Monday, July 18, 2011

I Was Young Once, And Very Angry

I just recently came across a letter that I wrote to my friend Wes.  I wrote this letter back in 2003 when I was very angry at life.  A lot of things were going wrong for me then and I think I let it all out.  So, here it is.  Unedited, unfiltered, and extremely angry.  It is funny in a way, in that, I can use some pretty colorful langauge when I'm angry. 

From the National Affairs Desk of

Adrian Ray Long

Date:  August 30, 2003

Dear Wes,

      I've been stuck in a rut the last few months, maybe the last year.  On the greater scheme of things, I've been in a rut my whole life.  To live in the past is comfortable, it is assured.  Living neither here nor there is where we run into trouble.  That's why I am writing to you.  To discuss an enlightening I have had. 

      America's present was killed when our beloved President John F. Kennedy was murdered that fatal day in Dallas so many years ago.  However, we recovered.  Not well mind you, but the future continued.  America's future was destroyed when Robert (Bobby) Kennedy was killed.  He was to bring about change.  Civil Rights, Equality, and Prosperity.  He was going to be our next President, and everyone knew it.  No Democrat would run against Bobby in the primary because everyone could see the future rested with him.  When he died in a pool of his own blood at the Democratic National Convention in New York, it was the opening of Pandora's Box.  It let the Third Incarnation of Richard Nixon creep into the White House.  When Sirhan Sirhan pulled that trigger into Bobby's gut, the bullet severed the backbone of Bobby and America.  Never forget my friend, when they try to pull this political correctness bullshit on you, that the first terrorist act from the Middle East on America was the killing of America itself that consisted of six bullets into the chest of Bobby Kennedy.

      As I said earlier, I was neither here nor there, stuck not in the past, present, and no future could be found.  My first act to get out of my own rut was to graduate.  An accession of sort.  I am a changed man, but a man none-the-less.  Like child abuse, I needed to break the cycle.  I went on vacation the day after graduation.  I first made my way to Alabama, but I could not find any help here.  These people were as lost as I was.  There was no sense in staying more than 48 hours.

      I moved on to Tennessee, where I briefly met my sister and her boyfriend.  I saw the look in his eyes.  Not all was what it appeared to be.  They say that when an object draws too near a black hole, the gravity is so strong it bends light and time unto itself.  These objects of the universe are great, but terrible.  And that's what I was dealing with.  She-who-must-not-be-named (known also as my sister) has done great, but terrible things.  I felt the breath being drawn out of me.  You know what I mean Wes.  Terrible things.  I thought I was weak from the injuries I sustained while playing football and painting my signs.  I was wrong.  For nothing could have prepared me for the level of hate, jealously, rage, and raw emotion that were directed at myself.  I thought, what could I have done to warrant such loathing?  It was the cycle.  I was breaking the cycle.  People are controllable when they are just barely content with going along with life.  Numb, like I was.  Numb, like you were at Guitar Center.  I had made a conscious decision to look for my future, or at least my present.  I could not look inward anymore, for I was like she-who-must-not-be-named.  I was a black hole myself.  I needed to look outward, elsewhere. 

      I looked towards the Gods.  That's right Wes, the Gods, Herne and Hecate.  For salvation is not found by taking a bath, or jumping in the river.  Interaction, people needing people.  People being happy with who they are, and not worrying about controlling every nuance of their live until death.  You know what that's called?  Being that controlling, fearing every sin?  That's called being stuck in a rut, although they call themselves Christians.  I shall look into the unknown, and I shall not fear it.  I will gather with other seekers of the unknown, and shall not fear it.  For fear is a manner of control, and so is Christianity.  But you already knew this didn't you?  This is what you kept trying to drill through my thick skull.

