Charles Pendelton
       2008 Marty Langdon
Chapter 29

                             The Mystery Man and The Clown!


          Here they come ladies and gentlemen, the mystery man and the clown!

I kind of felt like I was walking down an aisle into the heart of some strange bazaar where
anything goes, and all the people I once knew would soon present themselves to me in a very
unfashionable way. I just hope "the detectives" will not detect anything out of the ordinary!



Unable to deter this odd feeling that captivated me, I decided to embrace it before strolling
past the dining room which separated itself from the kitchen. I could now hear a roaring
crowd behind the pastel curtain, somewhere between the kitchen and the park.

        The redundant sounds of life echoed a stillness in my heart for those standing
 
in impecunious shadows, which had now graced the foreboding skyline of my mind.

As we entered the kitchen, I thought, here we go, but there was nothing. No children
running out of the woodwork to greet me. No dad with his questionnaire form and stern
appearance, nor Gerry; lost in endless piles of laundry to wash and fold as she chased
after kids going two and fro, like a dog running after its
own tail on a flea bender.



                 There was absolutely nothing, but that simply could not be.


As we proceeded up the stairs, we were greeted by my Aunt Gloria. "Here he is,
the mystery man!" The incandescent woes reflected from the ceiling light emanated
in sorrow, to the likes of which I'd never seen. Like my body was gone, and I was
standing there only in spirit. "I haven't seen you in over a month," she said! "How
are you?" She then turned to my friend Richie. "I live right next door to him, but
I never see him.
" After tonight I thought, she's not going to want to see me until
the millennium, or at least till she arrives again! "That's because my nephew is
so elusive and so mysterious, no one ever knows what he is up to. He doesn't
attend family functions. He operates like a CIA agent, and most of the time he
disappears for days on end, coming home only when it suits him."



"So now. . ." I cleared my throat loudly to prevent her from going any further with her
rhetorical comments, but it didn't work.
"So now, when one of his relatives asks about
him, I have to tell them he's among the missing. What else can I say, right?" Rich was
oblivious and just smiled. "Where's Pete the Lizard?" she asked. "I'm surprised he's not
with you two." "I looked for him earlier, but he was nowhere to be found."
All the aliases
given to both family members and friends were enlightening to hear, and made life a little
bit more interesting, while at the same time, making it just a little bit more bearable too.



Pete got that nickname from my father because of the way he comported himself around
people. Much like a lizard hiding behind a warm rock or the tortoise afraid to stick his
neck out, for fear that the axe may fall. He never had much to say around my parents,
or anyone's parents for that matter, and it always appeared that he was hiding something,
when in reality he was just being himself. Around us though, he was quite the comedian!
My dad once said to me, "if someone can't look you in the eye, beware 'cause they're up
to no good!" In the end, Peter would rectify himself, but only after years of hard struggle.


                                                                               Pg 140
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My aunt didn't seem to recognize my condition and told me the baby had a fever and
was taken to the hospital. The baby was
my youngest sister Carolyn. She was
a fussy
baby that mostly cried and did her damndest to attract as much attention as possible.




The house was now hauntingly somber, even though it resonated with many lights.
Everything seemed more disturbing in the light, as if the truth would reveal itself in
the next word spoken. My aunt appeared sad in a way, and as she continued to speak,
most of her words became lost in translation. It's not that I didn't understand what she
was saying; I just couldn't comprehend her words put into any type of order! Like reading
a novel and trying to remember passages, when you didn't want to read the book in the
first place. I put on an acting show to convey my emotion, but felt only panic and shame.



If she knew, would she tell the others?
Would I be persecuted for my role in this play?
Was I wrong for exercising my right to uphold freedom?


It's not like I was injecting intravenous drugs and then going out and robbing convenience
stores. Everything I did was well within the boundaries of what certain people might deem
as acceptable. I was merely experimenting with the effect drugs have on the mind, and then
documenting it afterwards. I would write extensively on the subject before revising it at a
later date. Since I wasn't hurting anyone and being that it was solely to aid in my research
studies, I felt confident enough to experiment on my own. Unlike those I knew at the time.



