The Pirate Dunn: A Memory

By Damian Forest Light

Not all pirates are all bad. This band of time travelling pirates are more than meets the eye. Upholding a complicated professional courtesy to the League of Science, the people that fund the time travel, they are sent on adventures throughout the course of history in order to earn independence for the legendary leaders of Anc

• Language: English
• Publisher: Light
• Release date: Jun 9, 2020
• ISBN: 9781087887319

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The Pirate Dunn: A Memory

By Damian Forest Light

©2017 Unknoen Tower Entertainment Group

©2016, ©2017 ©2019 ©2020 Damian Forest Light

All Rights Reserved

No part of this work may be duplicated, imitated, rewritten, or distributed in any form without expressed written consent of the author or publishers. 

To the One Who Made Me of Dust and Earth, Cosmo, and Lemonade, also to the One who breathes Fire to the Center of the Earth and Returns Vigorously.

  The Pirate Dunn: 

A Memory

 By Damian Forest Light

Prologue

Nearly Insane. You should not ask me because I don’t know why. Every night, I had this dream, for weeks, before I went into the institution.  And then for months after I had gotten there. Over and over I had it. It would not stop. It just kept driving me and driving me more and more mad, more and more insane. Almost like, Suicidal. It drove me so mad, I used to almost try to hang myself but could never do it. More times than not, ha, ha, I would go chicken and claim to be yellow bellied, not do it or go through with it, at all. The other times, the knot fell out or I did not tie it right. On purpose. I had to replace my shower head several times. My weight was just too much for it. Why would you ask me? Holograms. Fits of Rage. Ignorance. More to it. The blind rage at these voices and the visions of shapeshifters apparently did it. Floundered in it. Back to it.

Another night, I had my stomach pumped and I was filled with anguish after swallowing fifty pills. Some of them were aspirin and some of them were extra strength, but I mixed them with some club pills, you know drugs I bought at a club downtown, and hoped they would work; drinking substantial amounts of Vodka and Whiskey along with the dang pills. Nothing worked and I was destined to stay on this earth, suffering and hating myself, loathing myself into a criminal state, deranged by a criminally based mentality of getting even with anyone who seemed or appeared happy. I know, Oh, so mainstream. Yet, sorry to say, that anyone who enjoyed life more than I did, which was most people, created a feeling of anguish and envy in me that I could never digest. I was a loathsome creature. Considered near slime. Envious at all costs.

I was not allowed to drive, was mind controlled by my wife, my parents, society, the government, the military even the Europeans whom I envied. I stayed a virgin throughout my thirties, and it was the most miserable experience I have ever had. I could not even get a slut or a wish she were pro to take their clothes off for me and I was forced to jagg off in my pants every day or every few days just to take the edge off. I could not even get a woman to talk to me, even rip my clothes off. If I even sent someone a Valentine ’s Day card that was unemotional and un-attached, I would get made fun of and asked what my ‘fucking problem’ was by her. This kind of behavior made me extremely angry and I wanted to fucking kill for a while, after I watched this girl I dated, tag and screw a racist black speaker on TV. I wanted to fucking kill her, and I wanted to fucking kill him. After being made fun of by a geek teacher of mine, I was turned to ponder and loath my own contempt, beyond my own mindful reasoning, almost trapped within it for a second. I could not control the feelings of hatred I had towards these new generation of communists and haters of supposed ‘Democratic’ society. A protector of personal pursuit and liberty;  I wanted to hurt the liberals for forcing their religion and liberal values around.  I hated the conservatives for open mindedly telling me to wait for it. It was too too comforting. I just wanted money, and merchants paid more than governments, if you combined the two incomes. Pirating became a worthwhile venture, in a capitalist land.

And the liberals, and the conservatives. All they did was tell me that it was okay to be communist and that it was okay to hate other people if they represented Capitalist beliefs and if they did not like the same kinds of music and if they wanted different or same race marriage and discussions of hetero sexuality’s plot to overthrow and to reign in our civilization. I hated that crap. I was a Pirate, and to be a pirate you needed to buzz off of pink shower curtain talk and silly ways of thinking that will get you killed, even in time. In time.

I grew to become almost like a lone; and had even feared I was to become a complete and utter ass. I thought I hated the women of the burnt out brain or could I move in or away from the overcooked frying pan type?  I hated the honky trash who worshiped the burned out flesh to escape their own agenda of bipartisan bigotry and sexuality. With legitimate and illogical reasoning through thought, I fought off and then thoroughly hazed them emotionally. I hated witches who practiced the craft and was considered a wizard of sorts; I grew murderous towards the telepathy of the modern digital age, and anyone who worshiped in its temple I assumed I was to follow around town, my hands clenched at my knife, wishing I could slice and rip open these digital lunatics by the chest, neck, or Charlyhorse. I was too adept at taking the easy way. Without thoughtful effort. I say this with a reason. I wanted to change my ways, and the mugger who haunted my dreams and showed up a day or two later with a knife and a gun pulled and drawn caused me to anger and resent races, those peering into the mind for races and the insanity they claimed, that was obviously my own. 

