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From: frank_fowlkes@yahoo.com
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Subject: Re: I AM GHOST
Date: Tue, 16 Dec 2003 01:03:51 -0800
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===================
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 a woman and some 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 challenging
during the summer's many late empty hours, another woman's greedy lips
wrapped around my dick or writing to another intelligent' reader
sometimes not enough; and, so, as you will find out later, if you
are still around, alive, and care, nobody's going to fault you,
calenture,
rolling green hills or not, I followed and became a better person,
and you did not.
<What, why, when, you ask!>
My dear reader, don't you start.
<This doesn't explain a lot, you say!>
Silly reader, must I remind you, or always put ideas into your
feeble head, you were there with me when they came.
<You don't remember!>
Of course you don't, you pretended to be sleeping. I gave you several
kisses, and you still didn't want to stir. I thought maybe you didn't
want to come. For awhile I wanted to forget and join you in bed,
wrapping my arms and legs around you from behind and giving you
some love bites. Instead I left, gently closing the door behind
myself,
and waiting, some time, my head against the door, for you to come, but
you never came so I left. But now I'm back, and better than ever, too.
<This is an outrage---you don't know me!>
[Children's laughter is heard but the reader doesn't hear.]
My dear reader, settle down. We knew each other, very, very,
well, so well, that sometimes, when I used to think about running
away from their interruptions, I pretended to make love with you when
I was with another, just like in the old days, windows open, ocean
breezes, and red nails clawing my back, but, after, you would always
get
out of bed like you didn't know me and disappear to some white room
instead of replying that your love for me was still strong too.
I made passionate love to you, and you would always leave to
flushed a toilet.
<You're leaving!>
You would always that, plus, that you don't remember or don't
care.
<Why should you stay!>
I hesitate to tell you, not because you are any lower in
intelligence, which you aren't, anybody can tell that, you just
like to read a lot, not write, but because you might be harmed,
and I surely don't want that to happen to you, of all people.
<You're listening!>
Well, those little children would always cheer, either we all
mattered,
or none on earth mattered at all, something about a greater
cause, ten mile spacecraft, or what not. They would make sure of that
I almost followed the cheering little children because it sounded
kind of cool, big machines and stuff, or not, and the little children
going around killing all the old winkled people and stuff instead,
that is, until my passions and better senses caught up me, and I
followed
that beautiful woman instead.
<Yes, strange I guess, she kind of looked like you!>
[A little five y/o girl seperates from the crowd and draws near to the
reader. 'Daddy will make sure you suffer, mommy. I matter!']
My dearest reader, if you stay around, I tell you all about the
woman's
interruptions and how my life has gotten better. She'll make
you a better person too.
--------------------------------
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,>
I'm the one that took the trouble to practice all that was
in strange spell books
that you could never even understand
of spell you
Didn't understand.
> 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 words 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?