Blood Dues
Current mood: impatient
Category: Writing and Poetry

Blood Dues

Dues
Due
What is to me
May not be to you
And for you it may not
Be true
But what is due
To me?
What do I have need?
And why do I
Feel that I am due
Anything in life
Except that I was born
And that I am due
To die
Some day
One day
Too far away
To be seen
I pray,
And yet do you
Feel you are due?
What is owed to you?
What do you expect,
Demand,
From this life?
Do you dew the due?
Do you expect
To kneel at a pew?
Is this too many questions
From me for you?
Are we all screwed
Because
We have been bought
And paid for
And did not know
There was a bill due?
Have you thanked the
The person
Who picked up the tab?
Or is that
Not what you do?
Or did you,
Will you
Know what you are due?



An Original Poem By Richard H. Langford Jr.
Sept., 23rd, 2008, 2:07am. 

6:58 AM - 2 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Is There Anybody In There?
Current mood: ashamed
Category: Writing and Poetry

Is There Anybody In There?

George W. Bush
Can you hear me?
Do you fear me?
Do you fear the we
You can not see?

NO?

That is the problem.
 
You do not hear,
You do not care,
You lend no ear,
You know no fear.

The day is coming
And draws steadily near
When your haughty Saudi friends
Will remember you no more
You old Texas whore,
And once the strings are cut
The man with his hand
Up your ass
Will no longer
Clutch your nuts,
What then?

What?
What?
What?

Who will you turn to
To regale with your tales
And plots and lots
Of boxed,
labled,
And marketed terror?

What of the Oval office deals
Where you
Let them carve up the spoils
While you kept your lips on the tit
Sporting a raging hard on
From the money,
And the oil? 

Is that a boil on your skin
Or your conscience bubbling
To the surface
Unable to break through
Festering,
Pestering any hope
Of a soul that remains
Like a stain
Of shit leaked from the anus
Soaking your pants!

Dance!  Fucking dance you fool!
Stop spinning like a top
Your flinging drool!

So sad,
It is a shame,
You bought into the game
A pawn on their stage,
Never taught to read,
To think,
But taught to pay head
To the spoon on chain
Tethered to tight,
How do you feel when they
Jerk the leash? 

Happy?
Alone?
Saddened?
At peace?

I will pray anyway
For any piece of your soul
That may exist
For I do not want your
Stain
To remain,
And become part of me.



An Original Poem By Richard H. Langford Jr.
Sept.18th, 2008, 9:49pm.

2:18 AM - 4 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Dr.’s Orders
Current mood: angsty
Category: Writing and Poetry

Dr.'s Orders

Slap my ass
And call me happy
In about two to three weeks
It is about how long
Before the meds kick in
And stop these infernal leaks

Why are my cheeks wet?



An Original piece 'O Shit By Richard H. Langford Jr.
Oh hell, you know what day it is right?

1:38 AM - 4 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

Lies, Needs, And Just Go Away
Current mood: betrayed
Category: Writing and Poetry

Lies, Needs, And Just Go Away

I will leave you
Outside
In the rain
Where the cold
Soaks in like the future
Stain
That begins
As a red bead bubbling
To the surface
Framing the edge
Of the knife
You will stick so deftly
In to my back.

Don't slack,
Don't waste the time
You have to talk
And plead,
To get me to momentarily
Pay heed to another
Drummed up woe is me,
                                      Please!

I have lost the taste
For the metal flavor
In my mouth
Before I begin to puke
So take leave
And darken not this spot
Below the light
On the porch,
For I need room to step out
And watch the dogs
Walk and piss
Where you need to lay
Go
You need not pay
For green is not to be seen
While your wife lies
And schemes

For her needs
 
For her needs
She parades
Like a smooth bellied M.I.L.F.
Ill at ease with her charms
Poorly flaunted,
But undaunted
She continues to ply
Her shapely wares without care.
 
This need
Fuels her desire
And brings her here
Seeking
What I desire not,
Yet her pain so acute
Her story flows
With such urgency
That my ears begin to bleed
And I grow tired
Of epic tale
And give in
To dial 
One last time.


An Original Poem By Richard H. Langford Jr.
Sept., 17th, 2008m 8:34pm.

1:14 AM - 3 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

One Kiss My Love
Current mood: cynical
Category: Writing and Poetry

One Kiss My Love

Will you kiss me once more
This morn,
Before I sally into that world
Of absently slung arrows
And dispassionate misbegotten wars
Where dreams are rent and torn
By a million ill laid schemes
All born
In stagnant pools of thoughts
Confined by rules
And lifted aloft to sail
Like lead zeppelins 
On stale winds
Over lands once mired in beauty
Now glossed over and retouched
In magnificent maleficent sin.



An Original Poem By Richard H. Langford Jr.
Sept., 16th, 2008, 9:02am.

1:49 PM - 3 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

YES?
Current mood: angsty
Category: Writing and Poetry

YES?

I have not come to
You
Empty handed,
Without question on tongue.
I stand here
With all that I have
Ready to fling
Everything
Into the abyss we call
Life,
In exchange
For the word
I need to hear,
And that which I fear
Is not nigh
Unto thy lips.
As I wait
Trembling,
Watching the tome open
Slowly,
And the pages turn
Like leaves
On a soft spring breeze,
I wonder,
I pray,
That my name
Is there
Written in gold,
Black,
Or red ink,
Hell,
I will give my blood
For your pen,
For your nod,
Your wink,
Letting me know
Finally,
That all my fears
Have kept me
From the brink.
As I wait
For the simple
Three letter word
From you
To me
Allaying all my fears
Assuring me
Of no more
Future tears.
I stand here waiting
For your reply.


