America the Poor: A Wanderers Tale, Vol Two

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Chapter 1: A Look back,Through the Years and Tears

Some of us are doomed forever to always look behind us. Sometimes we look back out of pure longing. There are often things, possessions, places, and people we’ve lost to the void of time. Enemies come and go, as well as things and people we hate, but ultimately Time is our true enemy, always’s the great Taker, and Destroyer, it robs us of everything we’ve ever loved, and every being we’ve ever been close to. We look back in utter regret, sadness and the worst possible longing. Pining for things lost, and never to be held or seen again.

But sometimes, not as commonly, we look back in painful regret, and the sadness is for things never seen, and opportunities lost, or never in our fragile grasp in the first place. Some things can never be taken back, and some choices never undone. I was mainly a product of my upbringing, but also a result of certain extreme choices I made. Some were good, many were not.

Our pasts affect us all one way or another, and they ultimately shape us, who we are, what we are, and who we become in the future. Being an outcast from all children my own age, a pariah in the truest sense, sometimes being chased, bullied, beaten, and hated has had a powerful effect on me certainly. Buffalo, NY wasn’t the easiest environment for someone like me, and my monstrous mother wasn’t something I’d wish on any innocent child.

I learned Buffalo like the back of my hand, intimately so. Shuffled back and forth from family members, none who really wanted my presence, least of all my selfish mother. Sexually abused by her new slimy husband, and yet when she finally discovered the horrid truth, or what he did to me, she really didn’t truly care, as long as she had a husband. Her only son and child never really mattered. A monstrous choice, but no real surprise to me, who knew her nature as few ever had, including the monster her husband was.

So outcast in school all my young years, an unconventional strange prodigy, and total genius, yet thought of scholastically as an utter complete idiot; Pretty much borderline retarded, mainly because I refused to cooperate, and didnt go along with the system. I didn’t follow its preset ideologies, or paths that were already set. I never said the pledge of allegiance,not even once in school. I absolutely refused the burdens of homework, as schoolwork belonged in school only, and I was a creature of principles, and I very much stuck to mine.

In literally every possible way in society, I was a total young misfit, and outcast, scholastically, socially, and in family as well. In no single way was my childhood normal, not in any sense. I had a unique path to walk, back then, and now as well. A always went my own way until I met Joseph. He became my single friend, eventually a true brother, and our early misadventures and insanity and misbehavior you already know, we were closer than friends, we were brothers in spirit, and his mother Carol was closer to a true mother then my own.

My own mother was an inhuman selfish monster, but Carol was the light. She was a kind but damaged soul, with her own problems.

This entire epic story might well be entirely different if it wasn’t for my single young obsession made of human chemistry, and hormones, resulting in my dangerous obsession with Cee. She was my weakness, and my ultimate sin. A girl that had no love for me whatsoever, yet someone I couldn’t let go of, and she became my doom finally.

Do you, my readers, believe in magic? I certainly do. Magic is the unknown, and the incomprehensible. We think we know so much, but we know literally less than nothing. The grand scheme of things eludes us, and always will. We have invented cell phones, the wheel, glazed donuts, and chicken soup, and we think we know the Universe. We know nothing, never have, and maybe never will. There is magic, all around us, and passing through our very being, yet we refuse to see it for what it really is.

Love is a powerful magic, and also hate, and obsession. We can continue obsessed, and in love, though the very Universe defies us, and tells us no. Yet we refuse to give in. That’s a kind of magic. Sometimes it works, and we win our obsessions,and our lives become complete; But once in a while we totally lose, as I did, and the magic completely fails us.

My sad story is of failed unrequited love, and personal madness resulting from that failure. A girl who barely knew my name, and cared even less . She destroyed me forever after that, by her very disdain, I was never the same afterwards, and I never truly recovered.

My final failure was living with my grandparents, and stalking Cee to her prom in the executive hotel. It was my greatest failure, and my utter destruction,

The repercussions followed me all my long life, even unto my death someday, as my name follows me, so shall my strange tragic past.

