Fabutron: The Rooster Cries : Generation X

By Feroz

The Rooster Criesis a compelling literary work that bespeaks the hope that is unearthed after the torrent of calamity strikes. It challenges the reader to wakeup and be conscious and mindful of self and community.
The author illustrates the trine reality of being a Gay Negro Latino male, a third class citizen, raised in the United States, part of the 13th generation of this nation, the famed Generation X (1961-1981) the ignored generation.
The artist brings to life, his 40 years of being raised during times of civil unrest (1969), to the times of pandemic paranoia of Aids (1980s), to times of national tragedy (9-11-01), to times of global recession (2009), bringing to bear what thirsting after the American dream means to him.
Feroz uses his art of Astrology to further comprehend his jihad of life, helping him navigate through the transgressions of personal loss and broken dreams. Outlining the existential woe felt, when one cant seem to fit into society at large. Hes expressed in a fashion of honesty that would do Baldwin, Williams and Huxley proud.
Feroz explains his Audacity of Hope, comically interjecting musical pop culture, to involve the reader in the essence of the times of which we live. In order to fully explain his faith in the American dream in these times both trying and full of historys hope.
In this new Aquarian age, of this new millennium, in a time when government and governing is Black like me. The Native (NYer), casts aside all doubt of the future and waves his cape at the start of a Bull Market. Donning the hat of entrepreneurship, a testament to his faith in the American dream. Telling / Crying of this fabulous future that we must all invest in Fabutron.
This is more than just a fairys tale. This is L.I.F.E. [Living In Faith Eternally].


To a Taurus its always a Bull Market
Feroz

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Oct 8, 2010
• ISBN: 9781426952173

Feroz

I may not be a great author of the Huxley, Baldwin, Nietche type. I may be very well the fool on the corner. However I too have something to say,"... listen to others even the dull and the ignorant; they too have their story". I am a Gen-Xer born between the Baby Boomers and the Millennials, the forgotten generation a mere 46 million. Born in the ghetto’s of NYC, to latino (Panama) immigrants. Born in the slug cast from the bowels of America, but even slug has cream. I am the Cream of the Crop. Born in the time before computers changed the world, when solidarity applied to a people and a Nation. Forever grateful for the freedom I was born into, was promted to speak my mind when Heaven’s freedom was terrorized on 9/11 the Year of the Snake. Working for a major communications company in the wake of the 9/11 disaster providing relief support for a city now crippled. Was moved as a nationalist to recount my American perspective from the grassroots, with a New York State of mind. In the spirit of ‘69 as we enter this age of Aquarius, i ask, “This is it?”

Book preview

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 1

Present

This is my Medal Song, O’Dowd !! He Says standing on the Deck of His Jellyfish in the Crystal waters of the Panama Canal some distance from Mira Flores. See the Manta Fly..."

Feroz

I Met her the 69th year of my sentence to Hell, A time when I started to despair. 69 the numerical equivalent to Ying-Yang. A cosmic temporal dichotomy known as 2001. A time when life would immerse me into the flip side of the coin. When I would leave my realm of Ying and slide thru the black hole of Yang. To find my self floating through the realm of Yang.        Unharmed...

She was my wife Karen. She came and relieved my fears and needs, it all started after my death. Upon dying, I remembered my Pact with God, amongst an Herbal Cloud. I must serve as the Guardian to the Gates of Hell for 300 years.

Then I’ll be Free.

Thoth taught me when entering an endeavor such as this... Start in the deep end and find your pace towards the shore. Form is not a factor, speed is cautioned against. The stories journey will be like your own towards the shore. Fraught with doubt and uncertainty.

But as long as you reach the shore. Nike will reward your efforts with Caesars emerald crown. E for Effort. That trumps an A every time.

So here I go... Bobbing in the Monsoon above the Abyss. I take the Paper and cast it into the Ocean. I begin to write upon the still waters... they run deep you know.

The Story, a Fable of Sorts. A Rainbow Fairy Tale.

Fiction or Fact?

I fell from the light to what seemed eternal darkness. Heavy like an asteroid, globally destructive, yet light like a shadow. I found myself in that state. heavy and lite. I was in the Pit of Hell. Cramped and lite. Darkness and fright. Confined as if in a Sarcophagus. Heavy and dark, I was alone. Dead and alive. For my heart no longer beat, and I could draw no breath. But I was Alive, thank God ! Conscience, Aware and Mad !!!

