Excuse me sir, did you see my personality come through here?

Most distractions are committed by adoration

If there were only less people

Then one could stand out

In a world of seven billion

There are no individuals

The genetic code has run its course

Every conceivable combination has been unlocked

What’s next?

These short bursts of thought that mean nothing

I’m not curing cancer here

Just drinking and whining

Yet I deserve the best

But if it came to thinning the herd

I would gladly give my throat

This misanthropic lifestyle that hasn’t killed me yet

Will be the death of me soon

No matter if THEY take over or not

I will be lost to my own long before

I sit daily and moan with pain and apathy

Others spring with joy

Like toys mass produced in long lines and twelve hour work days

with fifty percent divorce rates

Prescription DRUGS and four hour plane delays

That’s theirs to decide

We have to finish as strong as we started

From this view point it doesn’t look so good

Blind with Both Eyes Open

I sit here and imagine a greater place

I wallow in the torrent of what I have done

Future dreams of those that came before me

Prey on these lines

Comments

From others

Wallow alone in what I consider deep

But it’s only me

These things come to mind when I’m not around this board

They leave as soon as it comes into sight

 

I have no future

I’ll slave till I’m sixty-five

Never thought of it

Just trying to get by

But what if what you do never pays

I guess we will be living under the line

There I will lay down and die

No strength in me

Not like the other guys

I’m sure I’ll just wither away

And never be remembered

But here I sit

With stomach ulcers and guilty behavior

Nothing will ever change

I am doomed to the same ending as those that came before me

 

Our attention span has dwindled

We have no time

Three of four minutes is all we have

Just give it to me now and let me check it out later

We are all the same

No originality

Only privilege no rights

Whatever you wanna call it

His hat sits on the table across from me

He wouldn’t understand what I’ve been doing all day

Well maybe a part of it he would

But what about the buttons pushed through

And the long diatribes

He wouldn’t understand

But maybe he’ll come get his hat

And we can talk about it

Death of a Christian

            I gave myself to you at an early age.  I felt your presence from the moment I began to seek the Truth.  I felt your guidance, your security, your love.  The world began to open up to me.  My sense of sight became heightened.  I could see things I was blind to previously.  I knew then that we all, as human beings, are playing detrimental parts in a war that pits good against evil.  It is the war of wars, and most of the troops in this war, on both sides, are blind to the real truths. 

            I have personally witnessed the manifestation of both angels and demons in some of the most peculiar ways.  I have heard the voice of God whispered in my ear.  I have had the hum of the devil buzz wildly like bees trapped inside my head.  Constant static and white noise accompanied with weird shrieks and distinct orders, orders of a truly wicked nature.  I know the truth.
             I have spent my entire adult life spreading the word of Christ our Lord and searching for the truth.  During my life long journey for this knowledge I became closer to you God and our bond became stronger than ever, but during these times my faith has been tried over and again.

 “Then Job arose, and rent his mantle, and shaved his head, and fell down upon the ground and worshipped,

And said, ‘Naked came I out of my mother’s womb, and naked shall I return thither: the Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the Lord.’”

                                                                                                                                    Job 1:20-21

During these trials you showed me things I do not believe the average Christian even really believes is lingering in those dark recesses of both their physical and spiritual world.  The closer I got to you the more horrible the truths were, the harder they tried for my soul, the more they took away from me, including my family, to get me to denounce my faith in you and become a servant of the dark, but much like Job, Lord, my faith never faltered.  I know you are true love.  I know this body is merely a vessel for the true me until it is my time to stand with you Lord. 

 “O Lord, thou hast searched me, and known me.

Thou knowest my downsitting and mine uprising, thou understandest my thought afar off.”

                                                                                                                        Psalms 139:1-2           

 

            I know Lord God that you see right through me.  You know what this is all about.  This I am doing now is more for me and those I will leave behind.  I feel like the knowledge that you, yourself, the one true God, has bestowed upon me has taken its final toll. 

 “So that my soul chooseth strangling, and death rather than my life.”

                                                                                                                                    Job 7:15

I truly feel that my work has been done.

“For we are his workmanship, created in Christ Jesus unto good works, which God hath before ordained that we should walk in them.”