She never cared for me, and I was a slave to her face, her hair, her scent, unable to help myself, a total thrall to my own chemistry, as hormones really are to the young. I was a mere passenger, not a true driver. I followed the path that was dictated for me to follow, I had no real choice in the matter finally in retrospect.

In all of human existence, tell me what true love, or even true hate doesn’t dictate to us in the end? It controls us, molds us. I’d say much of our existence was determined by these two very powerful emotions, maybe most of them, and add greed to the mix, we are slaves to all these, no real choice in the matter.

We are supposed to be thinking sentient beings, but tell me this isn’t the truth of our existences? We follow our dreams, desires, and sometimes, our very nightmares. I’m not sure free will plays as much of a part in our final destinies as we choose to finally believe. Our control has always been an illusion. We choose to believe we are in ultimate control, from the lowest janitor, to the most powerful CEO, or even the President himself, but we are all finally slaves to our desires, and dreams.

As was I, bundled in the back of a police car, helpless, enraged, obsessed, and completely psychotic, I became a passenger to my choices at the end, doomed to ride and see where they would finally lead, but wherever they led, I was sure it was nowhere good, for me, or my future, and I was right.

We truly believe as a species in free will, but that’s a total folly, and always was.

We follow our desires, period, wherever they may lead us, as did I. Sometimes to our detriment, or even our very horrifying destruction, but regardless, we must follow them, otherwise why do we exist at all?

Cee didn’t even acknowledge my existence, and there was zero hope of reciprocation of my love, yet I followed and stalked her, using my own young genius, my will, and my obsession, or it used me. Either way, the same tragic end occured, as was inevitable I suppose.

Villains rarely choose to be such. We don’t twirl our mustaches, or laugh evilly. Although some do, but rarely. We are miserable beings in reality, and often are the real victims ourselves. We are sad characters in the end, maybe even the saddest of all.

In fact I’d venture to say only villains truly know the true meaning of tragedy. We are burned in the fires of our tribulations, sometimes by our choices, but often not, and we emerge, burned, mourning, , but absolutely resolute, and utterly ruthless, changed for our entire lifetimes. Wishing to spread and share our true misery, so that others will see the world as we do, a sad dark forlorn place, bereft of all love and care. Tragic for all time, as is our lot from that time forward when our hearts broke. Misery loves company after all.

So, as I wrote in volume one, I stalked Cee to her prom, roamed around, and finally got arrested by a blonde giant muscle man with longer hair, and a very nasty attitude, whom was not part of hotel security; Yet he was fully leading them, and could have broken me with one single hand, should he so have wished. I hated him, beyond reason.

Psychoticness knows no real fear whatsoever, even to its own death. The size, nor strength, nor power of the enemy matters one single iota. Madness is independent of all fear.

Following our intense fully insane shouting match in the parking lot of the hotel I was ultimately bundled in the back of a police car in handcuffs, helpless, and my enemy was unknown to me, although eventually I would learn his name, and his reason for being there in the first place.

For then, I’d never see the object of my young obsessive love again, all my long and sad life.

She would go on, to date, marry, and have a family and children of her own, none of which was my destiny, not with her, or anyone else. Such was not the path laid before me by God, nor the Universe, nor reality itself, mine was never so simple, and I’m sure it was by intricate design. Although back then I didn’t see it as such.

I was part of an intricate but cruel tapestry, maybe not forever, but certainly for the present time, back in 1983, in the rear of a police car, cuffed, insane, and a young threat to normal society I suppose. So trussed, I was driven off to a crazy future that I didn’t know at the time. The only thing I did know is that it would be sad, and not an ordinary future, this I was sure of, and in the back of that car, a young boy shed a few slow tears, for a sorry future that I knew would be mine, and I rode, a mere passenger, to my strange and insane destiny that I didn’t even have a clue of. Did I deserve what happened to me? Who knows? Deserve has little to do with anything in life.

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