Saturday, January 7, 2012


(A Short Play in one Act, and two Scenes)

Big Ace and Reno

(Or general idea behind the story)

The story “Escape” is much like the Author’s other works, biographical in many respects; it presents a version of his own life. In this case, an imaginative speculation about what might have taken place prior to his leaving Minnesota to go to San Francisco and what might have happened otherwise, had he not.
That is, had he not chosen to go to San Francisco, in 1968, as indicated in his previous book “Romancing San Francisco”? Moreover, had he not gone to Vietnam, as indicated in his book, “Where the Birds Don’t Sing.” In addition, had he not went onto college receiving two Doctorate Degrees, along with two undergraduate degrees? And seven Poet Laureate Awards; traveling the world over—to fifty-six countries, and forty-six of the fifty states, in the United States. What is more, had he not worked on his self-image—had he not taken as Robert Frost the poet’s idiom seriously, “The Road less Traveled,” then what?
It cast light on the significance for him on his neighborhood (which the police call ‘Donkeyland’), whose influence on his early life is obvious. He himself is perhaps was his own worse—if not only—protagonist. His estrangement from the world outside of the neighborhood, which consists of two neighborhood bars, a street called Cayuga, a cemetery along Jackson Street, called ‘Oakland’; a dozen or two dozen friends.
This story elaborates on one single night at one of the two bars, his central theme alcoholism or escape.
Making the decision he did, he in the process sobered up, wrote three books on the subject of Alcoholism, which he would not have done, had he not escaped the neighborhood, and became an international licensed drug counselor.
It is 1968, at this point, Chick Evens had been married to Barbara for fifteen months, she is now seeking a divorce, but Chick will not give it to her, he knows if he does, he’ll be drafted, and sent to Vietnam. He has a daughter named Darla, born in 1966; again authentic, but on his aesthetic, or visual theory, things could change, in that he ponders on a decision. In real life, Barbara had told Darla, his real father died, of course, this is not the real case, and she wants to marry another person.
Escape, in essence is essential theme; for those who have read much of the forty-five books the author has written, there is always truth interwoven into his dialogues, his narrations, thus, you see the author’s life as it really is today of how it might not have been had he chosen a different road in life.
He has an apartment on the east side of town (York Street), which again is authentic, he is twenty-years old, his brother Mike two years older, lives on Van Buren Street, with his two kids, and wife. He is a truck driver. Chick Evens is a kind of roustabout, better put, working for Swift Meats, in South Saint Paul, and becoming a chronic drunk, he isn’t at this moment in his life, anymore than a bum, as he mother once put it lightly. Perhaps more on the borderline of inspiring drinker, but he drinks almost every day, he likes beer, smokes three packs of cigarettes a day.
He has a girlfriend named Sandy Nelson; she’s sixteen years old, and a blond, tall, thin and nice looking, blue eyes, a sort of whore—or everyone’s girl, to get to the point. On the other hand, he had Sue Benton, sixteen years old, black hair girl dark eyes, very pretty, who wanted to be his exclusive girlfriend—so he was not lacking in female companionship, but she would not put out for him. Consequently, falling to the wayside; these girls will not show up in the Act, but it might be worthwhile knowing why he is not running after any girls during the Act. He also has a fake identification, and if questioned, he looks the legal age for drinking.
Therefore, now you know enough of the background of the story, to get into the story.
The tone to the story is haughty, if not portentous, in that it is slated on Chick’s self-importance. Perhaps you will get to know the author more, or better, knowing the most influential part of his youthful life, which drove him to escape the world he was in, was his neighborhood, and his dreams—although not fully developed yet. Escape is the objective, the author is trying to tell you, not everybody is successful in escaping, and how easy one may think it is, isn’t really so easy, that is if you don’t believe in it fully, and how one thing leads to another.
Had he not gone to San Francisco, and signed the divorce papers, he would not have gone to Vietnam, Germany, Italy, thus, not have written “A Romance in Augsburg,” or the 850-short stories, and 3200-poems and 1400 articles to date, along with forty-five books, or this One Act Play.

Escape: the Story

(Act One, Scene One)

Jackie S. and Nancy E. come in by the front door of the Mt. Airy Bar, on Jackson and Sycamore Streets, Jackie being twenty-years old. When she was fifteen, she and Chick Evens had a thing going, nothing serious, a teenager’s lighthearted affair you might say. Nancy is going with one of the Lund boys by the name of Sammy. The bartender is Jose Garcia, Mexican, a strongly build forty-five year old man, robust.
Jackie slender, from the Native American Race, is wearing a well made and trimmed navy blue blouse, and jeans, she’s slim and cute; as for Nancy, more plain than cute, brown hair, is holding a large handbag. They sit at the corner of the bar, towards the front door; it is 7:00 p.m.
By the jukebox and in a booth near the bathrooms are Jerry Hino, and his brother Jim, and Jerry’s second wife, Betty. A year prior, when Jerry had gotten mad at Betty, he and Chick Evens took a trip to Omaha, Nebraska, Jerry to get away from her, and that in itself is another story.
Jerry is perhaps the same size in height as Chick, but a 100-pounds heavier, and fifteen years his senior. Jim is perhaps twenty-five, more or less, about the same height as Evens, and build. They are drinking beer and smoking, kind of to themselves. Don Gulf, has come in from the bar across the street and is talking to Jerry, they are friends, about the same age, he is married to Jackie’s sister, one of the several sisters of Jackie, he is the biggest drunk in the neighborhood. Once he tried to pick a fight with Chick, thinking he was screwing his wife, when it was John L., (John L., who went with Evens to California; Long Beach and then L.A. and came back to marry his long time girlfriend, Karen) Larry L’s cousin.

