I don’t have the energy to recount the day in full at the moment, I most definitely will when I can, but the day did come.
I was given 8 years probation. I am free. I am not in prison… someone upstairs actually heard some prayers.
I think everyone has heard the tragic news of Dublin’s bottling company settling with Snapple Dr. Pepper Co and no longer producing what we knew for 120 years as Dublin Dr. Pepper, the original Dr. Pepper bottler.
I faced this news with the best brick wall of Denial I could muster, having for years cherished this classic bottler. Their DP is by far the best soda you could find out there with their imperial pure cane sugar and just the right touch of classic in their cans and bottles. It tasted like perfection, like childhood.
They say the same beverage is still bottled by Snapple and Dr. Pepper in their classic throwback cans that they now keep around all year long, saying it is made with the exact same ingredients. I remain unconvinced. While highly similar… it’s… just not the same. You can find Dublin Dr. Peppers going on eBay now for an average of $100 a bottle. I was lucky enough to find that I have two of my own Dublin Dr. Peppers tucked away safely in my closet, two Dr. Peppers that now I will never have the pleasure of tasting since they are worth so much and so very hard to find.
While maybe the flavor difference is just in my head, in the passed I have compared Dr. Pepper’s Throwback beverages with that of a original Dublin, and the taste is not the same. It doesn’t dance across the senses and the imagination quite like the original does. To taste a Dublin Dr. Pepper is to taste pure refreshment. It is a mortal sin (and impossible, since the flavor is so delicious) to open a Dublin Dr. Pepper and not finish it. A Dublin down the drain is a lifetime in hell.
Never again will I stand in front of plats of Dublin cases and see the shiny classic seal of an old school Dr. Pepper can, never again will I be able to look forward to tasting that refreshing beverage, as I will surely keep my two without ever opening them. I also have a Dublin Dr. Pepper t-shirt that I have now been forced to retire before I put too much wear into it, I plan on framing it soon.
It is the end of an era, my friends, with the best of the sodas out there gone – vanished down the throats of the naive and unappreciative in belief that those cans would never run out, never dissipate. Never again shall we be taken back to our Texas childhood by merely popping the tab. Now we’re left with the money hungry beverages of this world who can’t stand one little soda shop and bottler taking a minute percentage of their profits. What a sad, thankless world this has become – where we forget our origins as quickly as our shit flushes down the drain of our shiny porcelain thrones.
Final hearing set for March 1st.
It has become apparent to me, recently, that I have a small group of consistent readers. Which, is awesome, but also means maybe I should start putting out new material again to give you all something new to read. Here’s to all you return readers out there, I appreciate the silent but consistent support. In the last few weeks you have finally outnumbered the new visitors, which I love!
Alright, so… updates. There’s quite a few of them.
So, I’ll start with the legal front, I’m sure that’s at the top of everyone’s mind. Around the end of November or beginning of December, I had to go in for extreme psychological testing because they were building my file to give to the judge to help him decide to give me differed adjudication or not. That is pretty much where they let me off, if I remember correctly I wouldn’t even have to register as a sex offender if he were to do so. You see, my lawyer and I decided it was the better move to have a closed plea to the judge because he is the only one who can give me this particular sentence, if we took it to a jury they HAVE to give me at least 5 years in prison… and who wants that? I have an insane power hungry judge, but hopefully with my aunt (the alleged “victim’s” mother) coming to testify on my behalf and the results of the psychological testing, he will see through this charge and realize this was never meant to happen and will never be repeated- at least by me, anyway. I can’t say anything about those boys’ futures, they both already have a criminal record and a history of doing this to girls, as I’ve stated in earlier posts. Oh, and guess what? Their records and history isn’t taken into account at all in this case. Don’t you just LOVE Texas? I fucking don’t.
Anyway, the testing process is a whole post by itself entirely so I’m not going to go into hard details here, that is a story for another day. Just know that I arrived in the Dallas office at around 8 in the morning, and was not released until 4:45 in the afternoon. I had the pleasure of driving through Dallas traffic both that morning, and 5 o’clock traffic that evening… it was a blast! Please… sense my sarcasm.