                                                                                                                        Ephesians 2:10

This I have done for you Lord.  Once again I feel like my work in this world is done.  I have obeyed and never once have I betrayed.  I have been a faithful servant my Lord, but my mind is broken, not my spirit, just my mind.  To bear witness to the things I have has caused a break down in what was once a semi-normal life.  First my sleep patterns began to change drastically due to horrific nightmares brought on by the random visits from some of Satan’s strongest subjects.  The six to eight hours I was getting prior to the strange visions and or encounters occurred during what most would consider normal hours.  Being a working stiff had me on a pretty decent routine.  Soon I wasn’t sleeping much during the night hours and would try and catch a few winks here in there throughout the day, whenever possible.  It didn’t seem to take long until I was in the grips of complete insomnia.

            It is pertinent no matter your spiritual strength that your body and mind rest.  Everything that led up to that point, all the visual and auditory hallucinations, I guess you would have to call them hallucinations because they were damn sure not apparent to anyone else, began to come at more and more frequent intervals. You know Lord how much I prayed to you, how much strength I begged you for, and for the longest time you seemed to grant me these small prayers.  Despite of my lack of sleep I managed to hold down my job.  My home life was not so lucky.  My wife began to become very concerned with the way I was acting and my lack of sleep.  She scheduled test after test with several sleep clinics to no avail.  Of course I didn’t indulge to them as to what was keeping me up and of course they all chalked it up to being something psychosomatic of course, this is what I had come to expect.  I hadn’t at that time been completely honest with my wife either, which was definitely wrong on my part.  Being a solid Christian couple I should have shared everything with her from the beginning, maybe then she would have had some more understanding.  I could have involved my family instead of keeping them ignorant to the battle that was apparently happening inside my mind and soul.  Although I have always felt that my soul was safe, I never fathomed that my sanity might be in danger.

          After a few months of no more than twenty hours of sleep, a scared five year old, and a frantic wife, I finally decided to break down and tell her all the details, every last word heard by any number of the voices screaming at me almost constantly to do this and that, to murder, to rape, to molest and mutilate children.  I told her about all the apparitions I have seen and still see, all the ghostly figures in mirrors and vivid dreams of angels of fire, drawing swords, and pointing me towards figures and beings and knowledge.  I told her of the state of constant prayer I found myself in most times.  I knew she was devout, as devout as I, and knew that she would then take me into her arms and reassure me that she was there for me, that she was there on mine and God’s side when it comes to fighting the good fight.  These are the things I knew in my heart would come.

             What reality had in store for me was something totally different.  As most in this century would assume she tried to convince me that I needed to seek professional help.  She did reassure me that she was there for me but she made it appoint that we were not on the same page.  I again, trying to hold back as much of the “crazy” emotions as I could, attempted to get her to realize what I was telling her was the truth.  I explained to her that I wasn’t for sure of all the details.  I couldn’t for the life of me figure out as to why all these entities where attracted to me.  I am devout but I am almost positive that there are far more devout people out there than I.  The only thing I can figure singled me out or made me more vulnerable were the questions that I asked you, my Lord.

            Maybe my fatal mistake was the search for knowledge and reason.  Instead of following blindly I feel like I brought our relationship to the foreground of my life and dissected it with scrutiny, and you were so kind as to take time and answer each and every one of my queries.  You showed me so much and as our relationship grew stronger the questions grew stranger and the answers became more unbearable.

            It wasn’t long until my wife had had enough of my rants and awkward behaviors around the house.  I had managed still to keep my job, by then I am sure it was by the skin of my teeth or by the grace of you Lord, but she had to seek her own kind of comfort and thought it was best to take our child with her.  I couldn’t really blame her, I mean of course I was hurt and devastated and mad, but I could understand her reluctance and the need to know her and her child were safe.

            With her and the child out of the house I began to lose it.  I felt my life simply just falling apart and again I came to you and begged you for strength and understanding.  Your will is what is to be done and for me to ask of anything different is to deny your will, but knowing this I begged, and you gave. 

            The next two weeks seemed to be only a dream.  I began to sense a distinct burden lift from me.  I started sleeping again and I was so grateful to you Lord.  I began to feel like the worse was over and I could then began to rebuild my life.  I had passed the test.  Satan threw his best at me, and I, by your strength only Lord, batted them away.  I became reborn for the second time in my life.  I felt like a new man and I knew what needed to be done to gather the parts of my life together again.                 