An Original Poem By Richard H. Langford Jr.
Sept., 13th, 2008, 11:22pm.

4:05 AM - 8 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

Flight of the Albatross
Current mood: apathetic
Category: Writing and Poetry

Flight Of The Albatross

I do not know
Where you are
But I am here
Where I
Have always been
Lost among whitecaps
And skyline.

I am here
Albatross on wing
Being friend
Of neither land
Or rest
I give flight
To no fancy
I search for naught
But you,
'Tis no jest,
For I have flung my dreams
Into the wind
To let them be
Devoid of me,
Free,
Falling lifeless
To the salty water
Below.

Am I a fool
To let them go?

To release
What chance
I may have had
For the promise
Of someone I search for
Here
Among the waves
So much like trees
That I can not see
What could be below,
Or before me?

Is it futile
To think
That any moment
May be the one
To save me
And you,
Or send me
Forever
Over the proverbial brink?

Or am I
The hapless romantic
Bound to fly
Until wings can lift no more
And I flutter
Out of control
Into the sea
Over which I have seen
All these years
To die alone?

I keep and eye
On the sky
For flare from you
To this I
And one to sea
To see if you
Can spot me. 



An Original Poem By Richard H. Langford Jr.
Sept., 12th, 2008.  6:51pm

11:38 PM - 2 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Whiskey Eyedrops
Current mood: bummed
Category: Writing and Poetry

Whiskey Eyedrops

Weathered walls

and broken windows

are all that remains

in my mind's eye's room.

I have not the energy,

Nor desire

To clean the cobwebs

That have gathered

Like mourners

To a forgotten funeral.

And I am left

Bottle in hand

And this lonely land

lost in celluloid memories

And magazines

Of what was never to be

And for me

Will ever see.

My whiskey comforts

And sings me to sleep

With a sick

And twisted lullaby

And as I try to open 

Long closed eyes  

Sealed shut

With a white crusty rust

I pray that someone

Will put in the eyedrops.

An Original Poem By Richard H. Langford Jr.

September, 7th 2008, 10:34pm

8:16 PM - 3 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

Suomi; Last time for Coke
Current mood: thoughtful
Category: Life

     I had waited most of the morning for a call telling me the weed I was waiting for was in.  I got the call around noon telling me to come get it some time after three because my friend, and connection was waiting for her coke man to come by. It was well known to her friends he did not like company.  That was okay by me.  I didn't like the stuff too much, made me edgy and my heart race.  I liked to smoke, kick back, and bullshit with my friends, or enjoy nature in the wilds of the Copper Country.  A beautiful, magical place to get high.

     A couple of other friends stopped by my dorm room to see if I had gone to pick up the smoke yet.  I was picking up a half ounce for me, and a couple of quarters for them.  I was one of the few people on campus that could get ahold of smoke, good, dark, crystal laden smoke with few if any seeds even in the driest of times. 

     This was one of those times.

     I said I'd be back in a few when three o'clock arrived and hurried down across campus and down the two short blocks to Sue's apartment.  She was a graduate of Suomi who was smart enough to finish her two years on time, unlike me, who was now trying to make good on my third year to graduate.  I got there and knocked on the door three times in quick succession, and headed up the flight of stairs to the upper apartment as usual.  As I rounded the corner at the top of the stairs I turned left into the kitchen where I heard her putting something away in the cabinets.  

     I said hello, and when she turned I knew something was amiss by the look in her eyes.  

     "Oh shit!"  She said looking at the clock on the kitchen wall, "It's three already?  Um, Richard.  You gotta -"  

     There were three quick knocks on the door and feet starting to come up the stairs.  

     She looked at me and I sat down at the kitchen table and made myself comfortable fast.  She leaned back against the counter and waited for him to turn the corner into the kitchen.  When he did he stopped in his tracks.  He stood still, eyed me then looked at Sue, then back at me.  He wasn't tall, and wasn't wearing the army jacket because he had served, and wasn't big by any standards, but there was an aura of do not fuck with me about him.

     "Hey, this is Richard.  He's okay," she said, trying to convince him of that fact. 

     He continued to stand staring at me, trying to judge me and the moment.  

     "Look, really, I've known him for three years.  He's O-K-A-Y."    

     He looked at a last time then moved forward to the table where I was sitting.  Then he reached inside his coat.  Oh great I thought, please don't let it be a gun.  Instead he carefully pulled a gallon sized ziploc bag half full of a white substance from his coat and set it on the table in front of me.  His eyes were still focused intensely on me and my reaction.  I looked at the bag then at him and nodded with a smile and simply said, "Nice."

     He cracked a smile and for the first time I noticed that another person was in the doorway.  This guy was big and tall, and had the same aura about him.  Which was fine because I had no intention of fucking with either of them.  I just wanted to get my smoke and leave.  But he had no intent of my leaving before him.  

     He asked Sue for a spoon.  She gave him a small serving spoon.  He took it and thumped the bag and a chunk the size of a golf ball broke off.  He slipped it from the bag and took the silver mirrored tray that Sue was now offering him and began to break up the rather large chunk.  He then proceeded to finely chop the small pile of pebbles into a fine powder and effortlessly drew four lines across the glass surface.  Each line was about the width of a small finger, and the length of a long slurpee straw.  Aw hell.  That is alot of coke for the four of us. 

