More pictures, but who cares?

The Return of Jack Collier (Chapter Forty-Three)

The Return of Jack Collier

A Jack Collier Story

By Brett N. Lashuay

Chapter Forty-Three: Holding Out For a Hero

Chapter Forty-Three: Holding Out For a Hero

I need a hero, I’m holding out for a hero till the morning light.

Bonney Tyler

            If Jack’s going to complain about this Legend of Jack Collier thing he’s going to have to stop doing things like this. It’s really not fair of him to both behave like the sort of character that’s stepped out of the kind of books I used to make myself wet as a teenager and complain about people acting like he’s some sort of superman. He’s going to have to pick, which I keep telling him anyway.

            The first thing I saw was some sort of flashing in the house, like someone had started a fire. Then there was the crump of an explosion and the house did burst into flames. The front room of the house was flaming in a few seconds and who was on the front porch? Who was standing here in his trench coat and fedora, looking like some kind of mix between the man with no name and every detective from every movie I ever saw? I almost thought he was in black and white for a moment as he stepped away from the door, his feet crunching on the glass that broke when the fire exploded.

            “Red King.” He said pulling out one gun and then the other. “I’m calling you out bitch!”

            “What the fuck?” King asked, looking at Jack as he walked down the porch steps.

            “I came here to kick ass and chew bubble gum, and I’m all out of gum.” Jack announced and raised the two guns.

            I ran, since no one seemed to want to keep an eye on me. They were all interested in what Jack was doing, far too interested to bother with me. Jack started shooting them, and as far as I could tell he hit one of them with each shot. There were nine of them all together, and they fell like flies under his onslaught. What’s odd is how fast it all was. He fired six shots from the old Webley and then four shots from his Marley, all within about ten seconds. I stopped running and turned when the shooting had stopped and saw him standing with only Red King left alive.

            “So Red.” He announced as he put the Webley back in its shoulder holster. “It is down to you, and it is down to me.”

            He opened the Marley and spilled the bullets into his hand. He made a show of throwing away the empty shells and replacing the two good rounds. He then loaded the other four bullets into the gun and closed it. After doing that he tossed the gun to Red’s feet and pulled out his pocket knife.

            “Okay Red.” He announced. “You saw me load it. Let’s see if you can grab that gun and shoot me before I get to you and cut your guts out with my knife here.”

            “I could get that in an instant.” He said looking at the gun.

            “So go for it.” Jack said, taking a step closer.

            “Don’t do it King!” I hadn’t seen Alice coming from the side of the house, but there she was, beautiful in the fire light. She was aiming a pistol at King, but looking at Jack. “This isn’t the wild west. We can take him in.”

            “Who flipped you?” He asked her. “Who gave you up to this prick?”

            “We’ll find out.” She said as the first started to catch on the second floor of the house. “We can take him in.”

            “What do you think Red?” Jack asked as he walked closer. “You want to go with her or me? I’m ready to use your guts for garters, she’s ready to arrest you and put you away for the rest of your life. I’m not going to lie to you, I don’t think either one is very attractive. If you decided to walk away though, I’ll let you get arrested and I’ll back off. I won’t kill you if you go with her.”

            “Oh you are such a sweetheart, aren’t you?” King sneered.

            “Just shoot him Alice!” I called out. “We can put the gun in his hand.”

            “No.” Jack said. “No, he’s got to make up his own mind. Free will, it’s got a beat and you can dance to it.”

            “I’m not going to give myself up.” King announced.

            “Well, I’m tired of this so I’m not even going to cut you now.” Jack closed his knife and slipped it in his pocket. “I think if you go for that gun now Agent Liddell will probably shoot you though. I mean unless this has all been some massive game where Alice is really on your side.”

            “No.” She said, “I’m on your side Jack.”

            “Good to hear.” He announced, not taking his eyes off King.

            “Fuck you.” King said and reached down to grab the revolver.

            Alice fired one shot, which went through the big man’s thigh. He fell to his knees, gun in hand and shouted. He looked at Jack and then looked at Alice. I could see from where I stood that the gun she was holding was out of bullets, the chamber of the automatic was stuck in the open position. He couldn’t see it though, I think he thought it was trapped. He stuck the gun into his mouth and pulled the trigger. His head didn’t explode or anything, the bullet didn’t even come out. He just shot and fell over.

            “Well I didn’t see that coming.” Jack said as he walked up Red and took his gun away from the corpse. The two of us walked towards him as the roof started to burn.

            “Is it over?” A voice called out from the side of the house.

            “It’s over Cindy.” Jack said, an arm around each of our necks, kissing each of us on the forehead.

            “All over?”

            “All over.” Alice said. “I’ll go take care of her and get a car.”

            “You know Debs.” Jack said, his arm still around my neck. “I’m glad we live in the suburbs of Michigan.”

            This sounded like crazy talk to me. So much so that I could only react with surprise after he told me it. I think I even came him the weird mutant look after he said it.

            “Are you?” I asked.

            “Oh yeah.” He announced turning to watch the burning building as Alice pulled her car away from the burning. “Because the suburbs are so calm and quite. You never get weird religious cults that want to rape girls for no good reason in the suburbs. Nope! The suburbs of Michigan are dead boring. Never get international gangs of assassins kidnapping industrialists daughters, don’t have serial killers. You’re ex girlfriend never turns out to be a psycho, trying to get you to help murder her ex-husband and her business partners and rivals. Not in the suburbs of Michigan!”