Jackie: the boys are sitting on the church steps drinking as usual. I suppose Doug expects me to be there, but he can wait. They didn’t see us anyhow.

Nancy E: No, they didn’t, I saw Sammy there and Chick, he wasn’t there as usual, you should go back with him, you always give him the eye, but end up with someone different, he treats you better than Doug.

Jose: What you girls having?

Jackie: tap beer, any kind.

Jackie: (Points to the clock.) I heard Chick was going to San Francisco; learn more of that Karate stuff, he’s been talking about that for the last year now, he’s still living on East Side of town, goes to that gym he calls a dojo.

Nancy E: (Sitting on the stool next to Jackie, trying to get comfortable.) He’ll never escape this neighborhood, no one does.

Jackie: He might, he’s different. I heard Sammy asked you to marry him, is that true?

Nancy E: O, yes. (She is hesitant, coughs, then laughs, trying to put it off, rather nervously.) I’m trying to put it off until I finish nursing school, I want to be an LPN; that’s in two years, but he doesn’t want to wait, he says he’ll pay for it, he makes good money like, Chick’s brother, Mike.

Jackie: (Sympathetically.) Rather nice, I think he means it, he’s nuts about you.

Jose: Look outside, it looks like rain. (Moving towards the window, leaving the horseshoe shaped bar.)

Jackie: Is Mr. Carbonell working tonight? (Who is the owner of the bar, and kind of a snob?)

Jose: He always works the nights. (He points to the window it is raining hard now.) He’s in the back room getting ready, with Doris, the waitress.

Jackie: Yea, we all know what he’s doing with Doris, both married, and whooping it up.

Jose: Shiii, be quiet, he’ll hear you.

Jackie: we all know he stays with her in the back of the bar half the night after the bar closes.

Nancy E: It shouldn’t be long now; the boys will be in here, or across the street at Bram’s soon, I saw Big Ace’s brother in there, Kenny, you know the skinny one Chick went with to Seattle; he’s back with his wife again.

Mr. Carbonell comes out of the backroom up to the bar front area of the bar, towards Jose, holding papers, he advances towards Jose.

Carbonell: I’ll be a while girls, I got to count the money, and make a transfer, so if you want a drink, order one now.

Allen J: I’ll take a Bud before your start your business. (He shouts, he’s on the other side of the bar by himself, he’s been drinking nearly as much as Chick Evens lately, also the same age as Chick, they are both buddies, Chick used to like his sister, Italian stock, but she’s too young, fourteen. Allen is a nice looking fellow, black hair, his father owns a little business on Cayuga Street, polishing, and putting plated chrome on bumpers and other parts of chrome on cars and motorcycles, Evens worked for his father for a season.)

Carbonell: get him a beer Jose, I’ll open the register.

Doug, Reno (or Steve L. the fat man of the neighborhood, who married Judy, a silent a quite woman) Mike E., Larry L., and Jennie, Jacky’s sister, Nancy D. and her boyfriend, David, along with Big Ace, and his sister Kathy—whom Chick used to date right after he dated Jackie S. And Sid M., a friend who often stopped at Chick’s high school to pick him up before he enter the door, so they could get drunk (Jerry S, six-foot six, 240 pounds, and as dumb as an ox) all walk through the swinging doors of the bar.

Jose: Welcome boys, you will have to wait a few minutes while Mr. Carbonell clears the register. Hope you don’t mind.

Allen: (Rises up, waves his hand, as if to say hello, he is not really one of the boys, but part of the neighborhood, and not much of a troublemaker.)

Mike E: You see my brother. (Looking at Allen)?

Allen: he could be across the street at Bram’s.

Mike E: I doubt it, he does not like the place. Jackie, you see him.

Jackie: No, why?

Mike E: (looks at Jose)

Jose: Do not disturb me, we are counting, he was here an hour ago, left.

Doug: (He takes a hand full of change out of his pocket, hands it to Jackie.) Order me a beer, and the rest of the guys something, I got to go take a piss. (On the way to the can, he slips a quarter into the jukebox, plays Elvis’ “It’s Now or Never,” and Roger Miller’s “King of the Road,” and something by Johnny Cash. Bill K and his wife Judy walk into the bar at the sometime; Doug plays his last song, and heads on into the bathroom, waving his hands, a gesture of hello, at Jerry and Bill just before he opens the bathroom door.)

Mike E. You see my brother around, Bill?

Bill K: We were practicing karate earlier this afternoon in my backyard, I can’t say I have seen him since; he’ll be around though, he always is, why?

Mike E: He got some paper from the courthouse sent to my place, I think it’s his divorce papers from Barb, you know, his ex-wife.

Jack T: (One of Chick’s friends, comes through the door, hears what Mike said.) Divorce papers haw, he better not sign them he’ll be heading for Vietnam, I got my draft notice a week ago, I got to be going in three weeks. The bastards got me. Matter of fact, you see my brother Tom? (Tom is married to one of Jackie’s sisters, Trudy.)

Mike E: No. (All the other boys and the two girls, Jackie and Nancy, shake their heads no, but Allen, he’s not paying attention.)