     He leaned forward and slide a straw along the line and inhaled snorting it all in one pass.  He tipped his head back and lightly pinched his nose and inhaled again dislodging the hangers on in the nose and then leaned forward and smiled.  He then slide the tray across to me. 

     "Here you go," he said still smiling. 

     "Thank You," I said, wondering how in the hell I was going to do such a huge line.  The whole line was more than I had probably done in my life total.  I smiled, leaned forward, and did the same as him.  I couldn't believe the instant numbing feeling, my nose immediately began to water and my head was a mile thick.  Holy shit.  This stuff was uncut.  This stuff, was, GOOOOD!  I held it together and passed it back as if I had done this a thousand times.  He then leaned forward and did another, and then passed it back.  Oh shit!  I had to do two of these?  What the fuck!  I was already starting to sweat and my heart race.  I couldn't feel my face, how the hell was I supposed to know if the freaking straw was even in my nose!  But I smiled and put the straw in the other nostril and destroyed the line that was left.

     He smiled again and got up from the table and went into another room with Sue.  She came back out with my package and asked that I stay for a bit after he left. 

     I said, "No problem, but can I get a big glass of water and can you open these windows?"  I was holding on to the edge of the table.  I felt that if I were to let go I was going to fly off the face of the world.  Everything was moving soooo fast.  

     She laughed and got me the water and then opened the windows letting in the cool air of a snow covered early spring day.  She sat examining me as I gulped down the water and her "Friends" left. 

     "Sorry, I thought he would have been here by three, but he told me he had some problems with his car.  That is what made him late," she said apologetically. 

     I assured her it was not her fault, and that I was going to be okay, but that I needed to get back as people were waiting on me.  I gave her a hug and left.  When I got back to the room I tossed my package across the room at the faces that had gathered awaiting me and the package.  I was bouncing off the walls, and while I tried to sit at my desk and relax I could not.  Sweat rolled down my forehead and temples.  My back was soaked, and my heart was now starting to skip beats, race, stop, and start again.  I worried, and moreso, I was very afraid. 

     My froends were concerned with me and my health.  I said all I needed to do was to sit still and let it pass, I just needed to sit still.  I could not. My feet were tapping and I was talking a mile a minute.  They asked if I was gonna smoke.  I said no, I am just gonna sit here and not die. 

     It passed an hour or so later and I made a promise to myself I would never do that shit again.  That was the spring of 1986, and I have never touched that shit again.  And won't.  There are many things I wished I had never done, but here are more things I am greatful for never having done.  I thank god everyday for such a severe aversion to needles, and for having never tried crack either.  Though smoking it in a joint does come close. 

     This labor day will mark the fourth year I have given up smoking weed regularly.  I have smoked on occasion with friends, but I can count those on both hands.  I am glad I no longer do these things because at the time I thought I was having fun.  But it took me three years, and a lot of money to get a degree that in the end is worth very little because of the wasted time there at Suomi.  Hindsight is twenty twenty.

11:50 PM - 3 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Cheating, Cheaters, And The Fallout.
Current mood: cynical
Category: Life

     This blog is once again as result of a comment on a friends blog.  Her name is Katelyn, and she has a gift for writing.  Check her out you might like her too. 

     I unfortunately as many you know am not married.  But in my years on this Earth I have had the oppourtunity to have a relationship or just intercourse with those in a relationship or marriage.  Granted most of these "oppourtunities" were in my youth, but I was able to resist the temptation.  A lot of it I put down to faith, another to values learned in childhood, and in part to experiences learned from. 

     I was as a Virgin (intercourse wise) until 37yrs of age, when I unfortunately gave it up to the woman I thought I could marry. I was wrong, and it didn't happen.  But during those 37yrs, I had chance to "hook up" with the girlfriends of friends who cheated, and a married Lady to whom I was seriously tempted.  In everyone of these instances the other mate was cheating, yet I felt it was a line I could not cross due to faith.  I could not, and refused to be like David in his lust for Bathsheba.  I could not covet someone else's, and feel good about it.  There were two, however, I felt greatly for in my heart, but did not ever state these feelings or act upon them.  It was dreadfully hard, and at times I wonder.  But I always felt there would be the stench of sin.  A stench that would envelop any possible relationship that arose from that union. 

     The values I speak of were ingrained from a young age by my Mother.  They were to do no harm to people, to respect individuals.  I had seen the results of cheating upon the lives of others including that of my Mother.  I did not like them and learned that the results of which usually caused harm to one, or both of the parties in a relationship, and often filtered into the lives of others including family and children.  I guess I thought that my actions shouldn't result in the hurt of others, especially children.  I know my actions over the years simply through living life have hurt others.  But never did I do something with the intent of causing harm, or knowing that my action would indeed result in the harm of others. 

     I have stated in blogs of my own my distaste for over the road truckers, and their propensity for cheating.  I saw it constantly in their actions, both in those I knew, those whom my Mother slept with, and those who tried to sleep with her.  My uncle was an over the road driver, and is still married after 45yrs(?).  I do not know if he or my Aunt ever cheated, but something within tells me no.  I could be wrong.  I learned at a young age the harm it causes.  I saw the lies, the sneaking around, the demeaning of one's self worth, and the guilt that often accompanied it.  I wanted no part of any of it.  One lady I was interested in and was falling for at my last job was thinking of seperating from her husband, and I was beginning to really put aside all rules I have had, but in the end, before any physicality happened I said not unless you have separated, are out of the home, and are getting a divorce.  She couldn't understand my thinking and laughed at that.  But I felt I had already caused some harm by just talking with her about my feelings and by falling for her.

