Charles Pendelton
      © 2008 Marty Langdon
Chapter 33

               The grim intestine

We were now lurking around in the back of a lonely schoolyard by a handball wall. There
were no lights, and yet it was not threatening in any way for it had a particularly tranquil vibe
about it. I was just scooting around, not trying to make too much sense of anything. In a quiet
corner of the abandoned playground, John asks Pete for one of the colorful
fireworks, he has
carried with him in his back pocket. “What's this thing going to do?“ asks John excitedly, while
vying for the object in Pete's hand. It's going to emit colors, go up in the air and explode,“ said
Peter in a gruff voice, before handing the three sided object to John, who begins looking rather
inquisitively at the thing. As John proceeded to examine the three sided object with great care
and attention, I thought of that crazy Fourth of July family party, back in the summer of 66'.

Of all the family get togethers, none would ever top this one!

For some very strange reason, our brains lock in on certain days! I can remember,
quite vividly, the first time I drank out of an ordinary drinking glass. I can recall,
my mother holding my wrist as we were coming down the stairs. My legs trying so
hard to reach each step! If she let go of me, I would have surely toppled down them.
As we got into the kitchen, she poured me a tall glass of milk. You have to get used
to it honey, she said, and I was crying because I knew I would drop the glass.

My hands, being so tiny and that glass felt like it was thirty pounds!
My mom tells me it was on my very first birthday, that I drank from
that glass. . . That is my earliest recorded memory.

I am more than happy to know I will never remember anything beyond this point!
The last thing any child needs is the memory of something so profound as to be
able to
recall suckling on their mother's breast, and I am almost certain it would
have went on to cause lasting psychological damage in my developing brain!

                                        Getting back to that crazy Fourth of July party.

I awoke to the sound of mortars and aerial bombs exploding in a hazy sky. Today, we would
all gather in Grandmother's backyard as we did each year. My cousins, aunts and uncles,
among those present. My paternal grandfather was speaking to my Uncle Frank (who was
my grandmother's sisters husband) about a popular Staten Island eatery known as Al Deppe's.

“I had the cravin' for them hot dogs for over a week! I took one bite and I was in heaven!” “They pop!”
“Yeah, they pop when ya bite 'em, and the juice...” From out of nowhere my father and Uncle Bob
come strolling into the backyard with a metal garbage can overflowing with fireworks! There were
M-80's, ashcans, blockbusters, cherry bombs, roman candles, sparklers, mats, parachutes, fountains,
rockets, helicopters, pink elephants! You name it, it was in that pail!!! As they began blowing up my
grandmother's back yard, I started jumping up and down in excitement. It was at this moment my
mother springs up, snatches my hand and drags me inside. To the safe zone! Fergus, the family
Bulldog was cowering in the back corner of the cellar, for I would assume the noise disturbed him.

                                                                               Pg 243

That whole day he looked like a picture of bad health. Indeed, he seemed to be aggravated
by the bombs and explosives going off within a twenty foot radius of the house. Yes, he had
that long face on, and would wear it all day, for he was disgusted. Dogs do not fare well to
enemy attack! My father, realizing I'm gone, goes into the house and decides to bring me
outside again. My mother, screaming and crying as she desperately clutches onto me.

Not wanting to choose sides, I just sat there in Mother's arms. My dad gently coaxing
mother to release me.
“He's my son too, ya know (andIt's not all about you! Within
minutes, she let go of me, and was now
crying terribly. He took my arm and led me outside,
once again into the war zone. It was incredible to walk out into a barrage of cannonry!

To see everyone's eyes blazing, and to just be in the midst of it there. How I loved it! I could
hear mom downstairs, pleading with my grandmother to do something. That I was going to
die out there, but I was without fear! We were simply a family in our own country, celebrating
its freedom. Who could have known that many years later we would no longer have this privilege?

It seems that everyday a new law comes into effect, whereby hindering our right as Americans
to choose. One day in the not too distant future, you are not going to be able to light up a cigarette
in your own car. Then it will be your house, till everyone we know are packing up their things and
moving to Russia! The highlight of the whole day came when my Uncle Bob went up the street
with a short pink stick. What's that he's got? I asked my dad curiously. “That's a nigger chaser,” he
said happily. “What's it gonna do?” “Oh, you'll see,” replied my father, wallowing in his contentment.

As my uncle lit it and ran, it followed him down the block, wedged in the crack of his ass!
Luckily, he moved to the side, and it exploded away from him. The whole block was laughing
hysterically! Except for Mother of course, who was still downstairs sobbing in the basement.
As my uncle reaches us, he says, “Did you
see that? That thing almost blew my hole off!