          A few days into the wonderful release, I phoned my wife and made sort of a date with her to let her in on recent developments.  We had a great evening but there was still much concern on her part.  We agreed to give it a few weeks’ time to make sure that I felt like the battle was truly over.  Everything went perfectly, that was until just a few days ago.

             I woke up from another horrible visit from one of Lucifer’s lackeys and realized that I was not yet free.  That journey for knowledge I began all those years ago, was now more eager than ever to present me with all kinds of truths.  I called my wife again and everything went horribly wrong the moment the call was connected, and of course all she could swear to where the noises made by me.  She heard none of the other parties present.  When the call connected I didn’t even have the chance to make a proper greeting before a loud, sharp, electric shriek sang out into my earpiece.  I yanked the phone away and gathered my thoughts.  I placed the handset back up to my ear and made sure that she was still on the other line.  We made a short greeting and I tried to explain to her what had happened with the phone, which immediately elicited a sigh from her end.  I, without going in to much detail, explained to her what had happened the previous night.  As I suspected, there was much disappointment in her voice when she tried to respond.  Before the first syllables of her reaction fell upon my ear another electronic shriek tore through the line.  I immediately dropped the handset and it crashed violently to the ground.  Once again I regained my composure and picked the phone up off of the floor.  She was still waiting semi-patiently on the other end.  Not wanting to hear my reasons or excuses, she quickly told me that we will just have to talk about it another time and terminated the call.  Feeling terrified and forsaken I sat at the dining room table and once again came to you my Lord.

“Submit yourselves therefore to God.  Resist the devil, and he will flee from you.”

                                                                                                                                    James 4:7

              I sat at the table with a million demonic voices ripping through my head.  I cleared enough room to recite a command I had learned from a book during some of my studies.

            “Satan, I close every door that I have opened to you and I renounce every activity I have partaken with you.  In Jesus name, I submit myself to God.  I resist you and command you to flee from me.  I remind you that you are defeated by the power of the cross- and with the authority given to me by Jesus Christ I command you and force you to leave me right now!”

            Immediately the voices ceased and everything seemed to become brighter, began to radiate with natural light.  I rose from the chair relieved and eternally grateful.  I thanked and praised you tirelessly, Lord God, for your love and forgiveness, throughout the remainder of the day.  I praised you literally until I passed out.  The last thing I could remember saying to myself or perhaps hearing from you, Lord, was,

“For I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, nor angels, nor principalities, nor powers, nor things present, nor things to come,

Nor height, nor depth, nor any other creature, shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

                                                                                                                        Romans 8:38-39

               Immediately after the last word was heard or spoken, whatever the case may have been, I went right to sleep.  I do not recall a single thought after that moment.  I do not believe I was asleep more than fifteen minutes before I felt my body seize sharply, putting me in a tense, straight as a board, position.  As every muscle in my body seemed to simultaneously tighten up, each and every one of them became paralytic.  I could not so much as open my eyelids, no matter how hard I tried, and believe me I tried.  Of course, once again, you know of all of this my Lord, but I guess it helps to get it all out and I truly, truly hope that my wife becomes fully aware of what is going on around all of us, her and my child both.  God, my Lord I wish I could wake the world with what I know but I can’t.  You know as well as I do that the masses want to remain in a permanent hypnosis.

            As I tried franticly to free myself from whatever had bound me, my mind was flooded with all of the most horrific images one can imagine.  All of the most deranged and grotesques acts that any one person could fathom done to all man, beast, woman, child, elder, village, town, city, all of creation as a whole, flashed almost as if they were being rolled off of a projector and directly into my brain.  Without physically being there I witnessed hundreds of morbid and macabre scenes, in the first person, giving the feeling of actually being a part of the scene, within a matter of seconds, although it felt like I was in that state for a minimum of thirty minutes.  

