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From: frank_fowlkes@yahoo.com
Newsgroups: alt.stories.urban-harvest
Subject: Re: I AM GHOST
Date: Mon, 15 Dec 2003 12:36:06 -0800
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frank_fowlkes@yahoo.com (Bum) wrote in message news:<e67cba1.0312142351.13672497@posting.google.com>...
> I AM GHOST
>
> By
>
> Frank Greene Fowlkes
>
>
> As I was starting to write my children's story, Bugaboo---a
> silly tale about the destruction of crime families, their wonderful
> world, their truth, their bleeming hordes, and the unwanted
> meany beasty,
I was interrupted by
ghosts
memories
voices
aliens
beings
[a woman and little children]
whispering strange
> words and cheer into my ear,
and, as it usually happens to my mind
> when it's not currently attached to the world in any meaningful way,
> and, therefore, attracted sometimes more to the strange than to the
> usual,
my mind easily decided to stop writing and follow these
> strange interruptions,
for my mind has to clutch something real during the
> summer's many empty hours, another woman's greedy lips wrapped around
> my dick or writing without an intelligent reader sometimes not
> enough.
And, so, as you will find out later, like I did, when they both
come and
> whisper cheer and strange words into your ear, if you are still around
> and alive, nobody's going to fault you, calenture, rolling green hills
> or not, the only course possible, when they start to go in different
directions, is that you must follow her interruption
and
> not follow those little cheering children's.
>
> Why you ask!
Children's laughter is heard but the reader doesn't pay attention to
them: new chief narrator is introduced, so the narrator is watching
the hypothetical
reader the author is speaking to, and describing the interaction to
another reader, etc
> My dear reader, ignore those little children
I hesitate to tell you, not because you are any lower
> in intelligence, which you aren't, anybody can tell that, but because
> you might be harmed, and I surely don't want that to happen to you, of
> all people. I almost followed the cheering little children, that is,
> until my passion and better senses caught up me, and I followed her
> instead. She told me about how those little children get in the way of
> the living, love, and choices, and nobody likes that. So, to make a
> long
> story short, I followed her interruptions, and here I am,
> telling
> you to do the same because she'll hurt you if you don't.
>
> How!
>
> Well, she'll tell you stuff when the little cheering children tire
> from
> getting you to follow, and then when they fall asleep around you,
> stuff
> like you should've waited, you should've followed, she finally had to
> give
> up on you and find another who happened to be more deserving. And you
> might as well be dead if that happens, after listening to her first
> interruptions
> and all, telling you her love is only for you. I'm glad I sneaked away
> while the tired children slept and followed her to the secret place.
> She
> gave me a reason to live, to love, to care again. And she'll give the
> same
> to you, trust me.
>
> Yes, you're that special!
>
> Mind, dear reader, before I start to tell you about my journey to her
> secret place, because yours might be different if you chose to follow,
> which, if you have any passion, then you will, you should know
> sometimes
> my strength fails me; sometimes my passions get carried away, and
> sometimes
> I forget myself, so please excuse me if it seems I don't hold your
> present and future interests or choices for the moment because really
> I do; it's
> just those cheering little children still sometimes bother me
> sometimes,
> not allowing me to remember her touch, her loving warm kisses, or our
> great fucks, but she pays me a visit now and then, chases those
> cheering children
> away, and reminds me of the secret place, and how my life has gotten
> better.
> I'm here to help you, and want you to be as alive as I am. So if the
> tale gets a little strange bear with me---its those children, I'll get
> you there safe
> and sound, just like she got me to the secret place, with kisses and
> love.
>
> You understand, dear reader, good, not many would, not many would try!
>
>
> -----------------------------
>
>
> To be continue
>
> Hack: splice old with new,>
>
> To tell you honestly, my mind is sound most of the time. But, today,
> for some strange reason, my mind grasped and reached more than usual,
> and, I'm a little worried too, maybe I reached too far this time. But,
> I hope you don't blame me stranger, for I feel it has to do with her
> interrupting me from writing my little story and whispering into my
> ear
> all ghosts matter. For the first time in my life, she made me wish I
> was
> closer to the living than the dead. Many wouldn't have grasped the
> dead,
> I agree, but many aren't like me either. And, besides, summing up my
> unattached life, calculating the risk with the few ignorant people
> around
> me, and remembering the living still too far to reach anyway, I
> guessed
> maybe it couldn't hurt, for there might be more involved than just a
> person's temporal mind and choices.
>
> You yawn!
>
> I don't like telling this to the living but the dead little children
> cheered me to grasp also.
>
> Yes, the dead, unwanted little children!
>
> Hell, stranger, you may think it nothing to fret over but if you
> were to hear those words coming from this bitch plus all of the
> dead little children cheering, I assure you your mind would grasp
> and chase too even if it put your present and future at black risk.
