On Friday, August 31 a truly ugly incident happened, in the Mystic, CT.
The Maenad banished me forever, from the apartment, the back porch, from the place which she inhabits with The Shak, the place where she, The Shak and myself were talking.
When The Shak y yo went to his car in the parking lot, below, to get the things I needed to take my leave from the Mystic, the Maenad, from the porch, announced she was going to call the police, and then ran inside the apartment.
The Shak said he figured she was crazy enough to do it.
The Maenad returned to the porch and told us that she had done it. She said she told the police that I was carrying herbs (I wasn't. I quit ya gotz some?).
Then she ran inside, ran out and announced she hadn't called the police, "this time." She continued denouncing me. She continued yelling that I was carrying herb. She ranted about how I had been kicked out of the Coffeehouses of the Mystic
When I had been able to I would come into The Green Marble Coffeehouse with beer for all the workers there who were over 21 years-old, and who swore they would not use beer as a gateway to crank, crack, heroine and prescription anti-psychotics.
At the Marble you are suppose to pay $2 for your first cup of coffee, $1 for a refill. But because I was getting love for the beer, pretty much all the workers would charge me $1 for my first coffee. Everyone except for The Marble's Radney, (see The Mutiny at www.libbyhome.blogspot.com ), he who is deluded and believes he is not just a worker on a ship, but is somehow an investor in the ship of the business-as-usual (b-a-u).
When Radney learned that there were improprieties in the re-fill policy he banned me, forever, from the premises.
The other coffeehouse of the Mystic is Barteby's (named after the Hermann Melville character in the short story, 'Bartleby, The Scrivener'). The proprietor is Ross Mandell. Ross y yo go back to Miss Abby's Nursery School, in Norwich. I grew up with him. We are cousins by marriage. Before I left The Mystic two years ago I was Bartleby's Floor Manager, I mopped and swept the floor.
He is a bruddah Hebrew Warrior. Of course I brought him beer, cases of beer, when I was rich with beer.
Ross y yo agreed that in return for the beer I would not have to pay for refills of coffee and I wouldn't be charged $.35 for a bag of potato chips with my breakfast sandwich.
But there is a woman Radney who works at Bartleby's. When I bought the breakfast sandwiches she would charge me for the potato chips. She persuaded Ross that the free coffee refills were between him y yo. But potato chips were far too valuable to give away to a bum like me.
Ross reneged on our agreement. He denounced me to The Shak and the Maenad when they went into Bartleby's. I wasn't kicked out of Bartleby's. But I do not often go there.
Anyway, the Maenad continued denouncing me from her balcony\stage two stories above The Marble. She was doing what she likes most - creating an ugly, very public scene.
I had gotten all the stuff I needed out of The Shak's car.
We embraced.
The Shak said he was so sorry "it had come to this." He said, he hoped the next place I went to would treat me better than the way the Mystic had.
I walked to the station and took the next train.
Now, I can almost hear some of yous suspecting that this is me, again, prevailing on friends.
But, dudes, it is not.
I got to Mystic on Friday, April 13. I had work at the brewery by the end of April, through May, June, and July. I didn't take. I had more than enough money for my daily bread.
I was able to give.
The Beer Pimp (B.P.) got me the job at the brewery. He is a friend of at least eight-years, an inspired net-worker. He enlists only his people. At the beginning of the summer he considered me to be - "one of his people."
After work one day B.P. y yo went to the Maenad's and The Shak's. The Maenad and The Shak invited B.P. to look at and critique their art.
B.P. set himself up as a great maestro, art authority, dictator of the local art galleries. He was pretty critical.
After he left, the Maenad asked me what I thought of B.P.'s paintings, his art.
I told the truth as I had the light to see the truth. I told the Maenad that I thought B.P.'s art was trite, superficial, ultimately artless and meaningless.
Then the Maenad asked me if I thought B.P. was gay.
I told her there are many people that suspect that B.P. packed his butt with gerbels. I said that I didn't know. But with that being said, I told the Maenad that B.P. has had long, passionate sexual relationships with some of the most beautiful women in the Mystic.
But when it got back to B.P. - he was told that I said he packed gerbels.
Anyways.
B.P. stopped employing me at the brewery by late July.
In July we were all feasting in the summer of Mystic Love. We were feasting on drum, beer, the discussion.of Selassie.
But from the moment I had arrived in the Mystic, Friday, April 13, it had always been arduous to hang out with the Maenad. She chose to be anxious about me, threatened by me, my presence, jealous of the love that The Shak and myself have (we are definitely not packing gerbels).
She is scared that the discussion will lead to The Shak, perhaps, making a leap into the wild, blue yonder.
In late July, just when it was becoming clear that I was no longer employed at the brewery, The Shak wrote me an e-mail.
He wrote that the Maenad had "scape-goated" me for the troubles in their relationship. He wrote that it had become difficult for him to sleep, that he had taken a walk in the middle of the night, that he had experienced things of the wild animal and the night, and then a voice spoke in his ear, and told him to give, to do what the Maenad wanted.
He wrote there would be no more drumming on the porch. I could not come to the porch unless invited (I was doing that anyway.).He said he was going to focus on quitting the drinking and smoking.
I had heard The Shak speak of this voice that he heard in his ear.
Two years ago I had left the Mystic with The Shak and Gee Q a.k.a. Gee. We went to the wonderland of Tahlequah, OK. We arrived in the Copper Head Snake season. One of the first things we saw in Tahlequah was a huge Copper Head, which had been shot in the face, and was hanging in a tree.
Gee and mySelf were joyous about being in the wonderland of Tahlequah, OK. But The Shak heard this same voice in his ear saying that if he stayed in Tahlequah he was destined to be bit by a Copper Head.
The voice told him to flee.
It was The Shak's vehicle that had brought us to Tahlequah. He fled in his Ford Escape leaving Gee y yo stranded, abandoned.
It took me a long while to figure out my brewery employment had ended. I continued living with no anxiety about tomorrow. When I got the e-mail from The Shak - I was broke, didn't have a dime to my name.
I had brought many cases of beer to The Shak's to the Maenad's back porch. I became anxious about fasting. I sent an e-mail to The Shak asking for $5, so that I could eat, could buy some dark chocolate, tip during the happy hour at the Daniel Packer Inn, with it's feast of happy hour food.
As soon as I asked, The Shak began seeing, being anxious about Copper Heads. He felt that I was playing him. It culminated on the back porch Friday, August 31. The Maenad's psychotic outburst was triggered when I noted that her gossiping had ended my employment.
During this summer of Mystic Love I gave everything I could. My mistake was that when it came time to fast, to embrace the fast, to not wear a sour, fearful, anxious posture/ face in the face of the mystery of the fast, to oil my hair and embrace the spiritual feast of the fast, I became fearful, and asked for $5.
This ugly incident, as well as being finally expelled from the Garden of Phil are clear signs that it is the time to embark on the next leap into the wild blue yonder.
I will find my serenity in these Days of Awe.
I will walk the Appalachian Trail, climb Mt. Greylock, MA., visit the home of the Prophet Melville.
Then I'm going west, getting into a vehicle that will become the new physicality, materiality of the Bloody, Snake Chariot. And then I'm taking IT through Central America to South America,
And the narrative of the voyage continues...
[read blog-style -- first entry at bottom of page]