            When released from this paralysis, I immediately bolted upright and my head was taken over next.  Horribly demonic sounds, deep guttural groans and whisper soft hisses, filled my ears.  I could hear a low chanting.  I couldn’t make out the words, not that I was trying all that hard.  What got me the most were the beastly groans and growls.  I grabbed the two closest pillows and shoved them over my ears, knowing that it would do no good.  I buried myself in the comforter and pillows and tried to bear with it the best that I could, constantly trying to reach you Lord.  This went on for hours with me in agonizing pain, mentally and physically.  Finally Lord you granted me peace once again but only for a short time.  During this rather short break I manage to make my way to the kitchen and pour myself a glass of water.  No sooner than I had set the glass on the counter, I was brought to my knees by a piercing pang that shot through the front of my head, right behind my eyes.  It was intense, but brief and I quickly tossed it off as sort of an aftershock of all the craziness that was going on just minutes before.  I rose to me feet and was again brought down by the same sharp pain.  On my knees, I lifted my head and adjusted my eyes from the immense tightening I had done in reaction to the pain, and noticed, clear as crystal, but just as brief as the lightning in my head, a man, standing right above me, with absolutely no features.

              I quickly and tightly shut my eyes, with the hopes it would be gone when I reopened them, but deep down I knew that it had appeared and disappeared while my eyes were wide open, leaving me only to think of how cowardly I was being.  With the silence I brought myself back to my feet and made way back into my bedroom.  I sat on the edge of the bed for a few minutes, trying to ease the pressure behind my eyes, and thought that I might have enough quiet time to actually get some sleep.  Amazingly I was able to fall straight asleep and stay asleep for at least an hour.  There was no strange noises or horrific visions to stir me, I just felt a sudden panic and jerked myself awake.  It wasn’t until I was sitting up before they swarmed me again, with all their horrendous shrill and shrieks.  One or more of them were literally raping a woman in my head.  There were no visuals but the noises were not to be mistaken.  She screamed to no one in certain for mercy and help.  I could hear the despair in her voice.  She screamed and wailed for her assailants to stop, with no response from them, verbal or otherwise.

            I placed my hands over my ears, pressed tightly against my head, and screamed as loud as I could possibly scream in a lame attempt to drown her out, but it did absolutely nil.  It seemed the louder I got and the harder I tried to block her brutal cries, the more anguish and volume she presented them with. 

            I couldn’t and still don’t understand it Lord.  You watched me writhe in pain and agony my Lord.  You witnessed the sickness of that of only heroin junkies overtake me causing my life to spiral out of control.  I yanked and smashed my head for hours listening to the unrelenting screams as they seem to never get their fill of their debauchery.

           The torment, once again, ceased just as abruptly as it had started.  My head was instantly cleared and all pressure was relieved as if nothing had ever happened.  I knew that they wouldn’t give me long until they grabbed me again so I tried to make good use of the time.  I phoned my boss, even though I was already hours late, and gave him a generic excuse as to why I hadn’t arrived and why I wouldn’t be in later.  He bought it for the most part but I could hear concern in his voice.  After hanging up the phone I went into the den and grabbed my bible.  My thought was that I was going to get a head start on the next attack and fully dive into your word Lord and try and keep nothing but you in my thoughts.  I found my bible, exactly where I had left it, and went back to sit at the dining room table.  I sat at the table and decided I would just open your book randomly and point and just see what you had to say.  I couldn’t get you to answer any other way and thought that this would be the perfect way to get your thoughts and this Lord; this is what you gave me. 

“I beseech you therefore, brethren, by the mercies of God, that ye present your bodies a living sacrifice, holy, acceptable unto God, which is your reasonable service.

And be not conformed to this world: but be ye transformed by the renewing of your mind, that ye may prove what is good, and acceptable, and perfect, will of God.”

                                                                                                                        Romans 12:1-2

            

            I see now Lord.  I would have never gathered that information if it wasn’t for you.  You guided my hand and pointed me towards the words that were most fitting of my situation.  I see now, Lord, that I must give my body unto you in order to save it from the forces that intend to tear it limb from limb.  Thank you my Lord, once again I have asked and you have given and I will again give to you my life. 

        To those I will leave behind, I will see you all again and anxiously await those moments.  I am sorry for the pain I have caused all of you but I realize now what I must do.  I know it may seem strange and rash but I promise you it was what had to be done.  I love you all with everything that I was and everything that I will be.  We will be together.  Life does not end here!