      I had finally broke free of fear, and free of my rut.  I was now on my path.  The Present.  However, I had no idea the hated and fear, yes fear, that I would incur because of my new found freedom.  And if you only understand one part of this letter, understand this, freedom is the most difficult idea and practice to obtain.  There are hordes of those who will try to take your freedom away.  Even if you do not believe in "The Opponent" like myself, remember what he said.  He said, "I am called Legion, for I am many."  You should worry about the many, but more importantly, you should worry about "The One."  This is where I made my mistake.  I did not look out for "The One."  "The One" attacked me not where I was weakest, but where I was strongest.  She-who-must-not-be-named attacked my faith, my insight to my newfound present, and soon to be future.  In layman's terms, she outright attacked my faith in front of my Mother.  I have always kept quiet about my faith to my Mother.  I did not want to throw it in her face.  In a fit of rage my sister threw it in her face, and enjoyed every second of it.  I was appalled and disgusted.  I had never been ashamed of who I was, or what I had done.  The shock to my newfound strength almost killed me like Jack and Bobby.  My present and my future.  The shock almost forced me into my past, to do something that I truly would have been ashamed of.  The violence executed upon myself, almost begot violence.  Not that day, however.  And since I realized that I am in control of me.  I immediately did the only thing I could do.  An option that left me in control of myself, while escaping the black hole.  I left.  It was the best damn decision that I could have made, and I don't regret it one bit.  Just remember a poem I heard.

      A pig will walk in the wilderness
      A pig will walk on the sea
      A pig will walk wherever he wants
      But no pig walks on me

      I moved on to West Virginia.  These are a mean people.  Don't let that 49th in crime, in the nation fool you.  It's hard to charge a crime when there's no body to be found.  This is a dying state my friend, it's all cemeteries and antique shops.  I walked into an antique shop and the first thing I encountered was a mounted deer skull with antlers.  The fact that a deer skull was mounted was in itself unusual, but the fact that the skull had an ancient looking arrow smashed in-between the antlers, it made the scene all the more eerie.  Someone wanted you to know that they had killed this poor beast by smashing an arrow into its forehead.  Like I said Wes, these are a violent people.  I wanted to leave, but something kept tugging at me, telling me I had to see more.  All the mounts were works of terror.  I saw a rainbow trout that looked like it did not belong on this earth.  It looked .......... you guessed it Wes, violent.  All the deer mounts were the same.  If you ever read the works of the great H.P. Lovecraft you would know what I mean.  In this forgotten Massachusetts village, the people born there are of a different kind.  They look human enough, except for the eyes, it's always the eyes.  But eventually they all turn, they are called back to that ocean-side town to live under the reef as the ancient ones do.  That is how West Virginia is Wes.  They all have the same eyes.  Some will leave but they come back, they always do.  Like my Uncle Watson.  He's a cheapskate millionaire, who could do anything he wanted.  Of all the things he wants to do, he wants to move back "home." 

      Anyway, the deer were all the same except one.  The mount was not a particularly good one.  The taxidermist had to cut slits down the eyes of this deer.  At first, I thought this was a weak animal, and there is no place for a weak animal in West Virginia, but I understood.  It was one of the changed.  Only a fool would have put an animal like this on display for the whole world to see.  He had to change it back, make it look weaker, use false eyes.  All of the things to hide what really goes on here.

      If you look around, you'll see what I mean.  A lot of the women here are truly works of art.  In other words, they are delightful in their appearance.  But, there's a catch.  It's only the ones under twenty-one.  Once they get older, they start to get hideous.  Like I said, mean, Wes, mean. 

      I have the saddest story to tell you about this very thing.  On two different days we stopped at a Wendy's for lunch.  There was a beautiful young girl who worked at the register named Danielle.  She had bronze hair and light brown skin with freckles all over her face and arms.  She was a sun-walker.  At maybe a hundred pounds, she walked though the forest, letting the sunshine fall upon her delicate body.  She may have only been about seventeen at the most.  Her innocent movements told me so.  I wanted to take her away from this place.  I know there are laws against that kind of thing, but I could not damn her to this violent and rigid community.  We all know what happens to the weak ones here Wes. 

