FEAR AND LOATHING IN BUTTE, MONTANA

Butte – A grand city of bars and prostitutes, according to a random tourist at the Safeway store.

Well okay she didn’t say grand.

I can’t say what she called Butte.

We were someplace around “The Pit” when the drugs began to take hold.

I kid.

There were no drugs, not even a we, except for my imaginary friends.

I was drinking whiskey and cokes in a room at the Motel 6 in Uptown Butte.

In a few days, I’ll be leaving Butte for the 2nd greatest city in my life, Louisville, Kentucky.

Butte is the city that made me who I am today.

A drunken writer.

I’ll miss this town.

She isn’t for everybody.

But maybe that’s what makes her so great.

She isn’t a typical tourist trap.

She ain’t no beauty but she has a huge heart and a brilliant beautiful soul.

She is pock marked hard with a long mining history.

But without Butte, a lot of “better” cities in Montana and even the USA wouldn’t even exist.

Many family fortunes would not have been gained off the backs of the Butte miners.

My grandfather being one of them miners.

He raised a family here.

His son, my dad, Rudy Giecek, saved part of Butte’s “wanted to forget” piece of history, The Dumas Brothel which he bought from the last madam, Ruby Garrett back in 1990.

He kept trying to save it till 2012 when his health finally wouldn’t let him.

Me?

I just write about her.

A lady, a tourist, came through another checker’s line at my store.

She was pissed.

“There’s nothing but bars and prostitutes in this town!!”

She had read on some website that Butte was a great town to bring kids.

She stormed out of the store yelling about giving Butte a negative review on Yelp.

I think Butte should market her bars and prostitutes.

And our casinos.

We have the best casinos.

No, I don’t know which bars have the best prostitutes.

I was once hit on at a bar by a mother of the bride to be.

We were both pretty drunk.

I almost went with her on a bar cruise but instead I stumbled off my bar stool and wandered off.

I fell into the Blacktail Creek instead.

My fiancee laughed at that story.

Butte should be marketed as a writer and artist colony.

Wander the streets and the alleys and discover the real Butte.

Its heart and soul.

Butte is a historic town.

And yes she is still rough from her years of mining.

But she will always be my city, my hometown.

I love her bars and prostitutes.

And okay, she has some pretty good people in general.

Remember to “Tap ‘er light” and see ya later Butte, I’ll be back!

I’ve always been horrible at goodbyes.

Heaven be her name – The Story of Destiny

I keep thinking I’m making headway in this thing called life but then the waves come crashing down.

I come up for a breath, feeling the blessed air coming into my lungs, but there, again, the monster waves hit me, hard, pushing me to the bottom, scraping my body against the coral reef, where am I?

Nowhere, going fast, up one minute, kick to the face, down, counting, 1, 2, 3, do I wanna get up again or stay down for the count?

The bets are coming in, I’m staying down, but nope, my dumb ass gets back up.

Why?

I’m a winner!

I laugh at that, my inner demon does, I’m no winner, I’m a big fat loser!

I’m trying to stay alive, well enough, I think, until I look in the mirror, standing there, bloody, broken, ready to give in.

“I love you!” she, the one in my corner, even though I’m insane.

I keep going because and for her.

“What’s her name?”

Destiny.

Heaven be her name….

How I love thee, in a previous life even,
I whisper thy name during those times,
I think I can not go on,
There you are,
A shimmering light against the encroaching darkness…

The dragons invade my sleep, the crazy, hello insanity, you try to keep me sane, I am slipping into madness…..hello dear friend, how are you this fine and wonderful evening?

I am dead inside.

Opening old and new wounds!

What is reality?

A dream placed into real life?

Is that the definition?

Dear one, I shall keep walking till the end, tomorrow shall never come!

Where did all the flowers go?

…a battered soul, a spirit lost to the midnight hour, the world spinning out of control, set to destroy. Warning to those who dare think to enter this land, only death shall follow…

A misery inside, a passionate fire put out before a fiery rage, a scream into the moonlight, close my eyes, do not let me die here, in this broken place, wake me up from this nightmare.

I stood at the edge, my eyes gazing into the starry skies, the Gods stood by, waiting to see what fate decided, suicide of a worthless soul, his spirit to disappear from everything.

The endless nights, the beast prowled, the silence of the dead dying on sheets in crypts made of marble.

“Craw….” the words echoed from my dying throat. I could not see, just hear the voices in the winds, her scent drifted into what was left of my brain.

The Goddess, the madness, she was there, not as a vision, a dream, but flesh and blood, a person.

I wanted to call out her name, but my voice was gone, ripped out and stolen by the crow, Master and Mistress, to the wind, to the time, it was nothing but a fantasy, strangely ripped from the pages of time.

The city had been built, a perfect place, filled with perfect people, but destroyed by imperfect solutions.

Towering buildings, golden, rusting in the sands, bridges destroyed, crumbling into the mighty seas.

The Guardians, the beasts, trying to guard this horror, kept watch, killing those few who made it through the defenses and the gates, the world was not ready for the truth.

It had to be spared the horror.