I had figured it out too late. Have I let the Gods fulfill my fate. To live, be wise, having fun, but not to have mated. I lived my life in decadence. What a twist of fate See I died September 11th, 2001, I was only 32. I died feeling fatherless although I had two (well three if you include, the man upstairs). I died not becoming a father. See I never hunted women, my prey was Men. I’m Gay, or like I like to think one of Heaven’s Children (see Boy George).

I died That day on 66th and Broadway, bright sunny day, pleasant. Doing my job as a repairman, oh sorry, Girl, I meant a Field technician. Wouldn’t want someone to think I performed my job frivolously. I was with this fine ass Black Man, let’s just say his name is, I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know, let’s say Phil. Big Black, muscular like a Goliath of a Gladiator, from what he says straight, also the T is he’s hung. I don’t know personally, Girl, Once he said he was straight, he was immediately off my roster.

Anyway, I was sitting in this truck, in New York City, on Nine Eleven. Working for let’s say the companies name is, I don’t know, I don’t know, I don’t know let’s call the name of the company Verizon. I forgot the two words that make up that name, though it was explained to us. It was supposed to be a name that reflected the new millennium. A brighter future. A brighter future for whom I wondered. [Fabutron, I like that name the most, it means fabulous future.]

So here are these two Techs, sitting on the Corner of 66th and Broadway. Oh I forget to tell you what I looked like when I was working there (fade to pic). I had Locks, favorably called Dreds. They were Beautiful. That’s not vanity speaking, the vanity came in the upkeep of them, no that’s just stating fact. They were long and dark and Being Latino with a golden complexion the Spanish call triqueno. I was the Girl With the Combination Skin. O’ Dowd !! Baby I was known as Soy Panameno on AOL. As for my Body, ‘cause my face as the Girls would say was, Flawless, bring it to the Runway.

My body in my opinion needed work, now don’t get me wrong. I wasn’t Fat, fat in Gay life is almost death, Ugly is death. Honey those Gay bitches are ruthless, If you are fat they might not see you. If you’re ugly honey, they definitely don’t See you. All I could suggest, is that if you are Ugly on the outside, be a Doll on the inside, you might get a ride home from the club, on one of those notorious NYC winter nights from the club. If you are lame in any way, they might see you, but only to stop to think, Thank God it isn’t me. Lame fades into the Background.

No, honey, Gay in NYC is to be, Young Face/body beautiful. Having a Fabulous Job, so you can have a Fabulous apartment (preferably one, which is occupied by only YOU). I’ll explain that later. So in having this Fabulous Job, you can, Have fabulous things, like, The Devil wears Prada (Merille Streep).

Catch it! Fabulous job, Fabulous Body, Fabulous home, Fabulous Robes, Fabulous Pet (My preference Dog Chow-Chow, very Martha Stewart), Fabulous Food, Fabulous Friends, Of course attracting a Fabulous Date, and topping it off with Fabulous Sex.

Now that’s Sex in the Fuckin’ City. Eat Crow Ms. Parker, I’m feeling very Samantha, not Hobbs.

As the Legend of John, not the John Lennon says Strawberry Fields take Refuge, When It’s Cold Outside screams the Ordinary People. The thoughts of an Introspective Generation X-er.

So I say all that to say, my body wasn’t by any means tired, I had what I termed an Athletic Body. Well defined, Not as thick as I would have liked it, but nothing to scoff at. And a natural Bubble-butt, like my Girl Ms. Lopez, you know what black and latino, gives, don’t act new with me.

Hair, Body, Face and Ass, Very fuckable, as my black book and the walls of my apartment will attest. Don’t be shocked, Hon, the word you are looking for is Action, other’s are thinking of course Ho. But that’s How society at large paints the picture of the Gay male. Godless, perverted men that are extremely promiscuous in nature, creating and passing disease, to their ultimate destruction.

So Now you know why Gay men don’t See, the Fat, the Ugly or the Lame. I tell You it is shameful how people can persecute people of their own population. It’s comes from the need to always feel / be better than, more self-righteous, than another. Shame on The Catholics, the Islamic, the Jehovah’s Witnesses, the 7th Day Adventist, I could go On.

Don’t even get me Started with this Gulf War shit, let alone this Bull shit concerning the Israelis and Lebanon. All I can do is look on with shame welling like tears in my eyes. I Pray for hope.