I felt pretty good about the testing and now we’re just waiting for my final hearing to be scheduled. Right now I feel really good, but I know that as soon as a date is reported to me I’m going to fall into abyss for a while. I’ve even been off Mary Jane for several weeks now and I’m not even complaining, but I’m also stocking up in fear of my emotions when that news comes. Knowing this county, though, they’ll let us know when the hearing is only like 4 days before, the bastards.
In other news, I wrote a short story several months ago by the name of “Crooked.” For a while I didn’t do a thing with it but around December I started editing. It is now in it’s fourth draft, and possibly it’s last draft since about a week ago now I submitted it to Ether Books (www.etherbooks.com) to see if they’d publish it. Their base is an IPhone app where they sell short stories to the masses. I’m supposed to hear back within a 3 month period so I’m pretty excited to see if my first attempt at selling my work will be successful. I also am currently working on expanding the short story into a novel, and possibly a series. If “Crooked” is accepted, this blog is attached to my writer bio I posted with the story, so I will finally be taking the anonymous out of these anonymous posts and you can all finally know the author’s name of this hopefully interesting blog.
If it is published, I will let ya know so you can all go purchase “Crooked” for 99 cents on your devices, 20% of each download falls right into my lap and I could sure use the pocket change. If 100 people download it I get $20, woohoo! Gas money to go see my new girlfriend! And no, I’m not telling you about her. Not yet, anyway.
That’s all you’re getting for now, have a good day everybody, see ya soon.
Dec 4th, 2011
My fingers hurt. I know why. It’s my guitar’s fault, it keeps staring at me. It stares and stares and stares from it perch beside my bed. I tell it my fingers hurt, but it stares anyway, wanting me to play. My guitar is calling.
One Day Later: My fingers don’t hurt as much today, but I know I should wait one more day – I shouldn’t play. But it stares at me longingly beside my bed, like a puppy dog’s stare – near impossible to bear. My guitar is calling.
My eyes fall to the warm sight of the body’s honey hue, and the bar frets shining in the lamp light. I hear a soft strumming- a warming sound- my guitar calls to me, if I listen I can hear it all around. My guitar is calling.
One Day Later: I awoke and I heard the soft humming of my guitar strumming- I touched my fingertips then I picked up my friend, and right there I began, to play a sweet song I wish I could play all day long. Alas, I can not, I take frequent breaks so my fingers don’t rot. My guitar is calling.
A Month Later: Here it sits in my lap producing a soft melody, I feel like such a sap as my fingers go to the ready. My fingers tough with callous and my head filled with tune, my growing skill can be heard throughout the room. It still speaks to me as I continue to play, not letting itself go unnoticed a single day. My guitar is calling.
The only way to explain
Is, perhaps, through metaphor
But while it might entertain
It only shows the door.
Through the passage, though
Is where the well known secret dwells,
Where you always wish for mistletoe
And the longing for your lover yells.
Through the door rests the “L” word -
Devotion that can only be felt.
Even indescribable it exists undettered,
A feeling only understood once it’s dealt.
Tragedy lies within aswell,
For as strong as it is
Love doesn’t always end well.
But that is only half of it;
For when you find yourself in this room
You will love it every bit,
And so, could be standing in your tomb.
To love is to find new life -
You suddenly notice the air in your lungs,
You suddenly forget your strife,
You’ve suddenly skipped a few rungs
On the latter of your life.
You see new beauty in the world
That seems to not have been before,
Suddenly you fear of being hurled
Back through this room’s door.
But now your mind is open
And realization comes, finally -
This isn’t a room but a token
That gives you new eyes to see.
To have your old pair back again
Is a wish to be blind,
An impossible choice after the places you’ve been
And the beauty you got to find.
You will never want to give them back
These new eyes you’ve happened upon,
Losing them is a waiting heart attack -
For they turned you
As the ugly duck turned into the swan.
