Posts Tagged ‘aliens’

Happy Birthday to the White Earth

May 9, 2017

Percy sat in the room with a smile, looking unlike all the others in the room.
Eloise didn’t want her father, who was an assistant to the assistant
to the director of the EPA to discuss the fact that he had voted for
Trump and in a sense, was working for Trump.  She wanted no political
topics, discussions or debates to take place during the party for
their child who was turning one year old.  Little Sarah Mordecai
Terreblanche-Arnofsky.  The name Arnofsky, Jewish and Russian in
origin was the last name of the father, but not the husband of little
Sarah Mordecai’s mother.  Terreblanche, a French name, came from
France, then in the Acadia region of Canada then all the way down to
Louisiana where Eloise was born and raised along with her parents and
their parent’s parents before them.  And the name in English
translates to “White Earth”.  Oh and Mordecai?  Eloise and her husband
did not want to steer their biologically female daughter towards
acceptance of female identity.   They both feel that one day, Sarah
Mordecai should choose what gender she wants to be.  The gifts were
all neutral, most homemade gluten-free and vegan sweets.  The cake was
not really a cake but a bowl of honey mixed with picked fruit and
granola.  One of the Moroccans in attendance brought the recipe over
from North Africa.  In fact three men were playing dissonant sounding
Arabic music in a room with a hookah.
Percy poured himself a glass of wine, went out to the balcony and
looked over towards San Francisco from the condo he paid for in
Oakland.  Percy walked into the living room where all the young people
with their toddlers were sitting on the floor with their children.  A
young couple with ratty, matted dreadlocked hair wore shirts that read
“Resist!” in large letters, their small child also had on an onesie
with the same word on it.   Rainbows, Black lives Matter, Oakland is a
sanctuary shirts.  The guests ate vegan pizza, smelled of some sort of
oil and body odor.  Music indigenous to the middle east played.
Everyone was young and very militant.
Percy went to Oakland Coliseum to watch the A’s play a baseball game
earlier that weekend.  He wore a green and yellow shirt with a green
A’s hat.  The television in the living room had no volume on a
baseball game was on.  Percy ate carrot sticks and watched the game.
A young man in a beard, who shook his head a lot up and down, pulled
down at his beard and decided to engage Percy in conversation.
“I’m guessing this whole things ain’t your scene, man…  Everyone was
on edge wondering who the square was.  Maybe ICE.  Maybe FBI”
“Oh, I don’t know, young man… Square things can be a little round at
times…  You’re close.  I’m with the EPA”
The young guy laughed at the levity and tapped Percy’s knee in
approval thinking that Percy was only joking about being from the EPA.
Percy wasn’t joking.
“I looked at your whole get up man, and I was intrigued.  I mean
like, I just needed to know where you’re coming from, your bag, your
perspective.  You’re wearing baseball stuff and all.  I’m looking at
you and I’m thinking you look like the type that might have voted for
Trump…  So did you?  Are you part of the NRA?  Are you against a
woman’s right to have abortions?  Do you deny global warming?”
Percy lifted his glass of wine like he was toasting the young man,
took a drink, tilted his head to the side, adjusted his horn rimmed
glasses and gave a cryptic answer that only drew the young man more to
him.
“  Sonny…  I’m working with a realtor as we speak.  I’m trying to
find prime land on the equator on Mars.  I want a warm spot like
Phoenix…  You know like a balmy minus 10… Did you know?  No, you
couldn’t possibly know…  Anyway…I was raised in a house by a black
lady back in the early seventies who did all the cooking.  She had a
wide space between her two front teeth and she had bout twenty cats
running round the place.  If you wanted to finish your food, you
didn’t dare give a crumb to the cats til you were done.  If you did,
them cats would be all over you.  I had a mom and several men that
were suitors of some sort that courted my mom.  We lived in a home
where everyone contributed something and we ate together and the
adults hated the war and Nixon…  Did you ever live in a house like
that?  These were real Hippies.  They fucked each other in a loving
way, took a lot of dope and shared.  The music was good and people
really hated the president, the government and the establishment.  Can
you dig that a square like me was raised like that?  When you were a
tadpole in your daddy’s nutsack, my mom wore no bra, slept with
colored men with real Afros and wanted equal rights for women…  Now
