Numbing Realities the story of Arthur Bingsley Part 1

Hey people of the nest I’ve been experimenting with writing short stories this what I got so far enjoy

Here’s a story that minds that rarely meet, here’s a story about the conflicting ideologies of Capitalism and humanitarian undertones that swept the 20th fucking century.

I saw that Gypsy clown again dancing right in front of me trying to get his coins to reach the next destination he had to be, According to him. This wiry Bronze haired gentlemen was holding a bag of his own feces. Being that I am a Defense Attorney and I have came across toothless wonders like this before I find Myself completely unfazed by his unfortunate nature, due to my long history with social work with pro Bono work. His Name was and of Course I’m quoting him when i say this;” Arthur Bingsley”. he had the yellowest eyes that I have came ever across, however his right eye had a tinge of red touching the outside of his pupil. He said it was his “wiser eye”, for what ever that means I’m not sure. His clothes having a dirty regal and old fashioned nature to them as well as his name ,suggests to me hat he has a notion he was from the 18th century or something.  I can’t say that I didn’t like him he had a very genuineness to him, despite his delusions and mild cases of schizophrenia, he was not at all a dangerous or violent person.  So I gave him all change I had and he said  ” farewell young journeymen good luck in your ventures, and I bid you Adieu”, Its funny I never Knew what the fuck he meant by that but he said that every single time. I know, I know he’s a bum I’m not helping him by giving change and believe me coming from Washinton D.C the Homeless mecca of the U.S. and Ironically the nations capitol as well, I never give change to bums. Reasons being; One I’m Cheap, two coming from second generation Irish parents of nine children you got make your own fucking way and fight for every scrap you get, and finally three I guess I don’t give a fuck about the plight of my fellow man unless it has a dollar sign at the end of it. what Can I say I got this capitalistic mind set that Ayn fucking Rand babbles on in her stupid fucking books that I had to read in undergrad but I didn’t give a shit, I knew who I was and I knew what I was doing. To me everything has been earmarked and anyone can be got and their it is. Enough about though this Arthur Bingsley was really something, he was entertaining and despite his many flaws he was very talented individual. to this day i’m still not sure if he is a better con artist than myself and secretly I admired the fuck. It was like the Vulcan mind meld with this guy he knew how to connect with audience. if it was kids he made them animal balloons, rich snobby ivy league liberal fags he would quote Shakespearean literature, serenade ugly, fat or old women with songs from the top of his head with guitar in hand. it didn’t matter he did it. I mean I caught him on his crazy day I guess but bums I guess have days worse compared to mine.

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Habits

Habits are a thing that have a pertinent ring. I’m not a sister who cant put it on as soon as I hear a peculiar ring. Its a call from an uncertain place with a person unknown to me, a unfamiliar face. Ritualized and actualized by a man from an uncertain place to confounded to a calling card for a person of a certain grace….. WE ARE LOST IN SPACE!!

for a individual that tries to grab, its lost something that they can not have as trying to catch a cab to a level of tranquility and to me this is my soliloquy. A bender a turn to forget a thought that do’sent rhyme its just wrought with regret of a place that I cannot forget, my consciousness.

RUN as fast as can you can’t find me, I’m in a tower of of unconscious friends with no rhyme or reason to their unconscious bends. A piece of solid oak has been twisted, soaked, chipped, twisted that bent. as the oak is twists it begins to crack as it soaks it’s color lacks as it chips the smoothness becomes hacked

Habits alone have manifested to to something that’s quite unattested to the reflections of something pubescent, sad really? We are so alone extraterrestrial really ET PHONE HOME. In these habits we all have become drones to the silence of consciousness making us really….. ALL ALONE :(

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Seventeen Syllables Just Aren’t Enough

Far too loquacious
to ever be able to
write a good haiku.

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haiku: 35

a semi-certain

sort of attitude only

results in question

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Some original poems

http://www.poetry.com/poets/174636-Will%20Rogers/poems
You can leave so much emotion on paper,
you can also lack emotion on paper. I mentioned these poems to the eldest in my family and she asked if she could have copies. If you happen to read any of my poems and you like them please make copies and give them to the eldest in your family. At some point i want this emotion to be returned.

