Re-Run (Ground Hog Day)

Someone once pointed out their idea of Groundhog day to me based on the movie with Bill Murray and Andy McDowell I think... People ask me and wonder why I don't remember yesterday...

The world is a re-run.

It can be personal.

It can be wondering why media, like films and music repeat.  As for music, with it's only 8 notes I could see yet with only those notes made beautiful unique music until...

As for film, I started to wonder why nearly every movie was a remake of something better done before....  So I looked at foreign film.. Turns out either the copied something or they made something that they made something that was sadly remade.

Religion, Politics, Sex, etc ....  It seems foolish to even discus that with anyone who has memory outside the re-run.

I have cable and I can sen the re-run incessantly....

I'm on the internet, even though gratefully slow... Time to think.....

Gave up on the Radio Years ago....

Re-Run.....


It was supposed to be... That which is old is new again...

Now, It seems to be that which is old is a re-rum to.... prevent the new!

There is a way.... 

It is being found... Oh did you feel like that excluding....   No, You are finding it!  It feels good  so keep trying.....

Peace, Love & Bliss!
Dave

p.s. We all have our own way to find...to be and to discover.... and realize the same about others....

Tha coat...(you know the cool one)

The Coat..

It the black flailing one the that flows when the hero flies into battle against evil or more often the battle within his self... or when observing the Earth from a different perspective....

Could be Batman, Samuel Jackson in Unbreakable, could be an angel overlooking L.A. (or better yet...  Berlin, some place with walls) or it might be Neo from the Matrix... etc...  Hum?

Could be everything we've ever seen in the mirror or residual....

Revolution and the illusion of distance....

Ah, interesting. Well, I've always felt different, and yet I don't think think I'm all that special. I tend to dismiss my thoughts of "why are they doing this to me" and remind myself that most people base their actions only on themselves. They're too self-absorbed to see the impact of their actions. Most people just focus on the ground in front of their feet. And yes, a creative context can help express things that need to be expressed and don't fit into a social conversation. And I don't see the point of giving up quickly, either. Most people don't grasp patience or its rewards. I guess that's one reason I write poetry. I want to connect, and it seems not to happen much.

I don't know. Did that answer anything?

Freaked!

Bells, bells, bells.... John fumbled his hands to the alarm clock, knocking over the water cup he kept by his bed, and started pushing buttons. RING! The phone.... He realized that it was still the middle of the night and the phone is what was waking him. He managed to get out of bed, stub his toe on the bookshelf and tip the receiver into his hand.

"Hello."

John, a student at the University of Utah, was in his last year of graduate school with a major in Cultural Anthropology and a minor in Psychology. He had been up late with paperwork Sunday night and by the time he hit the sheets it was 2:30 in the morning. He had an early class in the morning and was hoping to sneak in five hours worth of sleep. The phone rang at three a.m. just as he was drifting into a theta-wave state. At first he still wasn't sure if he was dreaming or not. The voice on the phone belonged to a girl he had met a few weeks earlier. He thought her name was Karyn but he wasn't really sure.

"John?"

"Yes...."

"Hi. Did I wake you up?"

John considered flying into a rage with the stupidity of the question but decided he was too tired. "Well kind of but not really." That was true. He was only most of the way to sleep, not over the edge.

"I just wanted to talk to someone."

He could hear people in the background, or maybe it was a T.V., and someone coughing furiously. He thought they must be smoking pot. "Why don't you talk to the people with you?"

"Huh?" He had only talked to her two other times but knew it was her by the drugged idiot sound of her voice. Why had he been stupid enough to give her his phone number? He couldn't find an answer to that question. Sex.... Why? Sex.... He knew she was trouble, and at least six years younger then he was. "She is freaked!" That was the way he had described her to a friend and to himself.

"I wanted to talk to you. Should I call back tomorrow...later today?"

He wanted to yell at her but was calm. Yeah, you could call back later if you want to."

"I'm sorry." She mumbled.

"Don't be sorry, just call back later. Okay?"

"Okay.... Love you."

"Goodnight."

