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Vagabond Valhalla

By: Jazzman Park

Chapter 1,

D.C.B continued...

 

Six beers in.  The interminable dross that is playing on the T.V. still sucks even after the boozing.  All time is down time.  That thought spears through the mundane and forces me to go back into my head. If only we all had a map or some sort of navigation in order to channel and choose what we what to think about and what we do not.  Each time , I wander into my past , perhaps seeking a clue that will unlock and destroy my current inability to function and each time I try to will myself back into the present. As much as I am a victim of it , I do admire the vicious cycle.  In order to progress , I must look back. or maybe...fuck that.  The imported 'Red" beer is obviously , yet it is decidely tasty , no doubt the low price played a part.

False senses of confidence and ability surge in as common sense and a pragmatic views on how to better one's self dissolve like salt in water.  My past is turning into a rowdy , madcap escapede.  My future melting and morphing into one of unlimitless potential , endless adventures spawned from the great Random (more on this entity later).  I know all this will be gone as soon as sobriety sets in...fuck it , every moment should be remembered and god , if only they could. Ride the snake , swing on the spiral , all that crap. Maybe millions have felt what I am (lack thereof) feeling.  I'm pretty sure I'm not special enough to warrant totally unique thoughts and paradigms. I see fleeting moments of 'justice' being carried out by the boys in blue on everyone's favourite reality TV institution; "COPS". It is joyfully absurd.  For one , every ciminal in America is a young black male on crack.  Two , the old idiom 'Everyone is innocent until proven guilty' is neglected into oblivion.  The show reminds me of the horrible injustice thrust upon my friend Yagan about six months ago.  Yagan is a hardworking , decent and loyal young Indigenous man living not far from where I am. We have been casual acquaintences ever since I moved to the Basso (more on that later too).  His sister , around 18-19 , name of Ally , was assualted and beaten by three psychotic fuckwits less than two kilometres from thier home.  The local cops figured this case doesnt warrant investigation since she is black and not from wealthy stock.  Injustice beyond all fucking belief.  Thankfully , for me but not for her , the thought of her attack beat out my past , my being and my predicament as the now showing blockbuster to sold out crowds of synapses and brainspace. 

Eighth beer in. Yagan's sister's name is Ally.  The sins acted out against her: unforgivable.  The way the law dealt with it: inexcusable. My own fears , anxieties and thoughts of being a noone in a nowhere situation: much less important for some reason. I don't want to know the true cause for what I am proposing just yet.  Fuck the nine to five. Corporate lunches or whatever the fuck it is they do having jobs. Fuck my past and my mistakes. Fuck a pre-concieved notion of my future I have little clout in deciding. Fuck the police too , I guess.  A gulp of delicious Chinese beer slides down my throat. Stomach full of confidence (and beer).  I am almost shocked I havent thought of this sooner , especially with Batman and the Watchmen played on cable recently.  Purpose , created by your own will , can be a powerful thing.  I will find Ally's attackers and bring them to...Im going to fuck them up royally.  The first endorphin rush coasts down my spine. This is intriguing. Take the law into my own shaken , not so confident yet willing , hands. 

 

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