            He was beginning to raise his voice now, as part of the house began to collapse in on itself. It wasn’t because I couldn’t hear him though, he was just starting to loose his cool a little. I think it had all been too much for him.

            “You don’t have kidnapped girls shooting you, you don’t have to live in a coma for three years, none of this trading of children, no fathers raping their own kids, no incest so complicated you need a flow chart to work out who is related to who and why they shouldn’t be fucking! Oh and being chased by psycho cult leaders across the country while everyone has some super secret they refuse to share doesn’t happen either. OH NO! Never have to set an entire house on fire because you can’t depend on anyone besides yourself not to have be part of the conspiracy against you. Yeup. That never happens here in Michigan! I’m so glad we live here! Imagine what it would be like if we lived in one of those immoral cities! I might have to solve a simple jewel heist or something. Oh the ignominy! I SURE AM GLAD WE LIVE IN MICHIGAN WHERE WE DON’T HAVE THAT KIND OF SHIT!”

            As he shouted that, the house collapsed completely and ash and cinders flew up so high into the sky you’d think they got lost and became new stars. He stopped and watched as they went up and up. He then put his arms around me and kissed my neck.

            “Are you okay?” Alice asked as she approached.

            “He’ll be okay.” I said patting his shoulder.

            “Should I?” She pointed over her shoulder, looking at me with a question in her eyes.

            “Come on.” I said waving to her. “He needs a hug.”

            She put her arms around him, and I put my hands on her arms because that was the furthest I could reach. I kind of got the idea that it would be okay now though. It had passed, he would be alright now. She kissed my finger, I stroked her chin, we were okay together. It was comfortable the three of us could probably be comfortable.

            “We probably should call somebody.” Jack said finally. “Make sure the fire gets put out properly. Go get Karen and Jill, go home. Go to bed.”

            “Where are they?” Alice asked, still holding onto him and rubbing her cheek against my hand.

            “Flat Rock.” He said, still holding onto me.

            “Where the hell is Flat Rock?” She asked. “Is that in Ohio or something?”

            “See?” He laughed. “No one knows about Flat Rock.”

            “Where is it?” She asked.

            “I’ll take you there.” He said. “I’ll show you. You’ll see. No place worth going.”

            “Jack?” I asked. “Are you okay?”

            “No one in their right mind would go to Flat Rock.” He said. “So it’s the perfect safe house. I’ll show you.”

            We all got into what he told us was his Grandmother’s old car and he started us away. Alice made a call to the local police, but none of us stayed at the crime scene. An hour and a half later, we were pulling into a drive way in what he assured us was the town of Flat Rock. It was a little place, hardly worth visiting. He got into the house where Jill and Karen were waiting. Jack called the police and told them to come get the two hit men he had in a tool shed behind the garage.

            While it should have been the end with Red King shooting himself, it was only the beginning. The local police, state police and the federals, all showed up at the house, which got to be quite small with all the people in it and it wasn’t very big to begin with. After a few hours, we were all taken from Jack’s Grandmother’s old house, to the local police station to give statements and things. That took hours, and they kept wanting to go over it again and again until I got fed up and told them I was only going to talk to the feds.

            “What’s the matter with us?” A big state bull called Harris demanded.

            “Look.” I said, feeling like the only girl in the world with the four big cops standing around me. “I’m tired and I’m not going through this again. I’ll talk to Agent Liddell, but the rest of you can leave. If you want more from me, arrest me and you can talk to my lawyer. I’m done.”

Changing Memory

Much of this infographic is accurate, although I would argue more for The Internet and Computers in general instead of just Google.

 It is also an example of history repeating itself.

I'm reminded of a part from The Day the Universe Changed when James Burke was talking about memory palaces and how the need for them was destroyed by the printing press. Pretty much everything in that infographic can be said about how books affected people as well, on both the good and the bad sides.

We went from remembering stories as narratives "I remember when they started working on the castle because that was the year Cassie was born. They opened the castle when Cassie got her first tooth, and she was about eleven months old then. Now she's fourteen, so the castle was built thirteen years ago." to remembering a series of facts "The castle was built 13 years ago." and with the internet you can look up "Castle Tooth was built in 1998. LOL! 4:20! I smoke weed every day of my life." 

Everything they are saying here about Google, someone once said about books. And we know this, because they or someone else wrote it down. I can't remember where of course, because my memory Palace is full of viewing screens with high def audio. I'm a visual and auditory learner, I've got a memory theater going on. Well, that and the memory warehouse, but we leave those boxes sealed and stacked for a reason.

My problem with Tarot readings

Every once in a while someone mentions tarot card readings, or palm readings, or astrology, or even diving the future through pizza crumbs. Invariably, I decline the offer, often swiping away any errant crumbs of whatever pizza I’m eating at the time.

I've got nothing to say, so you get pictures.

Actually, I have a great deal that I would sort of like to say, but this is neither the time nor the place.

Attention Please

Okay, so you need to look at this post.

Long story short, the sweetest girl in all of California is in dire need of some funds.

She's selling some stuff on e-bay, she has an Art Fire Store and doing readings. Go check out what she's got going on, okay?

What you call it.

The One Night Stand. I’ve heard it called many things over the years. I don’t intend to mention all of them here, but I do intend to talk about a couple. Not so much the terms, but the euphemistic ways they talk about it.

One friend slightly callously, in my mind anyway, referred to the event as “I picked her up, and when I was done I put her back down again.” However, it was only slightly callous and to be honest, it was extremely accurate. Besides, she said something similar about them, so it balanced out really.