Two weekends earlier, he had gone to a gay bar with some of his friends. John wasn't gay but one of his female friends always insisted on going to the gay bar, and since she was the group leader, everyone usually followe d. She seemed to think she was a gay man in a woman’s body. A thought worth serious contemplation for a sociology major but... better a thing not to ponder on in an unconditional friendship. It was only his third time at this particular place and he was getting quite used to the scene. Still, he'd be out on the dance floor, not really sure who he was dancing with and as he looked about at the queens and G.Q. men kissing each other, he would just smile to himself and think, "This is freaked".

That particular night he had been dancing topless on the risers along the back wall of the dance floor. He stood center stage and mimicked lovemaking with the wall as the rainbow sixties disco light strobed on his back. A dance version of the Sesame Street Theme came on and he decided he'd had enough for a while. Dancing in a gay bar to the Sesame Street Theme was just too freaked for him. He went for another drink. He worked his way back through the lonely guys at the back of the room, the leather boys, the queens, a group of lesbians and found a seat at a table next to the dance floor.

As the smoke from his cigarette curled in the churning air and tickled his nose, he let his alcohol buzzed mind swirl into the flashing colored lights and thumping music. He was stirred out of the dreamy sensation when he plopped his elbow in a puddle of beer on the table but soon spiraled back into the hypnotic aura. Then he saw Karyn. She was dancing in the same place on the stage that he had been. Her hair was chopped short and she wore heavy make-up that made her look like a male clown in drag. The rotating rainbow light followed the curves of her bare breasts. Bare that is, except for the crosses of black electrical tape covering her nipples. "She's is freaked," he thought as he watched her gyrate and pull him deeper into his deviant disco trance.

* * * * * * * * * *

He took a long draw off the straw sticking out of his anti-virgin mixed on rocks, Sex-On-Beach and casually lit another cigarette as he listened intently to the whine of the beat-transmissions. Odd sound he thought. The harmonic drone just wasn't quite right.

* * * * * * * * * *

"Hum...clutch might be going out...hum." He spoke to himself and looked out over the valley at the thousands of lights. They didn't seem to be very bright tonight against the strong glow of the full October moon. "Ha, ha, ha, hum.... Man, that chick was real freaked. Ha, ha, ha...."

* * * * * * * * * *

After the bar, John and his friends went to the all night Denny's by the freeway on-ramp to eat and sober up before heading home. He was finding the conversation at the table rather mundane and gazed around the café, examining each and every freak at each and every table. Service was slow, as usual at this place during the after-bar rush. The waiter arrived to take orders after a half hour wait. As Lance (John noticed the waiters name tag) swept off with a new order in hand, a new group was being seated across the room.

One of the group was Karyn. Of course John didn't know that yet and well...he never really did find out for sure what her name was. John stepped mentally out of his group and leered at Karyn across the room. She seemed to be doing the same thing. He felt like going and talking to her but had a feeling that she might be trouble so stayed in his seat until it was time to leave. John visited the rest-room on the way out and as he re-buttoned his Levis a young punk from Karyn's table came in at looked him up and down. "She wants me to get your number," said the punk.

John knew who he was talking about so rejected the temptation to play dumb. "So...you her boyfriend or what?"

"Ha, ha...naw, brother." Said the punk with a smirk.

"You got a pen and paper?"

"Got a pen...." John grabbed the pen and pulled a paper towel out of the dispenser. He wrote his first name and scratched out his number, hoping subconsciously that he'd get at least one number wrong.

She called the next weekend. He made himself sound friendly but distant as he talked his way out of making a commitment to see her that night. After he had hung up the phone he pondered for an hour over whether he wanted to see the slut or not. He wasn't sure of course but felt confident that she was a slut. "Ha, ha, ha, a slut with a low I.Q. and...freaked. Really freaked man." He talked it over with himself and decided to go on about his evening without her.

* * * * * * * * * *

So here she was calling again. In the middle of the night. What a freak. Once again John had to run the possibilities through his mind. He climbed back into bed and left the receiver off the hook. He stretched himself back into the covers, knowing that he wouldn't be getting the sleep he was hoping for. The full moon outside warmed the blackness and sculptured soft shadows in the dark room. It was an unusually bright October moon and the land outside the window looked like a mid-day cloudy afternoon on a silver and grey planet. John curled his pillow around his head and peered into fantasies about Karyn that hid in shady places somewhere in his mind. Before he knew that he had taken the step, he walked into unseen corners where the fantasies twisted into distorted sick thoughts that he had never experienced before. "I've got to stay away from that chick," he mumbled into the pillow.