So much misery is thrust upon Gay People by society, that all they want to do is live a Fairy Tale life. Escape, and live were there are always butterflies in the fields of flowers by day, so you and your Lover, can have a picnic, of course and Roll around in the tall grasses, kissing and playing.

A full Moon at Night, amongst tall thick trees. With lightning bugs lighting your path thru the forest, So you and your Lover can find a spot and shag under the moonlight, like wolves. Living like two Kings or Queens in their palace Amongst the clouds. Very CinderFella.

Reality is that, for most of them to reach that state of euphoria, they must submit their minds to some kind of Drug. In this Day and Age, the Drug of choice, amongst the White girls is Crystal. Now Don’t get me wrong, hon, Coke (yes, the beverage you silly, queen Someone Call Bellevue), like I was saying coke is still very popular, not only can the white girls get it ( when those girls get it, they get it in BULK, i.e. Mrs. Boy George, no shade, don’t get mad, hon, I heard it on the evening news like everyone else, Okay), but the Blacks and the Latinos have the habit as well, their pockets just aren’t as deep.

All this funding some Dominican Boys future education. See the the circle of Economics. Oh, and I mustn’t forget my drug of choice, (God’s Gift to Man) of course Herb, better Known as Weed to the Brothers, Pot to the white boys, Marijuana world over and Canibus to the cultivated. But in the Hood we simply call it Treez, Joyce Kilmer.

Those are the three main drugs, for anything else, honey, you’ll have to ask your local pharmacist. So they partake in their drug of choice, with cocktail in tow, Walking thru Better Days, Krash, the Limelight, Mrs. Escueltia, Stonewall, you pick the club Honey there’s been so many of them.

Looking For Mr. Right, or at least Mr. Right now, catch it girls, sound familiar. Of Course never finding him, going home disappointed, or if you’re one of the Beautiful, the man of your choice, he just needs a little fixing up, but otherwise he’s Fabulous. Great body, a face you can look at in the morning, Butch, built and hung (this is the morning after, Honey I told you, I hunt Men, I know what to look for).

Just one problem with this man, latino of course ( that’s how I like them), Okay he has more than one problem. First he’s supposedly, recovering from Cocaine addiction, he doesn’t have a job, why? because he just got out of jail 2 years ago. Oh and lastly he still likes pussy, as I can attest to, thankful for my BuJyna (see Noah’s Arc), lovely all f***in nite. I’m too tired for the two snaps Up (see living Color), let’s just leave it as a raised eyebrow and a stern look so you know I’m serious. But in this case pussy means females. Okay I can Handle it, I know what I’m walking into, famous last words (see Torch song Trilogy).

This was My World as I had been living it, Wayne’s World. Three snaps, a spin and a kanzai Dip for the Divas. Eat it Bitch !!! Well, Love (my favorite term of endearment), This was my world as it was lived up until, September 11th. So the scene, now comes to life, Age of Aquarius ( see 1969) playing in the back ground, Because this is the :

Dawning of The Age of Aquarius, (see Astrology / astronomy).

"At the beginning of spring 1999... when Pluto was exiting Neptune’s Orbit. The vernal equinox was about 13 seconds of arc inside the sign of Aquarius.

However, the Sun (which doesn’t actually follow a perfect circle) is still about 10 seconds of arc inside the sign of Pisces or the Age of Pisces, almost, but not quite a new age (the traditional definition is based on the sun).

At the beginning of spring 2000 C.E., the vernal equinox was about 63 seconds of arc inside the sign of Aquarius. The Sun crosses the equator beginning spring at 0735 GMT (Greenwich Mean Time) 20 March 2000 C.E., about 36 seconds of arc within the sign of Aquarius; the Age of Aquarius begins at that minute, the beginning of spring 2000 C.E.

The age of Aquarius will last for about 2126 years."

(taken from off an Astrology web site, author unknown)

So there we were two Techs in the A.M., waiting to start a job, eating breakfast, listening to music on the radio. When a bulletin is announced over the radio, a plane just flew into the World Trade Center. Now just a little more info, I was a U.S. Marine and a Mechanical Engineering student, so my mind is trying to pull this puzzle of news together.

In the next instant, they announced that the plane was a commercial jet. We turned and looked at each other, not a word was exchanged, looks of shock on both of our faces.

My first thought was Girl, I’m glad I had enuff forethought to find an apartment in the Bronx, I knew America’s arrogance would have gotten them in trouble.

Phil spoke first and said, you think it was an accident?