Another friend, sort of romantically and playful said of such a situation, “We were at a party, and she followed me home.” I like that one a bit better, it’s got some breath of innocence and fun to it.

My favorite however is still “She threw herself at me, and I caught her.” which provides me with all the things I enjoy, forward women and gallant souls who accept offers from forward women. Well, I really like forward women, if I’ve never mentioned that before.

Michigan Renaissance Festival Show - Dr. Infernal's Shock and Awe Show

Now... the Michigan Renaissance Festival facebook page has this as Dr. Infernal's Shock and Awe Show. When the show was done, Dr Infernal told me where to find them on facebook, but I forgot the name of the show. As you can see though, I at least found his facebook page, so that's something. That might even be the name he gave me, who knows, I sure don't. The show is your basic fire-eating, whip cracking, head nailing, bed of nails laying show and as such is entirely dependent on the skill of the performers to be any good or not. These photos are not the best I've ever taken, because the light and hunger were working against me. However, I got some good shots and computers are wonderful things for fixing mistakes right? Anyway, let's look at some pictures, shall we? This is the man himself, and he gave a very good act. The assistant in the show was a young lady who goes by the name of Jade Ashekerra.

The Return of Jack Collier (Chapter Forty-Two)

The Return of Jack Collier

A Jack Collier Story

By Brett N. Lashuay

 

 

Chapter Forty-Two: The Angriest Song Ever.

 

Alice Liddell’s Diary

 

            I have never seen that kind of savagery in my life and I hope I never see it again. It wasn’t just that he was angry, it was that he approached pure viciousness to a level I’ve never seen before. All while Daydream Believer played, imprinting it’s new meaning on my brain.

 

            If you investigate certain kinds of crimes, there start being songs you can’t listen to anymore. You can’t read some books, or watch certain movies, but it’s songs that are the worst. I can avoid watching the Texas Chainsaw movies, I don’t have to read Lewis Carol, avoiding the Billy Joel song Uptown Girl is a little harder. You see things, you hear things, you know that someone murdered fourteen children because they think The Beatles told them to, and it ruins a song. As a result, I will forever think of Daydream Believer as the angriest song in the world.  

 

            “Look cunt!” Pete snapped as he slammed the door and shouted through the glass. “You’re gonna get fucked to death. So you better just shut up, or it’ll be a lot worse! He ain’t gonna just suddenly come back and save you’re dumb bitch ass.”

 

            Then it started, and went all at once. He was laughing at one moment, and then there was a flash of movement and the world turned into pure violence. I didn’t even realize what had happened at first, just that someone was behind Pete. For a moment I thought I was in even more trouble than I was.

 

            Jack stood up, grabbed the back of Pete’s head and smashed him into the window. There were two more smacked into the window, but it didn’t break. He opened the door and shoved Pete’s head in and slammed the door twice, all while Davey Jones was singing that the six o’clock alarm might never ring. Jack stood back a step and gave the door a healthy kick, which caused a disgusting crack sound. There were convulsions from Pete’s body and a sound escaped his throat.

 

            Jack opened the door, which let Pete slide out of the car on to the ground. He reached into Pete’s coat and grabbed his automatic. He stood up, checked the gun, glanced at me and spoke in the gentlest tone I’d ever heard him use outside of the bed room.

 

            “You okay?” The sound of his voice was like rubbing silk across my face while kissing my ear.

 

            “Yeah.” I said.

 

            “NO!” Cindy’s voice cried out again. “Please! God! NO!

 

            “B-R-B.” He said with such a sweet tone that you’d never know how angry he was.

 

            He walked away toward the front of the SUV and crossed in front of it toward the bushes that they’d dragged Cindy to. I saw him in the headlights as he passed in front of the truck. His head was down and in order to look any angrier, he would need a cartoon storm cloud hanging over him. He didn’t walk towards them, he stalked. I lost him after he passed through the lights, he just vanished into the dark. Sleepy Jean was being advised to cheer up as he vanished from the realms where visible light had an effect and he became a force of nature.

 

            Then there were the gun shots. Eight of them, several overlapping to soon for it to all be from one gun. I saw the flashes, but couldn’t see anything else until Jack emerged back into the headlights with Cindy’s wrist in his hand. She was trying to keep her jeans from slipping down her hips, since they were still open. I think they only got to opening them and she just hadn’t buttoned the fly or redone her belt. I got out of the car and ran towards him. He waved at me with the gun hand.

 

            “Get in back, we’re going to get the rest of them.”

 

            “Are you okay?” I asked Cindy as we got to the SUV.

 

            “I’m okay.” She nodded, clearly shaken. “I’ll be okay.”

 

            She got in the back, so I got into the front seat. Jack walked around to the driver’s side and opened the door. He then looked down where Pete lay and fired two more shots from the gun. He tossed the gun to me and got into the car.

 

            “You once thought of me.” He sang sweetly with the music. “As a white knight on his steed.”

 

            He started the truck and started it away. I thought he might turn the song off, but instead he turned it up, way up. He kept singing along, except he was getting angrier as he did. By the time the chorus came around again he was banging his right fist into the steering wheel with his fist and roaring the words.

 

            “Cheer up sleepy Jean!” He roared as we raced through the night. “OOOOh what can it mean!? To aaa daydream believer and a… HOME coming queeEEEEN?!”

