This Post is in Such Serious Desperation for an Edification, or Maybe an Enema. Or Maybe Le Both–Simultaneous. Because I’m A Fukking Idiot. & A Chocolate Mess! And I Approach Life with a Laissez-faire Philosophy. i.e., I do Not Give A Shit. “Escape From Memphis–Chapter Le One”–Re-Load–Have Fun!

This Never Happened To Me

When I Got Out Of The Naveee!

Alas!

Kiss Mine Ass

(I lived Over It)

Ed. Note to All You Nattering Nabobs of Nay-Sayers down there in the ‘Commentary Section’:
I say this:
‘This is “My Side” of the Story!’
Read Between the Lines if You Must.

(Or feel compelled.)

*****

Lance, No Longer Down an’ Out In

Memphis, Tennessee:

Street Vid Cred: kndfbl

Joni! Joni! Joni!

I Love You!

You Are Such a Large Part of My So-Called Life!

******

Credit: Marc Cohn

*****

And SCREW YOU WORDPRESS For Not Allowing Me to Delete this below BROKEN Up-Load!!!

Stuck on STUPID.

******

 

She just sat there on the front porch, smoking Camel Blues, sipping diet Dr. Pepper, and watching as I scurried back and forth, worker ant-like, schlepping boxes and boxes and boxes and sundry other shit to my Ford.
Never said a word.
Never shed a tear.
I was leaving her!
What the fuck?
No tears?
No desperation?
No tears?
No tears?
No tears?
No nada?
English!
English!
English!

(You live with Meskins, expect beans on the menu, ever’ once in a while.)
English!
Stiff upper lip and all that jazz…

After I had packed the Ford to the point of tightness unimagined (you could have poured a bottle of Jim Beam into it and not one drop would escape), I walked to the front porch and announced,

“Well, I guess that’s it then.”
“You’re leaving now?”
“Yeah, that’s the plan,” I said.
She stood up, looked me in the eye. I threw my arms around her and hugged her deep.
Now we were both crying.
I managed to blurt out something profound…
“I’m so sorry Helen.”

“Take good care of you,” she said, blinking back the tears.
I slow-walked to the Ford, looking back through MY tears only once. Got in, cranked her up and drove away.
The part where the cowboy rides away…
Took me a block an’ a half to stop crying.
Then I was so over it.
And her.

Four blocks later I realized I could not see out of my side-view rear-view mirror. My dismantled computer chair in the passenger seat was blocking my vision. This would never do. I pulled into a vacant parking lot and jettisoned said computer chair.
Just left it there in the dust.
With my life.

Merry Early Fucking Christmas to someone.
Some homeless one in Memphis.
And drove on, westward.
Nine minutes later at sixty-five miles per hour, I was crossing the Big Muddy and entering Arkansas.
I had achieved escape velocity.
I turned on the radio.
Loud and proud.

CDB was screaming something about Trudy and telephones.
And calling her.
And jail.
I cranked it up and sang along.
Very happy and oh so fucking proud of me.
My new life had just begun.
Just another tequila sunrise.
As I drove west with the sun over my shoulder.
So many thoughts were flying around in my head, gnat like… buzzing.
I was almost giddy.
I was staring down six hours of road trip.

No big deal, but it had been almost ten years since I had taken to the road or air or sea, and I was just a mite apprehensive.
“You can do this Lance,” I whispered to me over the radio, now playing Van Morrison.
“Hear That Robin Sing.’
Hours and hours and hours into Arkansas (when did Arkansas get so fucking BIG?)

I found a trucker’s rest stop and so I stopped.
And rested.
And pee’d.
Had to.
Walked about
Had to.
Stretched my legs.
Had to.

“Where is Texas?” Halfway through Arkansas…. And halfway from what I had called ‘home’ for ten years.
“What am I doing?”
“Going West, Young Man, Goin’ West.”
“Oh yeah, I almost had forgotten.”
By and by I hit the “border”
(On the border)

Wanted to stop and take a selfie in front of the sign what read, “Welcome To Texas, Drive Friendly.” But it was Interstate and not safe to do so, so I just kept on driving.
And singing at me!