On July 4th, 2005, I put my Polk audio system to the test! Cranking up the volume,
I had the sound of a mortar going off on a TDK MA-R 90 cassette tape; the one in
the solid metal housing. With the speakers facing out both windows, but not visible
for anyone to actually see, it sounded like an artillery shell going off on a navy missile
boat! All day, I had the cops scrambling back and forth to the tune of car alarms going
off in the distance and dogs howling! What could they have done to me anyway?

Told me I was disturbing the peace?
“On the 4th of July?”

                                                                               Pg 244

John signals Pete for a match and Pete offers up his trusty lighter.
After several attempts, John gives it back. “This lighter's a piece
of shit, you got a match?” “Nah, I don't have a fucking match,
let me see it; I haven't even had this lighter for three months!”

You must understand that Peter was one of those fellows
who never actually used the word no. At least I never
heard him say it. It's always nah, like nar - cotic. Get it?

As Pete begins to fumble with the lighter,
I could see it was not going to light!

His face was becoming redder than a boiled lobster,
and I was waiting to see if he would burst into flames like the human torch!

“What the fuck is wrong with this thing? Hmmm, there seems to be something
impeding the mechanism.” John then says, “Give it to me, let me see if I can impede
the back of your head with it!” We fell into a fit of laughter and could not stop!

Peter then casually flips him the bird, “Fuck you, you ignorant fool.

John then turns to me, “Charles, you got a book of matches? I search through my
pockets but find only coins and some pocket lint. “No man, sorry. Actually, I did
have matches, but I was dying for Pete to flip out again, so I told him I didn't!

I could see Peter in the darkness, still fumbling with that damn his lighter of his,
and getting absolutely nowhere! “Ya know man, I really don't need this shit tonight!”
Then like an angry pitcher for a losing team, he throws the lighter as hard as he can
at the paddleball wall, where it pops into a million pieces. Peter, now looking both
disheveled and disgusted mutters, “will ya look at that, now I don't have a lighter.”

Immediately, I thought of how comical it would have been, had Peter been watching me as
my lighter emitted its last flame just hours earlier! Two lighters in one day was unheard of!
I am almost certain he would have taken it quite personally! Then for the next twelve years it
would become his full-time occupation to try and make it work! Especially if there was still
some gas in it! I then handed John the pack of flattened out matches I had in my back pocket.

“Here, I just found these.”

Upon seeing this, Peter's eyes began to bulge out of their sockets like Ralph Kramden,
when he gets hit on the back by Uncle Leo! Peter now shaking his head,
walks away in
complete disgust. John lights the thing and we scattered! A few seconds later it
began to
fizzle, before puffing a huge plume of smoke into the atmosphere! Pete then chimes
“Oh-ho, what a fucking waste that was! I'm gonna pretend that didn't happen.” He now

proceeds to hand John one very coveted M-80. As the flame touches the wick it ignites!

John holds it for a moment and then throws it into the air where it hangs for
a few seconds,
but does not go off. Instead, it hits the ground and begins
smoking. It then made a loud farting
noise before fizzling out. John waits
a good thirty seconds before walking over to examine the
small explosive.

“The wick came out! Are you kidding me? Pete seriously, where'd ya buy
things, in a fucking joke store? My dog makes better bombs than this!”

We were now laughing loudly, and completely out of control!

do you want me to say?
They're old.

Ya know what man, I think I'm just gonna leave.

Looking at Pete, all dejected and more or less spent, I was yearning for one last hurrah!
A loud howling bellow that would pierce through the heart of the night, like the cry of a
werewolf on a full moon with an ass full of buckshot, but the man didn't have it in him.

Rather than curl his tail up and die, or fall to the ground like a satchel of dry bones,
he surrendered. Inconspicuously, I examined his face and was quite surprised to
find that he was now older than my grandfather, and my grandfather’s been dead
for quite some time now. . . I really hope he doesn't expire on the way home.

                                                                               Pg 245

As my disgruntled friend, leaves for home by way of Amboy Road, we watch
his ominous shadow depart into the night. After the laughter subsided and we
regained our composure, I looked down at the faded tarmac to find a most
disturbing sight. A squirrel, it seems had been eviscerated, and its innards
were sprawled out along the uneven ground. Some lights were on at the end
of the street, shining dimly, but were enough to see the atrocity that either man
or beast had created. I did not want to think that anything could be that evil.

In reality, I knew someone or something had to take the blame. I desperately
tried not to look down at the mess of slow drying entrails, which adhered to
the ground like glue. Even if we were to go, I would not be able to dismiss
the fact that it happened. I then started to feel like I had been exposed to a
deadly virus. . . One that was beginning to mutate and multiply inside me.

