Friday, November 26, 2010

hometown heros

Rufe-snow smelt like gasoline,which always tickled the arsonist in me. The aroma hung on the whole city really,from the trains or exporting companys littered in and out of the city. My house was three blocks from a cemetery and the church my father was the minister at as well. But the story isn’t about me,,or anyone person in fact. It’s a renissance of drug use and alchohaul abuse,mental and verbal inflictions on dear colleagues and peers.Its the savagery of rome during the reign of nero mixed in with the introduction of penacilan into an emergency ward in the early 1900s. Richland High,which has since moved(?) is in north richland hills,texas.a small suburb for the working class republican. Recession proof and stocked with ignorance,it was acultural melting pot for the geneticalially anemic.The choices around town are bowling alleys,going to church,parks(until 11) and gas stations(ha how fucking lame is that?people really hung out at gas stations).Then there was option four,introduced to me by a few of my friends and often rumored as the pass time of the older folks,PARTYS. Now not just partys,bashs to be exact. Go all night,tap the keg,pop a bottle of codene,smoke your brain out,steall 5000 dollars,bash girls heads into the cement,bash mens heads threw doors,make napalm,custom plays,get arrested,what ever sounded fun that day,but this was all before senior year.Kiddie stuff. And then that magical year rolled around;the year that made men out of idiots,that started a revolution,that to this day makes no sense.

There were segregated groups around the halls of richland,for whatever reason. The FJOA was my gang,scrawny and good hearted,we were a band of scotch Irishmen with a taste for ales and bud,we often partied alone with are wenchs,and were the most organized and rich with traditon. Our quote unquote rivals,aka comrades in crime,were the Richland G’s.Almost a mirror image of our group but just with a keener since for drugs and a rougher edge that led to a few people getting bones broken. Underneath us,in younger grades,were protégés from each side,,which spawned several copy cat groups which fail to make my memory. There were packs of women like wolves and several packs of wolves tramped from our group to theres. Sibiling rivaly for brothers at different edges of the sword. But in the end,each side stood up for the other,wether in law enforcement or school officals,everyone was on point and in que with surrounding s and a vast network of communicating heads that circled information around school faster then wild fires. I remember disposeing of a bong before the drug dogs even got to school because of different people we knew and would literally just tell us when where and what was going down,and who was the targets.(it literally was the Nixon administration threw school)Not to say a few comrades didn’t fall,but on the all in all,there were stout numbers of success. I would dare to say in high school 75% of my friends sold drugs and 22% of the rest of my friends took drugs so there was a constant networking of that as well.One kid in particular would come to school with xanyx in the seem of his shirt and were ready to pop right out and sell.The first time I ever took pills was at school and I kept tried to desperately to keep a journal but half way threw my first class my writing became eneligable and more or less a breakfast wish list. We were all a mess,and spent every night of the week more fucked up then the rest,our breaks were on Sunday for blunts in the park,and everyone just passed out after that or had work. Simple times across Tarrant county those opening days to life.

I had at one time been the prototypical pastor boy,good hearted clean shaven with no taste for mischeif,outside of breaking and entering. Never to steal anything,just to be byself for a second. I had met all these gentlemen,or the janitor crew,in early 2003 while at a pep rally for the high school. We had it all,the valadictorian,the quarterback,the baseball god to the insanely athletic kid who fancied him self a ninja. The soccer-poet-heroin addict,and the biggest/loudest kid in school. The thesbian guitar ace,and his counterpart who tried to be on the same wave lenghth;the big redneck with a mouth full of dip,and the creepiest kid ive ever met. The black cloud starring as the chong of the group;and our beloved cheech who has sense passed on to roll doobies with the big dude. I never had a nitche though,no desernable art,no music no theatre. No anything really except attempting to be funny and as grungy as the health board allowed. I rounded the group out,I thought,may as well be the smalls charecter from sandlot.

So many stories come to mind...driving around downtown ftworth,wine drunk at 4am,trying to find a good place to break out the seeds and stems. So many fights,and less memorable nights,with dirty whores and packs of ciggarettes that crippled us for life. Inadvertent drug use due to the juggalos down the street,luckily no babies at least.ALl the while I cant help but think,these were the days where I truly had a family. I have my real one,but there is no loyalty there. My parents would send me down the river due to their convictions and belifs,due to laws and regulations. Rules and restrictions. Itd take a lie detector test,or a couple drinks,to get what youd like from we. No galavanting around the corpse,no beating around the bush;cold hard facts,that yes,this is infact more than a brotherhood. A cosmic connections of irregulated forces all hell bent on earth domination and advancement.

people are whom you make them be,if ive learned anything,the only real way to live is to be of form and labels, and the stable sense of things. Though as these days are gone,we all press on,and will be reunited some day. away from the boundries of govermental or religous law,sharing jokes in the outdoors..

Future Janitors Of America


Jesse.s.mitchell said...

Fuckin' awesome! That is all I can say.

Old 333 said...

Dense and full of memories. When do you get rich, you skilful bastard? Thanks for the piece - a pleasure to read.


rhoda said...

love the style and the spelling - "the only real way to live is to be free"

bewitched said...

trip down memory lane, made me revisit a bit of my days in Central Park...thanks for that. truly enjoyed this read.