| Red Hot Chili Peppers derelict college |
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| Written by OG | |
| Wednesday, 03 January 2007 | |
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1/3/07 6:30 am. YuppyTown Dreams: Eighteen of us hung out at a local café in Southern California. My derelict college friends were there. D-Singer, the Red Hot Chili Peppers ( In real life we are not friends except that I like their music), my brother Red and a slew of others I did not know. They were amped up on crank and were distributing baggies of pot to each other. I was sober and thought I should leave as they were getting a bit rowdy. The café owners were not overly pleased. “Flea, I thought the Red Hot chili Peppers were sober these days? “We are but this is reminiscence.” “What’s the matter Nipple? You afraid of getting busted again?” Red asked. Everyone laughed at this new nickname for me. I’m not sure why he called me nipple, but I rolled with the joke and said, “Look. I’m lactating.” I buffed out my cheeks, then pinched them like a gigantic teat. I squirted a stream of saliva between my teeth on to red. Some hit his face. I added, “Lactating means nipple milk.” “Yeah? Well have some back.” He said and spit a goober my way. I ducked. It flew over my shoulder into the crowd. The café owners were hovering. Our crew decided to leave without much care that they carried bags of pot out in the open. One of the people in the crowd was the Gay Lion. I never took him to be much of a pot smoker but he had his bag like everyone else, except me. Like I said, I was sober. Though, it seems I had just gotten out of jail for being high the week before. “Gay Lion. You should put that away” I said and referenced his bag of weed. “You guys have enough dope to get locked up as dealers. Jail sucks.” Just as I said that two white cops in sparkling blue uniforms and the purity of Mormon football players crossed in the crosswalk as we j-walked. Gay Lion saw the cops and ran to catch up with the other derelicts who were already across the street. The police called him over. “You. All of you. All eighteen. This way. Let’s see what’s in those zipper pockets." The cops herded us into the shell of a building made of cement and called for back up. The taller cop asked me with sincerity. “ What happened to her to make her go down the path of drug abuse?” His sincerity surprised me. He was speaking of D-Singer. “Well, her mother died when she was young, and her father, though a loving man, wasn’t enough. He survived a Viet Cong prison, but was never the same. He died and left her the house, but she lost it because of heroin and a delusion of rock stardom.” “Huh.” The cop said. “Now she and the rest of you are going to loose your freedom.” “I’m not. I’m sober and don’t have any drugs on me.” “Well, we will see about that.” The smaller cop said and started to frisk me. The dream shifted. I was speaking with a dark haired woman, my contact in the sting operation. She had set the whole scene above into motion. She desired to have my younger self arrested and killed in jail. I explained it wasn’t likely as I was the only sober one in the group and would likely be set free, or get a minimal sentence as I was just walking with the derelicts. “Well, get back there and be sure he dies.” She said and left me standing in a dilemma. If I killed myself in the past, I would not be the person I am today. Though, I’m not such a great human being as to deserve the success I have today. It’s odd to be in a conspiracy against one’s self and history. The dream shifted. I was exceedingly wealthy and was contriving to have my brother in-law elected as Governor of his state. You see, he is the most reflexively honest and forthright man that I know. I don’t think he has ever done anything illegal or wrong in his life, except maybe speeding. He believes in God, fairness, and doing the right thing even if it is not to his personal advantage to do so. He loves his wife and his children. He’s conservative, but can enjoy a cigar and a whiskey. He is also a fine accountant, which government in general doesn’t seem to have a clue about. We need more money, so let’s raise taxes, either on the rich or the poor depending on what party is in place at the time. I believed in the dream he would make a fine politician because he wasn’t a politician. I wanted him elected because he would be thorn in the paw of the political beast of America. If nothing else, he could make his state fair and be a servant to the people for a change. The dream shifted. I woke. |
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