent up the stairs. Oddly, the stairs were
not mounted to the floor, but rather to the side of the house! Like the house was a big
block of redwood that the staircase was chiseled out of. Not built from single layers!



I then told myself that nothing would be as it seemed tonight. Richie remained behind
me the entire way until we reached the second floor. The big wooden table was still in
the center of the room and there was an empty keg 'o colt six pack just sitting there.
Beside it was a piece of cardboard with strange words written on it. I couldn't make
anything of it because of the darkness, and so I held it near the empty window where
the light was shining brightest and the message slowly was revealed.

“I must have just missed you guys. Went to the Monkey Woods today and had three
beers in thee ole' tree fort. Then I had a beer in the park by the rocket swings before
coming here. Don't know where anyone is today, so I will finish my last two beers
before riding off into the sunset.
Adios amigos!”
                             
                                *8* 6 *81. It was signed, your friend Pete.




I thought of the Monkey Woods "then" as it flourished in an abundance of green.

Such a wonderful escape was it from the sun and the heat. Populated with yellow
snapdragons, orange jewelweed and heavenly blue morning glory's sprouting like
magical weeds. What adventurous souls were we, living free and according to our
own will. Going wherever our feet would take us, and then returning in the evening
hours to sleep. There was nothing wrong or oppressive about respecting and enjoying
that of nature. Or did we have to leave the state to put a bullet through a deer's head
to justify ourselves through our actions? Ah, that wonderful place; what went wrong?




                                                                               Pg 136
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Today it is overrun with oriental bittersweet and has become a tree graveyard.

Whenever you see trees with no boughs or branches on them, but yet rather,
what looks like a rounded green tombstone or a cluster resembling a cenotaph,
it's usually this; not to mention those cursid thorns! They grow in bushes, as do
roses in a garden while circumventing everything in their immediate path! Me
and Peter used to go back there in the early 80's with machetes, pruning sheers
and a small hand saw to cut them. Some of the individual thorn vines had a
diameter of a large orange and a length of over forty feet. We would frequently
leave covered in blood, but at least we killed something that deserved it. 




Its exact location was at the end of Roma Avenue where Navesink Place begins,
before
Navesink Place existed, and before dwellings were erected all around it.

“Oh man, I must have just missed him on Thursday! Do you remember what
you were doing on Thursday, Rich?” “Thursday
? I don't know what I'm doing
now!” In a fit of laughter, he banged the table three times and almost broke a
blood vessel in his neck. This is the effect of someone injected with laughter, I
thought! I was trying not to laugh, but he just looked so silly! Gazing around at
everything thrown horribly out of perspective, I started to claw the air with my
hand. The simple pattern created a stairstep effect that resembled a series of
animated frames that were put one after another! Cool, I thought as I imprinted
the air with my own unique design! It only remained for a moment, and yet I
was happy, because otherwise, we may have gotten tangled up in the colours.


Yes, I said colours, because I was feeling very Scottish that day!

“You wouldn't by any chance be Scottish, would you Rich?”
He looked at me, but didn't answer. “Scottish, as in haggis?”
Rich looked at me as if I were in a rerun of an old 1970's
television show that he couldn't get enough of, but wasn't
quite sure now, why he was watching it. I tried to make a
bagpipe sounding song, when he screamed out laughing!

I suddenly envisioned bagpipes, kilts and curtains made of plaid.

Then shingles made of plaid, and windows made of plaid!
In the forest made of plaid there are birds made of plaid,
and it didn't take long before everything was plaid!!!



“What the fuck,” I retorted in disbelief! I was overwhelmed
and in shock that I managed to go that far inside, and felt
a wee bit strange that I could have actually gotten lost
inside my own mind-shell. I was on a dangerous wave.

Before panic and desperation set in, I had to think of something fast.

I left the table feeling like a scolded child and wasn't sure
if I should crawl up on that rotting bed and become insane.

I felt as though my brain were being vacuumed and my face
had grown so long it was beginning to pick up thumbtacks
and screws from the floor. I brushed off my chin, just to
reassure my brain that it was only following an illusion!

My emotions were shattering like shards of broken glass and
there was everything around me, but body parts. An upheaved
home cannot care for itself, I thought to myself quietly, and the
extraordinary mess left behind was making me feel more unsettled.

Slowly, the thoughts of tartan patterns weaving themselves into the
fabric of my exterior world faded, like Renoir's first rendering of Legree!



I hurried into the other room where I had a bottle of Passport scotch tucked away in a safe
place. I knew that by taking a shot or two could alleviate some of the stress, but having
nothing to chase it down with might actually be like exchanging a demon for a dragon! A
gulp of warm scotch would surely make me feel like my intestinal tract had just been set on
fire, and with no water to extinguish it, would certainly make for an even worse scenario!