* * * * * * * * * *

John picked up the tuna that he had spilled on the floor while making his lunch and put it in the plastic lined garbage pail. He was tired. He was sure he hadn't slept more then two hours after Karyn's call that morning. He was going to eat his lunch and take a nap. That was all he cared about. Eat. Sleep. Nappy time. Two seconds after he had stretched out on the bed, the phone rang. He knew...he really KNEW, it was Karyn. Did he want to answer it? RING! He wasn't sure.... RING! "Oh God." RING! "Hell!" RI....

"Hello!"

Oh yes, it was her. She sounded as drugged and forlorn as always. She didn't need to give her name. No one else he knew could have belonged to that voice. Then again, he had known before he picked up the phone that it was her. She wanted to see him. She wanted to do something. On and on she went. John finally agreed to pick her up that night at 8:00. "We'll see you then. Bye." Oh no. What had he gotten himself into. He took his nap and dreamed about the impending date.

* * * * * * * * * *

He stopped at the liquor store on the way to Karyn's house and bought a bottle of one-hundred proof vodka. He stopped at a 7-11 and bought two Coke Super Big Gulps and a pack of cigarettes. He stopped at Chevron and filled his tank with gas. He stopped at the air pump to fill a tire with a slow leak and to check in the trunk to make sure he had remembered the shovel. He stopped at Karyn's house and pulled up to the curb where she sat waiting and opened the door for her from inside the car. She got in. He thought, "Man she is freaked."

She seemed tall sitting this close to him. She must have been at least five nine or five ten. Her short spiky hair brushed the black headliner of the car. She didn't have her weird makeup on or much else. She wore only a shear peach colored tank top and cut-off Levis. The Shorts were cut so far up that there was only a two inch strip of tattered cloth through the crotch. He quickly looked her up and down from behind his mirrored sunglasses before taking them off so he could see in the darkening evening. Once again the thought came that he was in serious trouble. He laughed to himself and let the clutch out, rolling the car out on the street.

She looked at him with a stupid smile on her face and asked, "Where are we goin'."

"I’ve got some vodka and I thought we could go out hunting for geodes."

"I love vodka...where is it...what's geodes?"

Oh he could hardly wait. Just could hardly wait to show her what geodes where. "Geodes are hollow rocks that have crystal formations inside. The vodka's right here." He reached into the back seat and pulled out the brown bagged bottle. Carefully he poured the vodka into the big gulp cups, mixing hers well but leaving his un-stirred so that the liquor floated on top of the Coke.

She smiled her stupid grin again and took a sip from her drink, asked for a cigarette and spoke. "Oh, I've seen those before at the mall. They're... like purple."

Yes, that's the ones, they are purple sometimes."

"I like those." She giggled like an idiot on nitrous-oxide.

It was a long drive to the small canyon at the south-west corner of the valley. It was a long way from...anything. She talked of stupidity and the perverted waste that was her life while John just drove. He was in some other realm that was something like the trance he embraced while at the gay bar. He spoke little saying only "yes" and "no" and nodding his head at appropriate times during her monologue. "If she only knew," he kept thinking over and over in his cloudy mind.

Reaching the end of a dirt road he had turned onto a few miles back, he pulled the car over and stopped. Karyn was already very drunk from the strong vodka and started hugging and kissing John before the car was completely still. After turning off the headlights he found himself in total darkness and wrapped himself around Karyn in a steamy embrace. Some dark minutes later he found himself stepping out of the car into light from the full moon. With the hazy glow of the moon in the clear night sky he easily found his way to the trunk and removed a blanket and the shovel. He lit two cigarettes and handed one to Karyn who had joined him by the side of the car. He stepped away from her hugging, kissing and fondling and walked into the narrow canyon. She skipped and staggered after him giggling and yelling for him to wait up.