In fact, there were only two or three days during the year which would be allocated
toward building a world around trying to solve the impossible equation. Attempting to
understand why things that work certain ways, suddenly work a whole lot better when
going in the opposite direction! For this, I shall be labeled a blunderer... A dreamer. A
family failure who never amounted to anything more than an explorer who was lost at sea.

One day, I’ll show them I was right. In time, I will prove to them all my experimentation
was worth documenting. One day, they will understand why I was compelled to write.



Maybe I'll write a book, and then my family will stop judging me. In truth, I can do nothing
more than try my hardest and either fail, or come out ahead of the game. How ever you
look at it, I'm going down swinging. Like it or not, I will not be crushed by my progenitors
and the restrictions they place on me. If I am to walk in these shoes, then I must lead them.



Why is it that we must answer for every single thing we do in this life?
Secure a career or nothing you do is relevant. . .
Is there never any end to it?
Does it ever get better?


Only time knows for sure, but I'd be damned if I was going to let
anyone interfere with me carrying out and completing this mission!


In this state of complete oblivion, I noticed my world was changing.



Instead of the earth revolving around the sun, it seemed as if the world was now revolving
around my aunt. As I stood there flummoxed, I felt at any given moment, I may begin growing
an appendage! Rich was looking at the wall, as though he were reading a scroll, and I honestly
thought at that point I was busted. Instead, she just rambled on and on, while I listened to
fragments of broken sentences. Never let them see your eyes, I thought. Once they lock you'll
open a vault of lecture, and I would rather die than to be preached to in this state. Just remain
calm and appear to enjoy the conversation, though inside, I was churning and yearning for
escape. It was all I could do for I was trapped in that purgatory. Stuck in a nebulochaotic
realm of utter madness with no way out, while Rich stood behind her counting flowers on the
wall. I simply had to bide my time. After what seemed like an eternity, my aunt left the house.


                                                                               Pg 141
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It was now, that time began to move in a very peculiar way. I flicked the light switch and
watched my room illuminate. On my wall, the little brown men were working feverishly
in the field, gathering what they may for the Spanish harvest. They were sweaty and tired,
but somehow frozen in time for they were not moving. In a small village across the way,
the wives and townspeople were out shopping and buying gifts. There was a cacophony
of laughter in the air, and a magic wind swirling my imagination to the hilt!


Peter Sellers, or should I say Harold Fine was now looking at me from where he was tacked
into the wall. He would survey the room in seemingly cool e'Lectric sunglasses on a poster I
bought several years ago. That classic comedy of 1968 entitled "I Love You, Alice B. Toklas"
and I said wow, when I cast my eyes upon it. "I sure have one groovy looking poster!"

                                                        http://picosong.com/fLDt




There was a very peaceful aura about this room that made it comfortable to be in. Everything in
just the right order with nothing out of place, certainly must have helped! After scrutinizing the
row of lacquered wooden steps, which led into my baby sister's room, I found the ceiling lights to
be way too bright and turned them off. Then I went around my bed to where the long walk-in
closet was. I turned the elongated gold knob on the dusty relic and the acrylic glow of three stand
up lights produced a fascinating effect! Three spheres held together by two long brass poles, that
when lighted created an appearance of lava. Sandy grain in texture with thick plastic squares held
in place that strangely resembled orange pasta. They appeared wet and translucent in color and
seemed to be contracting and retracting in the same space. Alien matter, I thought as I watched
them breathe. . . So grossly deformed were these characters, as if extracted from the mind of
Hieronymus Bosch! So unfeasible to me, was how they have evolved to become pets! Almost as
if these quiescent objects had been dormant since time began, and only now decided to awaken!!!


I did not need to pack bags, yet I was on vacation;
no one was performing yet I was being entertained!