Jack T: how about you goofball (Looking at Allen; Allen looks up surprised, Jack is a joker, and when drunk a loose cannon like his brother.) I’m just kidding, but how long you’ve been here?

Allen: I’ve been here a few hours, he never came in when I was here.

Doug: A letter haw?

Jackie: No shit, I bet he’s going to end up in Vietnam.

Mr. Carbonell: Okay boys, what’ll you have?

Doug: (Picking up his change.) Tap beer for everyone.

Allen: I don’t like tap beer!

Doug: Forget the big shot over there, tap beer isn’t good enough for him, asshole. (Allen just smiles, looks at Doug, he is a brawler.)

Carbonell hands each of his customers, which are really the neighborhood gang, all tap beer but Allen. The newspaper is on the bar, Big Ace pushes it towards Larry, and Larry the tough boxer of the neighborhood, tosses it in the basket behind the bar, knowing nobody in the bar reads anything, in particular, the neighborhood.

Carbonell: Please don’t do that Larry, I read the paper and Doris does after work.

Larry L. Horseshit, we all know what you do with Doris after hours. ((Everyone starts laughing, but Jose just keeps to his self and Carbonell leaves well enough alone.)(Bill and his wife Judy, are in one of the side booths, Doris brings them each a tap beer. She heard what Larry said, just produces a grim face. Jerry Hino is calling Doris over to place an order, there is a lot o noise, and Doris is hard of hearing, matter of fact year after year her hearing gets worse so it seems, one might think it’s from stress, with Mr. Carbonell…but who’s to say.))

Chick E: (Walks into the bar.)

Mike E: I had begun to think you’d never come in; haven’t seen you in a week.

Chick E: I’ve thought of that also, been thinking of going to San Francisco soon.

Mike E: You mean to see that karate expert from Japan?

Chick E: Yup!

Mike E: Still at the stockyards with ma?

Chick E: Yes, I see her almost every day there, she gives me a ride now and then, wakes me up, honks the horn until I get up, drives me crazy.

Mike E: Well anyhow, here, why do you have your paperwork sent to my house? (Chick takes the envelope, opens it up.)

Chick E: I never had it sent to your apartment; Barb must have, knowing I never seem to have a place of my own too long; blame her.

Jackie: What’s it say, divorce, you’ll end up going to Vietnam, Jack says so?

Chick E: I thought of that, but who cares anyhow, I wouldn’t mind it, be something different.

Mike E. What’s it say?

Chick E: Not much, something about “Inhuman Cruelty” for god sake, what on earth does that mean, she’s the one screwing everybody in town, I was at one of the east side bars a month ago, and a guy comes up to me, says ‘…is Barb E—her maiden name—is she your wife?’ I say ‘yes’, and he says ‘what a whore,’ and I told him, ‘why you telling me what I already know, it’s your problem if you don’t like her, why tell me?’ and he just looks at me like a dumb fool.

Jackie: You must have known it before. (He does not answer.) Didn’t you?

Chick E: No, I didn’t know anything. ((Jackie looks at him with a sad, and somewhat mystified face.)(Chick looks back at Jackie, knowing Doug beats the shit out of her, and she takes it, smiles slightly.))

Mike E and Jack T: What you going to do?

Chick E: It’s just paperwork, they can’t draft me until I go to court, or don’t go to court and let them do what they want to, and maybe the war will be over by then: isn’t that the case, isn’t it, or unless I sign it, and agree to it…something like that.

Jack T: Not quite, you don’t know what she’s thinking.

Chick E: Barb wants me to sign paperwork allowing someone else in the future to adopt my daughter, you know my daughter, Darla, if I sign it, and she’ll not go for a divorce I bet.

Laura M: (John St. Clair’s girlfriend had walked into the bar, John being the only brother to Jackie S., and overheard the conversation.) Go on and sign the damn paperwork, or you’ll never go to San Francisco, or in the Army, and end up staying here getting drunk everyday like you do, and dying early. ((Everyone looks at Laura; she is seventeen years old, Indian, very pretty, tall, and pregnant with John’s first child.)(She likes Chick, feels he has potential; she has read some of his early poetry.))

John S: (John leans forward, resting his elbows on the bar, he’s eighteen, his hands joined together) She makes sense, but for us guys, we like it here (looking at Laura).

Laura M: (Shyly, as not to embarrass John.) Yes, we like it here, because that is all we see in our minds. And it is my mind that attracts me to you John, and I love you, so I stay (she’s now receiving hesitating glances from John and everyone). Why do you think I come here John, because of you, but Chick has nobody, he can go and do and see whatever he wants? I don’t even see why he’s here.

John S: Why, we’ve known each other since childhood. We have to give our child a name. It’s you and I, it always has been (John is confused, he’s not as bright as Laura, he’s gulping down a beer) it’s not so bad here, is it?

Laura M: No. Otherwise I’d not be able to see you, and that I’d not be able to live with.

John S: Why then do you say all that.

Laura M: (Suddenly confused.) I had better go, I’m tired, and I don’t want to drink too much, the baby. (She looks at Chick for a moment, then turns quickly and leaves the bar. John shakes his head.)

Jackie S. What now? (She says to her brother, John S.) What now! (She says to Chick Evens.)

Chick E: I can’t say I want to go to San Francisco (With a tinge of intensity.) maybe she’s right, if I don’t sign those papers things will never work out. (Something in his soul, seems to be fighting him, perhaps pride, perhaps ridicule, perhaps drinking too much, or not having money to drink as much as he’d like to if he goes, if he takes on this new adventure of going to San Francisco, contrary to signing the paper, and unknowing what to expect.)

