O King Ego

Rumbling, booming, bass-heavy music seeped through the walls behind the stage of the Boomer Theater. Partitioned by one of those walls was a room, sort of a dressing room, a place where the bands and their entourage would rev it up before shows and then wind it down when the curtain was drawn.

On this particular evening the band responsible for the racket on the stage was a quartet from Paden, Oklahoma calling themselves Red State Hypocrite. It was a great name, to be sure, though they're brand of neo-psychedelic funk was not sitting pretty at the top of any charts. That meant nothing, all they were concerned with was the music and anyone who didn't understand that or had a problem wih it was invited to state his or her case before being pummeled by 5 high school wrestlers and a cheer squad leader (just in case it is a "her" case we're talkin' about here). The Paden alumnus used to pay those wrestlers in low grade weed but the cheer squad leader insisted on a modest salary in addition to the marijuana. She was surprised they gave it to her but even more amazed that the wrestlers never said a word about it. She figured they'd each and every one on 'em to a man be as jealous as a coon dog of the majestic German Shepherd.

Most of the Red State Hypocrites' followers/hangers-on/leeches were congregated in the front row, thanks to comped tickets from the Hypocrites management. They looked like synchronized automatons with their heads swaying to and fro in rythmn with the driving music, so loud you could feel it jiggling your guts.

Of these "fans" (if "fans" you can call them) there were only three who remained in the backstage room I described so eloquently for you in a previous paragraph. Everyone called them The Lynn Triplets. This innocent appelation was the result of much consideration concerning the uncanny fact that each one of them looked exactly like Loretta Lynn. Juxtapose that with the knowledge that the three women had, until only a month prior, never seen or known one another. That's right, strange but true, these dead ringers for Loretta Lynn were the same age and looked so much like the other and yet THEY WEREN'T ACTUALLY TRIPLETS! Not even born of the same parents! So you can see why they would inherit the title The Lynn Triplets even though they were not related to Loretta or even to each other.

Loretta 1 was doing something the real Loretta Lynn may have done although she's never confessed to it so I give her the benefit of the doubt, though it's hard to imagine...and yet, that said, I'm pretty sure Tammy Wynette used to get coked up now and then, didn't she? She was married to George Jones, for crying out loud, how could she have avoided it?

Loretta 1 could have cared less as she bent over the mountain of cocaine on a mirror on the coffee table. As she bent over Loretta 1 deftly placed a rolled up hundred dollar bill in her nose and buried it into the top of the coke mountain. With an enormous snort she felt the snow travel through her nasal cavity, up and into the brain. I confess that I have never snorted cocaine so therefore am unable to describe the effects the drug has on the individual. I'm told it's pretty intense. Others have told me it's TOO intense and that I would be best served if I avoided it completely. The ones who gave me the latter advice were intelligent, sage men whose opinions I trust implicitly. Because I have respected these gurus of western thought I have very little trouble avoiding it completely. Based upon what I have learned beyond the shadow of a doubt from them I am compelled to tell anyone who is considering trying cocaine and who, by reading this, is now encouraged to put his money where his mouth is. Join me in abstinence of the Peruvian Powder.

Loretta 1, her eyes now like bloodshot marbles, would not be able to tell you the last time she considered cocaine abstinence to be a desirable choice. Did I mention she looked a lot like Loretta Lynn? Holy cow, you wouldn't believe it. I mean, it's so weird, if someone told me it was really her in here and I walked through that door to encounter...I thought it really WAS Loretta...I encountered a country music legend who is not known for debauchery snorting a third line from a Big Rock Candy Mountain.

Loretta 2 watched the woman who could have been her twin sister choke on an off-kilter snort and her mind was filled with visions. She never told anyone about these visions. They involved a host of incarnated Hindu deities, the inventor of Mister Coffee and his wife, Beverly Coffee ("You can call me Bev"), the man who wrestled Tim McVeigh into the rocket capsule they blasted him into space in, herself as the denim-clad object in Conway Twitty's "Tight Fittin' Jeans", the cast and crew of The Young and the Restless, among other hopefully meaningful oddites.

As the Red State Hypocrites bashed out the closing chords to "Men of the Night, Unite!" Loretta 2 considered joining her newly christened triplet sister in front of that snow-covered mirror. The vision was starting to fade, aided by the slow, churning introduction to "Just Some 'o Jerry Seinfeld's Blues". With the loss of the distraction Loretta 2 was even more tempted to stick legal tender up in her nose for the sole purpose of inhaling the product of the coca leaf... We have never forgiven Coca-Cola for removing the coca leaf from their recipe. It now tastes nothing like it did and caffeine is a pale substitute for Peru's Finest (The Kind you hear about in Steely Dan songs).