The archimage had waved his wand from where he was standing in another time
to befoul my world. Now a calm and peaceful environment had been turned into
an implacable miasma. In no way could I stop thinking of those microscopic
organisms arising from that viscous pile of decaying entrails! Mixed in with the
very air we breathe were those nasty little spores reeking havoc in my brain!

The next time you go to the movies, I want you to sit in the last row of seats near the projector?
All that warm fuzzy matter you see floating around in the lens are none other than dead skin cells
and airborne bacteria. Now that you are aware of this fact, how comfortable do you feel taking
a nice deep breath, and allowing all those little particles to enter into your lungs?

Seriously, the next time you're in the theater, begin patting the cushioned seats, and you will
see all that dust and foreign debris exploding upwards into the eye of the movie projector.
Actually, these germs are around us constantly! The light only makes them visible to the eye.

I now felt sick, as I thought of being riddled with tiny sores from within. A life threatening
infection that would take root in my lungs and keep growing. It almost felt like pathogens
were swimming in my bloodstream, making my chest feel tighter when I breathed. When I
started to feel like I had eaten a dozen raw sausages, and my heart was slowly being
strangled, did the panic truly begin to set in.

In the blink of an eye, a happy and joyful night would be blown out
of the water, and turned into a combative struggle for survival.

                   Majic Ship - Nightmare

The pernicious drug was running rampant through my system
like an infected blood cell, and I felt as though a demon had
crawled inside my head and was holding a gun to my brain

How could I have known that by simply looking down at the ground, and breathing normally
would leave me in a nightmare of unparalleled proportion? That revolting smell of death seemed
to linger in the air, until I realized what was happening, and moved away; by then it was too late.

I was now imbued with wrenching terror, as I came to realize in but a few short hours from now,
I might very well be dead. Before long, I came to the conclusion that the end was upon me, for I
began to feel the onset of anaphylaxis. I must distract myself somehow! All right, just calm down!
I was now perspiring from worry and trying to keep myself together. As I thought of the infection
pumping through my heart valve, I felt a quick murmur or palpitation. I then started to pray like I
had never prayed before, but felt like a hypocrite. Why does everything I do magnify failure?

It was always the same, and now my prayers had no meaning at all. If I was the Lord, I wouldn't
want to hear anything from a hypocrite either! Why was I always pushed into praying? Why
couldn't I just pray like a normal human being? Maybe because I wasn't a normal human being.

Always off, dabbling in mystery!

                                                                               Pg 246

Maybe all this documentation is just an excuse to do drugs in the first place;
I don't know anymore. Everything had come together, and I felt like I had
just painted myself into a corner. . . What the hell is going on here?

Please God, forgive me for this.
It was a dumb thing to do.

Do you ever wonder what Almighty thinks?
I mean, he's God so he has to think!
Do you ever wonder what he thinks of you?

What would God think of me at this moment?

You pray now?”
“Now you pray?”
“You had your whole life to pray, and you dare do it now!”
“In your moment of weakness, you wish to become holy!!!”
“You insolent fool, get ready to be cast into the fire!

Lucifer was mean.

He wanted me to suffer like he and his followers were going to suffer for the rebellion.
“I didn't tell you to leave Heaven!!! You made that choice and now you can't go back!”

It's not my fault you tried to be king and failed. Get thee hence!

Innocently a young voice spoke “Are you in some kind of trouble?” Then someone in the
shadows of reason yelled, “You should pray because you want to, not because you have to!”
At that very moment, I truly felt as though God had forsaken me. I then watched the doors
to the magnificent kingdom of Heaven close. I was renounced by the God I exalted for
not putting at least one hour aside each week for the consecration to sanctify my soul.

There was nothing I could do or say that was going to change anything.
I was doomed.

I tried to believe in the power of prayer, but the whole concept of it seemed to be against me.
Still, I persevered with total reverence and fear, but yet, without any result whatsoever. Could
I blame God for not hearing me? Was I supposed to see an immediate result? Was God supposed
to stop what he was doing and run to my side, while the rest of the world languished in misery?

There are literally billions of people in this world. Many afflicted by every conceivable disease
known to mankind, and that doesn't exclude hunger. How many illnesses and sicknesses are there in
the world? How many variable and resistant strains of bacteria and viral infections? Start counting.

Here is an interesting tidbit for you. There are more illnesses in the world, than there are words in this
book. Be very thankful you don't have one of them, and if you do, then I am sorry I cannot cure you. 