My schizophrenia was my own, not theirs, and yet they claimed it and then wanted to fight me for it. Filled with uncontrollable rage I ravaged; Fantasized at the thought of their heads and faces smashed, their blood pouring, and spilling made me drool and salivate at thirst and hunger, the teeth of my anger gnawing like a zombie at their dead flesh, yet still ripe with stagnation of thought, dogma, and psychic intruder shop. I longed to eat my mother’s ears and devour my father’s guts and intestines, like a zombie. And the racist mugger with the dark anger, I wanted to stab his heart out. The burned out dark of woman, stealing my security and thoughts, I wanted eaten alive in the streets, shackled to the purgatory, and devoured by angry cats and wolves. But, I was now on the road to retribution and redemption. I no longer hated because of races, but because of purposes, intentions, desires, and psychic awareness. I even killed for psychic hindrance and awareness. The charcoaled soiled robes cloak the grey boned reaper. Blood boils at a crossover point where ‘defeat’ rivers and meets both pride and sanity. Rage can help a man rise above his obstacles. A place held steady for Achievement. Love. Sanity.

One day I woke up in an institution, and realized I was just a crazy half native white man, that did not know anything but respecting my ideas, and nothing more. Forget social worlds. I would slam and take any kind of woman, of any race, if she would just had met me eye to eye, to be imperfect, ending in distraught sex on a hot street. But that was too much of an ode or dream for an ‘aye aye’. A Dream? None too farfetched. Even to find a woman that would grant me for who I was and let me have passionate apes with her. I was so distraught and convinced that I was worthless to any woman, that I hid alone every night and dreamt of having the sex with a lady of leotards and crying myself to sleep after I earned a fantasy and recoiled off near a pillow and looked at dirty pictures in dirty bloomers and tissue briefs. God, my life was so edged up and I just wanted you to save me. ‘God? God? Are you there?’ Again, nothing. Even with his arm around me, I could not really know it was there. Gods.

I got drunk several nights before I entered the institution and pissed myself. I avoided my apartment and slept out on the streets. When the police had found me, I was dirty and disheveled. I had dirt and blood beneath my fingernails, and my clothes and hands were dark brown and black. My beard had grown in, and I thought I was looking mighty fine as a lumberjack, so I packed a small axe into my large bag and had a portable chainsaw in a deep pocket. I wanted to bring down a few trees and build a cabin in the woods where I could retire. I would there build a fort underground, beneath the cabin and stock it full until the end of the world. A bunker. With fresh air. A bunker stockade.

If the Armageddon did arrive, I would pull the walls down and cover the earth where I would hide, a half mile down beneath the crust of the earth, with a stockpile of food and nonperishable items that I would devour little by little until the planet was rescued by the UN or the Armed Forces, or the rebels, or the zombies. Whoever was the dominant species, I would team up with, even some black Irish or a militia. The Mexicans at the shelter had told me to hate the Irish, and since I loathed the psychic of the Mexicans more than anybody, I took it with a grain of salt. I mean, the dudes of that little clique told me to hate some black Irish, not knowing that the black Irish, mixed race descendants from Spain mixed with Irish, or even a dark haired Irish, as they thought, or some mulatto probably floated over from Europe and screwed over scores of the Indians. Wherever this was going. And you know, at one time I prided myself on this ignorant mentality, but now I surely know better. But the craze, the craze. Eats at me. Like wire that gnaws.

After I got taken in, I realized that I used to be a Pirate, in another life. I don’t know how. How I knew. And not a bad pirate, I was a rebel of the high seas and I fought my way out of war and battle, chewing on nipples of fine wenches and big hunks of tobacco brought from the New World. I sucked on barrels of rum and whiskey distilled in Europe and in the southern plains of the America land where we all dwelt on. I supported the New World, it provided contracts and bounties and treasures and lots of wealth. So, I battled the Royal Navy and the Coast Guard and the Navy of the various places. And as a pirate, I stayed at war with the British and the crown of any land. My gold was mine, and it belonged to no one else. Changing, I too am a shanty mick, someone who doesn't like taking shit from those in charge. Pushing my limits.

Every time I fell asleep from the night, I entered this institution until now, I dreamt the same dream repeatedly, about the pirates and the captain. I was destined to be one of the greatest pirates of all time, but the captain was a greater man than me. He loved his men, and I could only hope to one day be as strong and as brave as he was. But no, I was a coward, one who hated women and hated the smoking fags that played the strings as puppets of women, who obviously just wanted to offend others and had no self-control, women who had to dive into our minds and hurt us for being crazy, poor, and underprivileged. When the president was elected as a woman, I bought both, a high-powered camera and also a rifle to shoot her with, in case she decided to hold a ceremony in which all the women killed their man in the middle of it. So that I would be protected, and so I could take all their new photos even by force, selling these celebrity photos of this crazy politician. What in the hell could I do, misogynistic and chauvinistic as it sounded, I was genuinely scared of a woman from the dark satanic church trying to wipe out half the population to make it a lesbian planet. So, this may have excused me. So, that folder fell only in certain hands, those that worked also for the League of Science. I had authority enough to work for this organized mode of ownership, this science laboratory that had reign over the history of the world, through the use of time machines, in and around governments all around the world, in the future, far into the future, and the into the past, as long as there is an accessible timeline. I worked for these guys, but there were lots of them, and it was a scientific corporation, run as a legion of known wizards and henchmen, meant to operate behind the world’s knowing all throughout time.