Slipping along in a game
Tripping over our own life,
Our feet the cause of our lack of fame
Our minds the cause of our own strife.
To be or not to be
Is that the question?
Maybe, we’re restricted by what we see
Our minds paying too much attention.
We imagine ourselves the hunter
When, in fact, we are the prey
Helpless in this torment without a shunter
To point us the right way.
A change in our life is essential
For our ancestors’ footprints lead to our destruction,
We must seek out our lack of potential
And fight Power’s easy seduction.
The world is beautiful for all its simplicity
As we continue to kill it with our own complexity.
For our greatest strength is fooling ourselves-
Complexity only sought,
Our aspiration for it only delves
Into our longing of what we are not.
Crashing with no burn
Then a spark of the light sets it ablaze,
Every molecule beginning to yearn
But the passing seconds are just a phase.
Similar to the droplets of the sea
We follow the current of this existence.
Helplessly attempting to simply Be
Yet all we’re met with is resistance
And misleading voices singing, “Follow me.”
The tides rage on,
Continuing their churn-
Our sights falling on the setting sun
As the world continues to turn.
We are meek, we are many
About as precious as a penny.
Be a nickel, be a dime
For in the End
We all face the path of Time.
A winter sky dawning
With whistling wind’s call,
Bears tucked away in their awning
And snow beginning to fall.
We feel the cold set in.
Thawing with cider, hot
A reminder of the wintry wind
And a season of things bought.
But from our childhood, we remember a feeling
When bringing good cheer was the only mission,
About something more than present dealing-
Memories of family and the warmth of tradition.
The twinkle in our eyes attempting to reignite-
Cuddling in close to those cherished most,
As we sit warmly bathed in fire’s light
Raising our mugs in a Holiday toast.
We remind each other what the winter season brings-
What the wreaths, and the wrappings, and the turkeys all mean-
To give thanks for those beside you
Sharing with them your cheer,
Enjoy the gift of being true
And hope to give it again next year!
Oct. 20, 2010
The day I had to surrender myself to the police was full of new experiences, and stress- as is the way with my life constantly of late, it was also … my mother’s birthday. I have grown accustomed to the high levels of stress I possess, so it isn’t that ownership that eats at me as I remember back to that day, no, it is something more parasitic than that. A look, nay- several looks, that burns into your memory like Listerine into the pits of your gums, making your eyes water and mouth scream for relief as you spit into the sink continuously trying to ease the sensation. But instead of the clean after effects of the mouthwash, the looks infect your mind with hate and bitterness that you keep trying to spit out long after your eyes stop watering.
We walked into the county jail, attorney in tow, and I left my few possessions with my mother as I was walked back to the judge’s office to sign a few papers saying the date and my formal charge of Aggravated Sexual Assault of a Child. Just as she wrote the charge down on the paper I could feel the rage boil inside me, how unjust this was, how incorrect. My name attached to such a charge was ridiculous by all accounts. Even though by signing the papers I was not admitting guilt, it felt like a lie was taking physical form, stretching out into a scaled creature from the lagoon, slithering across my life as it’s tongue darted out relentlessly, smelling the air for the best path to sink its poisonous fangs into my life; and by signing, I felt I was holding the snake to my neck, giving it the best position for the kill.
The original plan, according to my lawyer, was that I was to be taken into custody, filed into the system, and come back out all in a thirty minute period. That was completely fine by me, no complaints on this end until I realized the cops did not care in the slightest if there was an angry high dollar lawyer standing in the waiting room. It feels judgmental of me to say they were lazy cops, since I have wanted to be a cop myself for sometime now, but based on their treatment of me I don’t feel that bad to term them just that- lazy ass mother fuckers who all have power complexes. What was supposed to be a thirty minute ordeal, termed a “walk through” ended up lasting two and a half hours.