“Do you go to church on Sunday?” I asked John, trembling with fear, but trying not to convey
it. I go two times a year, that's about it. You?” Maybe once a year. Do you pray? Yeah,
but I can't be like the pope who prays for five hours a day. Most of the time I run out of things
to pray about after the first minute. I then started to think of the Bible and its philosophy on us
as human beings. Protestants fighting Catholics over what? Christ? That doesn't fly with me.

If we both believe in Jesus, and we both believe in God, then what the hell are we fighting about?

That's almost like two goods becoming two evils, and God just wants to fucking explode!!!

We are all born of free will.

We live for today and tomorrow we lay down and die.
In the following life, we will not have a free will, but we will live forever,
either in the purest of bliss or the most horrible of agony's.

                                                                               Pg 247

Here children die, in the next life they will not. Here people kill one another in war.
In the next life there will be no war; only peace, for those who have earned it.

I know it is hard to imagine an amorphous being such as a soul that comes forth
when a life should perish, but even more difficult to fathom is the creator of all life.


There is only one crime that is punishable by death in the hereafter, and that is suicide.

It doesn't matter how good you are as a person, or any wonderful thing you've done, if you
are above the age of accountability and decide to end it all, just remember, the pain you will
suffer in the afterlife will be far
greater than any medieval torture, because it's forever. 

You cannot commit suicide without facing God's wrath!

To destroy the body, which is the sacred housing
of the holy spirit,
is to reject Gods precious gift.

"Suicides cannot be forgiven by God."

                                      Mark 3:28-29

"I tell you the truth, all sin and blasphemy can be forgiven,

29) but anyone who blasphemes the Holy Spirit will never be forgiven.

                   This is a sin with eternal consequences."

Your body is a temple of the ---- ------.
Every second that brings strife is a million years of bliss.
Hell has been described as holding your hand over a fire,
while Heaven is said to be that of indescribable bliss.
A place that has no end, and the beauty which
lies therein is said to be immeasurable.

I have found there are two types of people in this world.
Those who like to hurt, and t
hose who like to help.
You must decide who you are.

In the hours of the evenfall, when the laughter of children begins to settle, the world comes
to realize it is another day older. That is the time for being counted. For every birth, there
is death, and for every little one born there is a renewed sense of hope that we may offer
something useful unto the next generation. Those who give pain shall indeed receive it.

And those who give comfort shall be comforted in a land of untold glory, forevermore.

What I find most difficult to understand out of everything in the Bible, is that Jesus Christ, the
only begotten son of God, who had the power of infinity at his side, could have at any time,
summoned a million angels to rain fire down upon his enemy, chose not to. Instead, he let the
Romans beat him, whip him, and then, being barely alive but not quite dead, allowed them
to lay him upon a cross and put nails the size of railroad spikes through his wrists and feet.

How easy it would have been to destroy them all, but then the son of man would
have been weak, because that is what anyone with eternal power would have done!
It is certainly what you and I would have done, and with incomprehensible fury!

Those of you who possess an ounce or two of faith, shall indeed see the kingdom of God;
unlike the saints who came before us, whose trials were so great they begged death to arrive.

The time for being stoic and the time for having faith was now, for there are people in this
world who go to work everyday, never knowing that today, they will become a statistic.
You’re driving home from work late one night, when you fall asleep at the wheel and
suddenly, you're scattered remains are under a catamaran. Or you decide to dive off a
shallow pier, rather than test it by jumping in feet first; so now, you're paralyzed
from the neck down,
unable to move your arms or your legs.

Try living life as a quadriplegic. Confined to a hospital bed with a respirator tube
in your throat that someone must clean every hour. Unable to clear your throat,

cough up phlegm or even sneeze for that matter. All because you made one mistake.

So now, who do you curse?
Never yourself, it’s always God who gets cursed because you were given free will.

                                       Talk about a living hell on earth.

As my mind began to fill with all these images, I tried to convince myself that the burden
I carried was small. But the truth of the matter was plain to see, I am here, and they are there.

No matter how I looked at it, the fact would always remain. I was really hoping it was a simple
case of hypochondriacal anxiety that would subside without warning. I was overcome and grief
stricken by emotions, I had absolutely no control over. I was crying for a world that hated me,
while I, myself was dying. How ironic was that? I felt myself slipping away into the great abyss
and just wanted to be a normal person again, so I could further deal with the problem at hand,
but the drug was not going away. Rather, it would be I, who would be going away. My brain
will be in a jar by the end of the evening, I thought, and who would explain how it happened?

                                                                               Pg 248

You long for the comforts of home and the things you took for granted all your life.
You'd change everything about your life to make it better, if you only could, but now,
you're left stranded in the very nightmare you created. A world so cold and lonely it
defies reason. The barren plains, where nothing grows and no one ever comes to visit.