I replied, Phil, of what I know, No commercial aircraft, could ever make the mistake of crashing into the World Trade Center, hell, no private pilot would dare make such an error. No, papi, it was a Terrorist. Not Tim McVey. I stayed quiet so he could digest that. What must have seemed like ten minutes passed, even though it was just seconds.

He asked, What do you think we should Do?, Should we continue the Job? But knowing military procedure and Corporate procedure concerning covering their Asses, I Told him, Don’t Worry, the office will contact us.

Are you sure, you know those guys in the office usually have their heads in their Asses, He said with a look of disgusted, aggravation, looking at me with eyes saying, You know it’s true.

I said, Believe me something this big they’ll be Calling. So he rested back in the passenger side of the Truck. My mind however was racing.

All I could think about was what was going on, down there at this moment. I know it was Chaos, Thank God for NY’s Brave and Finest. Then all I could do was think about the people that had lost their lives, because I knew some had to die, terrorist aren’t going out by themselves, they’re taking somebody with them.

My heart began to cry for the Loss, on my face a tear fell as I looked out the window. The first tear of many that would fall that day. I thought what will become of their Souls, then Diva Mea (see Buddha Bar - Chill Out in Paris), started playing in my head, Only You (God) can hear my Soul .

I started to weep, and then another Bulletin came on the radio, another plane has struck tower two. We looked at each other again, but before he could ask what was wrong with me, he saw my tear streaked face. Our pagers went off. The office. Phil, looked at his pager as I looked at mine, yup, the office. He pulled out his cell phone and called, after a very brief conversation. He Said, like you said, head for the Garage. But before, I could turn the ignition on, I felt my spirit leave me. No light at the end of the tunnel, no Angels with harps, nothing but blackness. Like the Movie Armageddon, down into the Pits of Hell I Went.

Present (a)

Well Love, I Die and I find out, that not only am I’m dead, but I have the ability to Control Wild Magic. How does my deceased ass find this out, and from whom, wait, Love it gets, better.

Well I could start by pulling out a photo album and all that, but, Love, I’m a bit of an eccentric, okay, I’m one Hell of an Eccentric. So, you’ll have to excuse me, if I give you no further details and proceed with the story from this point, I’ll fill you in on all the Past and Future stuff, later. Cause if I don’t tell the most exciting stuff now, I’ll explode.

So I died, yeah, yeah, tragic, more tragic for my Partner in the truck, he thought I was playing some kind of joke, seeing me slumped over the steering wheel. I Felt sorry for him later.

So here I am, trapped in this Darkness, feeling cramped, feeling a little claustrophobic. I remember upon my dawning of conscience, I remember a voice, a persistent voice ,a reverberating voice saying. Que usted desea de un hombre (What do you want from a Man?), it kept repeating it, over and over again. I knew it was spanish, the words were familiar, but I couldn’t piece it together for the life of me. All I could think was here I am Supposedly, latino, Parents FROM Panama. But I can’t speak a lick of Spanish, oh well. So I called out into the darkness, I don’t understand. The voice repeated it again, slowly this time, making emphasis on each word. It was becoming more familiar to me, but my spanish was really not up to snuff. I shouted, Repeat. The voice shouted, Repeticion

Repeticion, I thought. Feeling bad for having died, not knowing my mother’s tongue. Spanish, for years I’ve tried to learn it. From as early as Junior high School, and NOW, is when I need it the most. The word repeticion going over and over again in my head. Then it clicked, Si, repeticion. So the voice Replied, Que usted desea de un hombre ?. F*ck, back at square one, I thought.

So I called upon my Junior high school’s limited vocabulary and managed to get out, No hablo y no entiendo mucho espanol.

Porque No?, the Voice snapped back. Well, love, I understood THAT, not only in words but in expression. My mother used to ask me that question in exactly the same tone and Voice. So strong was the memory, for a moment I thought it was my mother that was speaking.

I was stuck, how could I say, that although, I had interest, spanish wasn’t paramount to me growing up. I was a Man now,I could not blame my parents for not teaching spanish to me as I grew up, though they were Panamanians born and raised. Excuses, about childhood no longer fly, when you are an Adult. Something I learned in the Corps. All I could manage to say in shame was,No se.

Then the voice called out to me and said, Be not fearful, blessed one for you are not alone.