Roger L. comes into the bar, the same age as Doug, twenty-four, he works as a bartender on Rice Street at the Horseshoe Bar, also raised in the neighborhood. He is married to what is considered an outsider, someone not from the neighborhood, he joins Doug and Larry, leans on the bar. Roger used to live with his father and mother and brother Ron, across the streets from the Evens’, on Cayuga Street, a few years back. (Ron L., used to hang around the boys he’s now finishing up at a trade school, to be a Sheet Metal Worker—he seldom if ever comes around the bar anymore, he if anybody, escaped the bar scene, at least the neighborhood bar.)
Larry L., now puts in two quarters, five songs, old Elvis songs, “Hound Dog,” and a few others, people are dancing, Judy and Bill.

Roger L: Give me a bottle of Hamm’s beer!

Bill K: (Talks softly to Chick E, he is standing by Bill’s booth) Courage, it takes courage to leave the neighborhood. I went to Vietnam, ’65, as you know, it’s no picnic, but you’re tough, go to San Francisco, and Vietnam like Laura says, get out of here. You are never lonely anyhow, you like being by yourself, I can see that. (Chick is thinking, leans hard against the soft padding of the booth, averting Bill’s face; Judy raises, walks to the bathroom, allowing them to talk; Chick looks around for a moment. Crosses the bar, sits down by his brother.)

Mike E: You going to sign the paperwork?

Chick: I don’t even know. (He was kind of feeling: why so much interest in me? Was it he that was going to escape and they wanted to know; that they might lose something in their life? Did this for a moment separate him from them? He is kind of feeling, the third person. Did he have a secret held back from them that signing this paper was his answer either way? He looked about, people smiled maliciously. How would it look, life look forty years from now? He points towards the jukebox.) What do you want to hear?

Mike E: Jack Scott or Brenda Lee (He says with some reserve.)

Big Ace, to Larry: (He’s clapping his hands, singing ‘Twenty four black birds backed in a pie…’ over and over, he can’t remember the rest of the words. Big Ace has been buying booze for the boys since Chick was thirteen years old, when he had his first drink, and drunk.) I always knew he would go someday!

Chick knew everything would change after he signed the paper went to San Francisco. His life, his mind— musing now; in a very just thinking way about it brought him near to death, a coldness little by little filling his body. It made him see things differently. If he stayed in the neighborhood, it was finding a job, a woman to sleep with, a bottle of booze, a place to sleep, like the one he had now for $15-dollars a week, just a room with a bed. Half closing his eyes thinking, he opened up the envelope, pulled out the piece of paper, a pale reflection on his face, not saying a word. With dejected energy—he reread the letter, looked at his brother…

Chick E: It all can’t be that tragic (whatever it was, something new was gathering in Chick’s brain, perhaps he knew what he felt he always knew, had to do, that was the reason he did what he did, was going to do, and signed the paper). O, I’ll probably live through Vietnam, it’s all an adventure anyhow, die here on the streets, in the bar, or some other place, what is the difference. (Thus, he had signed the paper in front of his brother, calmly and bitterly, and ordered another beer.)

Act One, Scene Two

Behind the jukebox, where the two bathrooms are, alongside the bathrooms is a corridor, that leads to the back door of the bar, you can leave by that way, but you can’t come in that way, it leads to the street. The walls are plain, no paintings or anything. It is near closing of the same evening, now night. The bar is light lightly, softer music is being played, people are drunker up what they have left, gulping it down, resting their elbows on the bar, the bar closes at 1:00 p.m., the last call for drinks has been called already, and it is twenty-minutes to one.
Chick inhales his 57th cigarette for the day, slowly and then puts it out in a nearby ashtray. Then whipping his hands onto his trousers, he leans back, stretches his legs, and waits.

Carbonell: Let’s drink up, I want to close early.

Doris hurries about picking up empty glasses, and garbage here and there, from the booths, as Mr. Carbonell, is counting the cash in the register. After a few minutes, John L, and his wife Karin, who were at the bar across the street, come in. Followed by a few Hell Outcast motorcycle gang members, it’s still raining, John takes off his hat. John sees Chick, notices his cousin, Larry.

John L: hay man, do we have time to order a beer? (He is yelling at Carbonell, and looking at Chick at the bar with his brother.)

Carbonell: Why come in so late, you should have told me five minutes ago, its five minutes to one, it’s too late, and I’m closing up.

John L: (Is drunker than a skunk, and the bar is full.) Hell, everyone’s drinking, killing time, give me a dam beer! (Carbonell looks at his watch then at the three hoods in black motorcycle jackets from Hell’s Outcast. Figures if he says no, there will be trouble, but if he says okay, they will stay until two o’clock.)

Carbonell: Now I do not want any trouble here boys.

John L: (Laughs, uneasily. Picks up a chair and throws it at Chick, Mike, Larry and Jennie…) Have it on me! (He shouts, but Evens block the chair with his right forearm, and the chair falls short of herring anyone. Now the other three find empty stools and toss them about, Carbonell calls the police)

Chick E to Larry L: I think your cousin is mad. (Chick now is thinking, this is not his kind of life, he’s not sorry he’ll mail the letter off tomorrow, the letter he signed in front of his brother. Very coldly, he says :) Who wants to end up like that? (John knows he said something negative, but remains suspicious, and nearly passes out, one can hear the police siren in the background—John stares at Chick, he had beaten up his younger cousin a season ago for attempted rape on Sandy, and John has not forgotten that).