> All ghosts matter. For you see if all ghosts don't matter why are
> they able to influence and change the living?
>
> Sit down and calm yourself!
>
> Fuck, stranger, I tried to pretend I didn't hear; I tried to dismiss
> her; I tried to forget; shit, I even tried calling out for help. But
> as you will learn, I'm afraid, if you haven't already, with all the
> dead little children cheering, not all the dead are for the living.
>
> You say that, "all ghosts matter," is to be used as a fulcrum to move
> me away from the living!
>
> You don't think I know that. Why do you think I've been shivering and
> whimpering about all this time?
>
> Not because I am a wimp!
>
> Stranger, as you no doubt know by reading my first shaky draft,
> the trauma of having that inescapable idea imprint upon my mind is
> overwhelming but to say that it will eventually remove me from the
> living is absurd, for everyone knows some of the dead don't matter.
>
> Than why do I smile!
>
> Stranger, we all know it will be a cold, very cold, gloomy day when
> all that is alive ceases to matter, for all of the living share fresh
> memories, fresh ideas, fresh hopes, fresh dreams, fresh love, and the
> dead share nothing. Well not exactly, I guess, most of the dead share
> a lot with the living, to be remembered or something, and I can agree
> with that, for most of the dead made sure they would be remembered,
> tombstones and visiting ancestors with flowers and all.
>
> So, it's that simple, you say, the living keep the dead alive, so you
> understand why all ghosts matter. So what's the fuss!
>
> But some of the dead don't matter; aren't remembered, not while alive,
> if they were ever born, much less dead, well at least not more than
> others, some of the dead, unwanted children are remembered for awhile,
> getting in the way but always defeated in the end.
>
> Lessons for life and the living!
>
> I agree with you, some of the dead don't fucking matter.
>
> But what!
>
> You have never heard the cheering little children have you?
> Sometimes, night's ago, drunken, and after a good fuck, when another
> would fall asleep, and all was quiet and dark around me, I would
> hear them.
They were in the way, or maybe not good enough. But they
> still cheer just the same though nobody listened, and I would always
> forget them, I would fall asleep and awake with another cunt's mouth
> around my cock, that is until she came.
>
> My first draft conveys otherwise!
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
> Stranger, believe me, I tried not to write that first draft but after
> those two chilly w
rds penetrated and I thought about those ancient
> words she told me years back, "you will not forgot all I have done for
> you. You are ghost. Cometh here," I had to do something other than
> pretending someone with psychic ability will come to my rescue. I
> wrote, and I'm not sorry.
>
> They would of!
>
> Bullshit, I once thought the living cared about me and would come to
> my rescue someday, but not anymore, they have better things to do than
> save some indigent.
>
> And, so, the first draft was written, and the dead queen momentarily
> left, but I know she will be back.
>
> Yes, she will!
>
> Words on paper will not stop her. This bitch will never stop; this
> fucking bitch mattered while she was alive and matters even more now
> dead. And if you forgot this bitch beckons. I just know she has plans
> for me.
>
> So why don't you let it happen!
>
> Have you been listening to me? She said, "ghosts matter." And if that
> isn't enough, she has plans, bloody fucking plans. What make you
> think her plans are nice? You don't know this bitch well do you?
>
> I'm afraid, stranger. I'm afraid of what she will tell me, of what she
> will tell me to do. And you'd be afraid too if you knew some of the
> dastardly secrets she whispered into my ears years ago; secrets so
> devastating, if released they would threaten the provisionally living.
>
> Yes the provisionally living!
>
> I yet not know how to phantom some of those secrets, and hope never to
> grapple with the one she plans on telling me eventually. But, until
> that day, as all of the cheery life around me slowly moves way, I will
> try not to feel that I am doom to manifest all of her secrets into the
> world to come.
>
> To come!
>
> Stranger, listen, and listen good, if you haven't just shit your pants
> by now then you're a dumb ass plain and simple, but there still might
> some help for you to understand.
>
> Ok, pause, take a deep breath, fasten your seatbelt, and rewind, its
> going to get bumpier.
>
> Some months back I was writing on a scrap of paper, I AM GHOST, and,
> for the following few weeks, I couldn't get those words out of my
> head. Maybe it has something to do with, its better to be a discrete
> ghost than an indigent that no one cares about, at least not here and
> now anyway, or maybe it had to do with my flatus, the vapor
> entering unsuspecting innocent nostrils, or, maybe, just maybe, it was
> nothing at all; I bet you would just love that, uh, it was nothing at
> all, and believe me I would love it too if it wasn't for this woman,
> her interruptions, and her "plans." Something else, don't tell nobody
> but at night, she crawls in bed with me, gets on top of me, and places
> her cold hands around my neck; she whispers between clenched teeth,
> "you are ghost!"
>
> Yeah, sometimes we do that!