     Sins of the flesh are hard to overcome especially in this sexed up society where we are bombarded by scenes of infidelity at every turn of the channel, and by implied sexual substance on every other commercial break.   We are urged to "just do it".  A simple little slogan designed to sell shoes.  But how far does that little line delve into our pysche.  How much of it slowly becomes part of our ingrained thinking to the point of "just do it" becomes a quiet mantra for just about every excess and self indulgence out there?  It is hard to be civilized, and act as a civilized human being when civilization no longer respects what it was that made us civilized in the first place.

9:53 PM - 3 Comments - 2 Kudos - Add Comment

Dating woe!
Current mood: blessed
Category: Life

Once again a MySpace Friend has inspired this blog.  Check out her Blog on Bad Dates, it is a good read, and Funny.  Her Name is "Mishy".

     It was my first year of college and I was getting ready for a date with a girlfriend of a girl I had met on a trip back home and had talked to a bit while I sat in the back seat of a '78 Trans Am with four other people.  She sat across our laps.  I had her upper torso and therefore got to talk to her the most.  We became friends, which was good as I had a crush on her roommate.  She talked to her and I found out she liked me as well, so I asked her out.
 
     She seemed nice and I knew she liked to smoke pot.  I was new to getting high so I bought a joint from Leo across the hall and went to pick her up.  I say that loosely, as I had no car.   When I got there we hugged and I asked her what she wanted to do.  Movies, a walk through town, the Big Boys restaurant in Houghton, or whatnot.  We decided to take a walk and see what happened.  Okay.  So far so good.  On our walk down Ripley st. I mentioned I had a joint, she said okay.  So I pulled the now flattened joint from my wallet next to the condom I had stashed there, and unknown to me at the time would end up never using.

     We started to smoke and pass it back and forth when the rain started, a soft mist at first then steadily harder.  We decided a walk to town was out of the question so we went back to her dorm house to watch TV or listen to the radio in her room.  When we got there it was already occupied and being used by two people groaning loudly.  A couple of the other girls with no dates were in the living room watching The Wizard of Oz, we sat down and leaned in to each other as the rain began beating down on the roof.  The other girls were now watching the movie, and watching us.

It was uncomfortable, and the pressure to entertain ourselves and them was too much, and the moaning grew loud enough at some points to over power the sound on the television.   The movie ended and we awkwardly said our goodbyes, each of us promising to do this again and have a better time next time.  Next time never came.  But I am sure her roomate did, several times.

9:39 PM - 8 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

Mice and Rats, Cute or Killem’?
Current mood: groggy
Category: Life

This blog is a result of a comment that I left on a profile of a friend here on MySpace "TRIPPER" and a side nod to "SMITH".  I liked the subject and decided to expand and expound upon it.

     I do not like mice or rats.  Let me start there.  I think they should be killed and tossed in the trash at all costs.  Also, they are not pets.  Sorry, white, and furry does not make them cute or snuggly.  Killem' I say.  I hated them as a child and still do.

     When I was a kid in the subburbs of Detroit the mice would find their way into our homes from the woods near I-94 in the fall, and we would have to use those old wooden traps with the metal spring flaps to kill them.  I used to regularly set these traps for them and dispose of their bodies afterwards.  They were so dumb I never had to clean the traps of blood or guts, just had to add more peanut butter.

     One once got it along the center of the skull splitting the side open wide and spilling the innards all over the place.  It twitched for nearly ten minutes.  I felt bad about it, but watched it nonetheless, oddly intrigued by it's involuntary muscle spasms making it look as if it was trying to get free.  But alas, it was no longer alive. 

     Despite feeling bad about the gore and it's apparent suffering continued to set traps.  Still do when I see one.  Because you know there will be more. 

     Now rats, they are a different story.  Their size makes me a wee bit more wary and perhaps if I am honest, afraid. 

     As a stockboy for Woolworth's in the early eighties I worked one summer in the heart of black Detroit.  I was the only white person I ever saw for blocks on end that week.  I used to eat lunch at the corner on a bus stop bench in front of a Deli/Liqour store/Check Cashing/Laundromat where I would buy a sandwich and a Coke.  I made friends of the two gentlemen who that stood on that corner daily.  When they approached me that first day thought I was crazy.  I said "No, just hungry."  They laughed at this and introduced themselves.  I wish I could remember their names but that was twenty five years ago and I have never been good at names.  But I digress. 

     The first day I worked there we pulled the U-haul truck around back that I had rented for the store we were moving across the street, and from which we had brought discounted merchandise (Junk) to unload in this store downtown.  While waiting for a fellow worker to run around front and let them know we were there I had a chance to survey the environs. 

     Not a good place. 

     There was debris that looked like it was left over from the riots of the sixties that was a mix of broken two by fours, crumbled concrete, crushed bricks, diapers, and other garbage.  The alley on the other side was bordered by the Woolworth store, a couple of abandoned stores, and at the end a Bakery.  There was movement at the bottom of the oddly hung back doors of the bakery. 