A short silence

Rapidly, everyone gets up, and escapes to their cars before the police come in and accuse them of being part of the mischief. Chick Evens puts John in the backseat of a Taxi, pays the taxi to get going, pushes John’s body down so the police cannot see him…and the next day, catches a train to San Francisco.


What happened to the boys and girls?

Roger L. died recently at the age of sixty-five, heart attack, at home in his sofa chair.
David, of cancer, died at the age of sixty-three or sixty-four. Allen died at the age of sixty-two; it would seem of alcohol use and a stressful body. David’s wife Nancy, her brother who hung around the neighborhood some, died at the age of fifty-nine of cancer.
Kathy S., died at the age of thirty-five, an accident.
Bill K., was electrocuted, working at a steel company in the neighborhood, one Chick Evens and most of the boys in the neighborhood worked at, at one time or another, he was perhaps in his mid to late thirties.
Mike E., married twice, divorced twice, with three children, was retired at 54, and at 66, went back to truck driving out of boredom.
Jackie did not marry Doug, but married a brother of Larry L., and divorced him a decade later, had one child.
Sammy and Nancy got married, moved out of the neighborhood, but not all that far.
Laura and John S., still live in the neighborhood, they have a few more kids, drinking as usual, at Bram’s; not much has changed for them except for getting older.
Reno, the fat boy of the neighborhood, Chick’s age and at one time good friend, became a drug addict, and died in prison before his 40th birthday; his wife ended up working at K-Mart.
Doug, started his own business, bought a truck, and last I heard was going to court on fraud.
Sid M. died in a car crash with two other friends, all drunk, at the age of twenty-one years old, they had stopped to pick up Chick to go to Hudson Wisconsin, to drink. Chick was with his new girlfriend, named Sharon S., whom he’ll never forget, who gave him a scar on his forehead, a remembrance right after he came back from San Francisco, for ditching her without notice; but had he went he’d be dead, so he can live with the scar.
Jim Hino, died before his thirty-fifth birthday, heart attack, trying to save up $100,000-dollars before his 40th birthday, he did save $60,000 for his wife Bubbles. He worked night and day at a battery company.
Jerry, died before his fiftieth birthday, sober, trying to put a transmission into his car, and it fell onto his chest, and killed him.
Betty died some eight-years later of alcoholism. She drank herself to death.
Don Gulf, died of a swollen biological system—cirrhosis of the liver, created by alcoholism; died before his forty-fifth birthday.
Ron L., is married, and has on his shelf, the first book Evens has ever written, dating back to 1981, one his mother gave to him, before she died. Ron has done well in life.
John L, moved out of the neighborhood, but visits the neighborhood boys whenever.
Sandy, never did show up much at the two corner bars, but hung out at one of Chick’s friends bars, and to this day still does, ‘The Born’s’ on Rice Street, in St. Paul, Minnesota, haggard like a dried up leaf; Jerry B., being Chick’s old friend from the late 1960s.

The Mt. Airy bar closes, and only Bram’s remains open to this day. Nevertheless, it has a new generation of followers, the children of the lost. As they say, from the cradle to the grave, they visit that bar, even Chick’s brother, now and then, hangs out there to this very day.
In the thirty years the author has been sober he has visited the bar twice. Just before, they closed the Mt. Airy. And Laura told him to get out of there before they talked him into drinking—Allen was there and so was John S., that he had been sober going on four years, and the boys would talk him into drinking sooner or later, Chick did up leave, not abruptly, but smoothly, as he had come in. And a visit to Bram’s some fifteen years ago, where he saw his old friend and guitar teacher, Sunny, who could out finger pick any player know at the time, to include Chet Atkins, he was playing lead guitar in that dingy bar. He had played with some pretty big bands in his day, Merle Haggard, if I recall right, some super country western star anyhow. He just could not stay out of the neighborhood.

(11-5-2-11) No: 833

The Repulsion of La Merced

(A Cthulhu Account!)

Found only in ancient manuscripts is the word ‘Cthulhu’ meaning ‘horror of horrors.’ A horror that numbs you, one that defies even Satan the Devil, the decipherment of the word can entangle both the pawn and the prey; it reduces human existence to a weak and stale plight. Thus, in this following story, one that is based on fact and considered by the author as historical fiction—in that he was not present, and nobody can put the whole story together completely. Hence, having to add or fill in the gaps, he has fictionalized with his imagination the areas of this account with his own descriptiveness, his own adjectives, that in which he feels belong to the story. This account takes place in November, of 2008, we will see a jealous mindless monster in motion, and the pawn will be devoured (names have been changed).

