The Last Book

By Richard Wesley Clough

At the beginning of the morning, one’s life often feels relaxed until the daily drag of life negates even the former birds singing, where one is often forced into some other way of living and thinking—the way I’ve done just for the prospect of freedom to ruin the second life after freedom. Nevertheless, I can still for a short time revel in my deliberations and creations that reflect the incorporation of the lost life, the same way a DVD player reflects some intricacies of science to someone as starved and appreciative as we might create a DVD-like creativity. For this writer who is also the hero, my job must show how what one seemingly honored in life but disappeared by the dynamics of life was real. So real that others scoffed at my essential feelings, defying my relative paltriness in relation to those former illusory, illustrious lives facing the end of times—the apex—where much is lost by everyone’s anxiety that even excludes my alchemical process. A process created by someone so possessed by his former grandeur he must reconcile his worth by the laws of the reverse and the inverse. So we begin my last book the way James Fenimore Cooper couldn’t with The Deerslayer by using myself as the model for my hero who finds redemption by discovering himself through his living travail and Spartan tenacity. A hero whose only redeeming trait is the freedom that he radiates by some mystic connection to the birds singing just before doomsday’s eerie rings.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jul 19, 2010
• ISBN: 9781453523179

Richard Wesley Clough

I was born in Phoenix, Arizona in August 1955, but I was raised by my mother in Santa Monica, Calif during school years while my grandparents took care of me in the summer months in Maryland. I could almost say this sarcastically as I had a very eventful and spontaneous experience in both places that on reflection I probably would have doubted I could have done so myself, but I did! My education was just as much a roller coaster ride as I did well in summer calculus just to panic at UCLA . Likewise I was good at many sports like baseball, basketball, volleyball, and track etc... but due to my summer wanderlust I was unable to hone it down to one specific. Instead I was relegated to being the commentator I am at present. Never, Never land was like most of my writing real as I’ve been at this state hospital for over thirty years. One could say in light of this admission in terms of my famous law of the reverse that my stay wasn’t evil but more in line with the avocation of a priest or doctor although it would make me nervous to avow such a conceited statement as I’m very modest. Life hasn’t passed me by. Instead I’ve learned to grow with it and live in awe of its majesty.

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Copyright © 2010 by Richard Wesley Clough.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

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Rev. date: 07/17/2024

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CONTENTS

The Charge of the Light Cavalry

YMCA

August

The Last Days of Never-Never Land

Is It Death?

The Little Giant

Beau

The Perfect Reason

The End of the Mall

My Xlibris

Vitals

The Inverse

Victims

Some Brief Notes

Court

Pure Danger

Freedom

Earthquake Watch

A Real Man

The Black Hole Agent

Poetry to End the World

Similarity

One End for the Future Begun

The Quiet Town

To Live and Die in LA

The Blue Light

THE CHARGE OF THE LIGHT CAVALRY

For one grand moment

There was the charge of the light cavalry

Brought on by the dearth of reality

Fomenting from the exertion

In reaction to the general calliope

Of things challenging the dark domain

Even as others lied

Trying to deceive

Those who attempt to right the corrupted world

By dint of a great spirit

Filling my inner cavities

Inciting the charge of the light cavalry

Something only afew have known in history

In general people are raised under the deception that there is usually peace except maybe what their history books say otherwise from kingdoms to world wars almost omitting the threat a person lives under from certain nefarious individuals. Of the latter I seemed to hold the upper hand to the point when a kid my age for some reason wanted to fight me leaving Mckinley elementary I instead grand standed by pretending to want to shake his hand as he stood in a boxers pose. He relinguished just for me to walk away with some Mexican friends whom I never suspected would never progress just as when I heard the rumor the only black kid named Delano Avant, and who could hit the ball over the fence, had sex with several girls including one Sue in particular of whom I kind of looked down upon in belief of that sordid fact. I think now they were trying to goad me into something like that myself but like the SALT theory of being raised harshly it was a reality I couldn’t buck. Sort of like inlaid inhibitions I had to somehow overcome which was impossible. So I resorted to screwing my pillows to keep my deficiencies at bay while I increased my intellect at the cost of a future crime because the nature of modern society is founded on a inherent gridlock that prevents true freedom the way I experienced it in becoming a minimum wage actor almost facetiously. The only good thing was I paid my dues in this respect. Now as for potential strife we’re raised to believe doesn’t for the most part exist for the majority mine began innocuously during my first stint in little league where I was mowing the batters down one at a time until I became possessed to throw as hard as I could one pitch that ended up striking a mulatto boy painfully in the back. A fact that cognizantly compelled me to pitch my last game slowly before going back east as if I knew there was something wrong and there was unknown to me. Apparently as I was leaving the ball diamond with my no hitter I happened to hear the struck boy say something I didn’t much comprehend, l feel sick Apparently later that evening he must have died from hemmoraging whose fact would be the catalyst of the proverbial phantom like struggle people aren’t raised to believe in. So as I began to endure one foul factor after another it only dawned on me when they were extolling some talentless black woman named Maya Angelou that it was the famous smpathy factor people show to those who suffered a tragic loss. Yet although this seemed to be the case no one said anything as my five year sentence drifted into eternity. I was faced with pure hatred as I talked to seemingly neutral professionals until the general rage I was dealing with became a saturated reality. Of the murder attempts against me they acted like it happens to everyone. It was this that made me think of a plague around JFK’s assassination. Some of the facts that might have eluded perusal in all this was how after two years active duty I took a leave for a month that Aug. 78 where upon return they said I was mentally ill. I assumed maybe they were right but fought against their imposition. Some other possibilities was missing the Omaha marathon or being unable to change the DCT printer ribbon for the forecasters. But lately in light of this mammoth struggle I think when I was in Khaki’s and being driven by my hapless grandmother to the laughter of the guards at Dover AFB) to catch a flight to Moffet in San Francisco that may have been the reason. On the plane they asked me to come to the cock pit where I joked about plotting a tornado they might spot on the ground. When I was first asked there were other people there who had a kind of stunned look that I think meant something unusual was transpiring in making me now believe in light of my growing infamy that this spurred the base into action. I felt horrible but then after eluding the VA I thought I heard a female say about it, They knew the maniac would escape, as if her black boy friend was accosted the way the Russian girl would die during the future Omaha marathon where I myself felt my legs become lead afterwards and this was just the tip of the iceberg as all kinds of elements were being drawn into it from a great spirit filling all my inner cavities inciting the charge of the light cavalry. Or in other words that one famous moment of losing control. So later I survived someone in a war couldn’t survive yet they made fun of my one quarter mile run of the mile when once at Phantom. The jist is the pure hatred without them realizing what