     A grey prescence was moving about.  Then all at once it shot out from the opening and sped across the alley and jumped at a pigeon that had not been so lucky to have heard it coming.  In the chaos of scattering pigeons and feathers he caught it by the neck and landed on the rock strewn broken concrete of the alley and quickly twitched his head snapping the it's neck.  He turned, looked at me, then sauntered back into the bakery. 

     Holy Shit! 

     This rat had to be nearly two and half feet long and nearly a foot high with a tail over three feet long.  I was terrified.  When the back door to Woolworth's opened I realized I was standing on the rear bumper of the truck and had somehow picked up a broken two by four for protection.  I hesitated before jumping down.  The manager who had seen me clinging to the door handle and standing precariously on the bumper asked me what was wrong. 

"A huge Freaking rat!"  I yelled, "It came out of the bakery and killed a pigeon!"

Oh, he said nonchalantly, "That was just Charlie.  He lives there and is harmless." 

Well you could have fooled me, he didn't look harmless. 

A few moments later I met a few of what I suspect were some of his kinfolk as they scurried around me, and over my feet, as I stood frozen in my tracks as the box I tossed onto a pile of plywood settled in a cloud of dust and scurrying rodents.  I found a reason to be out of the basement the rest of the week and had my helper take stuff down there as I handed it off to him at the top of the stairs.  

     I recently saw a show on television where they were disbelievers in stories of rats this big.  If they want to call me I will set them straight.  Rats do get this big, and the next time I am unfortunate enough to see one I hope I have a gun.  A fast shooting large round gun.  I just hope I don't freeze in terror.
 

8:55 PM - 8 Comments - 6 Kudos - Add Comment

Where I have been
Current mood: bummed
Category: Life

     This week was an eye opening one for me.  I had a scare and was poked, prodded, explored, shaved, scanned, monitored, sedated, and drugged.  Only the last two could be considered a good thing, and that is only if one stretched the definition of a good thing. 

     Monday shortly after noon I started to feel nauseous.  I went upstairs to check on messages on MySpace and my Mobsters Character, as I sat down it felt as if I had been kicked in the chest by a mule.  Tears immediately crowded my eyes, and breathing became a nearly impossible task.  I had had chest pains before, but this was different.  I gathered myself together and went downstairs to ask my neice to take me to the hospital in Davenport.  She was getting ready to take the kids to get their school supplies so she changed her destination and dropped me off. 

     I was glad to be alone.

     The staff at Trinity in Davenport proved to be a Godsend from start to finish.  After an EKG and some blood tests, the Doctor was somewhat confused.  The EKG showed no abnormalities or reasons for concern, and the blood spoke with the same surity.  The Doctor examined me once more pushing in, on, and around the chest trying to find a cause for the pain, the tightness, the diffuculty breathing, and the intermittent pain shooting down from the left shoulder joint through my fingers and out my fingers. 

     The final press just below my right ribs in the front and to the side elicited a sharp pain in the arm that has not abated to this date.  It is constant, and the cause remains a mystery they apparently are unconcerned with.  Another EKG was ordered because of the pain, and again nothing was found.  It was determined at this point I should be admitted and monitored.  To the ICU I would go, and Beni and the kids fresh from school supply shopping could go home.  

     That night I lay worried and drugged up on morphine as I anxiously awaited the Angiogram they had scheduled for nine in the morning.  I told none of my family and had no one there.  They gave me more morphine for the pain before I went down and gave me a sedative once there.  I finally got in a flat position on my back and they gave me more medication for the pain.  At some point before they began I fell asleep.  They woke me to say that all had went well and I was taken back to my room.

     Sometime before noon the Cardiovascular Doctor came in to tell me I was well, as far as the heart goes.  He was handing me off to a pulmonary Doctor as the next bet for chest pains was lung related.  He came in sometime around twoand told me he wanted to do a CAT scan among a few other tests he wanted to run.  He then informed me I would be staying another night.  Great more pain, and more boredom. 

     A few moments later I heard him order a test that made me shiver in fear and anticipation.  I would have to have blood gasses taken.  For those of you unfamiliar with this brand of torture it is simply taking blood from the arterial veins in the wrist.  Easy right?  Hell, no! 

     They have to go straight down and in trying to weave their way through the nerves to get to the vein, and then they have to hit it just right to get the proper blood to flow.  When they hit nerves, the feeling ranges from mild pain to sharp stabbing, and from your arm in a fireplace to the whole arm exploding and then leaving a throbbing stump.  During all this time a nurse, or a lab technician will politely excuse themselves in the act of hurting you.  You know they don't mean to cause pain, yet you want to rip their head off and say "Sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you either!"  But you don't, you grimmace, you clench your other hand, or you hang on to something for dear life. 

     Once that was over I retreated back to a hazy day of requests for pain medication as my back was having a spastic spasming field day.  Somewhere around midnight the pain began a slow and steadily forced retreat, as walks from the bathroom were lengthened to the nurses desk, and with the later addition of a muscle relaxer Flexeril, I began to walk the halls.

     Wednesday morning I had the CAT scan, and more pain medication.  Then after lunch an ultrasound done on my legs.  After four I was informed that my lungs looked to be okay, and that I had no blod clots in the chest or in the legs.  It appeared that my white blood cell count was elavated.  I had Bronchitis.  No shit, had it before and felt I had had it for a few days.  But what caused the pain in the chest and the still pulsating pain in the arm.  He figuratively scratched his head and told me to speak with my family Doctor when I see him in September.  I was released the next morning after my diappointed and upset Heart Doctor signed off on my case, and then  the Lung Doctor did the same.