      On the second day that I saw her there, I said, "Rules, laws, and police be Damned!"  I was going to take her away.  I walked up to her, not as a knight in shining armor or any crap like that, but as a simple person helping another person.  You know, people helping people.  I walked up, and looked into her eyes.  They told me everything Wes.  She would turn on me Wes.  She would turn just like the rest.  Just like my Uncle Watson.  I could take her away from this place, live happily together until her pain would start.  She would have to come back.  There would be no denying it.  There was nothing I could do.  Later on that evening, I sat down by the river near my Grandparents house and cried.  It was the kind of feeling where you try to save someone's life, but they die in your arms anyway.

      Anyway, as I was saying, these are a mean people.  Someone was shooting people at gas stations, for who knows what reason?  Three people dead.  It even made the national news.  They say it was about drugs, and I wouldn't be surprised one bit.  West Virginia is one of the largest producers of marijuana in the world.  However, the crystal meth has been moving in, and we all know what crystal meth does.  I saw the houses, the ones that were blown up from the inside out.  The meth lab they had in the basement burned everything into carbon ash.  Only parts of the foundation and bricks remained.  Oh, and insurance doesn't cover meth labs, but it's not like these kinds could even afford insurance.  Besides they don't know any better, the meth rots their brains, and turns them cannibalistic.  This sick breed feeds on the death of others.  To understand these people a little better, read this old parable, it will tell you much.

      An old woman was walking down the road when she saw a gang of thugs beating a poisonous snake.  She rescued the snake and carried it back to her home, where she nursed it back to health.  They became friends and lived together for many months.  One day they were going into town, and the old woman picked him up and the snake bit her.  She screamed, "Oh God, I am dying! I am dying!  Why did you bite me?" 

      The snake looked up at her and said, "Lady, you knew I was a snake when you first picked me up."

      Remember this Wes, not everyone will tell you that they are, and were, and will continue to be a poisonous snake when you pick them up.  Look at the eyes.

      While I was in West Virginia I made a couple of finds in these old antique shops.  Firstly, I found a print by a woman named Jan May.  It is a dark print my friend.  It is the image I see when I read The Lord of the Rings.  You know, the part about the dark forest near the beginning of the first book?.  I wish it had made it into the movie.  I keep looking at it, and expect to see the Dark Riders come out of it any second.  I got another print of a dead tree on a prairie.  It's all yellow and burnt orange.  Most importantly I got two guitars.  The first one is a Les Paul Jr. copy by a company called Cahuenga.  What the fuck kind of name is that?  It has these funky single coils that look like mini-buckers.  It has the greatest single coil sound.  I love it.  It's fucking weird, especially for $40.00.  The prize however was a jumbo cut-a-way acoustic spruce top, everything else maple.  Even real maple sides.  It only has a G on the headstock and some numbers printed in ink on the inside.  I've never seen anything like it.  Especially a jumbo.  I'll have to do some looking for a case to fit it.  This thing looks like it was made by a local who actually knew what the hell he was doing.

      On to the homecoming.  Oh, and weird news.  My birthday was August 27th.  On the 27th I turned 27.  It was also a New Moon.  It was also when Mars was the closest to the Earth in almost 6,000 years or so.  All of this means ........  didly-squat.  I may be Pagan, but I'm not an idiot.

      Now for the bad news.  It seems those bastards at Guitar Center have done it.  They put up a store, right under my nose, in my town.  Un-fucking-believe-able.  I was even watching for this.  I knew about the one in Lakeland, but not the one here.  I even checked the website for this kind of shit.  I am so sick to my stomach about these gold grabbing weasels. 

      Well, it's time for me to go.  I miss the whole gang.  I really liked Sam, Sarah, and of course Kathy.  And the funny thing was, Monica and I were just starting to get along.  I really admire her strength.  But she's in Houston right?  Also, I hope I didn't cause you too many problems in GC.  You were right when you said that you still needed to go in there.  God I'm a selfish bastard.  Now that I think of it.  Those bastards still have $10.00 of mine.  Slimy scum-fucks!  Be careful out there Wes, Miami is kinda like West Virginia, without all the inbreeding.

Cautiously, Your friend,


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