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Looking everywhere, only to find it nowhere made me even more perplexed. Where the hell is
this bottle? Did someone come in and take it? Did I come back and drink it? Think Goddamit!
I stumbled into the kitchen and nearly fell. Reaching my hand behind the rusty brown stove
is where it was! My bottle of Passport scotch!!! I clutched it as though it were the holy grail,
and then I held it above my head. I was almost sure lightning was going to strike it and make
me immortal! Just holding the bottle made me feel as though I had conquered something big!


Psychologically, I had thrown myself off course. I was figuring out what had caused the problem
and I was solving it at the same time. Before I even entered the room it had subsided.
“If you're
taking a trip, I have your passport
,” I walked in saying, like a Vaudeville act that was sure to
get rave reviews! “I'm already gone!!!” Richie bellowed in an octave lower than a contrabass!

It's not easy to utter words while you're laughing yourself to death. . .
Literally.




As Richie calmed down, he began to readjust his jawbone. Laughing will do that, you know!

“Care to bang one down?” “No thanks,” said my friend with great effort as this withered, old
home sighed through its exposed plaster, as if trying to accentuate some hidden emotion. As I
began to touch gently the wounded interior of its wood lath, I must have disturbed something
within its temporal lay-out, because like a wooden sloth, the whole house stood up on all fours
and slowly began to move down the street! “Let us out first,” I screamed, without thinking!
I then looked out the rectangular hole where a window had once been set to find that the house
had not moved at all. It was simply a dead tree limb slapping against the side of the house,
casting an illusion of shadow upon me. And for that one brief moment, I was truly terrified!

How would I have been able to explain it to the authorities, I thought?
If the house had actually decided to shlep over to the next block?
I cannot imagine the face of Phil Martinelli waking up in the morning
to see this weather-beaten old home resting its britches on his front lawn!

                           I think his face would fall off!!!




It now seems I was trying to analyze and apply logic to a situation that was so overblown
it lacked the coordinance to redirect itself. So high was I at this point, it was getting difficult
to distinguish that which was real from that which was not. The logical from the illogical.




I placed the emerald green bottle down upon the old wooden table and looked at my friend.
He was somewhere between daydreams and the milky way when my words found him. . .




“Didn't it just feel like we were on Jumbo the elephant?” Then with a Moroccan
accent, I bounced swayingly like a limbo dancer while balancing both arms in
the air, as if I were on the giant beast! I then sang a strange and melodic tune.
“Ga-nna ride Jum-bo, ga-nna ride! I Ga-nna ride Jum-bo, ya wa-nna ride Jum-bo?”



Rich immediately screamed out and began kicking the table!
The mann, he's unstoppable! “Go easy on the laughter, we're
gonna wind up in the hoosegow!” “Whose Cow?
A booze cow!”


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“Shhhhh damn it, we could get arrested for being here. Keep it down!” So much was this
laughter that he was now drooling on the table. “I can't help it,” he cackled as he thrashed
and knocked over my bottle, nearly breaking it. He then began stomping his feet loudly,
and I warned him about weak spots in the flooring! Never again God! Never again!!! “Oh
boy” I said, scrambling for a place to stash the bottle. This was a bad idea. A really bad
idea. He's gonna fall through the floor, I just know it! “Let's go,” I said, overflowing with
panic at the thought of seeing cop cars and wailing ambulance sirens! Being hauled off to
prison was now the worst thought I could think of. Aside from my friend going through
the floorboards and becoming impaled or devoured on whatever was down there!



Or even worse, if the floor gave out and we were both trapped in that sinister darkness!
Living bait to become a hollowed out carcass for rats and those horrible creepy crawlers.
Under this side room was no floor, but an old staircase that led straight to a locked cellar.


Hide the bottle! Gotta hide the bottle!!! A car is coming, what am I to do with this bottle?
As I scurried about the room like a distressed hamster looking for an adequate hiding spot,
I felt like I was becoming more disoriented as time went by, and the confusion was twisting my
delicate brain into a pretzel. This of course, made my disconcerted friend laugh even harder!

At that exact moment, I felt like a complete and utter horse's ass.



Are you happy now? I said, nearly quivering. . . You made me nervous!


The house could have exploded in flames, and I’m sure he would still be laughing.
We have to leave, I said panicking. You're going too far now. As Rich attempted
to stand, he abruptly threw himself back down into the outdated chair. The only thing
I could see was this crazy bastard going straight down into a basement full of shovels!


I returned the scotch bottle to the kitchen, and upon entry into the main room, I lit up a
brown Grenadier! So soft were these cigars, so fresh! Ah the pleasantries of home old chap,
I said in a Sherlock Holmes voice that seemed to reverberate through the entire domain.
How about a smoke there laddy? I was very much enjoying the air I was creating, and truly
enjoyed speaking this way! Would it be wrong of me to speak this way forever? Would my
parents frown upon my newly adopted tongue? Why should I care what they thought?


All they do is boss me around and try to make me adhere to their ways!
I'm tired of being their puppet! No college!!! From here on in, I'm out.