“Texas! Oh Texas!”
“You are finally home, Cowboy!”
Now what?
Keep driving, I suppose.

I had pre-arranged a ‘garage’ to store my shit.
A ‘rent-a-space’ shed in Commerce.
Got a phone call from the proprietor….

“Lance, you still coming?”
“Yeah, fast as I can, but I will not arrive in time for your departure. Can you HBO? Help a brother out? I will arrive Commerce about 1800 hours…. Leave the key in the lock box or something; I want to off-load my shit before I go to the hotel.”
“Sure, got a CC number for me?”
“Yeah, no worries.”

That sorted, I drove on.
Presently I arrived Sulphur Springs.
And promptly got lost.
Could not find the road to Commerce.
Well, shit!
It had been some years and beers and tears since I had had to make this trek.

Finally found the proper road and guess what?
It was ‘under construction’ as they do.
Took me some few little minutes to navigate through that, but…. Finally… on the road again.

Commerce in my sights now.
Sped into town, saw Whitley Hall, High Rise and shouted out loud: HOME!
“Thank fucking God!’
(And this was a push for me, for as you know, I am an atheist)
Found the ‘rent-a-shed’ and off-loaded my shit.
Went to the Adult Beverage Store.
Then found the Magnuson, formally known as “The Holiday Inn Express,” checked in, and got very, very, very drunk.

Chapter Two Coming…
Whew!
Chapter One is Done!
Writing is hard!

As is my wont, I drop in music.
Music defines me, and yes, my life has a soundtrack.
I suppose this don’t make me nothing special.
Just yet one more schmuck.
Trying to get by.
And Waiting for Godot
(Vain reference from my college / university daze.)

Beautiful Loser

Read it on the wall.
Blue moon with heartache.
Nick of time

“Scared you’ll run outta time.”
Love has no pride
This old cowboy—MTB

Escape From Memphis–Chapter Two

Part threee may be discovered here:

New Life.  Video Credit: Cool Coyote  https://www.youtube.com/channel/UC9mNquw1Fc7beFfQ8OpnjRQ

Blinking back the tears.

Dont’ Toss Us Away So Thoughtlessly

Yeah I Screwed up the punctuation.

Screw punct-U-a shun— and spelling too

WoW! She Amazes Me! Yeah! Still Re-Shit-Posting! I Love This Woman! She Enchants Me! “Sandra! What Can I say?” I May Have Lost My Feeble Sanity!

I May Have Lost My Feeble Mind

Vid Compile Cred: Funny Fancy

It’s a ‘Sandra Kinda Day’

I Am Way Lost in Sandra Space Today.
Okay?

*****

I Can Relate:

Never Hesitate

Too Many Daze

B4 I Wake Up

She Invades My Mind

*****

Bonus Track.

Don’t Even Ask Why.

Cred for Vid: Chadman2000

Y’all Wanna Know The Worst Tactile Sensation Ever? Of Course You Do. Dirty Toilet Jokes: I Cussed My Toilet Out. Then I Felt Remorse. Apologized. I Dialed 911. When the EMT’s Arrived, They Were NOT Amused.

The Toilet Song by The Wiggles

Animation by Super Simple Songs

Shitter.png

Of course you do.

It is when you go to flush the toilet and that handle snarls back at you, rather limp-wrist’d, as if to say,

“Not tonight Asshole. Go back to sleep.”

(Now, in some truth, I could probably improve this post. For example: I should not have referenced ‘limp wrists”. In truth, y’all know how it is when you go to flush that toilet and there just ain’t no resistance. “Limp Wrists’ was just about all I could manage at the time of publishing…. (Isn’t that funny? Like I am a fucking news paper?) Dead-lines!

Some one shoot me!

(Make it quick! Head Shot! Right thru the mouth–or better…the mouse.)

God and some foll’ers will thank  you.