     Three nights, four days.  Multiple tests.  And one large, very large bill coming.  I still have tightness in the chest that feels like someone albeit small, is sitting on it.  I still have the persistent pain in the left arm, and numbness in three of the four fingers.  And I am left hoping a man I see every three or four months can figure out what the friggin problem is. 

     And oh, by the way, I am now a diabetic, perhaps excercise and diet will controll it, but for now they want me to stick myself three times a day, and stick myself with a needle.  Aint happening.  I know, I know, diabetes is treatable, but all my life I have seen the inevitable decline in health it causes.  It wrecks the body slowly but surely.  Even when controlled it still causes eventual damage.  Give me a heart attack and let it be done.  I do not want to go out piece meal, or on dialysis. 

     I will wait a month, and hope it can be controlled through diet and excercise or at least with pills.  Needles are not an option for me. 

9:32 PM - 4 Comments - 4 Kudos - Add Comment

Fathers In Snapshots Of Time; Part 6.
Current mood: bummed
Category: Life

     My own Father was for me an Immortal, though killed in Vietnam, stories told to me about him made me think of him as something beyond a man.  He was a hero, and he was timeless.  He would always be that awkward looking man in a crew cut, wearing a blue navy work shirt, and hideous horn rimmed government issue glasses.  This was the image I chose to remember often.  An image I had seen in repeated viewings of 8mm soundless film, that was played back on a Bell projector aimed at a collapsable screen, or the wall if I wanted to see him lifelike and tall.

     But the image and stories would come back to haunt me through the years.  When my Father was killed in Vietnam he was about to be promoted to EN-3.  The papers had already gone through but because he had been temporarily detailed to the U.S.S. COOK from his normal assignment the BEXAR, he was not officially due to be promoted until his return. 

     After I graduated from Suomi College in the spring of '86, I was unsure of my plans.  I wanted to be a writer, but the University of Iowa, though intrigued by my writing samples, was nonplussed about my academic prowess, or commitment to an education.  Then again I was unsure of my commitment to an education either. 

     On the way to a pet store one afternoon I parked in front of a recruiting office.  As I got out the Navy Department of Defense Seal on the door caught my eye.  Without knowing why, I pulled the door open and entered.  I was greeted by an enlisted man who introduced himself as Petty Officer 1st class something or other.  I didn't hear it and wasn't sure why I was there.  But he offered a seat and I sat down. 

     "Well, Mr., . . ." He asked and waited.

     "Um Langford, Richard Langford, Jr. actually." I said looking at the recruitment posters strung along the walls. 

     "Well Mr. Richard Langford Jr.," He said, smiling as he used my full name, "What can I clarify for you today?"

     "Clarify?"  I asked still confused. 

     "Well, what can I answer for you, or what may I help you with?"  He asked smile still there but now accompanied by a more businesslike manner.

     "I am not sure really, I wasn't intending on coming in here today, something just pulled me . . ." I said drifting off.

     "Well, why the Navy?" He asked, "Let's start with that." 

     I quickly told him about my Father and that if I was going to serve my country I was not going to do it in any other branch. 

     He sat back and sighed, thought a moment and said, "Well, would you like to take a test to see if this might be for you?  It is a starting place and might clarify things for you."

     He seemed to like the word clarify.  He smiled and appeared contemplate the sound it made as it rolled off his lips when he said it.  He leaned forward and placed a few papers in front of me and handed me a pencil.  He then got up and walked over to a table by the window and sat down next to a couple of other recruiters, a marine, and a army sargeant.  I looked around again, I hadn't noticed the other branches of the military before.  I looked back down at the table and realized he had placed a test in front of me.  I was holding a No.2 pencil.  I chuckled and thought what the hell.  So I took the test.

     I sat across from him as he checked the scores.  A smile began to form and bit by bit I could see the smile was also beginning to become happy.  Well, I thought, either I did good or I bombed and he is about to loose it with laughter.  He finished and said "Son, what would you like to do in the Navy?"

    "Why, did I do well?"

     "98 percentile across the board.  I have only seen a couple of tests like this in my sixteen years recruiting.  And you said you graduated with straight C grade point average?" He asked incredulously.

     "Yes.  Why?"

     "Why, son you can sign up for whatever you want with these scores." He said sitting back down.  The other recruiters were coming over to check the scores as well.  "Relax guys,"  He sad to them, "This kid here is Navy bred through and through.  He's mine." 

     My head popped up at that one.  I aint anyone's yet.  I thought I had heard a little bell go off in the distance. 

     "Like I said, I don't know why I came in here today.  But if I had to choose anything it would be the Nuclear Subs." 

     His eyes lit up and seemed to glisten as if he was about to cry.  "Nukes?  Well, hell!  We could get you in . . . Um by the way what do you weigh?" 

     "265lbs."

     "Well, we can get you in a weight reduction class, 11lbs. aint much and they can work it off you, plus you'll be in better shape when you get to basic, and when you get out of basic you'll be an EN-2 because of your college and test scores, then we'll send you to Florida for Sub school and once you're done with that you'll be an EN-3, an then to the nuke school.  Within a year and a half you'll enter service as an EN-4 with another promotion within a year I'll bet." He finished, nearly out of breath.

     "Well, like I said I hadn't planned on coming in here today so I guess I'll go -" I said beginning to stand.