 

            He turned the lights off as he drove, clearly knowing where he was going, or not caring anymore. He was nearly screaming the lyrics by the last time the chorus was repeated. He stopped as we approached the house, which was just as well since the song was over by that point.

 

            “You keep the gun.” He told me. “Back me up.

            “What are you going to do?”

 

            “Take back our girlfriend.” He said.

 

            He walked toward the back of the house, where it looked like the kitchen was located. I saw Quayle sitting at the table with is back turned to the door, he was preparing something that looked like a Molotov cocktail made of a gas can and a rag.

 

            “We’re not gonna take it.” Jack whispered as he walked toward the back door. “No, we ain’t gonna take it. We’re not gonna take it, anymore.”

 

            “See, we make her drink this stuff. Get it all over her, and the fire will start to burn inside her.” Quayle was telling one of them men sitting at the table with him. “You then light this and toss it in, it exploded under her and you have bitch flambé.”

 

            Jack yanked the sliding door open and walked quickly into the kitchen. There was a gun on the counter next to the door, and I know that because he grabbed it and put a round through the head of Quayle’s companion. The sound was soft and almost not there, and I saw after he threw it on the table that it was one of his Rutthowers.

 

            “You want to burn someone?” Jack asked, so calm and sweet that I thought that voice might scare me the next time he used it to talk to me. “Let’s try you.”

 

            He grabbed the cup of gas off the table, dumped it on Quayle and then smashed Quayle’s head with it. He yanked Quayle up and shoved him towards the hall, grabbing a lighter and setting the man alight. Quayle screamed as the flame took him and Jack gave him a kick in the chest.

 

            “Fucker.” He turned back to the table and grabbed his things, mentioning them as he did. “Webley, Marley, Laguiole, persuader, keys, wallet, phone and my mitts. Sweetheart, take the two Rutthowers, then no one will know where you’re shooting from.”  He snatched the gas can from the table and started toward the hall.

 

            “Jack?”

 

            “Go around the house, this is about to turn flamey.”

 

            He walked into the hall and raised his right arm swiftly, throwing his left hand into the crook of his elbow. The result was that his right hand snapped into the air and half way through its flight he let the gas can go. He just kept walking, cool as sour cream towards the front door. I heard a thump a scream and jumped to the floor as I realized what was going to come next. There was an explosion of flames and the screaming stopped, but a moment later the screaming of a smoke detector started. I ran out of the house through the back door and ran around to the front, not coming all the way around because I didn’t really want to be seen. There were eight or nine of them, all standing around Debbie as the flames really started to catch the house in earnest. Jack was walking down the stairs like a gun fighter, the wind blowing his coat around dramatically.

 

            “I am up to seven for this evening!” He announced as he stepped off the flaming porch towards King. “I am looking to break my old record.”

 

            “Kill this asshole.” King waved his cane around.

 

            I started towards them, shooting with both of the Rutthowers at once, just like we were told never to do. It was amazing to watch him though as he shot at them with that antique revolver of his. He took no stance, not an approved one anyway. It didn’t seem to matter much though, he seemed not to miss. I’m not sure how much help I was being, since I’m still not sure about the range the Rutthowers had, but it didn’t matter. His gun handling would have given my old sergeant an aneurism, but he seemed to have them all taken care of so it probably didn’t matter.

 

            It only took a few seconds of shooting before I was out of bullets, but it looked like we got everyone but King anyway. I decided to approach the situation, picking up one of the dead men’s guns as I did. Jack looked even angrier, if that was at all possible. I almost thought I saw a cartoon cloud over his head.

 

            “You really want to kill me, don’t you?” Jack asked as he slung the big revolver into his shoulder holster. “Go on, draw your steel.”

 

            “You little son of a bitch.” King snarled.

 

            “I’ll help you.” Jack said, taking a small revolver off his hip and tossing it to the man’s feet. Then he pulled his knife out and opened it. “Let’s see what you’ve got. Go on, it’s fully loaded. We’ll see if you can draw and fire that before I can stab you with this.”

 

            “I’ll kill you.”

 

            “Let’s see you try.” Jack told him.

 

            “Fuck you.” King said grabbing the little ivory handled thirty-eight.

 

            I pulled the trigger once and hit him in the leg, a fleshy part of the upper thigh. Jack looked at me, and I looked back at him. He then looked at King and smiled, closing the knife. He tossed the closed knife from one hand to the other while King grabbed at his thigh and moaned of pain. I’m not sure either of them could see from their angle, but there had only been one round in the gun. The breach was stuck open, taunting me, looking like a baby bird that wanted to be fed.

 

            King looked at me, then at the gun in his hand. He grabbed the revolver in his meaty fist and put the gun in his mouth while pulling the trigger. Blood exploded from the nose and ears, but the bullet didn’t exit his head, it just deformed the skull. The body sat up for a second before the muscles lost their power and let the weight fall.

 

            “Huh.” Jack said. “I did not see that coming.”

 

            He walked over to where King’s body lay, blood pouring from the nose, mouth and ears, and took his gun back. He took out a handkerchief to wipe off some of the blood and put the gun right back into the hip holster he had for it. I watched him do it too. I didn’t say anything about evidence, or crime scenes, or anything like that. If I wanted an excuse not to say these things, the fire broke through the roof and began to burn away at the last remaining supports for the place.

 

            Instead of complaining, I walked to Jack and embraced him while Debbie did the same. We held him as he breathed heavily and squeezed us tight against him. I could feel the handle of his gun pressing into my chest, but I was hardly about to start complaining about such a thing now.