                                                      

Poetry In The Eyes of a Skeptic

Poetry doesn’t have to be this big metaphorical field

Literal tenses can confirm the same emotions

Tell it how it was

Simple prose

No rhymes

No reason

Just thoughts in order

No subject

No object

Just thoughts strewn across whatever it is that prints this shit these days

WANNA BE BUKOWSKI

The page no longer rolls off the typewriter

It merely fades into a file

Big dirty apes fill tv screens

Ego and alcohol have blessed this man

No body mold could hold his figure or face

Only life could produce something with so many scars and so many distastes

So eager to be sour

So happy to be displaced

Beautiful deep crevices following a heart broken face

Wait

“No rhyming poetry in Henry Chinaski’s house!”

Stone-cold sour was his look of choice

French cigarettes and cheap Italian wine

Nine beers on my part just for the night

Poor man’s curse

This thing called a job

Yet here I am playing Bukowski’s part

I was born into this

No money no grave

I was born into this

The one that cannot be saved

I was born into this

To steal from those I crave

I was born into this

These aren’t original ideas

I know it’s time to quit

But who says

Is will my only choice

Consequence

Beer after beer

Drink after drink

Hour after hour

Each one depletes

Leaving less and less each moment

A POSER PRESSING ON

I keep discovering these people

Artists

Poets

Writers

Directors

Lyricists

Comics

Whatever

They have the ability to put all of my own thoughts perfectly into words

I understand that there is nothing original anymore

At least no thought or concept

So how do I go about expressing myself without complete plagiarism?

Or at least feeling like a poser of sorts?

The Death of my Father from a Chair Away

Monday I can talk about the first time I seen him open his eyes

Looks like death.  Just nothingness.

They can say it’s the drugs

I say severe brain damage.

Stiff-back chairs and elongated lungs

Filled with black tar, snuff and cotton

Red vinyl lining squeaking stiff and peeling

Scabs, feet swollen shins

in and out hissing and everything is missing

Dad vs Deer (The Farmhouse Stories Pt.2)

    The north and west side of the College farm was bordered by property owned by Red River Army Depot.  Beyond our fences was nothing more than acres upon acres of thick pine forests with fire lanes cut through them.  On a few rare occasions we would see army tanks rolling down these wide paths, making test runs we all assumed.  More than not it was just a lot of wild animals.

    My dad would sit on the back porch with a case a beer at his feet and a rifle in his hand.  He would watch for coyotes mainly, not wanting them to get near the sheep.  I would sit with him sometimes and watch.  Dad would just scan the field and sip his beer.  A coyote would slink across the pasture, trying its damndest not to be seen.  When he eyed the wild dog trying to sneak, he would slowly raise his gun, take aim and fire.  Most of the time, the coyote would be taken off its feet and knocked back a few yards.  There were those instances where the beer had gotten the best of his judgment and vision.  If he missed he would quickly jam another round in the chamber, find his target and squeeze the trigger.  If the dog was not dead then, it was definitely running in the opposite direction.