     "Wait, wait, why are you going?" He said coming around the corner of the desk.  He was angling to cut me off at the door.

     I turned with my hand out and asked him for a card, and then shook his hand quickly and exited.  I returned home and over the next week or two I received daily calls from him and the other recruiters in the office.  To this day I often wonder why I didn't sign up, and what would have become of me if I had.  But somewhere inside I felt on a subconscious level that I would be betraying the memory of my Father by becoming more than what he was in so short of time.  I knew it was foolish, but it was a feeling I could not shake.  How could I ever be something more than this Superman of retold memories?

     More recently, memories of my Father have come back to me as well.  More retold stories of this man whom I never knew.  And never got to love.  But through the years, and through hours of self analyzing I have grown to love this man who helped to give me life.

     The main reason my Father was on the Cook and the Bexar was because of his best friend.  A man whom I have blamed for years for his death.  A man to whom I owe an apology to.  A man of whom I had never considered until recently how he might have felt upon learning his friend had died because of him.

     My Father apparently was a good hearted and well intentioned man.  A gift perhaps given to him from birth by my Grandmother.  As these were qualities I would grow to love and appreciate in her with time.  His friend whom I will not name here because with time and wisdom I realize was not at fault for his death, asked him to take the tour of duty he was due to ship out on because he was having marital problems among others.  My Father wanted to help a friend and agreed.  His friends marriage would later fail, and was the reason I placed blame on him.

     I received an e-mail from him a few months back.  I did not recognize the name as it was his full real name, and I only knew him though stories by his nickname.  The e-mail started out, "Richard, I know you, and I know you know me.  I have known you since a child . . ." I was confused and intrigued by the identity of this man, who claimed to have been at the funeral, and who "was the one who accompanied your Father back home."  Oh, shit.  It was him.

     He had seen a posting of mine on one of the ships memorial pages set aside as a bulletin board for family and former crew.  He was still good friends with my Aunt and Uncle, who was also former Navy and now retired.  We exchanged a few e-mails and he told a little bit more of my Father.  But I felt not enough.  And perhaps he was reluctant because of my deep rooted anger at him all of these years.  I know I need to write and forgive him, but how do you do something like that for something that was not his fault to begin with? 

     It is something I am still wrestling with. 

     And though I have made peace with the stories,  memories, resentments, and hostility that pulled at me from every angle, I am still reminded how others think of him.  This is an excerpt from an e-mail I received from a former crewmember of his,

      "Unfortunately I did not know too much about your dad's personal life.   I would have liked to have known him better, but circumstances prevented that.  From what I heard from the boat crew, they had landed the recon team, and was pulling out from the landing site when the Recon Team were ambushed and came under heavy fire, and the boat went back in to retrieve them, and were providing cover fire.  From what I was told, your dad sustained two wounds, and reloaded his weapon after each wound, and kept firing before sustaining the third and fatal wound.  Your dad put his life on the line for others, and in my eyes, that makes him a hero." 

     Other e-mail communications remember him fondly as well. 

     Though time, and childhood memories have drifted into a cobweb filled past I have tried not to think about.  His shadow remains constant in my life.  It was a shadow that for years I tried not to step on, one that I tried to erase, and one that I did not want to acknowledge.  For I feared I could never live up to, or live down the memories he left behind for so many people but me.  It was for that, that part of me hated him.  And that part of me took some time to finally calm down and kill.

5:39 PM - 6 Comments - 8 Kudos - Add Comment

Father’s In Snapshots Of Time; Part 5.
Current mood: apathetic
Category: Life

     My Mother was a lover of men.  I do not mean this in a bad way, but she loved men, and men loved her.  While they were in town that is.  I say this because while I grew up she worked for a trucking company in the Detroit area called Long Transportation.  They hauled pretty much anything, but their primary source of income was hauling parts, and steel for the big three in Detroit.  She had a steady man, for a long time.  One that I grew to hate, while my sister learned to hate him much sooner.

     This scourge on my existence as a child was named Elton Brown.  He was a tall lanky man with a face hard and thin, one unaccustomed to expressions of joy.  His hands had long fingers like steel daggers and could easily cause pain with a well intended grip and twist.  His personality was one of domination and degradation unless my Mother was around.  His personna changed, and I was unable to persuade my Mother of the kind of man he was for some time. 

     That began to change bit by bit as she slowly began to see chinks in the asshole's armor.  It began with a run in in the hallway.  My Mother had gone to the local A&P Grocery store to pick up some things for dinner, as his appearance in town was unexpected.  He had taken a shower while she was gone and I had been left in his care.  I was playing in my room with my Tonka Winnebago RV which was quite large.  I was around ten years of age if I remember correctly and had been in trouble the month before for melting the little family of four (dolls) that had come with it.

     I felt thirsty so I left the camper on the floor and opened the door as he came out of the bathroom naked.  He turned to look at me and saw my mouth was open in shock. 

     "What?" he said, glaring at me.

     "Nothing," I stammered.

     "Don't tell me your embarrassed!" he laughed.

     "Um . . ." I said looking at the ground.  All I wanted was for him to move.

     "What, you a faggot?  Can't look at a man's body?  Yeah, your a fucking little faggot aren't you?" he said more than as a question.  He grabbed me by the neck forcing my head up.  "Take a look boy!  This is a real fucking man!  A Man who is fucking your Momma with this here dick!" he said as he released and pushed me backwards causing me to fall tripping over the RV.

