I Am Doll Parts, Or… “How I Came to Live in The Shit Hole Garage Apartment Which was not Really a Garage Apartment, but only a Shit-Hole Underneath a Garage Apartment.”

“I Fake it so real I am beyond Fake.”

Yes, I’m In-Love With Courtney Love.

“I Fake it so real I am beyond Fake.”

Redundant?

Yes, I Know

 

Memory fails, but I have pieced together something approaching honest fact. I lost my posh digs at Ponderosa Apartments, and was forced to down-size.

Madelyn My Sister (step-sister)

“How Do You Hold A Moonbeam In Your Hand?”

was living large in the ‘Proper Garage Apartment’ and was ‘in good’ with the Landlord. She informed me he had this ‘wonderful little apartment’ for rent, which was ‘just perfect’ for me. Read CHEAP.

I checked it out, paid my fifty bucks and moved in. The moving in took all of two minutes, for I had not much to move.

Working for Ruth at her Liquor store in Ladonia and making a solid three dollars fifty cents an hour (plus ‘benefits), it was indeed, ‘perfect’ for me.

Now mind you, I never complained about living in such a place. After all, it did suit me and no one would have cared anyhow if it didn’t. It had some kind of ‘certain charm (just like this place) to be sure.

How many folks could invite a guest into their home and lead them past the shitter before arriving into the living room/bedroom/kitchen/study proper? As far as I knew, I had the only such place in all of Commerce. It was special.

And truth be told, I did some ‘entertaining’ there a couple of times. The only person who I would invite over was my girlfriend. She never judged me. She was always happy to be with me, no matter the venue. (Yes, that sounds conceited, but there it is Gentle Reader—c’est vrai, or quel dommage, or… choose your own français).

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Sinai Field Mission. Or The Story of How Lance Lost His Mind and Later Found it Ferreted Away in His Pocket & Then Promptly Fell Hard For A Sabra (He Never Fully Recovered)

Back Then I used to walk around The Quiet Streets of Tel Aviv at three A.M.

I Had no reason to feel apprehensive

Fiddler on the roof – If I were a rich man

And Yes. No Shit. I Love The Old Jewish Culture

This Post is a Continuation of a Promise I made to Me (And to Y’all, Gentle Readers) to write about Sinai Field Mission. For brevity’s sake (The Soul of Wit), I am breaking it down into snippets.

To catch the back story, actually the forward story, please go here:

“No Bare Feet Beyond This Point” This is a Re-Constructed–De-Constricted, Sane-It-Sized For Your Protection, Old Post.

 

***

Me and Boeing’s 747 partners: Wheels Down at Ben Gurion Airport semi-close to Tel Aviv Israel late one afternoon, October 1977, just a couple of days before Halloween, found the Talmud. I mean tarmac. 

My final destination, however was not Judea; it  was The Sinai Desert, to live for eighteen months-plus on a mountain-top base camp,

Dubbed ‘Caddo Mountain’, (In deference to the Texans who built it and ran it and to whom I would soon become a compadre) some shit-hole between the Gidi and Mitla Passes: Historically, the only two routes armies could pass from east to west or west to east across burning Sinai to thwack upon each other’s opponents’ heads.

I was 40 days leeward of twenty years and a little more than apprehensive. (These Two States, Egypt & Israel, were still technically, At War)

UNEF BUFFER Zone

I knew some of the history, but I couldn’t be bothered that day about ‘Ancient’ History (Yom Kippur War, Six-Day War, ‘Suez War’ of ‘56, Holocaust.

Nope: I was here for ‘New History’, ‘My History’, ‘My Adventure’:

A Dangerous Desolate Gig (my first). I had never been out of CONUS (Continental United States) before.

And I was stoked. A fresh-faced, bullet-proof Texan Kid newly escaped from Louisiana

Lance, You Lie. (Like A Rug) Leavin’ Louisiana—In the Broad Day-Light

+

3.0and cock-strong! Fuck did I care for Mid-East Politics? I am here! Step right up! Texas has arrived! “Step aside, Son!”

Gathering my luggage (my father’s old sea-bag left over from his USMC Korean War days) and a few other bags, laden with tennis shoes, workout gear, books and magazines… way too much superfluous shit, I scampered to find my liaison, struggling with all my kit.

Finding him, a tall, skinny, thin-haired, gaunt-faced, ‘Middle-East-Hardened’ Texan Veteran (four months here previous to me, I discovered later), man who spoke with an air of, ‘Oh, you’re the ‘New Kid’… Follow me’ he said laconically.

He looked an old thirty-five to me. (Later I found out he was twenty-nine, but we were all so young there. Back then.)

Ignoring his attitude, I tried very hard to ‘get into the groove.’ It was hellishly hot, even for an October—a Texas October. I had jet lag and fatigue like a pup that had been crated too long.

Even though I was ‘stoked’, all I really wanted was a gallon of really cold orange juice, an air-conditioned hotel room, and a bed.

The ‘plane ride’ from Dallas to Tel Aviv had robbed me of some (I thought) important part of my young life and my health. I was severely dehydrated, completely spent, and pretty much left wondering if I had made some horrible mistake.