 

Mired in misery, the waters, the lands, the air became poison, killing all.

They who dared to enter the arena, the dead world, were killed, the memories of them erased…

 

A letter to a diseased mind

We run away into the night,
Our pain, our memories,
Our suicides…

I did not know where to go, down the streets of memories and pain or into future loves.

Future loves could lead to the greatest, the best, or the horrible.

I had both, a great time of “I will love you forever!” and then it explode without a reason besides “I’m, confused!”

Confusion can equal many things such as “I met someone else, he better than you!” to “I just hate you!!”

Memories are triggers for hate.

No, I can’t figure it out yet.

“I didn’t mean I loved you, I meant, well forget what I meant….”

I’m confused too!!

I have to get you out of my mind, you are no longer available, a vision, a dream, not even.

So here I sit, alone, feeling insignificant inside my brain, like a burning candle, dwindling forever, leaving flowers at the grave, leaving sounds and sights inside my brain, memories poisoning my life.

I feel your presence, I wonder if you feel the same, do you hear my name?

I bet you don’t, I probably meant nothing to you, just a joke, not even a ghost in the machine.

Here I sit, in my world, how can I see into your soul anymore, like I did those days? You were my everything, you told me I was your days and nights, till that day, then I became nothing, a thing to throw away.

I cannot even say anything negative as my friend says you are the best.

You aren’t.

You took what little heart I had and stomped on it.

I cannot even say your name without throwing up.

I cannot say anything negative about you as my mind will not allow it, even it is against me, tells me you are a good person.

I sit here wondering what I did wrong.

 

The Last Hope – True Tales from a Wandering Mind

I have traveled somewhere and got lost in a book store once. It may have been in Lexington, Kentucky. It was wonderful!

I need to write tonight, I am very tired, not necessarily physically, mostly mentally!

I’m trying to be a good boy, I didn’t kill anyone today!

I may have beaten some customer with a loaf of day old french bread and may have shoved a ten pound turkey up their butt.

Cashiers can get cranky when they skip nap time and then have a customer screech, “This turkey should have rang up at $12.95, not $12.96.”

DO YOU FEEL THE PENNY NOW MY FRIEND!!!!  I scream, shoving pennies by the bucket full down their throats. I AM RHAK, WARRIOR GOD!!! DIE PAGAN FILTH!!!

This gets you a visit to HR.

“Do you think that it was appropriate to scream….” reads transcript from the video surveillance “You have awaken the evil inside of me that has slept for a thousand years!?”

I shrug and then reply, “Maybe, the entire scene needs to be viewed in its entirety, it’s a master piece in English Norse Theater!”

“Does shoving a bottle of $18.45 wine down the customer’s throat while screaming, TO THE WHORES OF YOUR MOTHER’S WOMB compile into this theater script?”

I nod.

“We’ve had 58 complaints today about you!”

I smile.

“That’s down from yesterday, gotta admit, it’s an improvement!”

“GET OUT OF MY OFFICE!!”

Also, my brains are turning to mush.

People don’t realize the fun of being a cashier.checker.dragon slayer.

We stand there for hours, scanning your otter pops, control top pantyhose, and $4.95 a box condoms.

“Pick up a pregnancy test as well, same aisle!” I smile, fake of course. Checkers don’t have real smiles, just like they don’t have souls anymore.

They sold theirs for a box of cereal.

I sold mine for some Raisin Bran.

Nummy for the raisin bran!!

Course, standing there, you get to think, deep thoughts, deep, deep thoughts, like —

• I really must have done something wrong in a previous life, maybe killed a whole bunch of babies. Maybe I was Hitler. Or a Pharaoh of Egypt, one of the evil ones, who killed a whole bunch of babies.
• Why did I go to college for?  “Hot babes, lots of drugs!” my brain responds.
• Do cashiers really get laid a lot like the recruiter said?
• What is “Getting laid”? Will I ever see a really life naked vagina again?
• “Probably not, loser!” my brain responds. “You should have stayed in school, became a doctor of literature or underwater basket weaving.

Seeing my old professor from my college days brought back some of those memories, of college frat parties, girls, girls, men, men, more men, no wait, wrong flashbacks!!!
Professor was head of the humanity department, I took his history of the 20th century world, and learned to question authority or do drugs.

I don’t remember.

If you remember college, you did it wrong.

Or maybe that was the 1960s.  I forget.

“Hi! Been a long time!!” I said.

He beamed.  “Did you take my classes, what was your name again?”

I told him.

“I remember you, you were the smart ass in seat 7 row A!”

I nodded.

We both laughed.

I told him about my adventures as an IT monkey for the mafia or a casino in the middle of a corn field, my descent into madness AKA retail.

“You should write a book!! I’m working on one!” he nodded and then we had to part ways.

It’s always nice to see old professors and teachers so they can see where their prized students landed.

“You were my hope…” one of them almost cried at me, running away in tears.

If I’m your hope, you’re f*cked!

I wasn’t his real hope, he was going senile, his wife explained to me later, but if it made me feel better, worst, whatever, then go ahead and believe it.