    Any time there was a confirmed coyote kill my dad would hop on the three-wheeler and make his way to the dead animal.  All of the coyote carcasses ended up as some sort of deranged fence ornaments.  He would hang the bodies over the back fence to sort of ward off any other coyotes in the area.  I am not sure this did anything but feed the vultures.
    My dad also liked to hunt deer from that very same spot on the back porch.  This helped fulfill his need to be a self-sufficient outdoorsman, I guess.  I do know it helped put food on the table for a handful of hungry kids. 
     Most of the deer killed on that property where killed illegally but there was absolutely no one around to tell on us and I’m sure that if there had been my dad would have not given a fuck either way.
    It was barely past dusk and he was already six beers deep into his cheap aluminum fold-out chair.  He eyed the field with the last remaining bits of sunlight assisting him.  All of us kids played our games in the front yard.  We spun circles looking up at the evening sky until we couldn’t stand any longer.  Those of us who enjoyed the feeling more than the others, went off to live harder lives.  We all bolted straight up from where we were when we heard the report of the rifle. 
    Dad came from around the back and leaned his rifle against the side of the house.  “I got one!  Who’s coming with me to collect?” he hollered excitedly at us.  We all hopped up out of the grass and gathered around him.  I know I was a proud son.  “Ya’ll get in the truck and I’ll be right back.”  We all ran and jumped into the cab of the trusty rusty Chevrolet. 
    My dad grabbed his rifle from where he left it and went inside.  He returned shortly, half-skipping towards the truck while he adjusted a newly bought belt-holster.  He got behind the wheel of the truck, cranked the engine and let the old beast lurch forwards.  There was a gate almost straight ahead that led to the pasture where the deer was lying.
    Once again the golden rule of farm life, ‘the one closest to the door opens the gate’, rang true.  I jumped out just as excited as my father.  I opened the gate and let the truck pass.  I was sure there were no cattle in that area but closed and latched the gate anyway.  I rejoined the group in the truck and we took off through the tall grass with nothing but two hi-beams and my dad’s half-drunken arrogance to lead the way. 
    We made heavy tracks in the grass as we made our route. We came to and circled around his latest kill.  He backed up to the body and killed the truck.  The lights stayed on with none of that incessant noise that comes with new cars.  We all piled out of the truck.  My dad made his way to the rear.  Curious me, I climbed out of the door and onto the toolbox in the back while the other kids ran to the front of the truck to dance in in the high grass and hi-beams.
     I watched as my dad slowly walked up to the creature with his right hand at the butt of his gun.  It was a .38 that he had even let me try out.  My first bout with the gun was a tough one, but I held firm.  My confidence began to waiver by the fact that I could not hit anything to save my life.  My only reasoning led me to believe that if I brought the gun closer to my face would I be able to get a clearer view of my target.  That was my mistake.  Although I was clear on the recoil aspects of the gun I was more than over confident in my forearms.  The hammer of the pistol reached back just far enough to kiss me on the bridge of my nose.  I was left with a trickle of blood, a single tear, and a few of my dad’s buddies having a good laugh.
     He came around to the side of the deer and watched it closely.  There seemed to be no life left in it whatsoever and apparently he thought so as well.  The hand on his gun butt began to relax.  With a stride only hubris and alcohol could provide, he walked towards the truck and lowered the tailgate.  He gave me a small wink and turned once again to what had really brought us out there.
     He swaggered over, bent down with nothing but legs, and ripped the thing from the ground.  He had a hold of it by all four legs and I watched him as he sauntered over carrying its full weight.  With a squat and a sudden thrust, he threw the deer onto the cold metal of the truck bed.  In an instant the deer came alive.  We were both shocked as shit.  I leapt from the toolbox to the ground and ran towards the other kids.  I craned my neck over the body of the truck and saw the deer standing completely upright in the bed.
     Hooves came down on my dad.  He raised his arms in that defensive motion that is natural to all things that fear death.  With the rain of hoof beats on his forearms, he managed to wrestle it out of the truck.  The deer hit the ground sideways and jumped up for another round.  My dad was almost done with. Those few dozen fast punches from something sharper than any man’s hands, had taken its toll. I could tell the faintness he was feeling from yards away.
     In a last ditch effort my dad drew the gun he had been toting.  Fire flew from the barrel as the deer struck him with everything it had.  It looked like a series of S.O.S. flares going off with no one near enough to save him. We all ducked for cover not knowing exactly where the bullets would land.  Finally, with the last bellow from the .38, the doe hit the ground hard.  My dad quickly re-holstered the weapon and held his arms where he could see.  The flannel jacket that he had been wearing had been ripped to shreds.  Shallow trickles of blood seeped out and colored the cotton red.  He shook it off as only the men of yesterday could.
     Shocked and pissed, he reached down, grabbed the deer and hoisted it once again into the bed of the truck, this time with no fight.  All of us that were only witness to the situation neatly gathered in the cab of the truck and rode silently home, with the man that fought the deer.

The Farm Stories Part One Bobby's Feet

    My father was a man by the time he was sixteen.  By the time I came along, he was already one child deep and trying to half-way figure out what to do next.  Parenting is hard, that is why I choose not to partake.  At the age of twenty two, he landed a job some would dream about.  I know if I had the capabilities and confidence my old man had, it might be something that I would be willing to seek today, but the men of today are not the men of yesterday. 