But, I sucked it up.

After a hot and hotter and even hotter bizarre drive (The Road signs looked so foreign to me, some form of hieroglyphic—never having seen Hebrew before—had not at that point read the Old Testament) from Ben Gurion Airport, through the busy streets of Tel Aviv (me resisting the urge to ask,

“Hey! are we there yet?”) we arrived at the Mediterranean Sea and the Sheraton Hotel.

My ‘liaison’ deposited me at the front desk of the ‘New’ Sheraton Hotel on HaYarkon Street Tel Aviv, telling me in parting,

“The R&R Vehicle leaves at 0800hrs; meet here in the lobby. Don’t be late. Goodbye.”

“Thanks Asshole.”

I checked in, and got me that room, such as it was. It was more a closet than a room, but it was cool and clean, and there was that bed tucked away in the corner…

I hit it, and slept like the dead.

To be continued…

Yeah, A Resurrected Re-Run. Please Forgive Me: I Know Not What I do…This is all Bull-Shite, Albeit True Bull-Shite… I NEVER Write Fiction, As Most Of Y’all Know.

Regurgitated Shi… N/M. “Facebook Philosophy” (One of the Vids Got Sucked Down-The-Memory Hole–Perhaps I’ll ‘Fix’ That Later, But Please Do NOT Hold Yer Bated Breath)

And I DO Apologize for Word-Press. Whose Total Tonnage Of Inadequacy Would Sink The Mighty Bismarck

****

WOODSTOCK! I Would’ve been THERE, But, ALAS: I Had Been ‘Grounded’

Not to Mention The Paralyzed Fact That I was Too Young to Have a

Driver’s License

Max Yasgur’s Farm

Or…

“Find The Cost Of Freedom”

I Cannot Find The Orig Poster To Credit.  Fuk It!

****

I Recently Posted this on Facebook (not sure why)

******

“To All My Facebook Friends:

I love to ‘share’ stuff.

(This is the ‘primary purpose’ of FB as I understand it)

Some of the things I ‘share’ are good.

Some other things not so much.

But I share anyway. 

Why?

  1. Because I can

  2. Because I want to

  3. Because it makes me happy.

  4. Because I am ‘generous.’

  5. And I try to make people happy (If only for a moment)

Yep. I am generous.

To a fault.

I will give you the shirt off my back if it will do you more good than me.

I will give you my food, my booze, my car.

I will give you almost anything I own.

Because I do not care about material things.

The only thing I will not give you is My Life.

(There has been only one time I was ready to give my life for a friend, and that happened one Labour Day back in the Early Seventies)

I am older now and hopefully somewhat wiser.

And have become so ‘loving jealous’ of my life of late.

“Life is for learning.”

–Joni Mitchell

*********

(Just for reference in case you are new here):

https://texantales.com/2022/09/13/cowards-die-many-times-before-their-deaths-the-valiant-never-taste-of-death-but-once-w-shakespeare/

https://texantales.com/2014/01/30/cowards-die-many-times-before-their-deaths-the-valiant-never-taste-of-death-but-once-w-shakespeare/

Just a little more “added value”

If you have come this far,

You must surely know by now how much I love Joni.

Original “Woodstock”

Song.

Sung by

A Poet.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cRjQCvfcXn0

 

 

A Rare Gem

A Treasure.

A Woman (of Heart and Mind)

An Angel.

(There is no thumbnail)

Trust me!

It is Joni!

Watch and listen!

Try this one:

(These two below, actually)

There is never enough Joni in my World.

If you do not love Joni,

Well,

You have probably taken a wrong turn at

Albuquerque.

And should not be here.

Go back to California.

Or Egypt.

Or Cat-Man-Don’t.

Or

Whatever Planet You Call “Home.”

These days.

I Love You So Much Joni!

Oh Fuck it!

I will revisit this when I am sober.

Fuck it!

WordPress is obviously 

Broken.

WP and I have this in common:

We are both…

Broken.

Fuck it!

“Is it all books and words? Or do you really feel it? Do you really care? Do you really smile. When you smile?”

 

And since I am rather fond of complete sentences

(and closure)

I just feel compelled to drop this bit in.

(For those few, those happy few, who actually “get” me.

And my sense of humor.)

If I keep dropping mindless shit into this post, I am going to lose my fucking mind.

But I suppose this “Post” Was All About Some Of The Favorite Things I Love To Share.

Now.

Fess up.

Wasn’t it?

Fuck it.

You should not have come this far.

Go Away.

(This one is just for Lance.)

Vid credit: Boston 4 Evaa

“Say, can I have some of your purple berries?”
“Yes, I’ve been eating them for six or seven weeks now. Haven’t got sick once.”
“Probably keep us both alive.”

I keep ‘sharing’.

But that was the entire point of this entire exercise.

Now,

Wasn’t it?

And just to tie up this thought process…

“Few of My Favorite Things.”

Someday, this post is gonna end.

I am gonna keep milking this cow until she be dry.

(Yes! I am insane!)

Please try to forgive me.

Or not.

Really do not care.

At this point.

“Sharing is Caring.”