Loretta 3 turned to Loretta 2 and said, "Are you gonna hit that thang or not?"

Loretta 2 turned to Loretta 1 to ask about the drug's quality. Loretta 1 didn't answer because she was passed out. Loretta 2 took this into consideration. On one hand the stuff had knocked Loretta 1 clean out of the stratosphere. She knew "1" was no beginner when it came to almost any mind-expansion project, if three snorts knocked her out cold in less than a minute that means I could probably get away with doing just one.
That was her way of thinking and she was probably right.

That's when I broke through the door and actually woke Loretta 1 up. They were startled when I made my grand entrance, talking about what they were going to do with "1" and daring each other to use more and more dangerous drugs.

"Stop this!" I yelled at the top of my lungs. All three of the Lynn Triplets gazed up at me as if I were some newly-returned Lord of the House who treats them well but indifferently.

"Are you going to talk to us about drugs?" Loretta 3 inquired.

"Yes I am," was my reply. "How did you know?"

"Oh, don't you worry about that but if you're talking about drugs you need to drag those Red State Hypocrites offa that stage and round up about half of the front row out there, you'll be able to tell which ones I mean, you'd better get a net, you'd better know how to use it, if you're going to pontificate on the evils of chemistry I ain't about to listen to it all by myself, 'specially when I know everyone else come here with those crazy Hypocrites is a lot closer to dealin' with the devil than I am...and I 'spect either of these two Loretta Lynn look-alikes feel exactly the same way about it."

"Sounds fair to me," I said...there was something I needed to say. Something that needed to be said. Something that may have been said already but if so I don't think any of these musicians, hipsters, hangers-on, hat-and-coat check boys have heard it. If they did they need to hear it again, obviously. "Round 'em up. I want everyone who came to this dive with the Red State Hypocrites right here in this room. And that includes the Red State Hypocrites. You especially."

Loretta 1 spoke, though her words were a tad garbled through a cotton mouth. "You heard the man! Round 'em up! We ain't done here until the last cretin is corraled and presented to Porpoise Pilot."

I told her to drink some water and keep her mouth closed. If what she had was contagious I think we'd all be doomed...and I'm not talking about her cotton mouth.

Long story short, the headbangers in the front row agreed to cease and desist with an emphasis on the desisting. At the time of this writing no less than 10 of the 12 front row plants were serving hard time in one of the correctional facilities operating in the state within which they were convicted and sentenced, some to death by lethal injection, some by the electric chair, some will even beg to get a firing squad there. Lotsa ways to do it, that's for sure. Anyone want to doubt it? Come on, bring it. Pick up your best, do it for us! Any old way you choose it, but your end result is always the same, you don't go out in the same way you came.

The Red State Hypocrites swore until their faces were collectively blue that they had no idea why they were being detained. It's true, they had no idea and they never found out when it was finally over. When the clock finally stopped ticking, no more o'clock, it's a thing of the past if you don't count the past in the same way as you do the present moment and the future. These guys had not a clue what they were talking about. I got the feeling this was the case in many more areas of their lives than what we're talking about here...I'm sorry, I forgot what we were talking about here.

The Lynn Triplets, along with the Red State Hypocrites and their drug-loving soulmates from the front row, all a captive audience.

I pointed at the Star Fleet patch I had personally embroideried onto my shirt. "Men, Women of the Starship Enterprise, Law enforcement types, water-bearers, authors of New York Times Bestselling Books, talk show hosts, light-workers for Magnetic Service, THIS is what Kryon says to you...Open your ears to hear, your heart will follow. You've come with me this far, let's not stop just yet."

The throng before me had taken to chanting a nickname they'd given me. "O King Ego! O King Ego! " I didn't know exactly what it meant, this Ego stuff. I assumed they thought my aloof posturings were more endearing. But "King Ego"? Really? Do I have to live the rest of my life branded, as it were, in my psyche, in that there will never come a day when I won't think of myself as "King Ego". Though I have no reason to believe that this King Ego persona is anything more than a Jungian joke told in the dry confines of a Golden Dawn hermitage, nevertheless like good soil for the sower I accept the seed, now I am cursed with the harvest: a new name branded on the most vulnerable part of my brain and then chiselled into my skull...King Ego. Yes. I own it. That's me, alright. That's alright mama, that's me! I am King Ego! O King Ego! O King Ego!"

In unison the Lynn Triplets said, "We christen thee, King Ego. You said you had a message, King Ego. O King Ego! The message. Deliver the message. We await, yea, we await to go home."