    He was granted the position as ‘live-in caretaker’ of the Texarkana College farm.  There were three hundred and sixty-five acres of various things including a three bedroom house and a school room of the same sized next door.  There was a sheep barn that housed anywhere from thirty to fifty head of sheep.  There was an orchard that spawned pears and apples almost all year long.  Three humongous pastures for grazing cattle and haying, with at least two hundred head of cattle at any given moment, dominated the majority of the land.  Set way away from the main house was a hog barn.  I don’t honestly recall ever hauling any pigs to market, but they were always there needing to be feed and cleaned.

    Their cells ran side by side at a downward angle where we could just come in with a garden hose and spray away all the new shit and piss and it would run beautifully down this little trench and into a pond a hundred or so yards away.  That pond was filled with nothing but hog waste and maggots.  It was a horrible stench but one you got used to rather quickly.

    My dad woke all four of us kids up bright and early one morning.  He was expecting a load of feed from the mill in town he did all his business with.  We were all instructed to put on long pants and shoes.  This seemed like a relatively easy task one did not normally have to instruct another to do, but my father was keener towards childlike behavior than anyone of us could have guessed.

    Bobby, not the brightest of the bunch, decided to ignore the latter of the rules thinking it would be less harmful than being late.  We all hopped in the blue Chevy and no one thought twice to look at Bobby’s feet.  It seemed he was comfortable and we were none the wiser.

    We drove down the old blacktop road until we reached the gate to the hog barn.  I, being the closest to the door, which was always the rule, got out and opened the gate.  I did as I always did and opened the gate, let the truck pass through and then lock the gate as I had found it before re-entering the truck.  We made it to the barn and all piled out.

    Us kids hopped into the back of the truck and began to play games that let our imagination run.  We had been good at that.  With so much land and opportunity to get outside, we were always coming up with stuff to do, even if it seemed like work sometimes.  Bobby bragged about being able to climb to the top of the feed silo.  We all doubted him and then of course he didn’t try.  After a few minutes of games and calling each other out, there was a large honk, the kind you only get from air horns on big rigs.

My dad made his way up, from whatever he was doing, and told us all to get down.  He told us to go stand by the fence and he would be back in just a minute.  Obediently, we all gathered around the nearest fence and wrapped our hands tightly around the bars behind us.  This was conditioning.  When he said do something we all became alert and did exactly what was asked of us.

                We stood there in a row along the fence as the blue Chevy was followed in by a much larger eighteen wheeled truck carrying a massive segmented barrel.  The truck driver moved in like a pro, pushing that hulk of a machine right next to where he needed it.  My dad parked the old truck yards out of the way and let the man do his job.

    Within minutes, the driver of the semi was out and assembling this large chute directed towards the top of our silo.  He then climbed the narrow ladder welded to the side of the silo and unhinged the large cap.  His feet touched the ground without the slightest stammering.  He then stood outside of his truck, pulling levers, and fed the beast that was our silo.

    We all watched in amazement, not sure of what was going on.  The games had ceased and we were left in wonder. 

    Once everything was filled, cap on and the chute retrieved, a small transaction of paperwork happened between the truck driver and my father.

    The truck made its way back out as my dad approached us all along the fence.  The paperwork he had in his hand quickly went to his back pocket and he presented us with nothing more than a smile and a question, “Ya’ll ready?”

    Half of us, including myself, jumped to attention.  The other half was left mumbling lazy curses.  After a few huffs from the other crowd it was decided by Him that we must all partake in the next job.  This was the cleaning of the cells we all anticipated.  We knew what was about to come and we all hated it.  But this was a part of the life that we, us children, somewhat agreed to without knowing the full terms.  It wasn’t all sunny Sundays in the meadows. 

    I had gathered from previous experiences that manning the hose was by far the easiest and the most fun job there was.  Although I had to put in more time than everyone else, I didn’t find myself with a shovel in my hands scraping up the drier, harder shit.

     I watched as the stream of water from my hose began to unhinge the cakes from the concrete.  There was little to no effort.  I watched it all go exactly where it was meant to go.  All of the feces and urine that was caught by my water, made a safe trek to the carved out, downward tunnel meant for such foul things.  I watched and sprayed.  I watched as I splashed the other kids with water or loose hog shit.  It was all in fun and games.  Soon my job was over and everyone was standing to the side.  I blasted a few more squirts from my hose directly into the mouth of the drainage ditch.  It was almost sickening watching that greenish brown soup run like a river towards it destination.

