Choices, Girls,

Kindle Single .99 from the Amazon Kindlestore

A cabbie’s story of lust, when there is no time for love.

Picture is an excellent cover to the short story. It is a single for .99. I sometimes think I could do better. Well I do. sometimes I do and sometimes I don’t. I found a poem on a napkin.

After the
& the Equator
& War.
I’m going into
Please buy
The Clothes
My Flag is on.
Freedom Fashions
-A proactive civil demonstration.
In no way
Oh There it Is.
The Future
Is Radar.
If you are locked on
You fire back.
Ought to be
To the Astronauts
Some to wear
Year Round
My T Shirts!
For their Human
Of a No Ground
Bleed into
For Nationhood
Mother Mental
Mother Paradox
Where God and
Anti God
Fight it out
Let’s Clone
& Send them
Off in Time
It will be
A new Crusade

I’m going into

She was Ok and we did a lot of acid. We did it on the weekends and we did it on Wednesdays and we did it on the weekends. There for three months or so, was it 6? She was my Art of Film teacher.
I’d gotten those scholarships from the school in Chicago somehow. I think someone in the church basement gave me a break. Turns out one of the schools I went on to for another 6 weeks was summer school for Mitt Romney’s school Cranbrook. I got to see green 3D laser made holograms in a lab there for the science part of it Oakland University.
My memory for all of it isn’t great. I’d done LSD in Chicago and told my Uncle about it as a bad influence and he still holds my lies against me. I once told my daughter she had a right to her secrets. You can’t be yourself if you never get any privacy and can’t keep any secrets and if you aren’t a good kid by 13 you’re a fuck up for the rest of your life.
I had every good reason to be depressed besides whatever chemical biological propensity there is for it.
Mom said it was okay and good to hate dad and divorced him telling me he was having affairs with men. Men was Bob. There was another guy. Time went by and my father was depressive. There are words about it.
But this isn’t what this is about.
What this is about is why my male 17 18 high school self and her 24 year old self first year teaching job was worse than I thought then, though you know of course for most of the time it was good for me to think of how I got the teacher. It is a common desire of young guys in high school with young teachers.
I left the other girl who is hard to name right this minute I can see her. She is in some Super 8. It will come to me. Blonde nice girl whose dad had a .22 revolver I wanted and he would have sold me but I didn’t have the money. He smashed a bumper around in the car I was in with him drunk. He ran the white persons pay more exclusive school. Kindof cool he sent his child to the public school. It is good I forget now the names.
She they had a pool and nice house and the roads were going to destroy the neighborhood he and his mom knew and they got the deal on the house. I was going to be a writer, and jeff was funny and Paula was going to be an anthropologist and my teacher quit without getting caught because I wasn’t going to betray her and Jeff told her and I was already a spy and dumped him for the trip to California and went instead to Toronto.
So yeah, we aren’t friends and that was the thing that you care about now when you get old. I’m old now and think of how everybody matters.
One of my friends makes fun of me for that.
The guy Steve Talent killed himself in the high school teachers yard because the Principal got him to rat out all his friends. They were going to fuck over his teacher affair girl who was no intellectual like my army brat girl from Berkley. What a deal huh?
Steve gassed himself over his losing friends.
Like there are some places like when you say “South”, Southside of Chicago, or North, Northside up by Lincoln Park, or West, Westside where there are these gothic apartments that cost lots to live in and are in a park that they got to making like Battery Park looking new before the jets hit the Towers. Overall the point being that there are places where the choices are never that bad really. There are places where it is civilized at most every turn.
Then see there are places where the good choices are bad.


My father's picture of pictures from war.

My father’s picture of pictures from war.

When I was first there, one kid stood behind me, and as others engaged me in conversation, I was pushed over. Second grade started like that. I was born in White Plains New York. It was Elon College NC.
I heard that Mom told them off at the voter registration office. She was not a racist like those otherwise in the town. She told us about how she had told them all off for the poll tax and Literacy Test.
Dad was gay. I didn’t find that out till about 1968 when my mother told me she was divorcing Dad for having affairs with men. That is much how she put it. I asked her if she was going to tell my younger brother and sisters. I told her not to.
The many fights from over the years were more explainable, though they had not been that much a mystery. I’d not needed really to know that Dad was gay to know we were hated.
The last psychologist I saw said I had been raised with combat fatigue. She was saying that I had grown up infected with combat fatigue.
The Perry father ran over our dog and didn’t stop. He killed our dog in front of us. In neighborhood football I had been hard kicked in the head in a pile up and suffered a concussion that set me back for a long time. I’d had then for a year migraines and learning difficulties.
The fights had continued.
We did not report fights. They just happened, going on and on so many that I wonder if they were like the battles of the New Guinea over little birds. I am glad I won the great majority. I never remember losing a fight till I was 36. Then it took three in the bar to beat me till I had double vision.
I went to NYC and got work.
There was the time the brother had his brother attack me with a brick. If they had both attacked me I would have been brain bashed in. All that happened was I knocked the brick out of the kid’s hand and then slapped him. The kid was cuffed and taken home in shame for not beating me even with the brick.
My father and I cried burying Duffy, our dog, in our vacant lot. We had significant property really. There is an apartment building where our garden used to be. The fine 4 bedroom home is there, though made ugly with the two shade maples cut down out of the front yard, and a concrete pad for parking.
My father had the Mauser pistol that was all brass finished but shaped like a .45. He probably got it from a dead German. it was likely a .9 mm. It would have been mine but Mom made him sell it worried about suicide or murder.
So it was always okay to hate Dad.
I am glad he got to kill people.
The kid that kicked me in the head became the next town over Sheriff.
That must have been the plan for him. My life was never seen in advance.
I wanted to be a pilot and Dad wanted me to be writer like him teaching I guess but there were no TV living room conversations after 13 or 14, so i really don’t know.
We saw some Viet Nam on CBS and that was that.
Dad got sent to the mental hospital. Mom got the house and sold it and moved us to the town over.
She had a much better job than we knew.
Dad taught some at the same University and then the other one for Black people. His teaching career was then on with the Black Universities. Mom’s was for the women.
She said the Lesbians, a couple at the women’s university got her fired for her affair and then mom did financial planning for rich people.
I kept on and found out writing was of no pay for most. All that is for teachers.