 

            “Is it over?” Cindy asked as she emerged from the side of the flaming house.

           

            “It’s over Cindy.” Jack said, an arm around each of our necks, kissing each of us on the forehead.

 

            “All over?”

 

            “All over.” I said. “I’ll go take care of her and get a car.”

 

            Jack tossed me his keys and we walked to the skylark he had driven here in. I pulled the car around and stopped next to them as Jack was shouting something about living in Michigan being so great because you never have gun fights with gangsters in Michigan. I got out of the car as he was shouting about how much he hated living in this state and then broke down, holding onto Debbie to prevent from falling.

 

            “Are you okay?” I asked.

 

            “Come on.” She said, waving at me to approach. “He just needs us to hold him for a while.”

 

            I put my arms around him, and Debbie put her hands on my arms. She put her hands up near my shoulder and I kissed her fingers sort of spontaneously. She touched my face with her fingers, rubbing my lower lip with her thumb. I kissed her thumb and gently bit the tip. Her fingers stroked my chin and I sort of knew it was all going to be okay. It would take a little while, but the three of us would be okay together. That was something of a break through, although it’s a strange one to make when surrounded by dead bodies.

 

Michigan Renaissance Festival Show - One Step Further

One Step Further is the show presented by Delirio del Arte

Photo post for today

More Photos!

More photos of stuff

Again with the photos and the stuff with the things

Another of Those Moments

I was sitting here, in my office, pretending that looking out my window and watching the birds/clouds/waves with introspection was a thing I do. I no longer have waves, as we moved out of the place with a pond. Birds were always more of a thing at the condo, and I couldn’t see them from my desk as it was. I got clouds, but my blinds are actually closed enough that I can’t see them. This my dears, my darlings, my lovelies, is where the pretending comes in.

Now, I could just sit here and write a review for The Maltese Falcon, and I may very well do just that a bit later, but right now I want something that requires less research and more mindless typing on the keyboard. It’s not time for a pic post, I’m not in a mood to make a poll, and the poly Q&A is behind us for the nonce. That leaves us for a brief moment with a desire to talk, but nothing to talk about. This is a situation we have not been in for sometime. Mostly, in the most recent of our memories, I have had no desire to talk and have instead relied on photos and mild profanity to get me through the day. While I feel as able as anyone to try and get through the day with the help of the phrase “pouty-assed cocksucker” I feel today that more is expected of me and should be.

The problem is, I have very little to write about today and would rather walk with a sweetheart in the gently falling rain. The problem here is that Syd says she does not want to go walking today, because we had a busy afternoon and she is tired. This wouldn’t be a problem if I had another sweetheart close at hand.

SO! Here is what I need from you. If you would like to be my sweetheart, or at least pretend for a night, come on over and walk in the rain with me. We can talk about whatever, so long as it’s not about family, work or multilevel marketing. If you’re very lucky, I won’t read you some of my poetry while we walk. Most my poems are inexorably bad and can only be borne for a few minutes at a time without needing a scrub down and a stiff drink.

Still, if you hurry, you can get here before the rain ends and we’ll have a lovely walk. By the end, I might have thought of something to write about.

w00t! w00t!

Pics (now with added people)

39

I have 39 recipes for turkey in my huge stack of cook books. Some of them are from Chinese and Indian cookbooks, lands where I feel turkey is probably not even a native bird.

I don't want to cook turkey, I want to cook goose. You know how many recipes I have for that?

One.

Just one from the City Tavern Cookbook and that requires me to cut the bird in 16 pieces.

Sooo, I'll have to find a way to cook a roast goose on my own, without my books. If only there was some massive resource, beyond my stack of cookbooks, where I could look up how to prepare food. Some sort of super-highway of information, perhaps in the form of a series of tubes, where I could find such a thing as I’m hoping to find.

Sadly, such a thing only exists in the dreams of sci-fi dweebs and computer geeks, and those dreams NEVER come true.

Polyamory Q&A: Question 12

Have you had any other forays into poly other than your V with Syd and Holly? Or was that a triad? I get confused.

It was a V and then it became a triad, and then things went wrong and now we're a couple.

There were others, some we were in a quasi relationship, some wanted to be in a relationship, and some wanted in on the ride but couldn't make the sanity throw. If you read this post and this post, you'll get an idea.

I’m at odds as to whether or not I should give more details, or what kind I should give if I do at this point. Not because I’m worried about annoying someone or going TMI, but simply because I’ve written about that before, and this is just clarification and refreshing the memory. You could hit the poly tag and go back a few pages, I've written a few things on the subject. Alternatively, you could grab the sexuality tag and check that out.

I think we’re at the end of what I wanted to say at the moment, and you guys seem to be all out of questions. As proof of that, we have the next entry…

I haven't got any more general poly questions. :(

Well then, I guess we’d better stop for a while and consider this series closed at an even dozen. If you have specific questions, you can e-mail me, if you have non-poly questions, I’ll put up another poll in a few days.

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Polyamory Q&A: Question 11 (hints)

Is there something you just wish you did better?

You know something sweetheart, I’m glad you asked that question. As it turns out, there is something I wish I was better at.

I wish I were better at getting and interpreting hints as they’re being dropped.