Return

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Silent Prayer

Learned SILENT and LISTEN have the same letters. And the minute I did a light went off in my head. It went off. The opposite of on.
There was a time when words only had one meaning,
before folks got so technical and everyone criticized you because you weren’t using it correctly or it wasn’t in the right spot.
Can’t blame them we all have evolved. Together for the sake of…lets say echos. Aren’t they amazing.
Its the voice or sound of something that originates and then duplicates instantly. But an echo needs something in order to even echo. It needs space. Not keen on what kind I just know screaming in the car wont create an echo.
People screamed centuries ago that suffered, still listening to the echo or have you become silent.
Maybe your HEART is no good on this EARTH.

HELP

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15Revisions.

“I guess the difference is in that of a whistle pig and a woodchuck”

, I said, “that’s a bullhead and a catfish.”

Graceland played while I looked at Brahma steel toe

and I thought of the McCandless quote about

mans spirit coming from new experiences.

and when I hear that Hollingsworth track,

“up over the hills ain’t even really that far”

I think of how coasts and inland smell different.

Vedder wants a last breathe that he won’t let out

which I get but there are guys who just want to keep breathing.

So I picked my car up in the morning, humming,

“I”m going to Graceland, Graceland”

and I packed for Brookville, Brookville,

and I burned CD’s for the drive,

thinking I’m bound singing to Graceland.

I did 80 to Clarion wondering what I’d eat for dinner,

thinking of the day before, doing 60 down 219 into PA,

wondering the same thing.

And when I woke up I did calisthenics and

pulled a muscle in my thigh a little,

and had bad powder eggs and a high toasted bagel.

sometimes I find myself not liking what I wrote,

I change it.

I got lost in Clarion and thought about dinner.

I notice myself wondering how far I will go.

My fortune cookie said,

“Everything is possible;

just not so probable.”

and I guess that’s pretty true.

The best part about is driving is just going and going and not thinking about anything in between but what’s in your line of vision and a full tank. So you go on and on and stop in from town to town but for the most part you just have lots of thinking time. Luckily you got Howlin’ Wolf on CD and 10 tracks to go.

I really made it to Pennsylvania,

embracing the knowledge in trucks.

So I parked in the bank parking lot and walked down the the street corner, one big Brahma step at a time. I opened the glass door and 34 heads all confused on who disrupted their card game turned. I walked through them, toward the back of the room and looked for someone who looked in charge. I knocked on the fridge behind me and heard a “Hello!”. A filthy old man showed himself and he knew I was not from town.

Flew up on 66 N in a little snow storm and got home for a two day stay not long before midnight.

I woke up and thought it was Sunday.

There’s no brakeman slowing down,

just whole and oholy luck that I’ll stay on track.

accidentally gave the waiter a two twenties on a $25 bill,

thought it was a ten.

Lou Reed, Tom Waits, Lord Buckley,

gotta get the coffee ready for morning.

I sleep with the fan on high.

Might have got a fiber glass sliver at work.

training for the future,

invent it then manifest it.

this locals dog pissed in the front of the shop today.

I broke the tire shop padlock.

this professional driver knowledge is getting the best of me,

got 6 oil related hats and was excited.

I know trucks past ’07 more than likely to have synthetic differential fluid than older models and a mudflap can ruin a drivers payload.

itching to get a drink.

I know what a drivers face looks like

when his hood falls off his tractor.

I know I really couldn’t call people all day.

I know $1.50 a week/unlimited coffee is a deal.

Sat and watched the waves hit the shore from the third floor balcony

of the beach house, wondering where the clam was that I tossed back in from

the shore. The rain pounded the bay window from the couch within, four feet up

on the coffee table.

my friend said once, “I’ve been working. I get to see the sun rise everyday. I think that’s pretty cool.”

I thought that was pretty cool.

we had talked and talked deep brooding thoughts before,

as some people talk and talk deep brooding thoughts.

but this off the sleeve comment really showed just how delicate life can be.

It’s strange stepping back out of town and watching it from a distance.

I told them, “that’s something I take real serious”

and they believed me. Wild.

I made it home and sat on ideas for two weeks,

reflecting.

I just want to sit with four feet on a coffee table and breath in unison.

 

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