It was a splendid show to watch these new life forms, dance and sway for me while they
swelled and oozed beneath their own skin, as if they were alive or from another planet.
Touching its exoteric membrane, I found it to be, in fact, quite cool. Nevertheless, it was
unquestionably alive! Whatever I had taken for granted before was no longer boring at all.
A lamp, an end table, the hardwood floor! They were brilliant! These things I could no longer
ignore! Each one had to be examined thoroughly for they now had meaning unsurpassed!




Everything was a mystery to behold; a box waiting to be opened!

The carnival was lively and livid in the circus of wonderland
and nothing was to be taken without notice.


    Hurry, hurry, step right up. Get your acid-trip for only three dollars!!!




                                      http://picosong.com/fbuR


As I stared at the freeway of lights in my room, I was in imminent danger of getting lost in it all.
There seemed to be too much input and not enough time to absorb it. I was becoming more and
more confused as the iridescent shades of lights and colors transferred themselves to the contour
of my world, bringing me ever closer to the edge of astonishment. A symphony of illuminated
perplexities had formed, turning an ordinary setting into an area now overflowing with life!

Like a jungle, thriving in its own serenity, my habitat was equally as ambiguous! Aside from that,
I was beginning to lose all sense of time, wit, motion, perception, depth, and reality. From a mental
standpoint, there was no difference being lost here in this quiet room, than being lost in traffic in the
middle of a wild intersection. In this state, where relative matter seemed to be rearranging itself all
around me quite harmlessly, I began to wonder, if indeed, it wouldn't begin to start rearranging me.




                                                                               Pg 142
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Similar to a stereogram that tricks the eye into portraying an illusion,
there was no throwing the eyes out of focus, or concentrating intently
to see the imagery and creative perception within the veil of induction.

All that is hidden shall be revealed.
That which is cloaked shall be unmasked.

And be not alarmed when you discover the figurine on the nightstand knows
your full intentions. He is merely watching you observe him. Take it with a
grain of salt, for the very things that possess no life shall become animated.

Just because his little eyes can follow you around the room, doesn't give
him the ability to conspire. And even though you feel he has the ability to
judge you, just remember that your emotion controls his actions, so make
him a defender of justice. Allow he who now has life to join in the voyage.

Indeed, it was all a big eye show. . . Candy
for the brain.



I was being inundated with new ideas faster than I could process them, and all the weight from
these new ideas was starting to weigh heavy on my mind, and the bag was beginning to break.
The 'stop and go' effect it produced in my head was kind of amusing, until my behavior became
erratic. In a world where walls shift and simple properties expand to become more complex, one
could say that in all due reasoning, it should have been left to the cartoonist; I should not be here.



I soon found at the bottom of a dry wishing well, that the very essence of peace and love was
nothing more than a vile joke. Only a monster, I thought, could be soul searching in this part
of town. Where every breath is saturated in intangible doubt, and the winds that blow in off the
coast are merely ghosts of season's past, existing within the limbus of their own predilections.




Moving fluently and without hesitation you flitter in light absorbed shadows, but I cannot touch
you, for I know not where you are. I can only deduce that you are beside me now, trying to quell
my anguish.
In this world of ever growing disconsolation, I feel I am but a stepping stone of man's
hypocrisy. In this ever expansive void of my own undoing, love and longing have become impalpable.


 
Where exiguous thoughts become a whirlwind, and the cavern of man's creativity is now a place for the
solemn to dwell. In a room where my emotions have been shredded, I sit. Like a donkey on a footstool,
or a dunce cap in the corner that cannot think, I've allowed myself to be consumed, until all that is left
is the grim realization that everything in the entire world is nothing more than a reflection of emptiness.




A necessary arrangement for the saints and the sinners, and the gods and the demons, and
the powers that be to acquire. Where terrible places give birth unto evil unfiltered gloom,
it is the beginning to the requiem of sorrow. If, before the sun rises in truth, I should fall,
cover me with earth and hasten. I would give anything to pass this burden unto another man,
but then you would have to ask yourself, what kind of human being would I be, if I did that?