I’ll spare you the lengthy boring parts of just sitting on the bench they had designated me to sit on after searching me, while I just watched as the first guy who was supposed to file all my information into the computer couldn’t care less about getting it done, and after a length left the room entirely, replaced by a woman who I judged to have a good sense of humor from her comments to a big black guy they had brought in as I was seated there. The man was obviously a regular visitor, they all knew him by name and he was having lengthy conversations with each officer who he, in turn, knew names of as well. He had trouble staying silent while sitting in his holding cell. I don’t quite remember what the woman told him, but I believe it was in reply to something the man said. It was a play on phrasing, he had said something and she said the exact same thing except replacing the last word to call him an idiot, which- in my vast vaults of humor- I found to be funny.
She looked at me then, as I softly chuckled in my seat across the counter from her, and I saw a look I would only wish upon my fiercest enemies, an unforgettable look that still spits fire into my gut and forms a shadow in the back seat of my mind that Dexter Morgan would possibly describe as something close to his Dark Passenger. She looked at me with judgment.
I could have sworn this country was founded on an idea of innocent until proven guilty, but maybe I dreamt that in one of my crazy dreams where people don’t get locked up in prison for 20+ years for their only single fuck up of their life. What a crazy fucking dream, right? No, we have to lock up people at once! For their first big mistake! And use it to ruin the rest of their lives, because they must be- MUST BE a child molester!
Fuck that. Just fuck it to hell. Anyone…. and I mean anyone who just fucking takes the time to sit down with me, and have a free conversation for, what?- family, friends: say…? … 12 minutes on average, give or take one or two?- you will know… I like girls- of age. Megan Fox when she was in Transformers, the original… god, my grandmother would even do that bitch. Now I got you people wondering which grandmother! Ha! You’ll never know… or you’ll guess, and congratulations you’re wrong.
Or have you seen Emma Watson?!?! She makes ya just want to … start panting like a dog. Gorgeous, could never take my eyes off of her in any of the harry potter movies, including the first. I was eight when that came out, before I realized those feelings of mine were lesbian feelings, haha! and I couldn’t take my eyes off her in those times, even with her bushy hair, she was just cute. And then in Prisoner of Azkaban, the third movie, when she- as Hermione- slaps Draco Malfoy, or does she full out punch him? I don’t remember but I was done for then- now eleven, having actual “crushes” on girls and boys. I only realized what the boy crushes were, having been raised in a Texan background, learning from childhood girls like boys and vice verse. So the girl crushes I passed off as a wanting for good friendships. How young and naive we are. Anyway, she was instilled in my mind then as completely cute, couldn’t say a bad word about her until we all got a little older and she was an unhealthy weight, much too skinny; which I then gave the by-line in my admiration of her that she was currently too skinny and should get back to proper weight. Which, I think she did and now she’s really fine again, but remember that could just be my wishful thinking- I seem to do it so much.
Anyway, the second time I saw this look was a little after the first occurrence. The lady, who we will now refer to as the judgmental bitch- or categorically Bitch, Judgmental … so Bi- Judge for short … Huh … ya know, I thought I was supposed to be the perv here, the child molester, but ya know that BJ is a dirty judge, and is bisexual! Damn her to hell!
Wow… I’m not bitter. Piss, freedom of speech, is that still in effect? Because writing is the only place for me to get my frustrations out. If you truly limit writing, people begin to com-bust emotionally without an outlet to speak their mind.
BJ, the Bi-Judge- only she wasn’t a Judge; it’s just judge is what she did- took me over to this machine and this younger officer, who sprayed clear chemical solution onto my fingers and placed my fingers on a scanner where a computer read my fingerprints and filed them into the criminal justice official records of this country. As I’m standing there I’m originally pissed because as he’s filling out my information on the fingerprint records computer, before he’s scanned me, he asks BJ what my charges are: she drops her voice and looks at him seriously- answering his question while trying to share her disgust with him through her eyes. That pisses me off plenty, but then having to have a guy take my fingerprints and put me forever in the official criminal records of this country really, truly, pissed me the fuck off. That was alright though, I had plenty more time to sit on the bench and quietly get over it. Or maybe I was dreaming, and I’m not over it.
Dec. 1, 2011
I have a feeling come the end of my final hearing, which is soon coming, I will be over everything … or not over everything.
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