>
> Man, you should feel her cold body envelope. After a while it makes
> you feel good and numb all over.
>
> You'll pass!
>
> Hmm, where was I? Oh yeah
>
> Other than caressing my neck, sometimes trying to strangle me,
> fucking, and telling me, "I am ghost," she tells me strange things,
> awful things you see, but you already sensed that right. But something
> you don't sense, after awhile of listening and united those past
> fragmented memories separated by some of the few living people around
> me those awful things aren't too awful at all. Chucks, they can be out
> right cheery sometimes.
>
> What!
>
>
> Don't blame me for once comforting myself with her stories, I once
> thought wouldn't it be great to have her voice drowned out by the
> chit-chat of the caring, but that won't and hasn't happened, not
> anytime soon anyway.
>
> You sigh, how sweet!
>
> Stranger, beware of what you know to be real or ghost.
>
> The living thinks me dead and don't talk to me anymore. Can you say
> why that is not just as real as your stupid stinking breath?
>
> Oh, you can't just now!
>
> Stranger I assure you of one thing its nothing to do with me being a
> fucking dork. Dead queen told me one night
>
> "They think you don't matter anymore; you have nothing at stake; you
> need not interfere; you are not a part of the world" she told me as
> her nails lovingly scratched my neck, "because if they did you would
> not cling to me when they come and try to provoke you or ignore you
> all together."
>
> Relax we're here.
>
> Where!
>
> Well, somewhere near the beginning, silly. Now, sit down and have a
> cup of hot chocolate.
>
> Hmmm, you don't want marshmallows!
>
> Why my dear? Hot chocolate is always best with big white puffy
> marshmallows.
>
> Fine, no marshmallows for you. But why don't you put on the sweater
> the two girls made for you? It's colder in here than you think. You
> might catch a cold. I'm doubly sure someone somewhere loves you enough
> to care that you don't catch a cold.
>
> Very well, I'm sure somewhere in your cute little head you know that
> you won't be staying here long. You got a home with someone loving
> waiting for you.
>
> Gee, you don't like the encroaching silence or the way the dead girls
> are looking at you!
>
> Stranger, I would hate for you to meet their dead mother. She doesn't
> like people like you. She doesn't like people who pretend.
>
> Your a little scared!
>
> What the fuck do you think I am, cheery?
>
> Fuck, I'll be right back. Girls, why don't you show the stranger your
> new little play.
>
> [The two wildly dancing girls see something crawling in the distance
> and smile. It is painfully moving near, and, all of a sudden, with a
> hidden burst of energy, it springs forward and yells, "I AM GHOST, and
> neither of your knives, walls, or white panties are going to stop that
> truth from rising and penetrating. Dead queen, our girls, and I still
> fucking matter."]
>
> Sorry about scary you.
>
> Enough of this crap!
>
> Very well, don't worry about the broken cup; I'm sure one of the girls
> will clean up the mess.
>
> Wait!
>
> Now that's totally silly, you don't have to apologize. What make you
> think you have to apologize to my dead girls? Haven't you been
> listening to me, dead queen told me ghosts matter. And if you think
> they don't, then just you wait. Hell, they might even matter more than
> some of the living.
>
> Now, we have to leave. I can't stay here to long.
>
> Why!
>
> I start to remember how good suffocating feels. How it make every
> single thing in your body cry. Its weird but I feel more alive when
> dead queen chokes me at night than when I'm around any of the living.
>
> Now we have to leave before I choke you, silly.
>
> Now, jump! I promise the parachute works, and no you can't see my
> hands :
>
> Where was I before we went on our little trip? Hmm, I fear the dead
> matter because their ghosts are able to affect the living, and,
> therefore, physically change the physical fucking world. I fear,
> though the living don't make me feel that I matter, I fear my dead
> queen does, yes she does. She just might love me more than any of the
> living. But, stranger, for your sake, what I truly fear most is my
> queen's plans. She is just a meany; theirs no changing that I'm
> afraid.
>
> Yup, that's it for now.
>
> You feel you been trick!
>
> Now what are we going to do about you and your feelings, silly.
>
> Be careful, you need some help!
>
> Now why would you say such a thing?
>
> Dear, I know it's sincere.
>
> But don't worry or fuss over me, the dead feel I matter; shit, dead
> queen and the girls know I matter. They watch over me : ), and, no
> matter how I distress at their past and future interruptions I will
> always love them. All I ask of you, stranger, "Noli me tangere." I
> will love and chase them; you just sit their with your love ones and
> relax.
>
> Stranger, I promise to tell you how the story turns out over a cup of
> hot chocolate someday.
>
> for one thing I'm afraid I may chase her interruption
> and find she is to save all of the unwanted little children that
> always get in the way to and, maybe, left out of the domestic
> pictureone too many damn times, the world from living. And who in
> the hell wants that?