"I do. I do have a message for you. Especially for the young lady who doesn't think we can't see the powdered mask of cocaine that's somehow found itself attached to her face. Young lady, I want to tell you that this lifestyle is killing you. Statistics show that young ladies with your particular habits and peccadillios won't last too long if you keep it up at your present pace. You got to slow down. You got to stay off the drugs and I mean the drugs, you know what I mean."

The others in the room looked slightly disappointed. I didn't ask them why.

Man Outside of Time - Chapter One

Mom's Minit Mart...with a name like that you just know it has to be a convenience store. Of course you'd be right, but not just any convenience store. Mom's was first convenience store that opened in my small hometown. Before the advent of Mom's you could count on everybody being closed on Sundays and every other inconvenience that gave purpose to the concept of a store that would serve to fill in the gaps, adequately to the point where calling it "convenience" would reap financial benefits.

Mom's, or simply The Minit Mart, as some preferred to call it, was located directly across the street from the High School. For a long time the students were allowed to walk to Mom's for a microwave burrito and coke in lieu of the tasteless cafeteria food they would otherwise be expected to eat. There was a safety issue, in that one had to cross what could sometimes be a busy road in getting to the store; since it was a round trip they were required to cross that road twice. Luckily no one had ever been hit by a car.

There were a lot of people who chose to get their lunch at the Minit Mart. So many that the manager of the store decided to put up a sign that read:

5 STUDENTS AT A TIME LIMIT, PLEASE
THANK YOU

A good idea when I think of it now. But at the time it seemed the greatest inconvenience, especially in colder weather, to have to wait outside until the next guy came out. He was limiting the number of students so that he'd have a measure of control and be able to keep his eye on as many as he could. He wasn't about to have some punk freshman find a sweet spot out of his view where he could stuff some merchandise down his baggy trousers.

Everyone's prep routine was basically the same. Pick a burrito out of the wall refrigerator, slam it into the microwave...and these were days before every home in America owned a microwave oven, these were the days when you could find them in stores like Mom's just before they began to be released to the public. They packed a lot more wattage than the typical home microwave model when they eventually flooded the market. I only bring that up to place into perspective just how searingly hot those microwaved burritos from Mom's Minit Mart were. The only kind of burrito they stocked was called a "red hot burrito" and it was legendary for it's slowburn. The heat of the food combined with the spices and peppers come together to exact mighty revenge upon your tongue and the inside of your cheeks and palate. No problem, simmer it down with a 150 ounce Dr. Pepper that's weighing down your right hand while your left burns with the unholy sensation caused by red hot chili peppers and the like.

Jerry didn't have a whole lot of friends. He lived in a very enviable position. He went to High School in that small town and was one of the noon throng who chose to get their grub at Mom's Minit Mart. As a bonus, his home was only a couple hundred yards south of Mom's. This meant that he would always have an excuse to stop at Mom's Minit Mart to...well, face it, he was loitering. But he liked to talk to the old lady behind the counter and grumpy old granny she was she nevertheless acted like she liked him a little bit. Jerry and Lola, for that was her name, enjoyed each other's company. He rarely bought anything during these stops.

Jerry would sit on a concrete block situated directly to the right of the entrance door. Coming home from school meant that it was natural for him to be carrying along a notebook and a school text or two. Lola surely presumed that's what they were for, he was a student, after all.

Next to Jerry and his concrete slab of a throne was the magazine rack. Jerry was extraordinarily fond of magazines. Most any kind. He'd read almost anything if it's in a magazine. So when Jerry was at Mom's he always enjoyed looking through all the new issues of practically every magazine on that rack as well as the new comic books that were on a separate wire rack.

If you knelt down in front of the magazine rack and looked underneath the upper level shelf you'll find a "hidden shelf" stocked from one end to the other with glossy magazines designed to titilate and facilitate the pubescent male. Jerry was the dictionary definition of the pubescent male, though he may not have thought of himself in this manner. Perhaps he did, it would not shed a negative light on his prior testimony. These periodicals performed their essential tasks through the use of excessive and completely gratuitius nudity, airbrushed and designed to reprogram the pubescent and adolescent brain to desire a very limited number of body types...like, maybe 2 if you're lucky...I've lost the thread of me issue.

Jerry didn't know one way or the other if Lola cared that he was bending down on one knee taking in an eyeful of the glorious magazine covers that teased him. "You have no right," he would think. "I can't stand this. I've been uber klepto before, I ain't lookin' to exceed any of those past glories, just to git wot I won't and want what I got to git."

