The Warrior’s Path

The Warrior’s Path

Why do all Good things come to an End?
My Boundaries I must Defend.
Show me the Warrior’s Path.
I want to get There fast.
Where do I find the Destination?
Brings me There through Contemplation.

All who Wander are not Lost.
Where is the Sacrifice? What is the Cost?
The Journey is the Destination.
Humility is your Reservation.
Go forth and choose your Trail!
With Spirit as your Guide, you cannot Fail.


The Man in the Hoodie: The Return Home

Part IV

The Man in the Hoodie: The Return Home

I met him at JoZ’s coffee shop and he wore a blue hoodie. Drinkin kold brew espresso, he wore a smile on his face. He had a laptop but appeared not to be using it — aloof but friendly, none the less. He was one of my friends, after all . . .

“Hey, I just met you . . . but here’s my email, so . . . write me, maybe.”

“Yeah, sure.” That’s the way we left it that first day.

He shot me an email, told me to meet me at JoZ’s at 6 pm. I got there at five. I came correct with well thought out small-talk, dressed to impress. Topics included: space-time, string theory, Presidential politics, the Olympics, etc. But he never showed. What da kup? So I decided to chase some tail instead. No such luck. I used to be good at flirting with women, but since I quit drinking, I’ve kinda lost my touch. Whatever.

I got an apologetic email around eight. You get that dirt off your shoulders. Brush ya shoulders off. Night. No Moon or Stars. Cold. Damn cold. Windy, too. Walking down the middle of the street lined with Abandoned Homes. Snow muffled all sounds, except for the shuffling of my boots. Are you with me so far?

Ole Man Winter and the Hawk: a deadly combination, my friends. More than any other emotion, I was terrified, with no Hope of Consolation. I had been Lost for so long — in the Maze of my own Mind, so Lost in the Labyrinth that any hope of my Way was gone. Or maybe, I was only ten feet from the Exit, but what’s the difference? They wouldn’t let me Out anyways. Totally Starbuxed.

Reminds me of a recurring Nightmare I’ve had. I saw a glimpse of my future: I saw myself in my late 50s with a mangy, half grey beard. I hadn’t showered in a month of Sundays. I was obviously lost. And above all I was scared shiteless. I did not know where I was or where I was going, but looked like the West Side of Chicago. Bux me, bitch.


Big Dave the Bear

Part VII

Big Dave da Bear:

Integration began in the mid-80s when crack dealers start using Pagers to sell drugs. Even the Police Radio was no match for the Pager and payphone. Once the realm of rich doctors, Pagers helped level the economic playing field: drug dealers became as rich as doctors and moved to suburbia for the good schools. If your kids smoke it, the drug dealers will come to your neighborhood and buy a house on your block with your son’s money. If you build it, they will come. So to speak. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.

At the same time Cell phone technology was in its infancy. The Car phone and Brick phone also allowed drug dealers, in say Miami, to talk free of wire taps, and order a hit or place an order. Most regular folks couldn’t afford the air time. Pay phones use peaked around this time with the ascendancy of the Pager and the rise of more practical and cheaper Cell Phones.

By 1999 most everybody not on welfare had a C.P. contract with many minutes. This part of integration is well documented in the collective consciousness, so I let you fill in the blanks . . . I’m just saying.

Integration: The first step toward full-on cyborg, man and machine, technology. Cyborg: a 100% human enhanced by non-organic parts. (Think RoboCop or Darth Vader)
So Little Big Dave began to integrate early with his pager and voice mail account which cost $6 a month. He sold weed and pills, so a Pager was essential to his economic hopes. In fact the only time his pager was off was when he was asleep or passed out. He always had money; in fact, he was making more money than his dad at this point.

So where or when did we cross over that invisible line of no turning back from the path that leads to Cyborg? We just don’t know. I believe the culprit is General Motors’ OnStar system. And Bluetooth. And putting computer chips in dogs helped, too. And I’m Right. I’m just saying.

Where was I? Oh yeah the End of the World: the Cyborg Apocalypse. Cyborgs live among us. That sprinter from South Africa has bionic legs. Wounded soldiers come back with bionic arms. One guy has a prosthetic video camera for an eye. Amazing. I start to be scared when people voluntarily have elective surgery to improve this or that body part. Scary, for shishle. Ya know what I’m saying?
I Had a Bad Dream Last Night. Did you?