But who the fuck am I? A schmuck from some city, in the USA, travelling through time, that also moonlighted as a pirate on a time machine, and was forced to live half my life on land. That’s who, now living mind you, in a modern era, on a beach town in small town oceanside, seaside, in the friendly Lilypad town, of Giant Oak, MA.

Case closed, a lot of women were conniving and selfish, and pretended to be out of whack and even misunderstood. I hated the new school of women, and the new thought that life was better without sound and music, and all music was based on beats and electric ideology. Musicians were thousands of years old. I was a fat pig with an ideology to burst, a bubble of spam floating on the glimpse of soap bubble, known as the shadow of the earth.

The spoon fed project pilgrims and the trashy women deriving sex out of slavery and bragging about it in a microbe are driving my brains into monkey shit. All they do is brag and breathe about how they need to fuck each other in with scorn, hated as hijinks and cootie lovers in Virginia. I want to rip the white bitch in half. I broke up with one who was a bigot and swore I should just kill it with a dirty street ridden red head who sucks on the soil brains of drug addicts and lives in the dirt for a living. I wanted to thrive and kill a fat pig who lives in the gutter and breathes into me in schizophrenia. I wanted to hurt an ugly fucking nerd who had a selfish woman on his arms. Someone who boasts in their mind that they fuck a white shadow, or a light woman deserves to lie, don’t they? They deserve to die and shit. Like seriously, you ugly fried bamboo brain breathing piece of fat and filth sliding and floating your way into a woman’s drawers, the only reason she lays with your corny ass, is she feels bad that she is just a catted bigot in her head and heart, hypnotizing the entire world in order to call you a dirty no good slime, and you still loved her for it, and they did, oh yes junior, they did, too! All the school. I feared myself, by this point and blamed myself for being a judger who insisted on calling the defenseless others names, and the dropper who screwed these custard and cottage cheese ridden women, my in the closet, faggot step-father, who hated them and called them names and then went forward to have sex with a bunch of them and tell me that it was ‘his power, his life and his decision’ and there was nothing I could do about it. Friends no more.

 I was staring at the walls like a mad man, hearing screeching in my brain and wondering why in the world I was destined to be insane all day, while dreaming of the seas at night, hovering like a lunatic bird over the sails, until I climbed down the furlong masts and joined in with the crew, once more. On the journey of a lifetime, and then, I remembered these losers, the fake family, and the disasters they set up for me in my romantic life! The sabotage and going against me in order to get me going, all off in my head, so no woman would even look at me! Who did this to you, to me, you maggot? I will scorn the earth you walk on, until I rage vengeance against you and your bloodline of destitute fortitude, magnanimous in the fact that I will seek vengeance upon you and inflict the world of fury. 

I will just hurt my step-father. He and his disastrously hideous wife deserve to frocking die along with his mistress, Bea Rages, whom I supposedly bragged about killing, even though I did not do it. I would continue to stalk and watch her, if I could, as she sucks down barrels of rocks and laughs out loud at how she mistreats her children. Why does she deserve to die? Because she is an ugly infected rugged addict who sucks the lives of the alien crypt, and revels in being God’s curse to the Earth. She rides the thrones of bodies and  minds in a worm and a devilish wisp samples on the venom of Dracula in a laz e fair and thinks she deserves respect for driving subliminal communism into my mind, forcing me as a respectful white wanna be Native American to believe not only in a world of control but a world owned by the government so we could enjoy free government gifts and free pleasure. Please, what any time man did not accept a blowie from a blonde, or from a stupid slutty that can walk around flirting and telling you that they are conservative and never brag about being a whore? But they are lying. I’ve done it. 

The sluts are non-stop getting my labor pay docked on porn sites and do not know when to quit taking in a dick, unless it is not accompanied by a 12 or 1500 dollar check. The stigma around race and sex is definitely undefinably exhausted, as people want to fuck who they want to fuck, but the problem arises when they begin to tell you it is for a higher cause, like to end war or to institute world peace, or to solve social issues or even but not always, better race relations. That is just selfish and stupid ways of thinking. But I’m a pirate. I tend to cling to old forms of modern trends. Also, I am nearly forever institutionalized. The system is upheld and ridiculous, they will throw me in an asylum early on or later in history. I will enter and leave various mental hospitals. Sometimes I don’t even know why.

Upbringing. Huge social ethics. The problem is that everyone is a little bit racist, but these female monks want to show off their hot legs and beautiful loins and wonderful bubs while they take a different race in order to be considered ‘not racist’, and some of them want to do it in order to be considered more racist, for the status. Since when do we give the authority to dumb wits who do not know how to think, but need race and sex to go hand in hand with money and handouts? The movement of affirmative action tells women to knight other races in order to be charitable. It also tells males to lay up whatever they can find, which is either an animal, a palm full of peanut or baby oil and or themselves, so why not nail a different body?  Look at me, I am trapped in an institution and will not stop harassing you if you do not stop bothering and bickering at me. I wanted to slander a dimwit for thinking she could make fun of me after leaving Virginia and reading my mind in order to make me into a schizophrenic, a racist and a cold blooded killer. I took a vow not to destroy women, but I found my schizophrenia dripped as another person into my own loneliness and I heard the echo of my own thoughts off of the walls of a tear ridden society. How could the cold of the lamp illuminate the room if not lit by oil? By wax? The cold of darkness.