this is the truth.  No bullshit, young fellow…  If abortion had been
legal in Illinois in 1965, I would not be sitting here talking to you
right now.  Yes sir…  I’m the son of a true, died in the wool, love
child.  She was only 15 at the time, if you can fathom that deep
thought…  Remember that nothingness is an experienced reality and
existence is transitory and fragile.
The young bearded man forgot that he had asked Percy whom he had
voted for and went on to describe an upper middle class upbringing in
a gated subdivision.
“Wow, young man.  That is truly a white milk, middle class,
homogenous, vitamin D, insulated life you lead.  Do you remember the
first black person you saw in real life?”
“It was probably at Dodger’s stadium in third grade…”
“Far out, man… I grew up practically a poor black child although you
would not know it to look at me…I grew up listening to Smokey Robinson
and Sly and the Family Stone.  We had a thing going on not unlike
Jonestown in Guyana.   Very cult like not unlike what is happening
today.  Free speech is acceptable as long as I agree with what you’re
saying,,,  Color didn’t matter.  Status didn’t matter…  You know, man?
People dying in Afghanistan and Iraq since before you could grow
whiskers and nobody cares if those young guys trying to make to the
end so that they can get their dough and go to college.  Nobody
protests the fact that we’re in a state of constant war.  Trump is the
problem…  Right?”
“Right on, man…  You said it!”
“Let it be soon, don’t hesitate…  Make it now, don’t wait.  Open your
heart and let my love come in.  I want a moment to stop when I can
fill your heart more love and more joy than age or time could ever
destroy…”
“That is some deep fucking shit, bro…”
“Yeah?  You can thank Smokey for that one…  Thing is that once the
war ended and people came home, shit began to fall apart.  Everyone
was worried about their shit…  It’s cool to take a stand when you have
food and shelter.  When you don’t have that shit…  Well, now…  It’s
survival of the fittest.  Origin of species, only the strong survive
and so on…  That’s just how it is.  A fire breaks out in this condo,
who lives?  Those with the best fight or flight response.  There are
people dying of famine in refegee camps in Africa…  Children dying and
some chubby white dude trying to win a Pulitzer is snapping off photos
of a kid about to die…”
“You’re one deep motherfucker…  Really man.  I mean, you show up here
and I think you’re going to be about as flat as the wall over here and
you’re deep as the ocean…  Keep talking , man.  I dig your vibe…  Do
you smoke?”
“The young man lit a joint and held it out to share with Percy.
“Not anymore, son.  I only smoke salmon now…  Where was I?  Old
people have issues with short-term memory loss.  Could have years of
smoking doobies as a youngster.”
Percy paused to hug his daughter who walked by with the baby in tow.
The young bearded man begged Percy to continue to talk.
“Man is condemned to be free; because once thrown into the world, he
is responsible for everything he does. It is up to you to give life a
meaning.  Better to die on one’s feet than to live on one’s knees and
that has nothing to do with submission or some homosexual
tendencies…  I’m cool with whatever you’re into, man… Freedom is
what we do with what is done to us… Putting your business in the
street, talking out loud… You better bring the chick around to the
sad, sad truth… The dirty lowdown.”
Percy mixed Boz Scaggs with Sartre and looked the young man into his
eyes like he was way out there.  The young man had no idea that the
old man was just yanking his chain, pulling his leg, putting him on.
After the Moroccan treat and ice cream, presents and singing, Happy
Birthday, Percy decided it was time to leave his daughter’s home that
he paid for.  Percy made it possible for his daughter to teach
philosophy at a junior college and still have a nice place to live
with her boyfriend whose job it was to try and stop ICE agents from
gathering up and deporting illegal aliens.  Undocumented…  You know
what I mean.
The young bearded man followed Percy out to a rented convertible car
and asked how he felt about President Trump.  Percy revved up the
engine on the rented eight cylinder Dodge…  A huge gas-guzzler.
“Son…  When you bought the boat and you’re rowing the boat, you’ll
take offense to those that will coast at your expense…  Just remember
this- Richard Nixon might have been the best suited man to have ever
been given the job of president…  Think about that and wonder why I
would say such a thing…  Some writers I know are damned devils.  From
them I say don’t believe the hype.  Their pens and pads I’ll snatch
coz I’ve had it…  Don’t … Don’t believe the hype… Peace be with you…
Man…”