Worry, passed thru me like smoke from an extinguished fire. Peace washed over my heart, like a gentle Caribbean tide. Silence came to my mind and lips. The silence became heavy, tangible, it weighed heavily upon one’s heart.

The voice said, Speak your heart, have no fear, for I feel the burden of curiosity tearing at your spirit.

Then the Flood gates opened, and my mind was accosted, by millions, upon millions of questions. Yet all I could ask is, Who are You ?

Smoothly like velvet, the voice declared, When I begin, so does your education. You Must learn to master Spanish, as you have with English. You must understand the Spirit to which you were born. It lies in the language, your charms, your gifts, your magic, they all lie in your understanding of the Language. Not only know the words, but knowing when to use the proper inflection, of the words. Knowing how to annunciate the words, correctly, all this lies, before, You.

Then The voice began...

Present (b)

Wayne, That’s not funny Man, start the truck so we can, go. Phil, looks back out the window. Seeing people starting to react, making gestures. Stopping each other in the Streets, stopping in diners, looking at the news.

Wayne, I think the whole damn city knows now. We gotta go. He looks back to my body, Wayne do you hear me stop f*ckin around man, that fainting game, ain’t cute.

Phil reaches over and touches me on the right shoulder, and sits me up. My eyes are open, my mouth slightly agape, the look on my face is one of grief, as tears still, streamed from my eyes.

Wayne?, there’s grief in his voice. He puts his hand, to my mouth, no breathe. He leans over and puts, his ear to my chest. His eyes open, and he leaps out of the truck.

Shit, shit, shit, This can Not be happening, pacing on the sidewalk, looking back from time to time, inside the truck at me.

F*ck, F*ck, F*ck, as he leans back against the truck, kicking the side with the back of his foot. F*ck, what the hell am I supposed to do, now. F*ck. The city is falling apart, and here I am stuck with a DEAD ,f*ckin, partner. Why me? , as he looks up to the sky.

Okay, Phil pull it the f*ck together. First things first I have to move him, so Phil gets into the truck, thru the passenger side and hefts my body from the driver’s seat, into the passengers seat. Love, wouldn’t you know it, the One time this man gives me anything that resembles a Hug, some sort of physical embrace, I’d have to miss it. ‘Cause, Baby, like the saying goes Elvis has left the building, folks.

Phil closes the passenger door, then opens it again and puts the seat belt around me. Closing the door again and cursing while walking around to the driver’s side he gets in, starts the truck, and looks back at me, Man I hope you’re having some sort of seizure, or something, but whatever it is, forgive me cause I can’t stay here. He U-turned the truck and headed uptown, on Broadway.

Thinking and driving he calls the office and got a hold of the Team Manager.

Hello, Mike, listen I’m headed back uptown, yeah he’s with me, wait don’t hang up. Listen something happened to him, I don’t know what happened to him exactly, but I think he had some sort of seizure.

What do you mean some sort of seizure , Mike annoyingly asked.

Look, we were listening to the news on the radio, he started to cry, then he flopped over. Phil was on the verge of tears. Look, man, what am I supposed to do with him.

Where are you?, Mike gave in.

I’m approaching, 145th Street, soon

Listen Phil, take him up to Colombia-Presbyterian Hospital, thru the Emergency entrance, Drop him off, explain the best you can, and then get your Ass into the Garage, don’t sign anything, don’t fill out anything, just give them My name and number here in the garage, then get your ass out of there.

Mike was aggravated, he didn’t much care for Me, but he was obligated to make sure that I was at least placed in capable, hands. Another manager of another team, must have overheard his conversation and said, Mike wassup?

I’ll explain it to you in a minute. listen Phil, did you get all that.

Yeah, I’m almost there now, see you in a few.

Mike slammed down the phone, Shit.

Man wassup, Gary the other manger asked.

Wayne, that’s wassup, I think he’s playing some sort of f*ckin game about being sick. Mike circled around the cubicle to face Gary.

You mean your ‘special’ child, They look at one another

Mike huffs, yeah my ‘special’ child.

What are you going to Do, look I don’t even want to handle him, he’s difficult, and tricky always finding a way out of trouble.

So what are you going to do?, Gary prompted

Nothing, I’m going to drop this special child and his problems, in the principle’s lap. Mike resigned.

Well speaking of the Principle, we have to go upstairs and see the Boss right now, he’s called an emergency meeting, of all team mangers, because of this World Trade Center disaster. Gary Informed him.

Well let’s go then.

Present (a)

"Now, I believed You asked me,