A forced reality of ‘no mating with women’ caused a rebellion against psychological fascism, a group mind collective enterprise to suppress human nature. And damn. I was so horny, that walking around and finding someone to kill was better than walking into a public restroom and jerking myself off. It was better than going to the homeless shelter and masturbating in a bed in a room filled with over 75 people. My uncle stole money from me, and he was going to pay. I was going to have my way with him, oh, yes. Yes, I would have my way at some point, if I was not dead. But that he got away. This rich fool of an astral man. Escaping me at detonated plot weathering points. New plans.

Dead. I felt dead. I smell and even smelt dead, I even taste dead, and forevermore. I will never be not dead, I don’t think. But yet, I am not dead. I am here before you. I still dwell on the earth. 

I woke up one day after this dream and I was in an institution. The next month, after having this dream for every night; I awoke on the ship, in the dream. Then I awoke again in the institution. Then, I awoke again on the boat and we were sailing, but only this time, I swore I was in the institution, but in the dream. So, now I do not know which one is which.  Painstaking effort or foolishness? Strapped to the floor. A rubber room. 

The forces of opposition bubbling around one another. A warfare of theories, beliefs, interpretations skating on by their opposing brigade of depth and hood, a self I never knew observing the wind turn in on itself, spinning climates over mental valleys. As if I am trapped in a dimension, and I do not know which is real. I jot down these memoirs, in order to communicate with the world, but is it the world of the future, where institutions exist, or is it the world of the past, where we are pirates roaming the high seas, in search for buried treasures?  I do not know. 

The captain was kind enough to allow me a cot. I have to say that he was kind enough, because one night I was thrown into the brig, after biting a man’s ear off, who was touring the ship. He laughed at me and my stature, and I could not just have that kind of thing. A man who laughs whole-heartedly at a pirate like me is taking his life in his hands. Not only that, he is risking his safety by risking my sanity. A man who listens to another man’s thoughts and then laughs at him, surely, deserves to die; but one who makes fun of him as well, deserves to die with passion and suffering. Say what you like, but most people hear their own thoughts echoed tend to resent you.  I nipped his ear and feared its occurrence with the all too steady flow of his blood, like black licorice out of his lobe. So much, that it seemed he had his ear taken by an angry wolf, lucky to walk away with his hearing. 

When the man came aboard the ship, I knew there was a problem with him from the get-go. He wandered around, as a drunkard, and when he had seen me climbing the ladder to the lookout deck, he wondered if I could make it. I heard him ask aloud "Will the fool get to the top?" Just then, I slipped and almost fell to my bloody death below. This caused him to laugh harder, and I felt flustered. I got to the top and grabbed my pouch and then sank more below my usual level of embarrassment. The case I was looking for holding my spy glasses was still below, and I had to go down and climb the ladder to the ship’s deck. When I got to the bottom, I had forgotten about the comments the idiot had made. 

I was limping at the time, and it was quite a noticeable characteristic. He again made a comment, after I had tarried and spoken to a friend of mine on the deck, before retreating to locate the maps we were set to use for the journey throughout the eastern Atlantic. It had been my duty to organize the maps and I needed my spectacles in order to organize the papers and maps, to see the images on the scrolls. 

The man jeered as I stumbled by, and one of the men looked on at him and then shot a glance at me, as if he himself was embarrassed. I jumped the blind arse like a flaming mick would thump a prep cook’s bum in the back of a restaurant, as if doing it for initiation; as if waiting for the night to take him out back and rob him with a group of brand new migrants, just to square him off; this aint his restaurant. I jumped him and tumbled him, over and over. I took a hook and squared him in the face with the thing and then I bit on his earring lobe and took his bloody ear off. It took about twenty guys to get me off of him. Captain threw me into the back of the steer before ordering me down into the brig, forced to live with the rats and crooks we caught stowing away on journeys. I was beaten in worse. 

I had once begged of God, the privilege of being stowed away by the captain himself! The Glory!  The decency of all humanity reflected in not only the high seas but the ability of the captain himself. I was stared at by the entire crew and who was this idiot to reprimand and attempt to make a joke on my behalf? He was an aristocrat from South Carolina who bragged about owning slaves and trampled on me, making light of my situation, and forcing me to be the laughing stock of the entire ship. According to me, he had received everything that he deserved. He was a token in this society and everything he stood for deserved to be reprimanded. The captain, however, was extremely disappointed in me. The aristocrat whom I trampled and had trampled on me, with his laughter, was responsible for the funding of a venture we had been attempting for some time. After the incident, the ship was barred from the ports in England for several months, the entire season actually, and I had spent three months in solitary confinement. 