I’m a hope!!!

Andrew Jackson, where do we go from here? A psychoanalysis of Wayne Newton

10:46 PM – 5/16/2017: Butte, Montana

It’s dark outside and raining.

Soon, according to the weather man, the rain will turn to snow.

We’re under a winter storm watch.

Welcome to the spring times in the Rockies, it’s a great place to live but not if you like the warm tropical breezes.

I guess you can pretend, sit out on a snow bank and pretend it’s a nice comfy beach.

Frost bite just doesn’t equate to sun tan, trust me on that!!!

I’m sitting here watching The Golden Girls and listening to some YouTube.

I wanted to post something less political than my last few other blogs.

I know there’s stuff happening over there in Washington, DC.

Our president, Donald Trump, in his late night wanderings around the White House is probably throwing his hands in the air, ranting to the ghost of Andrew Jackson.

“Why won’t they like me, Mr. Jackson?” he says pounding the desk in front of him

“I don’t know!! Maybe it’s your face!” Andrew replies, sipping a diet Coke.

President Jackson was apparently a dick in life, so what do you expect from him in death.

I know I said this blog entry was going to be less political but I can’t help it.

It’s just so much easier to write about the current political mess than it is to write about my feelings, my depression, my love of musical theater.

I may do that soon, like, my reviews on plays and stuff, if I ever go out to plays and such.

Maybe soon, I’ll hit the movies again, with my imaginary friends, like Anna Lope.

She’s a cool mounted head of a antelope who loves war movies!!

“I love it when the tanks roll, the bombs burst in air, and Tom Cruise comes to rescue me!”

But for tonight, here I sit, in a lounge recliner, watching Fraiser now, Combichrist – Everybody Hates You Full album Disc 1 is playing from YouTube – This Shit will fuck you up.

Sounding like a sound track of my life, this shit WILL fuck you up, like reading my blog, your mind will melt, you will see stuff, like ghosts, spirits, Ann Landers on acid, etc. etc.

I don’t even know what I’m writing about tonight, it’s just stuff drifting inside my head, the weird stuff, the normal stuff, life is there, wondering what I should do now, where should I go from here, maybe Detroit?

Well, okay, maybe not Detroit, though it does have some cheap housing.

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Am I enjoying life?

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I don’t know how to answer that question.

I’m trying to be a happier individual, someone that people enjoy being around, rather, like my ex, running away from me in terror as I approach them.

I’m a people person, I like people!!

Not really, I tolerate people, for the most part, and they tolerate me.

I haven’t killed anyone, that can be proven, by a court of law.

I did write a blog dedicated to Jack Kerouac – found here ->

Jack Kerouac: Where are you now? A retrospect of my life in words and music.

I’ve also written horrible poetry and song lyrics which one can be found here —–>

PHOTOGRAPH: MEMORIES AS SUNG IN A DREAM

Here I sit, wondering what the next adventure should be, where should I go, down the hill or up the mountain?

Where should I go?

To Hell or back?

I try to keep my mask on, to never let the general public see me cry, try to keep the happy clown mask on.

Why?

Guess it’s just how I am!

How the voices in my head want me to be, they don’t want the doctors coming around, to quiet them.

“Shaddup Jason! Don’t let them see you, as the real you! They’ll put you away into the nut house!! We no wanna go there!!”

Choirs in my head, nobody wants to go in there, inside my head.

I have a feeling President Donald Trump is the same way, no one wants to go inside his head either.

Hell, I know I don’t want to be inside my own head, which is what makes this blog so great, you, the reader get to come on inside without going inside!!

Selective travels!!

Come hear the voices inside my head!!!!

I’ll try to write more here than I have in the past!!!

As the real me!!!

The drag queen!

Anyways, another good night and have a better tomorrow!!!

Can’t go home again

They say you can’t go home again, that time changes everything,
The life, the place you once knew is no longer the same.

Standing in the stream, waiting, eyes to the distant horizon, watching, hoping,That one day, it will come back to you, but the stream keeps moving forward, away,
And nothing stays the same.

What will happen, no one knows, the past is past; tomorrow never comes and all we have is today,
To feel; sadness, happiness, tears and laughter, standing there, watching the sky, intense blue.
Life goes on even when you don’t want to.

The hardness, the pain, lets us enjoy the light, the happiness that shall come someday, hopefully soon.
That which does not kill us, makes us stronger, so the old saying goes.
Some days, we feel like sitting down, never to arise again, to feel the hard ground, to grasp the dirt into our fingers, to close our eyes and never awake, last breath escaping from our lips, rise to Heaven, or fall to Hell.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

The river moves onward and forward, as we should, in everything.  Those who have gone forth will be with us till the end of days, forever and ever, here in our heart, in our soul, and we keep on moving as they would want us to go forward, though, as has been said by better men than I, it can be hard, tempted to lie on comfortable grass and never rise again.

I keep moving, forward, onward, her in my heart, in my soul, the blue skies above me, high cliffs, so high they touch the sky, to my side, the lane moving forward, ever forward, the direction I shall go till the end.