“I'll take one of them,” said Richie boy, and so I calmly peeled the cigar band in a circular motion
and slid the cigar out of its thin cellophane sleeve. I then proceeded to light it for him, while
generating a slow motion effect of puffing. That would make it burn flawlessly! “Here you go and
be careful, that's the live end.” With this he exploded, falling off the chair and crushing a perfectly
good cigar. Looking down at my friend on his knees, (like a maniac praying) I saw him laugh as
the head of the cigar lay smoldering a short distance away. The poor cigar will never be smoked, I
thought to myself silently, while wondering how I ended up in the middle of this horrendous mess.

                                             

I was paralyzed from the madness that overtook me, when I finally came to the realization that
all I created was the world's most perfect disaster. It was undeniably, the most callous and
erroneous mistake that could ever have been made by mortal man. Because of this and this
alone, I would forever go down in history as a bungler. One who has made nothing in life, but
a series of miscalculated judgements. Something I designed so well, it would utterly destroy
me. I helped Richie to his feet and escorted him carefully down the stairs, so that there wasn't
a tragedy. . . All the way down those stairs and all the way out of that house, he guffawed!!!




                                                                                             Love Sculpture - In the land of the few

                                                                                                                       Pg 139

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Reviews for chapter 28

John Barone - I have read this chapter five times already!

Manuel Gottlieb - I do love the way you remove the animation from the LSD
and inject it into the veins of your readers. The words are a drug in itself!

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PG 132) LSD microdots (photo) by John Allen - 2003 - http://www.erowid.org/

PG 132) Different balls
by Gyuri Lohmuller - http://tinyurl.com/jwlh955

PG 133) Orient express
by Marcin Kolpanowicz - http://www.kolpanowicz.art.pl/

PG 133) Descent to the Mediterranean
by Vladimir Kush - http://vladimirkush.com/

PG 133) Seekers of the truth
by Mike Worrall - http://tinyurl.com/yewvh7g

PG 133) Untitled by Brad Yeo - http://byeo.com/76

PG 133) The night line
by Marcin Kolpanowicz - http://www.kolpanowicz.art.pl/

PG 134) Relentless nature of time
by Jaroslaw Jasnikowski
- http://tinyurl.com/mvoea8j

PG 134) Sin
by Tomasz Alen Kopera -
http://alenkopera.com/

PG 134) The Insomnia of Nimrod
by Alessandro Fantini -
http://afantini.deviantart.com/ 

PG 134) Wanderlust
by Dean Fleming - http://www.deanfleming.com/

PG 134) Chamber of earthly delights
by Tomek Setowski - http://tinyurl.com/my772px

PG 134) Love confession
by Vladimir Kush - http://vladimirkush.com/

PG 134) Le balcon
by Claude Verlinde - http://tinyurl.com/ot47wz2

PG 134)
Tree tunnels - http://tinyurl.com/bxdmydy

PG 134) Morning poem
by Wojtek Siudmak -
http://tinyurl.com/m5669a6

PG 134) One
by Keun-chul Jang - http://tinyurl.com/kufe9rd

PG 135) Waterbaby
by Herbert James Draper - http://tinyurl.com/kkbull5

PG 135) Postillonage by Alessandro Fantini

PG 135) Cloud nine
by Amanda Sage - http://amandasage.com/

PG 136) Dark House
(matte painting) - http://tinyurl.com/kgvcjjb

PG 136) Entrance to the past
by
Curt Frankenstein - http://www.curt-frankenstein.com/

PG 136) Liberty
by Dean Fleming - http://www.deanfleming.com/

PG 136) Healing by way of the ace of blurred matter
by Chris Mars - http://www.chrismarspublishing.com/

PG 136) Vintage Keg o' Colt sign -
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Colt_45_%28malt_liquor%29

PG 136) Surrealistic Psychodelic Vision of a Deer in the Rut
by
Jaroslaw Jasnikowski - http://tinyurl.com/mvoea8j

PG 137) Small Bite
by Ilene Meyer - http://www.ilenemeyer.com/ 

PG 137) MacPhee
by Sean Landers - http://www.seanlanders.net/

PG 137) The Power of Experience
by Jaroslaw Jasnikowski -
http://tinyurl.com/mvoea8j

PG 138) Fester the jester
by Dan Frazier - http://tinyurl.com/ltyun6z

PG 138) The Progression
by David Ho - http://www.davidho.com/

PG 138) Pisces
by Dean Fleming - http://www.deanfleming.com/

PG 138)
Vintage advertisement for Passport Scotch Whiskey,
circa 1975

PG 138) The Elephants
by Salvador Dalí - http://www.virtualdali.com/

PG 139) Mox's Death Trap
by Joel Hoekstra -
http://tinyurl.com/lx5hpbh

PG 139) Panic attack
by Aidan Brute Hughes - http://tinyurl.com/mz46dvz

PG 139) Smoking marine monster by Seb Niark1 Feraut - http://www.niark1.com/

PG 139) The vessel
by J. Slattum - http://www.jslattum.com/