It was just a dream. Just a dream? It was a recurring dream and it tended to continue night after night, even picking up where I had left off from the night before. None the less, the aristocrat, stationed in England, and a slave owner, was extraordinarily rich and influential, and I never forgot him. Even repented of his.

One morning, in my apartment, I was so stricken with grief and schizophrenia, that I ravaged the pipe I had hidden and smashed it in, as if full of coco and brownies, seizing it in a fit, after I had hid the stash the night before; and taped it, as usual to the top of the coffee table. I turned the table over and ripped the pipe off of the bottom of it. I had kept it hidden there in case the cops or some burglars went scouring for it, and I attempted to hide it due to the extreme case of paranoia I was experiencing. I had people laughing at me in my head for days, and I felt them judging me and following me around, and breathing into my brain, I could feel them threatening me. I was aroused in anger. Wandering the depth of my own soothing nature. I relaxed. Tried to relax. 

Later on, that afternoon, while back on land, I went outside and found a guy leaving the discount shoe store, wearing a pair of cheap polyester pants, and going on about his new job as a telemarketer on his cell phone. I picked up on the conversation and followed him about a block. Now it gets fuzzy, and weather can only tell if what happened from here is true or not. I wouldn’t know.  After a minute, I decided to rob him of his car keys, so I picked up a bottle and smashed him hard over the head with it. His giant nose diving forward towards the ground, and I smashed him in the head again and again, before beating him within an inch of his life. His blood, spilling towards the gutter, was filling my eye sight rather quickly, so I spun around madly and dropped to my knees crying my eyes out. I went through his pockets but realized I could not find his car, so I dropped his wallet and went running. Running in the rain. Either way. What was freedom?

Three days later, I was in the asylum, the institution. For two days before, I thought of my old man and step pops and his wifey, the Cub Scout pedophiles, and dreamt of stalking and brutally murdering them with my bare hands, and some screwdrivers. I was arrested before it could happen. They brought me home to molest me, but I threatened them, and they put me up while making me a slave, but I threatened them. Again, I had to do it, because they deserved it. But I had an alright steady stay at the asylum prison. I can even leave.

The captain, he was noble! He could have had men kill them for him, if he wanted, he wouldn’t have gotten caught. He would have known how to succeed. But he was gone, long dead until another sleep. Until another dream would take me over, I would have to scour the city streets for my own resources. 

I could not believe the anguish I felt the night I was arrested. I swore the captain was real, and all the nights singing and dancing and the ship. Yet, I walked around the city streets of the 21st century and did not know what to think of it. I walked into a bar, a pub mind you, and ordered a drink, a rum and cola in giant glass, and the whole place was decorated and with pirate memorabilia. After two rums, I ordered another, and the waiter came up to me to ask me if I needed anything else and gave me a check before I had asked for the bill. 

He gave me a weird look with his one eye, as the other eye was sealed with an eye patch. I took the look as an insult, and he smiled and started tap dancing with the parrot on his shoulders. 

I didn’t ask for the bill, yet. I stated

Argh, but ye’ve had enough to drink, lad. He said.

No, I haven’t.

Aye. Yes, ye have. You might as well find a drink elsewhere, you are beyond your limits today, mate.

I stood up and grabbed him by the shoulder and punched him in the face. I kept punching, and kept hitting him, over and over again, until he bled from him nose. I then took my mug and threw it through the crowd at the bar, landing it onto the glass mirror behind the bartender, shattering the entire wall and all of the bottles in front of it. 

I walked out and continued down the block. I ran into a bum, begging for change and I pulled out a quarter and gave it to him. Three minutes later, I saw another bum, this one was black, and he asked me for some change. Feeling generous, I pulled out a dollar bill and handed it to him. A few minutes later another black homeless asked me for some change. I handed him a dime and he walked away. Two minutes later, another bum, asked me for some money for coffee, I looked at him and said, Can you at least buy some goddamn clothing with your money?  He smelled to high heavens. He just looked at me, bewildered.  What did you mean? I’m sorry. He said.

"Just, shut the fuck up." I pulled out my leftover change from my bill, a whole six dollars and some change, and piled it into his hands, in singles. The waiter paid me back in singles, hoping to get a large tip. A few coins dropped and he bent down eagerly to pick them up. 

A few minutes later, I was staring into the store window of a closed discount store, looking at all of the holiday decorations. It was not Christmas, but there were summer time Christmas decorations in the window.  I thought of the electronics stores that used to run ‘Christmas in Summer’ sales. Then, minutes later, I swore it started snowing. 

I was watching candles and fires burn in the distance, as snow reached the mountains in the distance. It was late at night, but the sky was illuminated like it was daytime. I started making snow angels, and envisioning devils fight the angels of heaven on clouds above me. I was floating onto clouds above, watching the war of raging devils as they strangled and killed the angels around me. The angels cried, and fairies swarmed the devils, stomping them, as angels and beings of seraphim lay amongst the dead. I laughed uncontrollably, making snow angels in the blizzard around me. Snow piled on my face and covered my head. I laughed again miserably.  A light, a blinding light, a sun of the celestial heavens appeared and blinded me. I was forsaken into the misery of heaven. I floated higher and higher, as I longed for the misery of hell to bind me to the living dead. I heard the moan and call of the serpents and crustaceans of purgatory. The demons of the underworld called for me and I cried, I cried as I was lifted into the heavens, closer to the warfare of God. He was going to win, this God, and I was resentful, the fairies had saved the day and I knew that one day, we would all lose, and the world would pretty much exaggerate itself into an eclipse of life and either explode or just die. 