I will tell you of Naomi, She left Andahuaylas, Peru, in the Andes crossing into the Mantaro Valley and Huancayo, on November 3, 2008, on her way to La Merced, her troubles forgotten—for the most part— unknowing as she neared the city of La Merced, once there a jealousy and peril would engulf her life.
As she reached her destination (having taken a bus), La Merced, being in the central jungle of Peru, near Satipo, she went to find the domicile of her half-sister, and brother-in-law, to live with them as she sought work, in the fields, assuming she’d be welcomed wholeheartedly. Once she found the residence, she knocked on the door. A man slowly opened it—and with a long silent stare, a long parade of glimpses from heel of her feet to the top of her head, as if he was eyeing her every inch, she said “I am Naomi,” for a moment thinking perhaps he, Cesar, Laura’s husband had forgotten what she looked like. They had not seen one another for a number of years.
He had then asked her in—smiling, giving her a kiss on the cheek, as his mind and inners whirled with glittering visions of romance. His eyes read, it was not going to be the drab day (or days to follow), as he had expected. Life would soon change; she was to his liking, with nice features, and with a youthful attractive shape, even a tinge meek.
With the greetings over and little said, her half-sister brought Naomi to her private bedroom. Then as evening developed, while at the dinner table, Laura noticed her husband had taken the liberty of returning faint like glimpses toward her half-sister, although there was a misconception here, Naomi was not participating in this game—these glimpses were unnoticed by Naomi—for the most part, or not taken seriously. In addition, Laura’s husband continued this most serious game, nightly.

And so during the following week, Laura put on an invisible mask, to hide her jealousy, not that her half-sister was feeding into her husband’s scheme, but jealous manifestations of that illusion entangled her imagination to think so (but fundamentally it was not true).
It was during the second week, towards the end of it, that Laura could no longer bridge the gulf of evil she had created towards Naomi—the hatred that was boiling within her fiber—an awful blackness, layers of numbed blackness—the ‘Cthulhu’ kind. Her heart now pounding, pulsating like voodoo drums, an unstable mind unable to bridge the gap back to sanity, her spirit spinning, shaking her every bone for vengeance to stop this creature from subduing her husband, she had devised her plan—
Laura was now overcome, mad if not possessed. Moreover, seemingly obsessed with the picture she had drawn inside her brain. Along with an insecure ego, and fear of losing her husband; blood burning like lit firewood in a heath throughout her bobbling hot veins, pulling at her hair when alone in a private room, until the roots gave in, and dropped out, she was ready for her ‘Cthulhu’ misdeed. It would have seemed—to an onlooker, a spectator—she was more a product of a lost primitive race, a dim and long forgotten evolution.

Oh, far, far—far off was her mind this night, when she woke up in the wee hours, took a heavy handled slug hammer, red-eyed, with a slayers heart, the hammer swaying back and forth, as she crept into Naomi’s room. Causally she bent over the bed her half-sister lay sleeping in, lurking, laying in wait, with her distorted mind for the Cthulhu moment. Now staring at the face of her half-sister—mumbling quietly ‘banshee, she whore’, listening to her breathing, she lifted the hammer with one hand, as if it was a feather, as if she had found a hidden strength somewhere inside her body, for this very moment. Then with the other hand, she grabbed the wooden handle to secure it, to aim it perfectly over her head. She wanted to produce in her cerebellum an inane chaos, before she stepped into the horrifically primordial everlasting darkness, called death. It was as if a beast haunted her and that beast recognized the mark she was to strike, and like a great wind, she struck that mark: once on her younger sister’s forehead, the temple, the nose, she struck several times, bone breaking blows, and sent her into an outer darkness, yet she existed.
The following day she had died in the hospital. Yet, driven only by some restless whim, to show her half-sister, her slayer, she would not die instantly, against all cosmic laws—to leave a lasting remembrance for her half-sister—she remained in this world, one day longer—thereafter, like a crushed worm, she passed on.

Written 11-16-2008, after leaving La Merced, a few weeks later, the author was inspired by actual events turning up in newspaper reports of a killing that had taken place, thus following up on the murder, he was inspired to write the short story, “The Repulsion of La Merced”; if for anything, for posterity. Reedited and slightly revised for publication, 10-23-2011 dedicated to Nola and Sebastian.

The Chalice of Acopalca

(Things are not always as they seem)

He hadn’t expected to find so many townsfolk’s in the church—he had turned about and there they were. He knew morning services had already been held, and evening services would not be for hours yet; it was the dry season of this small Andean city of Peru, and early and late were the services, weddings on Saturdays only, and three services on Sundays.
For a moment he wondered if he did right. He squeezed into an empty pew not all that far away from the front of the chapel like alter—made out of logs of eucalyptus trees and planks put on top of the logs to even it out, the bag he was carrying, he laid gently down on the pew; the alter was lit up with a conflagration of candles, but the rest of the small chapel, was dimly lighted, and he was surprised to see among the group of several residences, the constable (or peace officer, police, the only police officer in the village) among the townsfolk’s, he was easily recognized. The priest was among them, grimed faced. They all moved slowly, saw the bag he had placed firmly on the pew—especially the constable.
You could smell a cloud of incense from of the candles seeping all the way down into the isles, circling the pews. The police officer was swinging a long rubber stick, one he used on defiant criminals. They had stopped in front of Manual Garcia—moved a few feet closer—looking upon him as some transfigured face, an outsider, which he wasn’t. He stood up as a man with unquestionable faith, which he was. The atmosphere in the chapel was gentler now, milder—but the police officer was harsh, not quite or as mild as the other faces among the group: darkness flooded his eye sockets, a great deal of blood seemed to fill his face, for that moment he seemed to want to persecute him right then and there, on the spot, “Let me see what’s in the bag,” he demanded. And Manual handed it over to him.
With fire in his eyes, he yelled “I figured so, you stole the Chalice from the church, it’s been missing since early this morning, right after mass, what are you doing here with it? What do you have to say for yourself?”
Everyone was waiting for his response, expecting one, as if it was an inquisition, and according to their changing faces, torture was how they were going to get to the truth of the matter, if indeed he pleaded innocent. But he never answered them, he never spoke one word.
“Actually,” said the priest, “we are not so cruel, as you might think, we just need an explanation.”
In most cases in such little towns, and villages in the High Andes, where there is little law enforcement, the rule of law is held within the hands of the community, handed out I should say by the majority of how they feel justice should be given to a culprit—: with thieves they are often given a beating or maiming them—shaming them in front of the whole town; with more sever crimes, even burning them to death is taken into consideration; it is not unusual—but it is on the other hand becoming less and less needed since the turn of the 21st Century, but Manual, had a good reputation. Nothing frightened him.

