Krash Khronicles - Early Rough Ramblings 1980
Krash Khronicles - Early Rough Ramblings 1980 sitting here, sixty minutes in the background, mike wallace grilling some crooked doctor for medicare ripoffs, while i am going thru the final stages of yet another bout with demon rum. soft muddled brain barely able to keep up with basic motor functions even at this late hour. bill's father died today. lynn called with the news at noon.
home from work, extremely tired for no reason, strange paranoid visions of a hidden disease that will put me away for good some day soon. my last week at bill's office. a very bad week for him. ralph's death hitting him heavily. bill does not seem to have a very strong belief in the immortality of the soul despite his past religious training. all i can think of ralph is of his new adventure and that i'll catch up with him somewhere down the line. i want to convey this feeling to bill but its impossible. called pam today to pass on the news. she's doing more and more modeling. won't be working at the store in coral springs as much any more. made a tenative date for lunch on friday. haven't been able to get her out for lunch in over two years. wonder how it will be? i need a haircut.
taken up,the habit of-consuming mickey malt liquor at home again ... wide mouthed bottles lined up like ten pins on my kitchen countertop.. images of kills painted on the side of a fighter plane. trying desperately to stay away from the bar scene for awhile. i'm beginning to convince everyone at smith brothers that i'm a rabid lunatic recently escaped from pembroke pines' lockup for the criminally disturbed, not to mention christoper's and scalleys ... and even i'm beginning to think along the same lines. went to groundbreaking today for coral springs rollerscating rink. what a stupendious media event, the twisted dream of some unknown PR man high on horse tranquilizer. the mayor, police chief, city manager, and half the payroll not excluding a large contingent from Westinghouse corp. the developer, the banker and the candlestick maker were there. thank sweet Jesus there were no other architects there. i don't understand why the commissions one takes only to provide cash flow...commissions, shit! rotten little jobs we do in order to eat, are the ones to get the publicity. karma i suspect. standing there with amy, these thoughts drifting through my unfortunately sober head, i was struck by the six or so people with gold painted shovels, grinning for the photographer and tossing sandy dirt into the air everytime he prompted them, laughing nerviously as the dust hit them in the face, i wondered how long he could get away with it before they started to pound him into an unrecognizable pulp with their gilded spades.
just back from lodge, totally XXXXNM%hd, shit, entirely pissed
off at the events just taken place fifteen or so minutes ago.
decided to come home for bookwork because none of the paint crew
showed their eager faces when i run into none other than brother
leroy calhoun, who is bent on the destruction of 'two niggers
in the woodpile'. it seems brother leroy found two blacks resting
out behind the classroom building, and fearing an all out attack
from these two on the forty or so white shriners at the temple,
he suggested we go on a search and destroy mission of our own.
thinking of the liberty city riots and the chastity of his wife,
leroy was a rock that could not be disuaded from his duty to get
those people off of lodge property before they could do us any
more harm. leroy's second choice was to call the police special
forces for an air strike. since i need leroy's help down at the
lodge, i capitulated and took the lesser of two very evil choices
and ran point for leroy out to the parking lot. because leroy's
eyes are starting to fail his eighty-odd year old body, the two
black panthers turned out to be a black guy and his lady taking
a rest. the scene for me at least, was tense. telling this black
dude, in front of his chick to move off of private lodge property
to the public park property barely six feet away using some bogus
excuse that they might be hit by a car where they were, the man
said no problem and i began to move away with a sick feeling in
the place, where my stomach usually is as leroy made sure they
knew it was nothing personal. he was right. it had nothing to
do with them as persons. maybe next time i'll have the human decency
to tell leroy to go fuck himself but i doubt it.
thinking again of ralph's funneral. ralph's mortal remains now on their way to canton ohio, via tenn. with his wife anne and sister helen. two unstopable ladies in their late seventies, on the road for that gruelling 24 or more hour drive in a rented car with the ashes of ralph stowed away somewhere, presumably in the trunk. anne took the entire thing very well. she's one of the strongest people i know. i arrived late, the combination of urgent and unlooked for lodge business and an unexpected connection with an old friend, paul blume. i had gotten home from the office with an hour to kill and downed a few mickeys when gene roth called from occachobbee (or whatever) with the great news that he could not attend lodge making it imperative that i be present. in near panic i reached jim putzig who was able to relieve me of my duties ... good thing as i probably would have slurred my words and missed parts of the ceremony. another mickey for the road and loud music and i started winding my way north on dixie highway. waiting at a light in the pompano warehouse district, i happened to notice familiar markings on the white chevy van next to me ... familiar because i had put them there. maddog' and i recognized each other at about the same instant. "how 'bout a beer?". "shore." i replied.
