The Message Column

Today I have an original story.

Saint Baby Jake

of the Exploded Methlab

It was said that on that section of road, between Darreltown and Marlie, there was a certain trailer park down amongst the oak trees at the edge of that great bend in the river where there is a solid piece of bedrock, granite by some accounts, that anchors a sense of location in the local surroundings being the only out crop of solid rock within a number of miles, that region being a flood plain and very changeable.

It was a place of many birds. And at some time or another all of the softwood was cut and burned to cook up mash. And there were gangsters on the road during the prohibition era, but they had long since gone away. The general feel of the place was abandoned with wind whistling through and the imaginings that the wind can foster within the wondering mind of the wondering real estate buyer looking for a bargain to turn into a windfall.

And such a bargain windfall was what one sensible businessman found while walking the property sometime in the early 1960’s in the form of a partially buried suitcase stuffed with antique currency from the 1930’s including other valuables such as about $2300 in 20 dollar gold coins which may have been illegal to own due to the confiscatory nature of the gold policy of the 1930’s White House.

And so, given over to the fairness of it all and the prospects for finding more gold, this businessman decided to use the very money that he had found to buy the very place at which he had found it. It was never known after that by anyone in the three-state region as to if more gold were ever found on the property. But some did note that he’d be seen out walking the property with a furrowed brow. Was he digging in odd places? The neighbors were very far away and few busybodies lived in that desolate region anyway. Mostly no one knew or cared who he was or how he had come up with the original purchase price or that he suspected more loot at this site.

Sometime in the early 1970’s he ended up drowned in a flood, trying to make it back to his trailer when told not to by officials. And not finding an heir the property was ceeded over to local authorities after a while to allow for the payment of taxes and then, at auction, purchased by a politically connected lawyer who knew nothing of the original find of money at the place.

Then, sometime in the late 1990’s, after it had become a trailer site with a modest number of homes, a meth lab explosion at the site killed a sleeping baby in a neighboring trailer., details not really reported. Mother left to grieve in private. Another flood just a few months later washing that trailer park away. The mother drowns in the river, loony, like Ophelia, wondering the river bank, before it surges, looking for her baby who she had imagined was still alive, toddling through the mud during the approaching rain.

Landscape changed again. Oak trees still rooted into the bedrock over at the outcrop the only permanent piece of landscape; river snaking in some other way across the floodplain.

It is whispered by some since that time that just before the rain, in the seasons of flood, at that place within the grove of oak, you can hear the mother calling out for Jake as she wonders her ellgian fields of that riverbank.

And it is whispered by some that at just before the reaction gets out of control, just before the explosion of all the work, one can hear the baby Jake crying out like he used to do for his mother.

What kind of cultural phenomena is this camp-fire story of the ghost baby of the exploding meth-lab? Maybe children go to sleep frightened within their tents now sworn off to wondering in the darkness near the flooding wash alone in the night? Maybe their parents sleep better from this? Maybe the story serves to warn others against finding trunks full of gold and antique paper money.

The above story taken from The Gospel of Anonymous by William A. Perilli. We continue with yet another fragment from my novel. The Anonymous mentioned in my story was my character before the psuednom 'Anonymous' was used with a Guy Fauke mask. So, please understand that this is nothing to do with that though I do enjoy anonymous words of holy skepticism from people of good will when they are al

How Anonymous was transported to Tribunal and forced to face a Gavel

Sometime after the bars had closed, and sometime before he passed out, Anon was seized in the garden where he had been bumming out from drunkenness. He'd been yelling 'Please, Lord, Please Lord, I hate feeling like this. I don't want to die from stupidity and full of all of this resentment of others.' And maybe someone heard him and called for the cops.

In any case, he was on the road to the place where they had the podium. Moonlight flooded down upon this place. There was the feint smell of the sea.

Font Leroy : "Silliness, silliness. Come to Order. The plaintives will all rise."

Da Judge: "OK, I suppose that you all don't know why you are here. It is not my job to tell you but to apply a law that you have never even heard of."

Lawyer One: "Your honor, I abscess to your decision on the matter of loving lovers verses loving lovers who love."

Font Leroy: "If it pleases your honor may I freshen your cup?"

Da Judge: "Can't we get the computer animation department to gen up some kind of better background than this low-res slide image of the fog off the side of the highway somewhere on Cape Ann at 9:30 on the last night of October."

Lawyer Two: "Your honor is correct, sir. The special effects are cheesy."

His Honer: "I don't want this stupid technical robe any more. Have wardrobe clothe the naked on twenty nine worlds on the thirteenth day of each month when it is not a Tuesday and have them bring my latte to my chambers."

Lawyer One: "Your honor, I object to all the kissing up that my esteemed colleague, 'f-head;' is rambling on about, all foaming at the mouth like he does."

Lawyer Two: "I object, your holiness."

His Honor, Lawyer One and Font Leroy all together gaufaa.

Lawyer One: "He's sucking up."

Font Leroy: "The peanut gallery finds this all most distasteful" There is a long shot of people sipping espressos in a cafe watching the whole thing on a wide screen that is on the side of a bus that is parked there.

His Honor (banging gavel): "There will be no sucking-up in my courtroom. Penance, three rosaries and a hill mary pass at the big Notre Dame game."

Lawyer Two: "Your Honor!"