     As I was tumbling backwards I heard a sound so sweet. 

     "Elton!  What the hell is going on?"  she screamed coming around the corner of the hallway. 

     "Your little momma's boy here is embarrased by a man's naked body."  He glared at me with pure malice in his eyes, and turned back to my Mother with a smile and a softer tone, "Look Barbara, I was just trying to get him to understand a man's body is nothing to be embarrassed by.  You don't want him to grow up like Jay, do you?"  he moved towards her still naked and tried to put his arm around her.

     "Get in the room and get dressed." she spat at him.  Then walked over to me and helped me up and asked if I was okay. 

     "Yes, I am alright.  I broke the fall by grabbing the edge of the bed and -"

     "That is not what I meant.  I heard some of what he said.  Are you alright?"

     He had returned to the hallway wearing boxers, intent on hearing what I had to say.  I looked past my Mother at him and said "I will be once he is outta here."  I calmly got up and hugged my Mother as I looked him in the eyes.  "He is a jerk, and can never be my Father.  Never." I said firmly, still looking at him.

     "Bullshit!  I ain -" he started to yell.

     "Elton, you will not talk to him like that."  she paused for effect, "Do you understand me?"

     "Barbara, if that is how you want it fine, raise your faggot son.  I am out of here."  as he slammed the bedroom door and finished getting dressed before storming out of the house.

     My Mother cried in her room most of that night, but I refused to feel bad for forcing the situation.  She needed to know who and what that man was really like.  It was a start and she needed to know more.  I just needed to be aware of the oppourtunity to expose him when I could.   Three weeks later I got another chance.

     Dinner had long been finished and my Mother was lying down due to one of her infamous migraines.  I was alone at the kitchen table when he walked in from the hallway.  I was disappointed to know she had let him come back, but I knew she would.  He stopped behind me and I could feel him slowly lowering himself over my shoulder to say something in my ear.

     "You think you got something on me now don't you boy?" he hissed.

     I tried to stifle a chuckle, but part of me knew it was the right time to let it out.  So I did.  The result was perfect.  He was immediately pissed.  His hand was now on my shoulder, fingers digging in.

     "Listen boy, you will sit here, eat those fucking peas, and you will begin to learn some respect from your elders, and someone better than you!"  again is was controlled and quiet, but the vehemence was there spilling out of his mouth and cascading into my face, bad breath and all.

     Now I really couldn't help myself.  I laughed and some of my mashed potatos came out, "You, better?  Elder?  No older!"  I was laughing now.  And he was furious. 

     "Elton!" came my Mother's voice from the bedroom, "Can you come here?" 

     "Yes, Elton, go.  I'll be here,"  I said baiting him further.  I was astonished as he rushed off without a word.  I couldn't believe what was coming out of my mouth.  But now that he was gone I finished my mashed potatos and was beginning to feed the peas to my dog Je' Tan, a fat grey toy poodle I had had since I was about two.  She loved table scraps and loved green vegetables.  Which was probably why she was getting so fat.

     I was about to drop some more on the floor for her when he came quietly around the corner.

     He looked at me and said, "I told you that you were going to eat that."  He moved closer putting both hands on the table.  "Do you hear me?"

     "Yeah, so,"  I said as I lowered my fork to the floor.

     "You fucking little shit!  I said stop!" he hissed, except this time it was not controlled, nor was it quiet.

     "And?"

     "What the FUCK do you mean by and?" he was now yelling.

     "AND what are you going to do if I don't?"  I asked as I dropped the fork full of peas to the floor and then looked back at him, "Well?  You aint my Father and you know you can't do shit." 

     He pushed the table violently forward forcing it to hit me in the ribs,  "Well, little boy, Mamma's little fag, I'll tell you what I am gonna do!  I am gonna kick your little - "

     "Elton!"  my Mother screamed standing behind him, "Get out!  Now!"

     He froze, tried to compose himself and said as he turned, "Barbara, let me explain - "

     "Get the Fuck out of my house!" she shouted full of rage, "You will not treat my child like that!  Now get out!" 

     After he left my Mother hugged me, told me she was sorry that he was in our lives and that he wouldn't be any more.  I wanted to believe her as she held me tight, but a part of me knew he would be back.  I didn't know when but I knew it, felt it deep inside that she was not yet done with this man.

     Six months later she finally broke up with him.  He had been married through all of this and had a family somewhere in Ohio or Pennsylvania I believe.  She never said what the final straw was and I never asked.  I was simply glad he was gone.  I was sad for my Mother as I saw her go into what I would later learn was depression, but I had seen it before and knew she would be normal again.  So I waited. 

     I often wonder what his home life was like.  He had at least a son that I knew of, and couldn't help but hope he had a better time with that man.  I doubt that he did, but I still hope he did.  

     To this day I remain skeptical of over the road truck drivers.  I believe I had never met one that wasn't unfaithful, until I worked for a Mack Truck Dealership in Bettendorf, Iowa in '90.  I thought he was a first class guy.  Until he came in one night with a woman he was kissing quite passionately as he ordered the usual parts for the service, and then used the pay phone to call his wife. 

     Elton Brown was a man who purposely tried to be a Father figure to me.  One I wisely wanted nothing to do with.  And because of him, and other truckers, I learned never to cheat on someone you love, and to treat others with respect.  Odd that something good could come from someone so bad.

8:13 PM - 6 Comments - 8 Kudos - Add Comment