See, there have been times in my life, when I wasn’t just the handsome, charming and debonair fellow you see before me. There was a time, long ago, when I was down right pretty. I say this with no ego or self aggrandizement, because it never did me a bit of good seeing as no one ever mentioned it to me until it was far, far too late to do anything about it. By the time the phrase “Too pretty for words” came along, I wasn’t anymore. Weight and age had laid upon me and I was no longer the heart wrenching beauty I once was. Sadly, this really was something I didn’t know I had until it was gone.

It seems, as I have been told later, that about 98.7% of all females fell into a maddening, lustful, unrequited, crush that was akin to the gravitational force of a black hole. Only, unlike those massive dead stars, you could escape because I had no idea of the powerful draw I possessed in those days. Evidently, when there were mass faintings, I just assumed that there was some kind of gas, or I didn’t notice them fainting, or I was busy talking to someone, or… something. I have been told that it was happening though, just as I left the room all the girls would collapse and fan themselves and make sighing noises AND THAT’S NOT FAIR!

Why they couldn’t have done it while I was in the room… I don’t know. I was not consulted on this; no one asked my opinion at the time, and if they had I would have suggested changes. Most the females I knew in High School that were candid enough to discuss this were lesbians and didn’t see the attraction because they weren’t into men. When my opinion was asked for later, upon someone revealing that she had carried a massive crush torch for me all through high school, I said that she could have done things differently. Actually, I remember swearing and saying that I never even had an inkling of an insinuation that she wanted me. I remember a string of profanity and vocabulary words spewing forth, because that’s sort of what I do sometimes.

You remember me talking about red socks a while ago? This girl claimed that she had worn the local equivalent of red socks around me for four years just hoping and praying I would notice. Now, we were friendly, but I have to tell you that I NEVER saw the myriad of signals she claims she was throwing my way. By the time she was telling me this, she had hooked up with a nice guy and I was with Syd and the word “Poly” wasn’t even a thing yet and, and, and… nothing. Nothing ever came of that because it was too late to do anything about it. However, that would not be the first time I would be so frustrated.

As I’ve gotten older, I’ve gotten no better at seeing hints and signs. The only thing that has changed is that I am now aware that such sings and hints exist. To some extent, this has made things easier, and to some extent this has made me paranoid. It’s laughable to be paranoid about ancient aliens helping the Freemasons to come over here and steal our cheese, because that’s an absurd thing to be concerned about. It is not, however, absurd to be paranoid about missing signals that you know exist and that you know you have a history of missing. See, when you have later been told that a girl talking about how she loves brown eyes and guys with long hair, directly to you – a brown eyed long haired guy, is supposed to be a hint that she’d like you to take her roughly and ravish her under the bleachers, well it makes you feel silly for not having ravished her. It makes you feel particularly silly when you spent three years thinking said girl was the seventh loveliest thing you’d ever seen and had often wondered how she’d look while being ravished under the bleachers. Sadly, I was only informed of this after ravishing, bleachers and long hair had all gone out of style. Also, said girl has since dropped to the fifteenth loveliest thing I’ve ever seen, but that’s more because I have seen so much more and less that her beauty has decreased. Also, I later learned that she was kind of a self centered jack-ass and counted myself as lucky not to get wound around her little finger like many another I knew.

Sorry, where was I? Oh, yes, hints!

Now, I’ve learned a few other things about girls since then, and a few things about grown women as well. One of the things I’ve learned is that sometimes, when a girl says she likes your hair, all she’s saying is that she likes your hair. That’s one of the really hard things to deal with, at least for me. Men are easy, men think you’re pretty and they say “You shure is perty! You got a perty mouth. I bet you could squeal like a piggy.” and then you start to run with knives drawn, ready to kill. Women are more subtle and say things that could mean they’re just making pleasant conversation, or that they’re trying to lure your dumb ass into bed if you weren’t so damn dumb and could be lured into the place you clearly really want to go. AND! Sometimes, they’re trying to sound you out, see if you’d find them slutty for wanting to bang you like a screen door in a windstorm. So, sometimes it’s a come on, sometimes it’s not a come on, and sometimes it could lead to a come on if you answer the unasked question correctly.

Now, you throw polyamory into the mix. You have friends who know where you stand, and where they stand, and yet there are times when you think they’re flirting. But then, you think that they can’t possibly be flirting beyond telling a joke, because as far as you know they aren’t poly. OR ARE THEY? Because while you’re talking to them, and they seem to be flirting, they mention that they’ve thought about living in a group situation and that the idea sort of appeals to them. Then she mentions being bi and thinking your GF is cute and letting the rest sort of hang there. I’m making it sound like those all came in one sentence, which doesn’t do her or me any favors. Of course, by the time I’d worked out what her signals meant, I’d also worked out that there was a stability problem with her.

The other reason I find this frustrating is that in other circumstances, where no sexuality is involved, I can read 99.6% of all people like a large print book. Partly it’s that I’m a good listener, partly it’s that I’ve got enough empathy to understand where a person is coming from, and partly I have a conman’s knack for observing those tiny clues about a person that even they don’t know they’re doing. Probably, a big part of my problem with hints is that I’ve probably got this whole shyness/self-esteem issues going on. Yeah, I have a natural ability to decide that those hints aren’t what I might think they possibly could be. No, it must just be pleasant conversation, she’s just answering my question in a frank and unambiguous way because she feels comfortable with me and I talk in a fairly frank and straight forward manner most the time. Yeah, that’s it, that’s why she told me what she told me in a way that could be considered provocative and alluring, not because she’s trying to tell me that her bedroom is just upstairs and gosh I’ve got nice legs.