His Honor: "You're being willful. . ." he gives Lawyer Two a hard look (up actors discression) that, coupled with cheesy sounds and weird camera angles, and a quick cut away, makes the whole thing hilariously funny if you believe laugh tracks. The laugh track should end suddenly like someone is stopping a record by putting their hand on it. And then a grim scene descends and all humor aside, it is hilariously dry, and entirely too earnest. The magnifying glass comes out onto all of Lawyer Two's fears. But then it all clears. The sun breaks through. The light of day dawns onto Lawyer Two.

Font Leroy: "Your Honor, this author, anonymous, willfully wrote scripts in violation of the required paranoid fantasy movie scene in a b movie edict of the first internecine council. And he used the name of the J man himself as if someone, like, could actually be Him, and it just makes me soooo mad."

His Honor (to the defendant): "I have read your bad plays."

Defendant: "your honor, I have never meant that anyone should ever think that my hypnagogic ramblings are anything more than a good read on the can if your passing a long time in the window at the house out in the wildernesses of the every day's of the common house reader and dabbler"

Lawyer One: "Your honor. A run on sentence."

Defendant: "I'm doin' a character here, can't ya see? This isn't a legal contract, it's a poorly written dialog."

Lawyer One with a 'I get it now' look: "Oh, Ya . . ."

Defendant: "Your honor, anyone who reads this crap is obviously not believing that the stuff that I have J say in the stories or the places where 'the ghost of Rumi comforted the bashed fag' to quote a story that I haven't wrote yet because this magical court has somehow made me clairvoyant."

Lawyer Two: "I object to the general notion of clairvoyance"

Font Leroy: "Your honor, your honor. This just in." And there is a cut to a clip from a scene from an old black and white movie, Miracle on Elevendeseventh street, where the mailmen dump tons of mail onto the bench of the judge in the trial.

Lawyer One: "Why it's tons of mail from concerned constituents who read this bad novel"

Lawyer Two: "I object. It's only a scene from Miracle on Ellevendy Seventh Street, the santa clause movie."

The Judge; "Whatever, it serves the purposes of this bad play. Moving along with this. Let's move this along."

Lawyer One: "My client is clearly just stoned."

The Defendant: "I object."

The Judge: "We know that . That's why you keep writing these annoying screes. Will attorneys approach the bench. " quietly to them "Is there any humor in these books at all?"

Lawyer One: "Well, it is written exceptionally poorly."

The Judge: "Funny"

Lawyer Two: "And it is overwhelmingly narcissistic."

The Judge: "I see."

Defendant: "Your honor, If I could just read you a passage. . . "

The Judge (in a John Barents kind of way): "I don't think so! " a pause. "Mr. Anonymous, you have foisted upon the world this bad play of a story and expect us to buy it because you put in a scene where a phantasmagorical judge holds a court in the mist and absolves you of being a bad writer? What other plot complications are you going to use? Time Travel? How about that the whole story is just one great big dream? Will you start quoting Edger Allan Poe? I have had just about enough of your 'Gospel of Anonymous'. I sentence you to turning off your computer and going to bed.'"

Lawyer One: "Does he have to stop writing these stories?"

The Judge: "Will you stop being a bad lawyer?"

Lawyer One: "I want to."

The Judge: "So don't you think that he doesn't want to be a bad writer? If he stops he will never become a better writer. And if he doesn't get his poor excuse for a novel out to a publisher, then what is the point of it all except just to have something for a future time to read. Who knows? He can't stop, just like a fish can't stop swimming. But that doesn't mean that harsh critics like us will ever like it. And how can we know what we like if we don't have crap like this to show us just how bad it can be."

The no-longer Defendant: "Is it all really as bad as you guys are making it sound?"

The Judge: "Who knows? We never read it." And they all laugh and fade away into the mists of Cape Ann and a scene of driving away with a very high speed night vision camera and the sound of the car as your driving down the highway.

"What was I thinking" Dude thinks. The notebook is now full of some kind of a rambling story. "Why do I write this stuff? Who's ever going to want to read this." And then Dude puts the book behind him in the car. He wraps his coat around himself to drift off to sleep. He isn't even aware of who's driving the car, but instead just dreaming the day thoughts of the night.

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  Praise     Praise     Praise
   the        the        the
   Lord       Lord       Lord
  for    for    for
 Christmas  Christmas  Christmas
  welcome to The Message Column!

      🖐♥♥Love♥♥🖑
      ♥♥🖑Cops🖐♥♥

      

 🖐
 hello!
 

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🖐♥♥Love♥♥🖑
♥♥🖑Cops🖐♥♥

      

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     oh those arbitrary frames!
      spinning, but not this line.
     
spin me a yarn neon
spin me a yarn neon
spin me every where but not here!
   photo pile!
   
 Done That!
 
 
 

Illusion
and
fallacy
unmasked

 

 
 She's adored!
 She's adored!
 He'll be cured!
 He'll be cured!
 Caitlyn,
  dancing in the rain.
  
  Malibu waves
  and
  Santa Monica
  Says "hello"
  
  Waves breaking over the
  California highway
  Drink up
  Drink up
  
  Make love not war
  Make love not war
  What do you think you were put 
  upon this blessed Earth for?

In Wicked Need of an Edit

🚛 🎓 🎔 🌀

Political and Media Inanity

Truck-u-later

You're hired!.

A new year and we need new ideas here.

Jan 6, 2015

We sure do need a billion dollar idea.

Inspiration is our prayer this week. We are wanting it here, because it's esoteric to an extreme and not generating the desired effect upon the web-viewing public.

  Praise     Praise     Praise
   the        the        the
   Lord       Lord       Lord
  for his    for his    for his
 unfailing  unfailing  unfailing
   love!      love!      love!

  well, nothing more here today.