The Demokratik Republik of Kalifornia

Do you ever get the feeling that something is wrong?

Madman Part V

Calling in the airstrike… Cry Havoc, and Let Slip the Dogs of War… Death from above and all that stuff.

An End to Ducks

 I had a shrink (Well, he was a PhD Psychologist but…) tell me some time ago “You have to stop telling people you are crazy because you are not crazy… You are an eccentric and  have a rather interestingly organized personality”. This was after spending an hour or so over lunch back when I still functioned as a Mechanic  and was embarking on what was to become the divorce from hell.

 I’ve always had a very deep mistrust for Psychologists, Psychiatrist and Doctors in general but I liked this old dude (probably 70 at the time of this lunch) and it was nice that he took this time to talk to me about what was going on. Later he would play a walk in part that would actually be the possible end of me, however this is another story). One thing that struck me was that he seemed to understand my problem with doctors and he shared a lot of his misgivings about his “industry” as well.

I had (and have continued) to read/study about psychology for quite a few years and believed I had a better understanding of what made many people tick than most professionals and the reason I believed this is I had to admit that people are by far too complicated to ever really understand… I mean the DSM just isn’t thick enough to even hold a tenth of the story of what makes me tick so how the hell can anyone be diagnosed/pigeon holed into any category of lunacy?

A Decade Later looking back over Three Decades.

 It’s been so many years ago now I’ve almost forgotten just how Not Crazy, But Eccentric I was. Many people don’t know this but I was once very violent… I’ve told people about this over the past 20 years or so and the general consensus is: they don’t believe me… But it’s true.

When I was in High School I actually beat the $h1t out of a kid because he called this girl that had no hair (… I don’t know if it was because of chemo or  Alopecia) a rather unpleasant name… I think it was Penis Head… I don’t even know why I became so incensed over it  but I lost it on him. It always went like that, I’d see something I found to be unjust and I’d come unglued. I guess somehow I thought I’d been appointed to be the defender of freaks and geeks which was weird because the Freaks and Geeks didn’t like me much either… I wasn’t an easy person to like in my teens and early twenties… If you think I’m eccentric now you should have seen me when I was stoned.

We all have our demons
We all have our demons

Looking back yet another decade and a half I think I may have the answer.

I think it was in the first grade that there was this kid named Louie. Louie was marginally retarded (we could say retarded back in 1971) and because he was slow many of the kids would tease (torture him)… I was one of those kids.

One day I got it into my six year old head to throw sand in Louie’s face and it got into his eyes… It really hurt him… I mean really hurt him and he could not see. I wasn’t filled with fear like a little school yard bully should have been but I was also filled with terrible remorse.

I walked Louie up to the office and stayed while the nurse I suppose washed the sand out of his eyes, he was crying pitifully and I don’t remember if I cried or not but I do remember that horrible feeling of being responsible for it.

 I don’t remember if I continued to treat Louie any better after that but I hope I did… I ran into him in about 1994 when my Grandfather died and I was in my old hometown for the funeral. I don’t think he remembered me but I remembered him, I was glad to see him and felt a special sort of weird gratitude that he looked so well.

By 1994 I had found a little balance (not much but a little) because I’d been sober for a few years and had not been in a fight for at least five or six years. In the end of my drinking I was too pathetic to go to blows with anyone and it wasn’t more than a year of sobriety that the mean streak had fallen away.

The Madman vs The Ducks Part V

 At 19 I was nearly killed in a car accident (well a driving  miscalculation that ended in flipping a car off of the freeway through a brick wall and into a parking lot). This began my Opium addiction and general downward spiral into an already screwed up life… I wound up with all my hair cut off as well as a leg brace because I had destroyed my knee… My buddies took to calling me Mad Max… Wasn’t hard to see why.

My Friends took to calling me Mad Max... It was not hard to see why.
My Friends took to calling me Mad Max… It was not hard to see why.

I became so “eccentric, not crazy” there for a while it seems unlikely that I survived… I got into so many altercations and did such insane stuff I should have been dead before I hit 21.  I had stopped using most drugs and settled into a diet of Alcohol and Heroin that should have dropped a horse yet somehow I lived.  A few years of that and I was done… I marred this blond and she kept me on a leash until I wound up sober… Then she left… Oh well.

Why Stomp on Ducks?

As the years rolled on I became more adept at doing life on life’s terms… Really I mellowed out like the Dead Kennedy’s said and I finally heard “Mellow out or you will pay”… I had no more problems with ducks… Well… Other than that brief interlude with the crazy woman that left my refrigerator on the front lawn… Lot of Ducks showed up to court during the divorce but they left as quickly as they came… Until this one Spring day.

Now… Again… Ducks are Everywhere.

Ducks are filthy animals… Ever step in duck $hit? Ducks make a lot of noise about nothing all the while feeling that their quacking is “just the thing to do”. Ducks hold positions of power, ducks knock the snot out of their ducklings while shopping at Wallmart for discount tortillas, ducks run over ducklings in parking lots while applying makeup and talking on the phone,  ducks make decisions everyday that affect us all yet they are too stupid to duck when you throw a boot at their duck heads… Ducks are the bane of all existence, Duck Denizens sucking the blood out of life just so they can get a certificate of achievement to hang over their desk.

What is to be done?

Cry Havoc, and let slip the Dogs of War.

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