Thursday, April 16, 2015

Power of the Grave Part: IV

by

Jaye Beldo






It was a challenge processing Johnny Cash thwanging on the six stringed Australopithecus skeleton at the helm of CERN and Wayne Newton doing a Shiva mantra to make sure the anti-matter oozing from the bones could be contained.  Katy Perry impetuously flicked her tuning fork nipples, evoking Saturn's hum while the particle accelerator was revved again to the maximum tevs. That, I could handle.

But just as I was acclimating to the emergent reality, Ariana Grande came through the elevator doors and pranced down the runway, wearing a Teffilin.  Katy guided, with her lactating vibrations, the anti-matter produced from Lucy, right into it.

Trying to back away, I bumped into something. It was Johnny, caught in an aberrant envelope that caused him to phase shift in and out of a Nashville wormhole. I was worried I'd get trapped in it too.

"Son, there's enough anti-matter in that there phylactery to kick Iran's butt. Bring that Hassan down to his knees. We plan to soak Putin's pineal gland in it, lubricate his unconscious mind with it! After all, I am for the working man." He said to me.



Wayne saw how astonished I looked. "Hey, at least that anti-stuff isn't oozing out of Theodor Herzl's bones. I don't think any cowboy would be able to stay on that Bull when it cyclones the masses into worldwide riots. Like it has before."

"Nor could I play any of my songs on it." Cash lamented.





I just wanted Ariana to take me away from this floor show.  She seems to have read my mind and came over. The anti-matter caused the Teffilin on her head to glow white hot. 

"Sweetheart, this will seal the deal." She said and branded me on my cheek with the box and gave the smoking wound a kiss.

"There, there." Katy stopped humming. "You're in the club now. So enjoy."

Both the fine looking fillies wrapped their arms around mine and we went back up above ground. Sure was nice showing my trophy girls off in the lobby of the Luxor and for the first time in my life, I actually felt loved and accepted on so many levels.

We  went outside and sat between the paws of the Sphinx and did some lines of Evaporated Cain Juice. I was invincible and shared many a script secrets with my dates, a feeling of total trust pervading.

There's no way Hollywood could betray me now. Not with this level of consciousness.

TBC


(C)2015-Jaye Beldo








Quantum Twist

by

Jaye Beldo





Monday, April 6, 2015

Ashtar Command


From the vault:

 Jaye Beldo trance channels Ashtar Command so we all get RAPTURED!




A Riverside Dive: Part II

by

Jaye Beldo



"My buddy shot himself in the head and left a note with instructions for me to marry his girlfriend and take care of her. She asked me if I wanted to read it."

"Did you?"

"That would have been like signing on the dotted line, I wasn't going to give her a chance."

Roger flipped the ribs he was cooking and swathed them with some barbecue sauce. There was a sun faded picture on a small table across from the grill. The fade brought a young woman's blue eyes out in a strangely metallic way. It made her skin look quite pale and blonde hair nearly white.

"My daughter."

"She's beautiful." I said, lowering my head.  "Never had one myself." 

"I better get her up." Roger looked at a clock and  pulled a cell phone out and flipped it open. 

I could hear her voice and withdrew even more.

"She works for a lawyer. Makes about 16 an hour." Roger said summarily, pocketing the phone. I was too down in the gravel now to say anything.

"It's probably too early, but do you want some?" Roger gestured towards the grill.

I nodded and my friend handed me a plate. One side of them was pretty scorched. He was probably distracted from his cooking by the suicide stuff. But I ate them any way. It wasn't too bad a breakfast considering what was in Kelly's camper-mostly food shelf left overs-molded bread and canned corned beef.

As I chewed, I toyed with the idea of telling Roger how I needed to get to Patagonia and get a clear bead on the Coal Sack beneath the Southern Cross and if I could single point focus on the stellar reference-it would be a way out of here. 




But I refrained tactfully and cleaned all the rib bones up pretty good and thanked him for the meal. 

Couldn't figure what hit me after that though, like I had done something wrong. A progeny failure kind of emptiness. One that  has not gone  away-even with the belly full of ribs I'm still having trouble digesting at this time.


(C)2015-Jaye Beldo














Sunday, April 5, 2015

Foreclosure Opera




Jaye Beldo does his best to sing the good news from Bank of America!

Saturday, April 4, 2015

A Riverside Dive

by

Jaye Beldo


"I talked to the sheriff yesterday and they're going to get rid of the shooters. I found needles in the laundry room and a bag of meth. I'm not an informant or anything like that. Just want this shit out of here."

"Be careful." I told my neighbor.   He lifted up his shirt.

"Cocked, locked and one in the chamber."   The .45 on his hip was beautiful. High end.