The angst within my very spirit had overtaken my mood, and I could not concentrate on a
solitary thing. My mind was spuming and I feared I might actually sicken. The man who once
owned the world is now nothing more than a living train wreck. He is accursed for the sins
of his past, but the sins of his past are not sins at all, unless love is an expletive. How can
feeling love for someone be wrong, if it is a mutual bond between two consenting people?

Sometimes things which have God's approval, become poisoned by the blood of society.

The brooding despair slowly subsided to calm serenity as I gently caressed the asperities
of an ill-begotten truth.
Here in a room with a clown will I sit and ponder my own demise.



She was mine.
She will always be mine.
There would never be another
love like ours.


A savory lip from the candid smile that washed away brought tears by the busload to saw
through my heart. Never to be felt again we weep in the quiet shadows of our own self pity.
Never to be seen or heard from again, you cremate and scatter all that is mine, till nothing
remains but a vast emptiness called the human spirit. Before the windswept ashes came a
promise of hope and along with that hope, a chance to start a glorious new life together.



Still there are some who would dare to besmirch the wind rather
than embrace it, but I am only a man and I will not condemn
them for their abject opinions; they mean nothing to me.


It is a lot easier to cast stones when someone else is on trial.


Indeed, I had entered a surreal world that would not stop and to tell

you the truth, I didn't want it to stop. . . I needed to understand it for
my own reasons. I needed to remember everything that happened
in
those years, and I
needed to brand those memories into my own flesh.

Rich was now perched in a corner of the room. He has not stopped laughing since
my aunt left and that was forty minutes ago. Or was it ten? All that were missing
were the cap and bells upon his head and poulaine shoes upon his feet. He would
laugh at anything and everything, and so I dubbed him, the clown of New Dorp.




                                               http://picosong.com/4KT8
                                                                               Pg 143
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Reviews for chapter 29


Phyllis Macintosh - Your poetic style has influenced a reaction in my right ventricle! Does that sound good?

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PG 140) Raconteur
by Ilene Meyer - http://www.ilenemeyer.com/ 

PG 140) Flea Circus
by Leah Palmer Preiss - http://www.leahpalmerpreiss.com/

PG 140) Figment by Bill Melvin - http://tinyurl.com/nxbbkay

PG 140) Tired Hero
by Julien Chaves - http://julienchaves1.free.fr/

PG 141) Twilight in the nursery by Jacek Yerka - http://www.yerkaland.com/

PG 141) The primordial inception of life at daybreak by Justin Michael Jenkins

PG 141) Childhood's end by Dennis Konstantin

PG 141) The absent poet by Joachim Lehrer

PG 141) Executives shadows bridge by Guy Billout

PG 141) Dead end
by Jacek Yerka - http://www.yerkaland.com/

PG 142) I love you Alice B. Toklas,
theatrical poster - http://tinyurl.com/ycocuh6

PG 142) Movable immovables
by Gennady Privedentsev -
http://tinyurl.com/jw5824q

PG 142) Visit Wonderland by Jazzberry Blue

PG 142) The Way
by David Ho - http://www.davidho.com/

PG 143) Butterfly (a stereogram) -
http://tinyurl.com/ma6jvsc

PG 143) Schwarmerei
by
Alessandro Fantini - http://afantini.deviantart.com/ 

PG 143) Filaments of Destiny
by Wojtek Siudmak - http://tinyurl.com/m5669a6

PG 143) Equestrian statue puzzle
by Wojtek Siudmak -
http://tinyurl.com/m5669a6

PG 143) After the flood (No.1)
by Marcin Kołpanowicz - http://www.kolpanowicz.art.pl/

PG 143) Night time sorcerer's
by Jarosław Jaśnikowski -
http://tinyurl.com/mvoea8j

PG 143) War and Folly
by Michael Pucciarelli - http://www.poochisland.com/

PG 143) Philautia by Alessandro Fantini

PG 143) A jester
by Philippe Mercier - http://tinyurl.com/lms3vtq