A land more desolate than the calm stillness of an abandoned heart. Strange voices
call out to you in echoes from the earth, but it's only your mind weeping. So alone.

I thought I knew more than the rest of society, but I knew nothing. How bad it hurts,
to find you've been left all alone in the shadows. No one to ever talk to again. Nothing
to see or touch. No emotions to feel. Just heartbeats and long forgotten promises. 

That is the drug's design.

You think you were abandoned the first time?
This may be even worse.

Never hearing another sound again because your brain shut down. Not being able
to get up and move about as you've so often done. No longer will the scent of a
flower exhilarate your senses, or the taste of a mouth watering steak make your
salivary glands open. No one to ever hold you again. Nothing more, for the one
who threw his life away. Mother prays for you and cries. She pleads for your
return, but it's not real, for you're not there. You now reside in a distant void.

Another galaxy, where no one ever goes and even if they could, it would take
light years for anyone to reach you; look around. Our capacity for higher
learning is strained, and we've simply no technology for advancement in that
area. Time is at a standstill and your motor skills have stopped. Communication
is lost and the world you've come to know is gone. So abandon all hope for
rescue, no one's coming. Still you'll take to your grave that one question. . .  

How did I get here?

Knowing we could not stay here forever, I was now in a catch 22. If I begin
walking, it will spread like wildfire through my entire system, until I succumb
to the realization of my body going into shock. And if we stay, I will only dwell
upon it until the imaginary thoughts becomes real. Full of anxiety and worry, I
made the decision to leave. As I picked myself up from that spot, I felt like an
old civil war soldier gallantly forging ahead to his imminent death. My only
hope for survival would be to completely forget about my current dilemma.

So weak and weary was I now, I had hardly any life left in me. How I wished to
be home, and safe in the comfort of my undisturbed bed. To turn on the TV if
I may, or to just relax in a totally normal environment. I needed this whole night
to be nothing more than a bad dream. To open my eyes and forever be beside
the one I love. The one who needs me. If I could be Almighty God for but a
millisecond, I would do just that. Such blissful thoughts were neither a sin
in my mind, nor healthy for me to think of, for they only flooded the town with
rain. Moving like a hapless cripple, I continued to trudge through that field, as
though I were marching for my own country. . . As any good soldier would. 

                                                                               Pg 249


Reviews for chapter 33

Siobhan Lunsford - What a strange chapter title the grim intestine. But it works so I won't knock it.
I just wanted to tell you I find you wrighting top notch and will eventually start at the begining , eventually.
Thanks for this!

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PG 243) We don't want peace at any price by Charles Twelvetrees -

PG 243) Oedipus
by Aart Prins -

PG 243) Al Deppe's restaurant photograph,
Circa 1950's -

PG 244) Will you go off with me on the 4th
- (vintage greeting card)

PG 245) Letting go
by Esao Andrews -

PG 245) Dragon match box cover

PG 245) Werewolf
by Uwe Jarling -

PG 245) Polkran by Waldo Retamales -

PG 246) Unawang
by Satoshi Sakamoto -

PG 246) Creatures of a luminescent sea
by R. S. Connett -

PG 247)
Disease spell by Szalai László -

PG 247)
Gruss Vom Krampus (Vintage greeting card) -

PG 247)
My bad by Tim French -

PG 247)
Careless love by Randy Mora -

PG 247)
Flight of the churches by Brigid Marlin -

PG 247)
The iron morning in the metallic sunrise by Victor Safonkin

PG 247)
Flames of the apocalypse by Victor Safonkin -

PG 247) Discovery of Plutonium
by Judson Huss -

PG 248) Eggness
by Chenthooran Nambiarooran -

PG 248) Jesus Christ our savior and the saver of all lost souls who beseech him -

PG 248) Sin
by Joe Scorsone and Alice Drueding -

PG 248) Presa del Araf
by Carolina Eade -

PG 248) Confess
by Joe Scorsone and Alice Drueding -

PG 248) Elemental Struggle
by Craig Maher -

PG 248) The Crucifiction
Victor Safonkin -

PG 248) Calvary
by Octavio Ocampo -

PG 248) Sacred Heart of Jesus with Saint Ignatius of Loyola and Saint Louis Gonzaga
by José de Páez -

PG 248) Les petites trônes
by Claude Verlinde -

PG 248) A return to functioning
by Chris Mars -

PG 248) Paysage de Stéarine
by Claude Verlinde -

PG 249) Enroll in Federal adult schools

PG 249)
Disconnected by Samy Charnine