She sat bundled and shivering in the blanket on a rock watching him dig and nursing the dregs from her cup and a cigarette butt. John knew he was over straining his muscles with all the digging even though the soil was soft and sandy. He would be very stiff in the morning. "How long you got to dig to find em?"

He didn't really hear her but replied on impulse. "Oh...I'm about done. Needs to be down about four or five feet at least." He continued to dig at a constant pace. A few minutes later he slowly stood upright carefully easing the kinks out of his back and shivered. It was a warm night for October, but still.... "I think I found a good spot." He looked down into the freshly dug pit. "That might be one right there...wanna see?"

She smiled and stumbled her way to the pit as he pulled himself up and out. "What do they look like?"

"Here I'll help you down and we'll see if you can find one for your very own." He took her hand and lowered her into the hole.

She stood in the pit with only her head above the level of the dusty edge. She looked around trying to focus her drunken eyes. "Hey...its warmer down here. Are you comin' in?" She looked up and smiled a drunken idiot grin and passed her hands down the front of her shirt. Her hands reached her waist and lifted her shirt up over her head. Still holding her shirt in hand she unbuttoned and dropped her shorts. John bent down by the side of the pit and slowly wrapped his fingers around the blanket and smiled. He handed the blanked down to Karyn and said, "Here, make yourself comfortable and I'll join you." He thought, "Man she is freaked." He flashed a seductive, caring smile and released his hold on the blanket. She spread the blanket on the floor of the cramped hole and arranged herself on it. John eased both hands around the shovel and using his foot, buried it deeply into the soft mound of excavated earth.

"Ahhhre you coming?" She asked in a voice that could no longer speak clearly. "Love you babe."

John's smile faded from his lips as he replied, "Love you too." With one quick shove, he plowed a huge pile of dirt into the hole. It was enough to pin her legs and keep her immobile. Retracting the shovel and starting over, he plowed again. In her state, she didn't have time to scream before her face was covered and her mouth filled with sand. "Man, that chick is freaked." He chanted again and again as he worked on the hole. Much sooner then it took to dig the pit, it was filled again.

He sat on the rock that still held some warmth from when Karyn sat on it. Dusting off his hands and removing pebbles from under his nails he lit another cigarette and exhaled a sigh. Waking the shovel from its rest on the rock he stood and walked back to his car.

* * * * * * * * * *

He took a long draw off the straw sticking out of his Super Big Gulp cup and casually lit another cigarette as he listened intently to the whine of the transmission. Odd sound he thought. The harmonic drone just wasn't quite right. "Hum...clutch might be going out...hum." He spoke to himself and looked out over the valley at the thousands of lights. They didn't seem to be very bright tonight against the strong glow of the full October moon. "Ha, ha, ha, hum.... Man, that chick was real freaked. Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha......."

THE END....

TYTFIT INC.

OCTOBER 1992

Copyright © 1992 All rights reserved.

the woman who wrote herself into being

I once occupied an office at the National Film Board for a few days ... no one was using it, so I just moved in. I found a plastic bag full of cigars in one of the drawers of the desk there. I smoked one. I was so stoned by the time I was a quarter of the way through that I had to quit. I can't remember what I did with the bag, left it there I think.

One night I was playing poker with my poker buddies, same 4 guys for 35 years, out on the porch of one who lives in the country south of Montreal. It was a roofed porch, with a screen, no bugs, no rain. It was raining. We played poker furiously for hours. At one point during the game Dan hauled out a box of expensive Cuban cigars he'd just brought back from Cuba. He gave one to each of us. Wonderful cigars, perfect accompaniment to the softly falling rain, the summer air, and the furious poker. Later that night Dan was chortling about having won $35 playing poker. I pointed out that the 5 cigars cost him $150.

My last cigar was a small cheroot. I think it was at a poker game, yes, in October, in Montreal, in the back of Claude's HI FI shop, our poker table parked between a set of $40,000 speakers, while we played, listened to newly pressed vinyl (making a come back), and smoke cheroots, compliments of Dan again.


Back to work...

In a sunny bright coffee shop off the highway on the Sunshine Coast

I have nothing to say....

I have nothing to say....

My Cat's Breath Smells Like Cat Food!

My Cat's Breath Smells Like Cat Food!