I was calling to the undead, rubbing my arms back and forth higher and lower, making a snow angel, an angel of death, as the light overtook me. 

I was knocked in the face with a club as the cop was screaming at me to stop scraping my arms in the street. I shook awake at once, and sprung up sitting, my arms bleeding, my shirt ripped and torn, the night hot and shallow. The street had been blocked off and two cop cars occupied the end of the intersection to the other street. Main Street had brought a crowd, though late at night, and I was a spectacle. 

What the hell are you doing? The cop barked.  You are blocking the whole goddamn street! For the first time in a while, I have to admit I was embarrassed. I sat up drooling, sweating and blood dripping on to the ground, from my torn open arms. My head was about to implode from the pressure, I’m sure my eyes were about to explode. I was going insane. 

Get the fuck up! The cop yelled. A fire engine approached. You’re balking all night, starting shit, and you are wasting my goddamn time! Now, get your ass up! 

I just sat there, staring at him. I was shitting myself and started laughing hysterically. I stood up but took a while, swaying and almost staggering. The other cop, his partner had kneeled down, as the world exploded in my mind, the mountains now sweating and the buildings around me almost crumbling and burning to the wind, fire took my face, and then my eyes, before reaching the rest of my head. 

I eventually stood up, with the other cop’s help and when I got there I was ordered to walk over to the ambulance. I staggered. Instead of swiftly walking over to where the fire engine had a stretcher laid out for me, and to where the ambulance had pulled up next to it, I ripped my pants open by the button, and pulled my underwear down, dripping with feces, and pissed all over the concrete in front of me. 

That’s it. The cop retorted. 

A second later, I was being the victim to a Taser. Electricity ran down my body and I jolted, my heart stopped and toppled over crashing to the ground, my face smashing against the rock sand beneath me. I felt like I was sinking, as I continued to piss, my teeth scattering across the gravel-based sand liquid asphalt that had been dried now for years on this stretch of land. The land was mine again, as I sank into the lava of nothing ness. I saw a red blinding flash, and assumed I was descending either to hell or being hoisted closer to the ambulance. 

I heard the siren go off and had a glimpse of both the cop and the EMT snapping off fecal ridden gloves. I had slushed myself fairly good. I was either piss drunk or on the verge of death. 

I woke up two days later, strapped to a hospital bed. When I say strapped, I mean I was locked to the bed with leather straps around me and was wearing a strait jacket.  

I wrangled and was caught writhing, over and over for about an hour before my cock felt like it was going to implode from piss. An orderly walked in, with a piss bucket. He said nothing but lifted me up and put the bucket under me and raised the bed to a sitting position. I pissed and felt calm, it felt so good and I began begging my head to stop dropping fluid.  Oh, the relief! 

He then looked on at me, and said Are you feeling any better? I just stared at him. He peered at me from beneath his light eyes, and I could swear he was seeing into my soul. This drove me mad. I hated people spying on me, especially my soul. What was worse, he could hear me thinking and what I was thinking. I knew he could hear my inner mind, and for some reason, he knew what was going on in it, and this drove me even more insane with a Bezek form of rage. 

I thought of the telemarketer that had called me on the phone a few days before.

Sir, he began, have you considered refinancing your home or business, in the past three years? 

I don’t own a business. I said. 

What about your home? It says plainly here that you were a homeowner, even at one time. 

That was true. I was a homeowner at one time. At one time, I owned a home and my mother’s home. But I lost my home to my ex-wife, and my mother’s home, well that was auctioned off to the bank when she died. She had taken out a second mortgage on it and still owed the bank some fifty thousand when she passed. They had financed her a loan, and she took the money and bought an ice cream maker for herself, and a bunch of knitting supplies. Now, when she had passed, the bank said she still owed them lots of money, and they took the place back.

That’s right. I replied. But I don’t own my home, anymore. 

Oh. I see. The wannabe banker retorted. Did you sell your home, then?

No. I said. I spoke to your man, your partner there, the last time he had called, which was a few days ago, I think. I told him that my mother was dead, and the bank repossessed the place. It’s no longer mine.

Wow. I’m sorry to hear that. He said. 

That would not have been so bad, except he kept on and started stammering, as if he was told to keep me on the phone.

Well, sure you would be interested in one of our other services. We do offer bank loans and title loans, maybe you wanted to speak with one of our consultants about starting your own successful business enterprises?

No, I don’t think I will be interested. I said. I was relieved and wanted to hang up the phone. I had gotten through it. 

Well, sir. He continued. I am sure you might be interested in gaining a capitol loan at a 1% interest rate, maybe to reclaim the life you once had in the majesty of your mother’s place? I could offer you a two percent...

That was the last straw. Can you take me off of the list. I insisted. 

The list? He had the nerve to ask. 