They had brought Manuel to the little square police station, that had only a small dark room for a cell, three feet by seven, no lights, a dirt floor, and a crib like mattress on it for him to sleep, and a bucket to do whatever he needed to do, it was his toilet—and since he’d not talk on the matter, they’d bring the matter up to the whole town to take a vote on just how they wanted to settle the matter, deal with this situation.
Suddenly, Helen Mayta, a school teacher, the only one in the township, seemingly standing next to the priest and police officer as the door to the little dirt floored jail was closed, had an idea—having been almost disengaged from the whole conversation with Manual and his capturers, trying to remember something. She had seen Jose Herrera at early mass this morning, the last one to leave she presupposed, since she was the second to last. A down and out drunk, who did odd jobs, caught trout in the nearby river stream, and sold them to the townsfolk’s for a bottle of beer, or coin they might have available.
She looked small and slender and filled with some kind of insight.
“Excuse me,” she told the priest and police officer, “I think there is more to this robbery than the eye can see, I beckon you to wait with your judgment until I come back.”
“Okay,” said the officer, not wanting to have attracted attention, several other folks were nearby, figuring if she had something on her mind, concerning this state of affairs, something is still better than nothing, because the crime did not fit Manual’s past behavioral patterns.

She hurried over to Jose’s hut, slipped through the door, it was unlocked and ajar, saw him sitting in a chair, drinking a beer. He saw her, stopped and turned around. She carefully examined his face, slowly pulled out a chair from his table, she was sure of finding out some information to this robbery. When she talked, she leaned toward him, right in front of him—eye to eye, nearly shoulder to shoulder.
“Jose, Manual is in jail because of the Chalice that was stolen this morning, what do you know about it?”
When she stopped talking, he turned away from her. “Go, leave me alone.” He exclaimed.
“I’ll follow you everywhere until you tell me what you know?” She announced without one iota of hesitation.
He quivered as if she had struck a bone inside his body, with a thorn, perhaps thinking: why on earth can’t she leave me alone. That is a drunk’s credo.
“He’s in great danger Jose, of being accused of a serious crime!” She howled, as if she had a wolf inside her.
“But I myself didn’t think there’d be so much trouble in bringing it back,” said Jose half turned away from her, embarrassed, or feeling guilty, he then paused. Then he turned back to her, now both alongside one another again, said: “In the chapel, the priest left the wooden box the Chalice is held in unlocked this morning, and I jumped over the ropes to the altar, and grabbed it, and Manuel, when he came over to visit me, saw it on my table, told me to bring it back, but I couldn’t, and he said he would. And so I let him, I didn’t think a ton of hostility would be created over this.”
“Yes, it led just to that, before he could put it back, he was caught with it, he hasn’t said anything to anyone about it, so if you don’t—do you see?”
“I know what they’ll do to me if I admit it,” said Jose.
“No we don’t, if I knew that, I wouldn’t be here.”
“I don’t dare go back there, but if I don’t, you’ll tell them and it’ll be worse for me.”
“You don’t know?” she explained.
He looked at her. What else was there to do, “You’ll come?” she questioned. Her facial expression inflexible, yet her eyes gentle. “Yes,” he said, “I’ll come.”

No: 833 (11-20-2011)


Earth’s Destruction and War on Humanity

[A reality or not?]

Writings of Dr. D.L. Siluk
March, 2006, revised and reedited, 11/29/2011

Scientists are saying an asteroid has appeared in the far out reaches of outer space, they have documented it, and expect it to crossover or hit Planet Earth, in the year, 2019 (this now is old news, stemming from a decade ago).
Carl Sagan had mentioned something like that in one of his books. The asteroid is a monstrously big one, larger than the earth; if indeed, this is the case, there of course would will be no more earth. After looking at this subject closer, I had come to the conclusion this is not all gobbledygook.

In 1984, I saw in one of my over fifty visions (reference is made to my book: “The Last Trumpet, and the Woodbridge Demon”) an asteroid zooming through two great bodies, such as, possibly two planets; one planet smaller than the other one. The asteroid looked rocky and big.
I didn’t see the asteroid hit the earth, therefore, could it have possibly zoom by it? If so, the result might be, causing friction on the earth like the moon does, and an earth-crust movement, which would alter our poles, perhaps the same way it did 12,000-years ago, moving the North Pole to a new location: being that it once once more so in the Hudson Bay area? Consequently, this could be another such movement. On the other hand, perhaps the South Pole was more centralized in the Atlantic Ocean than it is today, twelve thousand years ago, who’s to say.
And so for the most part I agree with the scientists and Mr. Sagan with this highly, and likely possibility of a worldwide disaster in the waiting: although I never thought much of Sagon’s outlook on things, and books, yet this concept does have a tinge of reality to it. Biblically speaking, the earth may endure, but will live on...
Should we live to see this asteroid zoom by the earth, a giant earthquake (s), would take place: in consequence, the world would be darkened for three to four months with the fallout? Also this could trigger the earth’s axis to wobble more, or stretch too far—this I sense is more likely.
Should any of this take places, having now a global civilization that depends on technology so much, it very well could be a prescription for disaster, and all of us sent back to the Dark Ages.