Foretelling  ‘Foreboding’ (See? I tend to edit as as I go… My father once tole me, “Lance! Enuff! Enough! It takes an editor to be smart; that is why we make more monies.”) some deep sea-toilet trolling (trolling?)  diving to fix.

Yeah…

Really?

Don’t think so.

Maybe tomorrow…

(There are three (other) toilets in this ‘Mouse-House’)

“So, fuck off.”

(My toilet did not reply)

Yes,  I talk to my toilet… don’t we all?

“Take your hand off that mouse Mister! Don’t make me come over there.”

“Yessir! Please don’t shoot me; I’m just the piano-player.”

“Sounds like bullshit to me. What do you think, Jim?”

“Yeah. Bullshit. Shoot him.”

“OK.”

Bang! Bang!

“He gone.”

(Sorry, Si Robertson; some of this … this is probably out-of-context)

Then again…

Maybe not.

We will not even begin to speak about your brother.

Damnit! I miss Christopher Hitchens!

 

Even more embarrassing

Been There….

Did That

At least More Than Thrice

But Who’s Countin’

Right?

You know the toilet is broke dick dog.

Yet…

You still try to ‘visit.’

And it takes three tries to get into the door.

(Yet, it is a really small door–just sayin’– and not so easily navigated, drunk nor sober)

Only to be so disappointed (yet again) over the the whole toilet experience.

OK.

Fine!

Resist?

Naw!

Below, please discover Lenny’s take on toilet-training.

(and of course: entertaining, or reasonable facsimile)

“Take This Toilet And Boil It.”

(Watch/Listen Below. Otherwise it all just falls apart)

Just like my fucking toilet.

“Dirty Word Problem”

: : :

Obscenity Bonus:

“Obscenity is a Human Manifestation”

–Lenny

Just For Fun Re-Run: Escape From Memphis–Chapter Ten: Psychiatrist Interrogation, or “Last F*cking Chance Asshole!”

Attractive Young Psychiatrist Nancy began her questioning in earnest:

“How long have you been drinking?”

“All my life,” I said.

“No, I mean recently.”

“Oh, ‘bout forty days and forty nights.”

(No chuckle; guess she was gonna be all business from this point.)

“Do you feel like hurting yourself? She asked.

“Pretty certain that is what I am doing right now. You ever been on a ‘forty day/night drunk?”

“Have you ever attempted suicide?”

“Of course,” I replied. “Hasn’t everyone?”

“How many times?” She went on.

“Only twice, but they obviously didn’t take.”

“When was this? At what age?”

“First time, I was thirteen. Second time nineteen.”

“And what prompted these two attempts?”

“First time because my football shoes were too tight, excruciatingly so, and this was affecting my performance and my passionate desire to become a High School Football Star.”

“Describe your attempt.”

“I pointed a locked and loaded , hammer back, .45 Caliber pistol at the roof of my mouth for about 5 seconds, finger on the trigger.”

“And the second?’ she asked.

“Oh, that was just over a woman. I would not call that unprecedented in the ‘History of Man.’”

“Describe this attempt please.”

“Well, as I said, it was over being dumped by a woman, a thirty-year old woman and it was also over the fact that I could no longer afford the car payments on my Chevy Monza 2 Plus 2.  So I drank a pint of vodka and at a high rate of speed on a deserted Texas FM Road, turned a hard right and flipped the car. Thrice. I figured I’d kill two birds with one stone, so to speak.”

“Were you abused as a child?”

“Do you mean do I hate my mother?” I asked.

“No. Were you ever abused?”

“My Grandfather shot at me with a deer rifle once, but he had cause because I had just a few moments earlier knocked him off the porch with a pretty good right hook to the jaw.”

“Why did you hit him?”

“He was trying to beat my Grandmother and she asked for help. Granddaddy was a mean drunk.”

“How old were you?” She asked.

“’Bout fourteen and change.”

“Does alcoholism run in your family?”

“Naw, it just kinda strolls. I mean, far as I know, it was just me and Granddaddy.”

“Do you want to stop drinking, Lance?”

“Yes. I don’t fancy dying just yet. I’m not ready.”