So yeah, I wish I was better at hints and clues. While we’re at it, I would also like to no longer be dyslexic and I would enjoy a cure of ADD if you’ve got one handy. I know the question wasn’t asked in a poly poll, but I’ve decided to drop it in here anyway.

Last one...

This is probably the best, most achingly beautiful photo I've ever taken... and it's of a pile of wool. Bigger and some more below the cut.

The Return of Jack Collier (Chapter Forty-One)

The Return of Jack Collier

A Jack Collier Story

By Brett N. Lashuay

 

 

Chapter Forty-One: Everything You Know is Wrong

 

Everything you know is wrong. Black is white, up is down and short is long. And everything you thought was just so important doesn't matter. Everything you know is wrong. Just forget the words and sing along. All you need to understand is everything you know is wrong.

 

Weird Al Yankovick.

 

 

            I watched as Jack looked over the cliff and as he caught my eye he tipped a wink. I had no idea what he was thinking, but I didn’t like it. I’ve always sort of had the idea that there was a self-destructive streak in him. He could see that we were up against the wall and he’d decided to give up.

 

            “I’ll tell you this Pete.” He said looking at Peter Kurbisesser. “If you get me angry, I am going to kill you.”

 

            “Are you?” He asked.

 

            “I’ll come back as a ghost and fuck your shit up.” Jack smiled and laughed and looked more than a little manic. “Hide your remotes and shit.”

 

            I think I could tell what he was working himself up to before anyone else. I wanted to not be mad at him, but he was going to kill himself and leave us to our fate. He liked the idea of jumping, it would make everything so much easier. He would just smash against a sharp rock and die, like he thought he should have after getting shot.

 

            “Just tell us where Jill is.” Red said, trying to sound reasonable. He almost did sound reasonable, being an almost upstanding kind of guy. “That’s all we want.”

 

            I wanted to scream, to tell him to tell her where she was, to save us. I knew those were stupid thoughts though, if they knew where she was they’d do what they wanted to us and kill him anyway. Still, you’re not the one they said they were going to burn alive, I was. I was scared, more scared than I’d ever been. Jack looked hyped up though, he looked psyched, he looked like he could do anything. The problem with that is Jack’s a depressive and he hates himself. He thinks he’s not good enough.

 

            “I tell you what?” Jack said smiling at them. “How about you, kiss my ass?”

 

            He then turned, ran and jumped off the cliff. A second or two later we heard a crack and a scream and rocks rolling in an avalanche. The scream cut off suddenly, but the cracking sounds continued with the crashing of stones. Pete Kurbisesser ran toward the cliff with a big lamp and one the little machine guns they’d been waving as us.

 

            “Where is he?” Red asked looking over his shoulder.

 

            “I don’t see him.” Pete said and fired the machine gun down there, waving his arms around the spray the area.

 

            “Boys!” Red shouted and they were all there with machine guns. They all fired and they must have used up their bullets because they each had to reload their guns, but it seemed like they fired for a very short time.

 

            “He’s dead.” Quayle announced a few seconds after the shooting stopped. “No where for him to hide, even if he lived through the jump.”

 

            “You’re sure?”

 

            “Sure sir.” Quayle said.

 

            “Let’s get her back to the house and get her ready then.” Red said pointing at me.

 

            “Mister King?” Pete asked, looking plaintive. “Can’t we just do them here? It’s more romantic under the stars.”

 

            “I don’t see why not.” Red shrugged. “Quayle, Johnson, bring the other bitch.”

 

            Quayle grabbed me and dragged me to the car. I tired to resist, but he had a grip like an iron cuff. I was yanked along toward the car as Red slapped my rump. It was so scared, and I felt like it would be better to grab one of their guns and shoot myself.

 

            “God damn.” Red said. “Look at that ass. We could have some fun with that ass before we cook her Quayle.”

 

            “Maybe sir.” Quayle said grabbing my face in his hand before groping me. “She got a good pair of tits too. Nice and juicy.”

 

            “We could run our own little train on her, don’t you think?” Red asked.

 

            “Wouldn’t be nothing wrong with it.” Quayle said.

 

            “Just kill me you fuck.” I said.

 

            “No, no.” Quayle said giving me a good hard slap across the face. “Rape first, burning later.”

 

            They shoved me in the back seat of one of the trucks and Red got in the back with me. He gave my blouse a good hard yank, sending buttons flying around the cab as Quayle started the car.

 

            “Damn fine titties.” He announced groping them.

 

            I did as Jack had told me to do in these situations. One quick jab, right for the middle of the throat. Red grabbed at his throat, wheezing like an asthmatic and I grabbed the door handle and rolled out of the car. I hit the ground rolling, getting up before the truck had completely stopped.  I started to run into the fields, and it was a good while before I heard anything behind me.

 

            Quayle didn’t shout after me, that wasn’t his style. I could tell his style, just find me and cut me up, that’s what he would do. As I ran through the grass of the field I remembered a story I read when I was a freshman in English class. A rich guy had been hunting people on his private island, and the guy he was hunting had made fake trails to throw him off. I didn’t have time to run back though, I had to keep going. I could hear him behind me.

 

            I ran as hard as I could, but it wasn’t enough. Quayle was younger and in better shape than me. I was hit in the back and we tumbled into the grass. He hit me in the face and grabbed both my hands in one of his before hitting me again.

 

            “You stupid bitch!” He shouted at me. “You could have offset him. If you’d fucked him good, he might have let you live. Now he’s going to have no interest in fucking you at all!”