I grew impatient. Yeah, the goddamn calling list. Can you remove me? 

Oh, the calling list, sir?

Yes, man that gosh darn calling list. Remove me from it please. Remove me, now.

I will try.

Did he just insist on trying? No, no, trying would not be good enough. Sir, I said. Please remove me at once.

I heard snickering in the background. I had had it. I was going to kill him. I was going to find him, and truly severely beat him within an inch of his life. The agony of thinking on him, at this point! I was going mad. I would eat him for lunch and send his face home in a goddamn lunch box, home to his ugly mother, with no tits and fat stomach!

Can I speak to your supervisor, please? I asked.

Oh, I’m sorry sir. My supervisor is busy at the moment.

Where is your calling center located?

Oh, I am not allowed to give out that information.

What is the name of your company?

Consolidated Mortgage. We are based out of Milwaukee, but we are a national chain.

I see. Can you put me on with your supervisor, please?

My supervisor is still busy, sir. He is on with another customer but will be available momentarily. Is there something I can assist you with?

Where are you located? I asked him.

Up your ass. The phone hung up.

That was it. I called back. The phone number was on my Caller ID.  A girl answered the phone. 

Hello. Consolidated Mortgage, this is Janice, how can I help you?

Hello, Janice. I was just on the phone with Jason, and he had cursed at me, can you connect me with either him or your supervisor?

Oh, I am so sorry to hear that. Loud voices murmured and talked in the background. Sir, this is a very large calling center, and we are extremely busy, did you happen to get the last name of the ‘Jason’ you were talking to? I had not. 

No, Janice, I didn’t. Can you connect me with someone who I can speak with?

I’m sorry, sir. The line for a supervisor is busy, can you wait?

Is there any way you can remove me from the list and place me on the ‘Do Not Call’ list?

I can try. Please hold, sir. A moment later, she came back on, I’m sorry, sir, our system shut down for a few minutes, if you call back later, we will be able to take your name off of the list. Okay? Thank you.

She hung up. She hung the fuck up. I was going to kill this bitch. I was going to track down Janice and eat her fucking face.  

Growing up, I had not been unlikable. Nowadays, I do not know about it. I was pretty ferocious. The dreams had begun to take me over. 

I went out, hoping to escape the pirate ship, being a pirate at night, and being a regular unemployed loser, in a loser apartment, on the weak end of the city, by day. I went for a long, uneventful walk, and got back to my apartment in the late afternoon, towards the evening. 

I walked in, and the phone rang. I quickly walked over to it, anticipating a better call than before. 

Hello? I had asked. 

Hello, this is Consolidated Mortgage, and my name is Mike. Sir, one quick question for you, would you be interested in perhaps refinancing your home or your place of business, you know if you happened to own the building? He snidely asked. I could hear the arrogance in his voice, like this was not the first time he was asking me this question for today.

Where are you located? I asked.

Sir?

Where are you calling me from?

Oh, I am calling from Consolidated Mortgage.

No, I know that.  Where is your calling center located?

Sir, I am not permitted to give out that information.

Good for you. I said. If you were, and you gave me the information, do you know what I would do to you, for calling me over and over again? Do you know that this is the fourth time this week, you have called? Not only that, this is the second time, today?

No, sir. I was not aware. Do you know who you spoke with, today, sir?

It was Jason, I think.

You think?

I think I am going to find you and burn every one of you alive. I am going to go down to your calling center and if you do not put me on the ‘Do Not Call’ list, I am not only going to burn you with the fire of life, the fire of hell, I am going to torture, both you and Jason. After that, I am going to torture your mothers, and then I am going to torture your fathers for having sex with your mothers and producing useless wastes of sperm loads such as your goddamn selves. You are a waste of life. Tell Jason, that both you and he should have been shot into your father’s palm and not into a woman, you useless piece of horse shit and flea filth.

Click. The phone hung up. Oh, what I would do to those people if they were trapped in this room with me! Even with a strait jacket I would make them cry for mercy, beg me for freedom and to stop the torment and pain I would inflict. 

Now, this doe eyed little nurse looked at me from beneath wet eyes, and I could not help but at first melt, but then fill with rage at his kindness. That was all broken when he bent me over and wiped my ass. 

Would you like to walk around a minute? He pulled the bed pan from beneath me and smiled. He put it into a bag and removed his gloves. Well? This is your final chance, until after dinner, which is not for several hours, now. 

No. I said. 

You sure? There is a whole ocean out there.

I just stared at the ceiling. He turned and left. I heard the door click and then lock again, loudly. I was stuck here, now. 

The asylum was part of a larger institution and it sat within a large wall, behind a fence on three sides. The fourth side was over seeing a view of the Ocean. The water stretched for miles and there was nowhere to go but far, far out into the ocean. I fell into a deep dreamless sleep, the first and only one I would have for a while but that was not the truth.  I fell a bit further and dreamt of lightning and floated, seeing only the flags of the ship up above me.