“Not ready to die, or not ready to quit drinking?”

“The dying part.”

“So, you’d like help?”

“Sure.”

I watched her on the screen as she appeared to be writing a short essay on her note pad. After about  two minutes, she looked up and said,

“OK Lance. I am going to make arrangements to send you to a hospital in Garland. They have better resources to help you than here in Commerce.”

“How long will I be there? I am a busy man, ya know? OK, just kidding, but can you give me an idea?”

“Probably three days or so to get you past the delirium tremens and not sure how many after that. Are you willing to go to this hospital and allow them to help you?”

“I never much cared for Garland, but sure. One problem though, I cannot drive it just now.”

“The Hospital will make arrangements to have you transported, so don’t worry about that. You just try to focus on the treatment they will give you.” She said.

“TRANSPORTED??? “What am I? A truck farm product?”

“Thank you Doc, I will. And, by the way, I am sorry for being a smartass, but I suppose you get that a lot, dealing with drunks and mental cases. I do appreciate your time and your help. Thank you.”

“It’s Okay Lance. I am going to talk to the staff now at your Hospital and begin making the necessary arrangements. Take good care.” She said and then severed the connection.

I got out of bed and returned the IPAD to the Staff Desk and thanked them.

“How’d it go?” One of the staff asked.

“You know, you can’t get Netflix on this thing?”

Unnamed Staff laughed.

Finally! (Love it when I can make someone laugh)

“It went just Jim Dandy, I suppose. Looks like I will be leaving Y’all soon.” I said, and then returned to my little Hospital Cave.

And waited.

To Be Continued…

Chapter One Here  

Chapter Two Here Escape From Memphis–Chapter Two

Chapter Three Here Escape From Memphis—Chapter Three—Shawn.

Chapter Six Here  Escape From Memphis—Chapter Six

Chapter Eight Here  Escape From Memphis Chapter Eight.

Chapter Nine Here  Escape From Memphis–Chapter Nine

 

Last Chance Texico

Continue reading

Up-Dated–Expanded–Major Re-Write–Memp-iphany: Yes! Elvis Has Left The Building. And, By-The-Way!–Fuk Yu Word-Press!—Why Cannot I Do a Simple Edit? You Want More of My Money??? Go Get Wrecked! Fix Your Shit!

Go Fuk Yer’Self Word-Press! I Cannot Believe I’ve Sent You Money, Lots Of Money, Every Year—For lots of years! And for What? I can Scoop Up Garbage Off the Street—Don’t Cost Me A Dime.

Not to Mention, I have Been on yer Bullshit Chat Too Many Times, Talking to Some Lame-Ass Schmuck/Condescending Idiot in Mumbai—-

Why???

Don’t Do Nothing.

Don’t Accomplish Nothing!

It is ALWAYS A WASTE OF MY TIME!

MY FINITE TIME!

ASSHOLES!

Go Sit And Spin

On Top of This!

FREDDY FENDER

“Wasted Days and Wasted Nights”

I Never Get No Satisfaction!

Stones!

Cred For Vid Share: ABKCOVEVO

******

Joni Mitchell –

“Furry Sings the Blues”

“Down An’ Out In Memphis Tennessee”

This Song is…

Words Fail.

‘Cept To Say, It really Moves Me.

It Do Help If You Know Your Music History

And Have Ever Lived in Memphis Tennessee

(Of Course)

“Bourbon Laughter”

“History Falls to Parking Lots & Shopping Malls”

Furry Lewis:

*****

Beautiful

Beautiful

Beautiful

Lovely

JONI

The Genius That is JONI

How Could Any ‘Thinking’ Man, Woman, or Child Not Love Her?