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Cleveland de Brasil

November 2, 2011

Mathew, Mark and Luke all lived in a gated community on a hillside that overlooked the Pacific Ocean. All three of the men were part of the hated 1% of the United States that appeared to be flourishing off of the backs of those being displaced from homes and depleted of savings.
Mathew and Mark had become friends with Luke and his wife Maria a few years back after Luke made a killing buying and selling real estate. Luke’s name was actually Joao, which is John but decided to go with the middle name of Lucio or Luke. Understand? Orange County in California saw home prices tank before the rest of the nation. Luke moved from Ohio by way of Sao Paulo to southern California and quickly became a very wealthy man.
Mathew and Mark’s wives, Martha and Myrtle were friends with Luke and Maria and really appeared to like them but actually were suspicious of them and wondered how it was that both of them could seem so in tune to one another and so happy and content and yet never speak to one another. The quartet noticed that quite often, Luke and Maria would just look at one another without saying a word and it appeared as though they had a conversation with their minds. Mathew finally said to Mark when Luke went to his wine cellar to get a bottle of wine that he had purchased at a small winery in Italy.
“I think these two are aliens… I know it sounds weird but how do two people look so perfect, act so perfect, never fight, never complain and yet look at you as if they know something you’re trying to hide something that they already know about. Who comes from Cleveland and makes a fortune in real estate? What’s their secret?”
The three sets of couples sat eating and drinking wine in Luke and Maria’s backyard that had a magnificient view of the Pacific Ocean. It was warm as the sun began to set. The wine flowed like water. Luke had more alcohol than he had had in quite some time and could not contain himself any longer. Luke was no longer the quiet observer as usual. Luke went from being quiet to loud and aggressive yet maliciously playful all along.
“Let’s play a game… Shall we? Let’s call this game, ‘I know what you’re thinking’… You all must agree to this first. I want to make sure we are all on board,” said Luke.
Maria grabbed her husband by the arm without saying a word. Luke pursed his lips and held his hand up. Maria blinked hard and took a seat with her arms folded.
“This game is called Guess the Guests…Now then… One among us is sleeping with another among us while married to two others among us. One among us has actually been set for life since birth and has set up a faux business to give the appearance of hard work while screwing the secretary while she shoves beads up his ass in his office. One among us worried about insider information that they had knowledge of and is worried about the feds closing in on them. One among us is fucking everything they can whenever the chance presents itself including with friends of their offspring. One among is certifiably cuckoo and is on every sort of medication you could imagine to help this individual walk a straight line. Straight enough so that nobody knows or suspects that something very wrong is going on inside their brain… I’ll make this easy on all of you. If you take me and my wife out of the running on this guessing game, that narrows the field to just the four of you.”
“Luke! Nao… Por favor, pare. Eles nao sabem que podemos ler suas mentes…”
The guests were stunned that Maria could speak another language other than English. She looked like them and sounded like them but then suddenly bust out in another tongue when the chips were down and out.
“You see it for yourself tonight, my dear friends… My wife and I are truly capable of disagreeing, of fighting, of disappointment in one another. Here I am a Midwestern fly-by-night who happened to have that Midas touch… Like Goldfinger, right? I make money hand over fist and you all wonder how. How is he doing this? How do these two manage to get along so well? They seem plastic. They seem fake. They seem to be aliens who use some sort of telepathy to communicate with one another like some sort of weirdo Twilight Zone bullshit, right? You’re goddamn right that I see it in your eyes and read it like a book. I know your secrets… I know your dirty little secrets and you can’t hide from Luke. I know when you’re being honest and that is far more than any of you know about yourselves… So as they say in Brazil or shall I say Cleveland, after too many drinks; go fuck yourselves and cry or have another drink and dance… I will be back. I am going for more of the truth serum… More of that Cleveland Indian fire water. You either be gone or remain when I get back. You have a choice.”
Nobody left the table and nobody spoke while Luke was gone. They were all stunned and shocked by the brash outburst of a man who had never said very much in the past. Luke had never bragged or judged bdfore. Loud Samba music accompanied Luke’s return. Luke laughed loudly with a cigar dangling out of the corner of his mouth, holding four bottles of red wine. He was singing along with the song in Portugese. The guests all guessed it was Spanish. They were wrong.

Batom- a bala bate no meu coracao. Dentes espalhados pelo chao- Natural- E a vezes social… Vai la cou boi!

Nobody in the backyard had ever really heard Samba music before or danced to it except Maria who had grown up with it long before they reached Cleveland. They all drank and all danced and gave very little thought to the things Luke had said. They may as well as have danced naked. Their inhibitions disappeared. The Mexican wait staff and the Vietnamese au pair joined in on the dancing as did neighbors adjacent to Luke’s property until the sun came up over Santa Monica Boulevard.

At about two in the afternoon following the party, Luke stood and stared out at the water the way he had once done at the Atlantic Ocean as a boy and Lake Erie as a younger man. He held a cup of coffee and suffered through a headache as he watched surfers off in the distance wading on boards, waiting to catch the right wave. Maria approached Luke and without saying a word, spoke to her husband in Portuguese. I could write what she said to Luke in Portuguese and it would really sound pretty. In English, this is how it went;

“You nearly let the cat out of the bag last night. I really thought you were going to tell them how we know… They could never begin to grasp how we know things. It would blow their minds.”
Luke or Lucio, Joao or John, took a drink of his coffee turned to his wife and replied without opening his mouth with a big toothy smile.

“Pessoas de Cleveland… pode ser estranho…

“The People of Cleveland… can be strange”