Part I: The Meaning of Life

1

It was a cold, dark and stormy night. The wind blew ferocious on the seas, and the gallows were filled with water. The boat rocked and we were sent from here to there, almost tipping over beyond control. The boat was rocked. I had never seen the vessel take such a beating. I was strapped in on the lookout and seen only a few inches in front of me. All of the lanterns were blown out by now and had been stored down into the galley. The wire, fuses and torches remaining were stored in a closet deep beneath the lower decks, an hour before the rain had dropped. The clouds at dusk, were so extreme and dark, that there was no choice but to take precautions. 

I looked around but had seen nothing. The lighting once in a while had struck in the distance, and it illuminated nothing but ocean. What a pity, we had decided to travel in the southern Gulfs in the Hurricane weather. The captain said it would be worth the trouble. There was treasure to be had. It was all worth the trouble. It was only worthwhile. Anything the captain said, was worthwhile. It always was. There was the night we pulled in extra shifts and plowed hard into the sands of the Abigail Islands, off the coast of Bermuda, and there were girls there waiting for us in a dancing pub, and bagpipes played with singing kilts. It was a party like no other.  We stayed up until the wee hours of the morning singing and drinking while dancing to song, and then we continued to pursue our chosen maids in bungalows the captain had rented. We screwed around until the early to mid-afternoon and slept again through to the late night and got up and did it all over again.  

Oh, the time we had! All that plummeting forward had certainly been worth it.  We drank and drank until we sang again and fell back onto the boat. We had fallen deep within the treasure of a woman’s bosom and slept for two more days before setting sail for Atlantis! 

When we got to Atlantis, the captain sent divers down and they immersed themselves in a kingdom of crystal, gems, and gold. The gold we hoarded on that journey!

Now, the wind knocked me to and fro, and I was lucky to be strapped into the lookout. I could have been swept far into the ocean without that fucking seat strap, and the captain would have noticed the next morning! He would have scoured the high seas looking for me and would not have stopped until he found me. I know it! He would have done it. He would have seen it coming and prevented me, as he did. He had me strapped to the tower and I am lucky the thing did not snap off and break, flying into the ocean in order to sink me down towards the wet sunken earth beneath the ocean, beneath the seas! I would have drowned beneath the pressure of the giant timber oak lookout, sinking with me beneath the ocean. 

The rain poured and almost destroyed me! I stood soaking wet, strapped to the lookout tower, and swaying hard, to and fro. Back and forth, I went on, I continued through the night, moving forward with the ship. 

We steadied further into the black night.  The sky poured tears upon us, as dark as death.  The wind raged. The sea became an ice puddle that kept expanding onto the decks of the ship. I had streams of water in my face, I began to wheel around in a circle, and I slapped my body against the wood plank of the tower. The giant kerchief that held my torso and ass began to slip around, and I did not think it was going to make it. I found an open eye hole within a screw bolted to the side of the tower. I grabbed a flag that sat near and straddled it across my arms and my upper body. I tied it hard to the eye hole, and then again tied an un-tie able knot to the hook and wrapped it again around my body. The rope was long enough to smolder my body to the tower, preventing me from flipping around. The sky was black as death amongst us, and I swore I heard the chanting of the captain and the ancients around us. 

I was trying to survive, never mind how miserable it was. No longer was the night predictable. It was not up to the crew to move us forward, as planned. It was not up to the sails to move with or without the wind. They could just fly off, and we would be sundered by the rough row of our compatriots into the depths of the seas for weeks. Instead of trudging forward vigorously by the weight of the sails gliding us forward, we would be kept in the slow motion of the paddles, drawing forth rough post storm sea water, creating waves in every direction. The trudge forward would now be too eventful and vigorous for us to continue with ease, it would require good old-fashioned blood sweat and tears. And the tears and sweat it would require! Never mind the toils and the blood that would be quickened from our veins and into our environments! And what would a neighboring pirate ship think of us? They would call us the wee lass, and take over our reigns, spoiling themselves to our commodity because of our inadequacy. Sails were very necessary indeed!

At last, the wind died down, and it took another hour or so of clinging to the lookout tower. My, the captain would be proud! I stuck in there like a true champion. He would admire me, when this was over, yes, he would! My, he would put the ship back together, and then I would be praised!

My false bigotry would not show for long, after this journey! On a sail, I would no longer feel the guilt of hatred towards others, I would no longer justify my own abnormality as confidence and adequacy. I could move forward with the confidence of Apollo, the ancient god, and the ferocity of Olympus, another god. I could even move with and like the Son of the God of Heaven himself! Nothing could take me, not a foe, nor a pirate, nor the undead! No one knew of the courage and plenty of veracity it took to stand on the tower during a storm, as I had done, and on more times than many!  My strength of manhood would always shine through, beyond my immortal ability, to be an asshole. 

Maybe other people would notice, but maybe they did not. However, everyone always said, on the ship, or at shore, that it was difficult to notice my falsehood. I did nothing different than most other people did, at least that is what they would say to me. The rage would subside when I was sailing on the ship. I would not hate my ex-wife and my mom for dying. I ceased to hate humanity and land lovers. I relished and landing the ship and departing from the port, the women, the gambling, the womanizing, and the food. Oh, the luscious food! I would not stop eating and drinking at the ports. Hell, I even loved local watch. Anything to give credence to port life kept me onward.

When we landed in California, I would leave the port