He took in the rags' names, so many that had become familiar over the past couple of months. Playboy, of course, was a mainstay. Had to have that one, for the articles, you know? No kidding. I learnt how to read real real good from Hefner's stapled book. I read Joyce Carol Oates. I read John Updike. I think I read Kurt Vonnegut. Playboy Advisor, man, did I learn how to be an expert in all things sexual! Heady interviews, man, you can't deny that. Seriously, man, the Interview is worth the cost of the entire magazine, bro! This is the truth! Everything else is just the sweet, sweet bonus! Do with it as you will. You may want to keep it hidden between your mattresses or under a chest of drawers. Somewhere your parents can't find them. I made the mistake of being a bit too open with my penchant for "Adult magazines". I shoulda known they would disappear during the week I was at church camp. Mother...Father...how could you have betrayed me like this?

Mother...

Father...

How could you betray me like this? You hated each other before I was born. No love lost for the firstborn spawn. I grew up in a house and a yard with a tree in the front and a tree in the back. One year tornado came through and left that house as good as new but those trees, oh my Jesus, those trees had been uprooted, both of them, and laid down on their sides as pretty as you please.

Jerry...can you hear me? I'm starting to have doubts.

I understand. Keep pushin' on.

I got to tell you one more thing about that house. It's really about the tornado too. And this is the God's honest truth, if I'm lying I'm flying, I don't take this kind of thing lightly so I'd appreciate it if you'd do exactly as I do in those respet. But listen and behold, for gospel truth is about to be told...

My dad's bedroom faced the east. I'm not sure if there's any significance in that but there very well may be and if anyone who reads this knows anything about it I wish they'd contact me soon as they can...a day or two after the tornado and we were surveying the damage. It looked as if it was going to be mainly the trees. We'd been lucky. That season several twisters pestered Lincoln County, we spent an unnatural amount of time underneath the ground.

I saw something shining on the ground in the brush outside my dad's bedroom window. I bent down to pick it up. The most uncanny thing...a practically perfect circle of glass! It could only have come from one place...but no! How? How could it be that there was a circle the exact same size cut out of the window pane?!?! It fit beautifully.

To this day I can't suss out in my mind how that circle came to be cut from the glass pane. I've heard of many strange stories about the things left behind in the wake of Oklahoma tornadoes but this one, to my mind at least. is right up there with the most baffling of 'em.

To Be Continued

[Verse 1]
Oh, where have you been, my blue-eyed son?
And where have you been, my darling young one?
I’ve stumbled on the side of twelve misty mountains
I’ve walked and I’ve crawled on six crooked highways
I’ve stepped in the middle of seven sad forests
I’ve been out in front of a dozen dead oceans
I’ve been ten thousand miles in the mouth of a graveyard

[Chorus]
And it’s a hard, and it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard
It’s a hard rain’s a-going to fall

[Verse 2]
Oh, what did you see, my blue-eyed son?
And what did you see, my darling young one?
I saw a newborn baby with wild wolves all around it
I saw a highway of diamonds with nobody on it
I saw a black branch with blood that kept dripping
I saw a room full of men with their hammers a-bleeding
I saw a white ladder all covered with water
I saw ten thousand talkers whose tongues were all broken
I saw guns and sharp swords in the hands of young children

[Chorus]
And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, and it’s a hard
It’s a hard rain’s a-going to fall

[Verse 3]
And what did you hear, my blue-eyed son?
And what did you hear, my darling young one?
I heard the sound of a thunder that roared out a warning
I heard the roar of a wave that could drown the whole world
I heard one hundred drummers whose hands were a-blazing
I heard ten-thousand whispering and nobody listening
I heard one person starve, I heard many people laughing
I heard the song of a poet who died in the gutter
I heard the sound of a clown who cried in the alley

[Chorus]
And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard
It’s a hard rain’s a-going to fall

[Verse 4]
Oh, what did you meet, my blue-eyed son?
And who did you meet, my darling young one?
I met a young child beside a dead pony
I met a white man who walked a black dog
I met a young woman who her body was burning
I met a young girl, she gave me a rainbow
I met one man who was wounded in love
I met another man who was wounded in hatred

[Chorus]
And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard
It’s a hard rain’s a-going to fall

[Verse 5]
And what will you do now, my blue-eyed son?
And what will you do now, my darling young one?
I’m a-going back out ’fore the rain starts a-falling
I’ll walk to the depths of the deepest dark forest
Where the people are many and their hands are all empty
Where the pellets of poison are flooding their waters
Where the home in the valley meets the damp dirty prison
And the executioner’s face is always well hidden
Where hunger is ugly, where the souls are forgotten
Where black is the color, where none is the number
And I’ll tell it, and speak it, and think it, and breathe it
And reflect from the mountain so all souls can see it
Then I’ll stand on the ocean until I start sinking
But I’ll know my song well before I start singing

[Chorus]
And it’s a hard, it’s a hard, it’s a hard, and it’s a hard
It’s a hard rain’s a-going to fall
A Hard Rain's a-Gonna Fall
Bob Dylan