The Great March to Babylon

(or, ‘The French Crusade)
(1249-1250 A.D.)

Part One


The Battles Lay Await

Let us go back—
That is one of the story teller’s
And put ourselves in the
Year 1249-1250 A.D.
The period known as
The French Crusade.
This is really a French
Odyssey to say the least!
When great battles took place
And death and sorrow lay wait.


Part Two

The Noble Knights
(Beginning of the Battles)

The Ships

“To Babylon, to Babylon!”
The French Knights shouted.
(While disembarking,
Some 1800-ships)
Vessels great and small;
On Saint Nicholas’s day—
And thus,
Started the Great March!


The King’s Towers

King St. Louis of France
Had two great, chas-chateils
(The king’s belfries—towers)
Built—each three stories high
Towers of wood for the
King’s cross-bows
And archers to shoot and
Kill the enemy from.

Greek Fire

Unfortunately, the Sultan’s
Army, quickly destroyed
Each one, with Greek fire
(From warlike machines called
La perriere, which flung
The awesome fire—
Likened to stars in the night sky
Onto and over everything!)


The Templars

Even the Templars
Bold as they were,
Who formed a rear-guard
Whose names carried great weight!
Could not restrain such a
Great undertaking
(The great armament
Of the Saracens):
Thereafter, doom and disaster...
Followed the Knights of France!


The Great Armament

For days they fought
The Turks and Saracens
The French Monarch,
Anguished, with his:
Dukes and earls, lords,
Barons and knights.

Many had fallen and were
Falling to their deaths,
Many: brothers, cousins,
Kin: cloven-breasted.

As their wives back in France,
Whispered and wept—
Waiting for new husbands!

And in the King’s tent
There was ailing and woe
By the dukes,
earls and barons!
(The great and noble—
For their realms in France,
Which they may never see again.)


Part Three

The March to Babylon

War was Kindled

War and battles were rekindled
On the march to Babylon…

Shoulder to shoulder
Hand to sword
Swords and battle-axes
Hand in hand
Men on horses, the Calvary),
Turks and Saracens,
And Knights of France,
Warring…all militaristic
Both sides praying to God
For glory and might
To win the battles
That day and night!
Thinking they are right!
Not accepting wisdom,
No one kills in the name of God
Who is right?

And so the doors to death
Were wide open…


Disease and Death

One could hear
Next to his ears
On either side
The clang and clash of swords
Harden by hot anvils!

One to the other,
Hacked off:
Hands, legs, noses,
Hurled men and beasts
(Like bears and boars—in a hunt)
To their deaths;
Now like still stones
Laying on the ground,
Soon to be thrown into the rivers
And streams,
Staining them with corpses,
Reeking a stink
That caused disease and death
That once touched
No man could escape!


Part Four

The Doomed Knights

The Dauntless and the Dread

The Lords,
Gallant Knights
With battle-axe and swords
With lances, pikes,
All men on horseback—
Many too many,
Sank in the muddy river
To their deaths…

The King badly wounded
He hastened to recover
His strength,
To battle on
A pitiful sight and state for
A king…

(As often he did,
He made a cross in the sand
Each time he left his tent,
To honor Jesus Christ:
Perhaps, hoping to live
Though the day and night.)


The Esquire and the King

The esquire watching
The motion of the battle,
High on top his horse,
Was struck with a lance
Such a blow, ripped
Open his shoulder
Drove the lance into his neck
To where
He couldn’t draw his sword.
His arms fell around
The horse’s neck,
Then he fell out of his saddle
Onto the ground—to
His death!

As the king’s knights
Transverse the Turkish Army
Of over ten-thousand…

With the king surrounded,
Yet he made his escape!


Part Five

The Gallant Horses

Grappled with Agony

In the mist of the latter battles
The horses battle-fatigued,
Swayed with ripped hides,
Split asunder
Leaped over the dead
The rotting corpses
Over bodies as they foamed
And bled themselves from the mouth
Teeth garnishing
Spurs sunk deep into their flesh
As harnesses were used as whips:
Arrows and swords thumped
Against them,
Each grappled with agony
To go forward, to their deaths…!

And the heat of the desert
Sunk in, there was no escape!


Greek Fire

The Black Smoke
From he burning Naphtha—
The incoming Greek fire
One by one—as the knights
Gave up hope,
The sun unmerciful,
Hot and low,
No higher than a tree
Dropped the horses
To their knees!
Bleakly staring down on life…


Part Six

The War’s End

The Sword and Long Spear

And at the battles
Very end—the
Noble Kings of France
With their swords and
Long spears:
Wither their Infantry
Calvary, archers—
Knights, barons
Lords and all…
Could not smother
The great battles
For Victory…

(Bring to its concluding end
The war, yet with honor and dignity,
They expired nonetheless;

It was the might
Of the Great Dragon
The flying Greek fire that did!

And so it was,
The king and the noble but
Doomed kings of France
Were brought to their knees,
With extending arms and eyes
To the heavens
And cried for mercy:
And God heard them.



But let it be said:
No man goes to war,
And kills
In God’s name,
That is blaspheming!


No: 3256
(Written 12-8-2001)