once again slugging down mickeys, listening to old rolling stones and generally rampaging around the apartment where hopefully i can't hurt myself. but who knows - it was a disaster the last time i tried to drink and stay home at the same time. that was last saturday after painting down at the lodge. I'd felt as if I'd put in a good day's work even though it was only three in the afternoon and that i deserved a six-pack of malt to mellow out on . two hours later the six-pack consisted of six empty bottles on the mica countertop and a few good blues cuts had spun around the garrard and i was ready for bear. after bothering amy . talking with her about subjects i really didn't want to, and finnally deciding she wasn't going to break perfectly well-made-ahead-of-time plans to go nite-clubbin' with a known lunatic starting at five in the afternoon... i bounced down the hall, out, and into the merc-cruiser for what i knew to be my total destruction. if only i had been as smart as she. 1st STOP: Scalleys. fairly reasonable conversation there, drinks for people long owed and some not owed. quiet place for my evermore critical condition. on the road again ... to Smith Brothers, scene of my most recent confrontation with sanity. starting to lose it a little at this point, short range sensors beginning to burn out, recognition centers on the edge of fusion, i sat down at the bar. "hi larry,, haven't seen YOU for awhile." "hi Deb. me either." from somewhere to my right.." give the doctor a drink!" .... (who is that?? ... who calls me the doctor? uhmmmmm... ADAMS!) "thank you kindly, mr. adams!" ( ... GEORGE!! george adams) slow turn to my right... he's only got two good looking girls with him tonite, but hell, it's only 6:30 yet, give ..im a chance. i am loaded enough by this time to babble . able to carry on a conversation by myself in fact. one of george's girls jumps in and saves me from this fate, however, i soon learn that they are on their way back to Pennsylvania on the following day, and i offer my condolences to them for having to reside in philly. i buy farewell shooters and the bailey's irish cream' begins to flow like mt. st. helene lava, so do my brain cells. @,,,time lapses.... a lot of time.... (who the fuck is this asshole cowboy beside me?? ... where are george and the girls? .... ???? .... SHIT! THAT'S NO COWBOY ... THAT'S JEFFY FOSTER!!!) i begin to feel like custer at the little big horn when he realized his wife was about to receive a nice check on his life insurance policy .... i was fucked. jeffy, being well known around these parts as a man who eats beer cans and bottles at parties when things get slow, has been my downfall on more than one occasion. excited talk wild laughfter more drinks... "LET'S GO TO CHRISTOPHERS! B L A C K 0 U T colette's face then joe's appear with a haze about them, my only hint that i managed somehow to make my way to christopher's time passes i am on the road alone in the vincinty of pompano fasion square. correction, off the road. correction, back on the road. (HOLY MOTHER OF GOD! I'M ON FEDERAL HIGHWAY , ROUGHLY TRAVELING NORTH) which is bad since federal hwy runs almost directly north in this area (THINK! WHAT AM I DOING HERE?? POMPANO FASION SQUARE BOBBY RUBINNOS ANNE.) into the bar,some of my senses returning, but unfortunatly a miminal amount. anne sees me, half-frown, half-smirk. "hi larry."…"hi osca-r!" we talk i can't remember.....more drinks another drunk accosts me who cares ... anne goes on her break parking valet brings my keys, they are closing down, i forget to tip.. anne returns ... the other drunk again tries to begin a conversation, i mumble anne marie treault and fall silent again time to go ,"bye, oscar". "goodnight larry" "let's have lunch," always my parting remark with her, but like with pam it never seems to happen at home again,(WHY WON'T ANY OF THESE KEYS FIT IN THE DOOR? uhmmmm, there's only two of them and they both say FORD! .... SHIT! FUCK! GOOOODDDD-DAMN!) ... back to the merc-cruiser, ………..light .... daylight! i sit-up, fast... look at the car's clock, 7:30AM. i look around, it is sunday, wade my neighbor is sitting on his porch. i've been told he's an alcholic and hasn't had a drink in fifteen years. we haven't spoken more than a few words together, but at this moment in time i feel he knows me very well. it's damn uncomfortable too. i find all my keys. i get out of the car,.slowly. "good morning wade,, you're up early arn't you?" "yes" i enter my apartment for R&R.
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Last updated: 8/3/96