 

            “Fuck you!” I said and tried to bite at his hand. He slapped me so hard that I saw stars for a few seconds while he yanked me to my feet.

 

            “Dumb bitch.” He gave me a clap across the back of the head as he shoved me back down the path we’d made. “What are you thinking?”

           

            “That I don’t want to get raped.” I spun around and hit him in the middle of his chest.

 

            He staggered for a moment, and hit me in the stomach. I felt like I just folded up around his fist and hit the ground. He stood over me and put a foot on my chest, shoving me down. This was bad, I was not having a good time, but at least I was fighting. I wasn’t one of those dumb bitches who just lays there and lets it happen.

 

            “You ain’t thinking.” He said as he yanked me up again. “You got to think. You’re choices are getting burned alive or sucking a little dick.”

 

            “Fuck you.” I kicked at him, giving his shin a knock.

 

            “Damnit.” He hit me again, and all the fight just flew right out of me.

 

            I actually swooned when he hit me that time and he had to carry me over his shoulder the rest of the way to the car because I just couldn’t manage to stand or walk anymore. I couldn’t even fight him anymore, I’d really had the fight just smacked out of me. As I was dangling from his shoulder though, an image came back to me.

 

            Jack had tipped a wink to me, and just me. He knew I was the one that was going to be dragged away. He knew I would be the one that wasn’t there. He knew I was the one that would need reassuring.

            I felt sort of stupid as Quayle threw me on the ground next to the truck. I had judged my Jack wrong, I’d thought he was selfish when clearly he had some kind of plan. Quayle opened the back of the truck and played with some sort of locking mechanism. He picked me up and shoved me into what I knew was a dog cage. My first kinky boyfriend liked me to sleep in one just like this only he never put a pad lock on it so I couldn’t get out. The lock clicked in place, and I curled up like I used to in the cage, but without making eyes at Quayle like I did with Carl.

 

            The car ride was quite after that though. When the car finally stopped the two of them just sat there for a while before one of them spoke. It was Quayle who started the conversation.

 

            “You alright Mister King?”

 

            “I’ll be alright in an hour Mister Quayle.” King said. “When this is all over, and Cindy comes home with me, then I’ll be alright.”

 

            “Will it be all over then?” Quayle asked. “Will we actually get back to business then?”

 

            “It’s not been a good year Quayle.”

 

            “I’m aware of that sir, that’s why I’m asking.”

 

            “Yes.” King told him. “After that, we’ll get back to business.”

 

            “This obsession, it’s not healthy.”

 

            “Don’t you start.”

 

            “Not your granddaughter.” Quayle said. “I don’t care who you decide to breed with. The obsession is unhealthy. People are talking. They’re not happy with the way things are going.”

 

            “They’ll do what they’re told.”

 

            “They might not.” Quayle said. “There’s been a lot of rumbling since this project started. We’ve been doing this almost five years now, people are getting impatient. We’ve also been stalled in three expansions and loosing the church will not be an easy blow to come back from.”

 

            “Father William was an idiot.” Red snapped. “We can get another fake church to filter money through. They’re all run by weak-minded greedy fools. Just get one that doesn’t have someone stronger than use behind them and we build up again.”

 

            “That’s not really the point.” Quayle said.

 

            “Shut up Quayle.” King said. “Get your bottles ready, get her tired to the chair so we can out her on top of the fire.”

 

            “Yes sir.” He said.

 

            I shuddered in the cage, wondering how many minutes of life I had left. I couldn’t help but be afraid. Jack should have come to cave me by now. Nick of time was one thing, but this was getting just a little ridiculous. Where was he? Where was my man? Had they actually killed him? I didn’t want to cry, but it was getting harder to hold out hope.

 

            The back door opened and two men grabbed the kennel to take me to the pyre they’d prepared. Oh Jack, where the fuck are you? Don’t let them burn me...

 

 

 

 

 

At least one more

Aaaand, again

Another round of Greenfield Village photos

Polyamory Q&A: Question 9 (b)

When I answered this the first time, I didn't quite get what they were asking, or whatever. So, let's answer it again.

When you're in a relationship with two or more other people, how do you ensure you make time for the people you're not sleeping with?

There are two ways to answer this. One, I can tell you about how most the people I want to hang out with are either Not Local* and I know them through the internet or have moved away to Not Local Land and I keep up with them as best I can. However, that’s sort of a weak answer and leaves people wondering why I don’t just make friends in the local area which is like asking a depressive why they don’t just cheer the fuck up or asking a man on a desert island why he doesn’t just eat the sand.

Let’s suppose people live local again, I deal with those people like anyone else I suppose. Remember, one of my central tenets for success is treating every relationship like its special and only separating friend from lover by remembering who I’m supposed to kiss on the mouth. As a result, I try to touch base with everyone on a regular basis, listen when they have problems and so on. It might take a little more energy, but the last time I had enough people local that I talked to, I managed. Of course, I could call people on the phone now that cell plans have made long distance charges more or less a thing of the past, but I don’t really like talking on the phone that much. Also, I don’t like bothering people.

Besides, I’ll be honest, people also have my number. That ended up causing problems for a while there, when I was about the only person calling anyone, suggesting things to do, making sure people got out behind their computers and did anything. So, yeah, that caused some issues as well.

Simple answer, effort. Not simple answer, there’s way more to that than we can cover in a short post like this.

*Not local means more than 20 minutes away by car. Considering how fast I drive, that’s some distance.