“Eye-Shades & Guns”

Joni Mitchell – Song For Sharon (Live London 1983)

“Face The Dream’s Malfunction”

If You Are Well-Read, You Will Catch the Ophelia Reference:

“A woman I knew just drowned herself
The well was deep and muddy
She was just shaking off futility
Or punishing somebody

Sharon

*********

Walking in Memphis

Cred: Marc Cohn 

 

Lyle Lovett – “I’ve Been To Memphis”

This afternoon I suffered a brief epiphany. Now yes I know, there is no such thing as a unique ‘brief’ epiphany. All epiphanies are brief. (“an experience of sudden and striking realization”) By definition. But I suffered one, brief though it was, now it is mine. I aim to keep it and make it not brief.

My ‘sudden and striking realization’ struck me at Kroger’s, standing in the check-out line and in my usual hurry. There was a man in front of me in one of those grocery-store golf carts. He kept bumping into shit, trying to navigate. He was cheerful. The cashier was cheerful. They both laughed at his lack of driving skills. Then… I had to laugh too. With them. Then it hit me. The cashier lady was black. The bumpy lousy grocery cart driver was white. In Memphis, this is how we roll: people are Kind to one another, regardless.

In Memphis Tennessee. My adopted ex-pat State, right there on the spot, I fell in love. Yes! Love! (took me far too long)

Ask me why? Why today? Why after so many times in which I have railed against the slowness of the shopping cart? The slowness of the cashier. The slowness of the people to gas their cars when the light turns green and I am in a hurry (hurry for what?) The casual way life is approached?

I cannot answer, but it hit me today.

It hit me! Suddenly!

I used to be that way.

That way. That bad way.

And I was happy, being mean.

Then I got in a ‘hurry’ and I was even less happy.

Never took the time to talk to folks. Never said ‘Hello’ Never helped someone needing help. In Memphis, people still help people; they have a conversation in the check-out line. Those waiting to check out, check their egos in their cars. Life is sublime. People are Nice! Nice! Civil! Nice Civil People! Can you imagine?

I need this.

I needed this!

I have it now.

I had an epiphany.

I have an epiphany.

And I am gonna keep it.

And I am gonna take it home (To Texas) when I get there. ‘ Lesson I learned in Tennessee.’ Shoulda learned it in Texas.  Texans have always had it. Understood it. Embraced it. With both arms open…

 

America!

I Will Always Love My Country

I

Glen!

“Try Some Kindness”

Bring Yer Own Goat

Where My Goat? 

Cred: Comedy Central Originals

 

So I’m standing in line at Kroger’s last night reading the tabloid headlines:

“Jennifer Lawrence gives birth to purple alien.”

”Perfectly preserved Elvis head found under back seat of ’57 Chevy in Dallas” (Why does this shit always happen in Texas?)

“Bill O’Reilly Comes Out” (Out of what? Stupidity?)

Just kiddin’ Bill. I love you man! Hahaha! (tongue firmly planted in cheek)

Anyhow, there is an elderly black gentleman in front of me, driving one of those grocery store golf carts. He has maybe five items in his basket. Still perusing the latest headlines, I hear the cashier say,

Bitch you crazy

It’s OK to say “Mother-Fucker” on my site. Tis rated “M”

“Eighty-one-fifty.”

“Eighty dollars?!” the man exclaims.

Now I look up.

“Yessir, eight-one-fifty.”

“Lan’ sakes chile. For what?”

“Well, you got them short ribs there… them was eighteen. Then you got that cough medicine, thas eight ninety-nine. Then you got that ‘luminum foil casserole dish, seven. Then you got them chips. Fo’ dollar. Then you got that gum there…. It all adds up.”

Black gentleman shakes grizzled head.

“Lawd ah mercy!”

“Yep. Y’all gonna be in big trouble onc’t y’all git home,” Cashier says. “Got a Kroger Loyalty Card?”

“Yessum, but far as I kin see, doan do no damn good.”

Now. I ask you: Since when do short ribs fetch nine dollar a pound? Since when does a nickel’s worth of aluminum foil shaped to look like a roasting pan cost seven bucks? Since when does a bag of potato chips cost four dollars? What has happened to my country?

Fuck it.

I’m moving back to Baghdad, where you can still purchase goat on the hoof for four bits a pound. (BYOB)

“Bring yer own bullets.”

No prob.