Laughing out LOUD!

(I do NOT Subscribe to the “Social Justice Warrior” Magazine.)

‘Cuz I am an asshole.

But then, you’d know that….already.

Thank you if you have read this post.

I am not so much of an ass that I cannot appreciate any time you have spent here.

Thank You.

“Guess I’ll set a course and go.”

ZERO FUCKS GIVEN!

Oy vay!

Preach On My Brother!

The Church of ‘Fuck You’

https://www.scribd.com/book/485845652/The-Church-of-Fuck-You-Holy-Shit-Edition

I Tried To Tone The Title Down A Mite (Ever Try To Tone Down A Mite?–Exercise in Futility) A Thousand Apologies To Anyone I May Have Inadvertently Offended.

I Just MISS My Sister. Fuck Everything! I do Not Give a Shit FOR Life Without Her in it to Talk To!

Read if you have want. Yeah! I am bitter! Madelyn! Godamn Her! I Did NOT Give Her My Permission To Die!

She Died On Me! She Was Always So Popular! The Phone Rang Off The Wall! The Call Was Always For her! Never For Me! “Lance is an asshole! Talk to Madelyn—She is Nice”—

Bullshit! She was Not Nice To Anyone But Me. In Her Heart. We Knew and Understood “The Game” But We Never Verbalized it; We Did Not Have To”

I miss her so much

I cannot write anymore on this right now.

I’ll get back to it.

My heart is still broken.

Some may ponder

Wonder

Why

I Love her so much

Here is the reason

For All Seasons

She Always Stood By Me

Through thick and Thin

She was My Athena,

She

shielded

Me

From the World

(Even When I was in Iraq)

She was always there for me

Constant as the Northern Star

Change the name from ‘Richard’ to ‘Madelyn’

Then You May Catch My Drift:

Fuck it!

This was The Joni I wished to share!

So There!

Constantly in the darkness?

Where’s that at?

If you want me, I’ll be in the bar.:

Joni is such a complicated / fascinating brilliant woman,

as was my Madelyn, my sister

My much loved and missed sis

Goddamn I Miss her!

****

Lance & His B’Loved Sis:

I truly wish I had more pics, but I don’t–my misfortune, not yours.

The Untimely Loss of her… fuck it!

I have said it all before.

But I am sad.

I cannot put it more succinctly than that

I Miss Her

Now You’re Not Here Bitch!

Sit Down, STFU, and Never Leave Me Again!

I Want Another Little Jewish Princess. Just Before I Departed For Israel, Well, Actually The Sinai Desert, My Maternal Grand-Mother Felt ‘Compelled’ To Impart This Wisdom Upon Me:

“Lance, Find Yourself A Nice RICH Jewish Girl–And Marry Her.”

“Thanks Grand-Mother; I Shall Do My Very Best.”

I should NOT go HERE!

Reminiscing about my rebound lover from my living in Israel days…

After That Moroccan Bitch Gladys had dumped me,

I found a new, better girl.

Her name was ‘Ayala’

She was a Yemenite

 And she was beautiful—very, very, VERY beautiful.

First time I saw her I was smitten like a kitten.

She had very long dark hair and even darker eyes.

She was a Yemenite Jew Witch—She could turn frogs into wine.

Problem was, not too many frogs to be found in Israel.

We searched and searched

Alas. No frogs.

So just ended up purchasing wine from the store.

No shit.

And I loved her (briefly)

She was one of my for all-time best lovers.

(I should have married HER instead of some of the broads I later married)

I always smile inside when I remember her.

Song Below: Click it if you dare.

Kinda, Slightly, Up-Dated. And Y’all Just Know, I Am Inherently Lyin’…. “How I came to live in the Shit Hole Garage Apartment which was not really a garage apartment, but only a Shit Hole underneath a garage apartment”

“I Fake it so real I am beyond Fake.”

 

Memory fails, but I have pieced together something approaching honest fact. I lost my posh digs at Ponderosa Apartments, and was forced to down-size.

Madelyn, My Sis,

was living large in the ‘Proper Garage Apartment’ and was ‘in good’ with the Landlord. She informed me he had this ‘wonderful little apartment’ for rent, which was ‘just perfect’ for me. Read CHEAP.

I checked it out, paid my fifty bucks and moved in. The moving in took all of two minutes, for I had not much to move.

Working for Ruth at her Liquor store in Ladonia and making a solid three dollars fifty cents an hour (plus ‘benefits), it was indeed, ‘perfect’ for me.

Now mind you, I never complained about living in such a place. After all, it did suit me and no one would have cared anyhow if it didn’t. It had some kind of ‘certain charm (just like this place) to be sure.

How many folks could invite a guest into their home and lead them past the shitter before arriving into the living room/bedroom/kitchen/study proper? As far as I knew, I had the only such place in all of Commerce. It was special.

And truth be told, I did some ‘entertaining’ there a couple of times. The only person who I would invite over was my girlfriend. She never judged me. She was always happy to be with me, no matter the venue. (Yes, that sounds conceited, but there it is Gentle Reader—c’est vrai, or quel dommage, or… choose your own français).

Continue reading