     I did a lousy job wrapping up the hose and merely tossed it to the side.  I joined the rest of the kids on the left side of the ditch and waited for dad.  He was making some last minute calculations in his head about the price of food and the cost of keeping pigs, I was sure.  It was here we all noticed that Bobby wasn’t wearing any shoes.  A few remarks were made to him but nothing seemed to phase.  A few moments later, dad hopped out of the truck and approached us all.

    “Ya’ll wanna take a little walk?” he asked.  I was sure that all of us kids, excluding Bobby, were thinking the exact same thing but none of us spoke up.  Bobby hadn’t been wearing any shoes at all that day.  What kind of repercussions could that bring?

    We all agreed to dad’s little walking tour and I felt it was important that I fall behind for some reason.  Nothing was made of it at first until I truly got a glimpse of what Bobby was facing.

     Regardless for the need or want for shoes, he chose the exact wrong places to walk.  Somehow, in his brain, he thought it was a better idea to walk straight down the concrete drainage ditch.  This was a ditch that no matter how hard you sprayed with pressurized water, the maggots still reign supreme.

    With each footstep of his I could see a trail of blood.  This was scary for me.  I was trying my damndest to let Bobby figure out what he was doing wrong but I was torn by the need to send the message ahead.  After a few more steps I realized I could not take it anymore.  I shouted for my dad in the front of the line and he immediately craned his head in my direction.

    “I think we gotta problem with Bobby”, I sort of spit out.

    “What do you mean?”  Both he and Bobby froze immediately.  Bobby began to step out of the trench and make his way to the fence.  I could see my dad rushing towards us.  “What the fuck is the problem?” he yelled.

    “I think you need to take a look at Bobby’s feet.  Something just ain’t right.”

      Bobby was cowered along the fence too scared to look at his on feet.  Dad stumbled over to where Bobby was and Bobby began to cry.  He fucked up and he knew it.

    “Let me see your feet boy!” my dad said in a hateful tone.  Bobby slowly picked up one foot and showed it to my father.  It looked as if there was no skin left, just the bloody silhouette of Bobby’s foot.  The first few layers of skin had been eaten away by the flesh hungry maggots he walked through.  It is a sight that will never leave my mind.

    In a semi-panic, my dad snatched the boy up and ran towards the truck.  Just like the obediently children we were, we followed suit.  We were in the back with Bobby in the front and dad driving.  We quickly made it to the house.  My dad grabbed Bobby, the same as before, and rushed him inside.  Luckily his wife, Bobby’s mom, was studying to become a nurse.  There were always a lot of gauze and bandages around.

    He sat Bobby at the dining room table and made a mad dash for all the things he would need.  We kids gathered around the table to witness the horrific sight.  He had both feet in the air and there was a steady stream of blood flowing from each one.  My young mind immediately went to all those similar images in all those cheap horror movies.  When my dad returned we all scattered.  A few words where said in the other room between him and Bobby but I will never forget the look of those feet.

    It took a while but Bobby’s sobs eventually turned to cries then whimpers.  I felt it was relatively safe to re-enter the dining room.  I crept around the corner from the hall and I could see immediately.  Everything that was red was now that soft baby pink.  The pink you can only get from fresh, new skin.  I walked around to my dad’s side and looked even closer.  The tears where still rolling down Bobby’s cheeks as I was sure it was not only painful but embarrassing as well.

    Once all the blood was washed away, the horror was gone.  I studied his feet for a few seconds while he sniffled and my dad opened numerous packages of gauze.  What originally looked like a scene out of some sadistic slasher flick amounted to nothing more than a severe foot scrub.  The maggots had mainly just eaten all the dead, callused flesh that was already there.  Although I am sure they went a little deeper than even the most extremely obscure Asian foot cleansing ritual, it felt as if I was looking at nothing more than a couple well-manicured feet.  Although I was sure that they would be tender and Bobby was going to have a tough time walking for the next few days, I kind of laughed at the idea of catching him down there again; pants rolled up to his knees, leaned back against his own arms, staring up blankly, softly soaking his feet in pig shit just for that super soft feel.  After all this was Bobby.