"Paid $1300.00 for it. Para-Ordinance Black Ops. It'll never jam." He pulled the clip out and showed me the bullets. "Hydro Shock Glaziers. Frangible. All my bullets are frangible."

Some dazed lout with a cane walked passed his RV, oblivious to our presence.

"That's Chicken Bill. Faked a heart attack. Just like Suge Knight. Trying to get out of being evicted. He said he had cancer too. That was six months ago and he's still 220 lbs. He's going too."

Roger took me inside to show me his smorgasbord of ammunition: M855 AP (armor piercing) 223 green tips, FMJ 55 Grain, Core-Bond 185 Plus Ps.  He handed me two .50 caliber bullets-one he claimed had depleted uranium in them.  As I held them in my palm,I asked about a navy cap hanging on a wall near his TV.

"They made us do some weird shit when we crossed the equator. They had this fat guy dressed up like King Neptune on a throne on the deck and we had to pull olives out of another guy's navel. Shellback ritual. They don't do stuff like that anymore."

I bit my tongue on that one.

"Dude, we were in the North Atlantic contending with 100 ft. waves laying in racks trying to sleep and with nuclear warheads just a few feet from us. A psychologist who  interviewed me said I should be dead.

Roger handed me a slice of carrot cake. I put the bullets down and took it.

"Why?" I asked through a mouthful of cake.

"From all the shit I've endured in this life.  Got beat bad when I was a kid-scapegoat of the family. The only time I can relax is when I'm doing a buck 80 on the freeway on my Yamaha 1000 RR. That's a football field in a second. So fast that the dotted lines on the road merge into one."

I  managed to finish the cake and heard some howling. I returned to Kelly's camper next door to check on the three Chihuahuas I was looking after for her.  Plastic fifths of Prestige Vodka lay  under some soiled towels. Bottles of Hydrocodon, Gabapentin, Pantoprazole and Cetrizine were tucked in a wicker basket with green Easter hay.  Odd how they had her name as 'Cinderella Johnson' on the scrip labels-a fairy tale moniker I was hesitant to ask her about.

"Met my grandson for the first time the other day, but my daughter-in-law wouldn't get out of the car. She's the one that got me thrown in jail after my son beat me up." She had told me the night before.

I did my best to keep my inner judicial scales in balance and wondered how the booze and meds messed up her ability to recollect events.

"He's eighteen months old." She tried rolling a cigarette with a machine. I reluctantly helped her.

She took a puff  off the cig I had made and pointed to a pic of the baby wearing a Santa hat and wrapped in a string of Christmas tree lights she had  taped to one of the kitchen cabinets. It was the  brightest thing in her ratty camper. Behind it was a faded, framed yellowed page from a horse racing form that someone painted a sad faced clown on years ago.

"Well this is going to be another horse kick in the ass." Kelly said. She pulled out her wallet.

"How much do you want for dog sitting?  I'll give it to you now in case I don't make it through the surgery."

She handed me $50.00. I way low balled the price seeing what shape she was in.  I just didn't have the heart to ask her for any more.





Before Medi-Cab brought her back from the hospital, I cleaned up the camper and  took the trash out-braving a walk out in the open, down the road. A drunk tried engaging me in fishing talk but I kept on going. Some tweeker chick with bleached hair stared at me from a double wide porch.  I chose to focus on three white crosses about twenty five yards beyond and above the dumpsters, all garlanded with plastic flowers.  A garish memorial to the casualties in this RV park perhaps but I couldn't muster a climb up to them to find out otherwise.

"When it gets hot out, you're welcome to sleep here." Cinderella told me when she finally arrived back from the hospital. "I got AC, You can have the queen size bed up top because I won't be able to get up there now seeing how much pain I'm in."

It was the best marital prospect I have had in years. When I went to get her 'scrip at Food City, I chewed on a honeymoon fantasy, but as of yet have not decided. I guess being limned in by all the RVs for two days made me a bit claustrophobic.

 Either that or my fear of commitment.

(C)2015-Jaye Beldo




Wednesday, April 1, 2015

Hippy Holocaust?



BY AL PASTOR
ASSOCIATED PRESS


UKIAH, Calif.  (AP)-A disgruntled man has taken on a cause that he thinks will solve the state's critical drought problem. He wants hippies rounded up and put into FEMA internment camps.

"White guys with dread locks will be the first to go."  Nelson Zepp, a Vietnam vet declared. "Anyone wearing a Grateful Dead t-shirt or anything tye-died will be arrested without due process.  It's not the vineyards or golf courses. Not even Nestle's. The hippies are the ones using too much water growing marijuana."

Nelson intends to submit his proposal to FEMA and garner additional detainment help from various militias throughout California.

(C)2015-AP