He silently sits and watches from behind the oval shaped window pane as faint, distant flickers of lightening, softly illuminate in the distant midnight skies.. And as the slow billows of thunder slowly rumble outside, and the beads of rain begin to splatter themselves onto the pane, he spins around to his desk and leans forward to ponder the image that he sees in the small mirror that lay flat across his desk. Through the remnants of the white powder that are spread across its surface he barely recognizes the image that is staring back at him. He takes the razor blade and drags it across the mirror’s surface and pulls the powder remnants into a strait line, and slowly leans forward to inhale them, he pulls away to once again ponder the image that is looking up at him. Man? God? Leader of the free world? Ahh, yes that is what it is, pride and vanity, arrogance in the stare, he’s the man. It is the first time he hears the voice echoing softly through the darkened room.
“Why do you do this George?”
He looks, startled at the revelation of finding a complete stranger sitting across the desk from him, he is a lean man with a dark complexion, with equally dark eyes, his hair is thick, and jet black and neatly combed away from his face, which sports a well trimmed black beard and moustache that highlight his features.
“Hey mister! Who the hell are you? How’d you get in here?? I have security here ya know?-”
He stops in mid sentence, as the stranger just stares at him.
“George.. Sit down.. You and I are going to have a talk.”
George is now becoming aggravated, but the feeling of uneasiness, keeps him in check.
“Hey man do you know who I am?”
The stranger slowly pours tobacco into a pipe and lights it.
“George.. I know who you think you are, and its going to stop.”
“Whadda ya talkin about?”
He watches as the leader of the free world begins to squirm in his seat like a nervous school boy.
“Afghanistan George.”
“What?”
“Iraq George.”
“What?”
“Osama… Saddam… Really George… make up your mind would you?..”
“Hey man… I brought Saddam to justice!”
“And what about Osama?… really George.. I find it odd the way you conveniently forgot about HIM as soon as you were close enough to daddy’s old buddy Saddam. Really George, you change stories quicker than I do.”
“Hey man.. Who are you anyway?”
“Think real hard George.. Really hard.”

Half truths.



He slowly sinks back into his chair and stares at the stranger in disbelief.
“Y.. You..” He stammers.. “You are …..HIM?”
The stranger stares at him expressionless, slowly raising the pipe to his mouth, soft gray plums of smoke emerge from his lips.
“George.. For real now.. Fuck man what do you suppose your own people are thinking right about now? Do you really expect them to believe that this is still about Terrorists?”
He sits pondering the question.
“You don’t think that they’re buying it?”
He lifts the pipe to his lips.
“Think about it, before you became president.. Hell. Even before you ever became Governor of the great state of Texas.. Weren’t you into Oil then?. In fact aren't you still into Oil Now?”
He blinks repeatedly but doesn’t answer.
“Now here you are George.. You have the most powerful military force on this planet sitting on top of one of the single largest oil reserves in the world, you can surely understand how people could think that Osama, Saddam, The weapons of mass destruction, all of it George, nothing more than a flimsy excuse.”
He cocks his head at the stranger, searching silently for an angle.
“Okay.. So.. You’re the Devil right?”
He stares.
“So I get it!! You’re not here to take me away!! You’ve come to congratulate me on the great job that I’m doing!!”
He rolls his eyes at the foolish notion and takes another drag from the pipe.
“No George.. I’m not here to pat you on the back.”
A look of confusion crosses his face.
“W.. what?”
“And No George.. I’m not here to take you back to hell.”
“So what then?”
He leans forward.
“I’m here to tell you to knock it off George.”
“To knock it off?”
“Yes.. The lies… the deceit.. The level of corruption that you and You’re little band of merry men have displayed over the last eight years is becoming legendary.”
“I thought that you over anyone else would be proud of me!”
“I want you to stop George, and you will, there are people in this world that are starting to believe that you are ME.. And that is something that I simply will not allow to happen.. You see George My logic is quite simple..”
He looks up at him.
“Being the bane of existence itself?.. that’s MY fucking job not yours.”
He waits for a response but is met with silence.
“And George… try to lay off the cocaine would you? That shit will rot your brain.”
And as the Devil rises and begins to make his exit, he pauses to look back at the man with the funny little grin and vacant stare, and he knows that it is already too late.

~Scratch~ A.B.T Copyright © 2007.

He fumbles in his pocket searching for the one thing that will calm his
frazzled nerves. He lights the cigarette and pulls the smoke into his lungs with a deep breath, all the while watching Uncle Twisty. The people that lined the length of the bar haven’t moved since they entered the room all save the pale white complexioned bar tender, with the deep dark eyes. Uncle Twisty leans towards Jack Ryder.
“Yeah Jack.. Even Eddie has issues.”
He lifts the cigarette to his lips and takes in a slow drag.
“Eddie?.. Do you mean him?” he jerks his thumb towards the bartender.
Twisty motions to the cigarette, and Jack obliges the whim. He gives him a light and watches curiously as the clown seems to savor the first drag with a child like enthusiasm. He exhales the smoke, and rolls his eyes towards Jack.
“Let me tell you about Eddie Jack.. Eddie has been fucked up since day one, childhood obesity, that’s what got him first. Then everybody and their brother has been kicking his ass since, abusive bullies in and out of his family circle. He became withdrawn and sullen, a brooding baby boy.. Fat. Lazy.. unwilling or unable to ever function with anyone in the outside world in any social capacity. One day his mother flipped out and took to beating him with a coat hanger, because he stole a candy bar from her bedroom vanity, he was only ten.”
He pauses to take a drag off the Marlboro. Jack studies Eddie but says nothing.
“He took his first drink ten days after that beating, and from there ventured into hard drugs.. Cocaine.. Heroin.. Crack.. You name it, he tried it.. Then it was petty crime, stealing to support his heroin habit. Pathetic, he went to juvenile hall and got the shit beat out of him every other day for a year. But here Jack.. Here.. Eddies home.”
He stiffens up and lets Twisty’s words roll around for a time, as if he were trying to taste them.
“You call this Home?.. I’d rather burn in hell.”
Twisty’s smile widens.
“Ahh Jack.. Poor, Poor Jack.. You still don’t get it do you? Eddie belongs here, with people like him, here the playing field is truly level. Here there is no rich.. no poor. There are only lost souls.. That end up here because this is what they have created for themselves as a result of the poor choices that they have made.”
“Bullshit!”
“Oh really? Think about it Jack.. Did anyone force you to take that first drink? Or was it something that you did of your own Volition? Was it desperation that caused you to look for a way to take the pain away? Or was that just an excuse?” He chuckles coldly.
Jack Ryder lights another cigarette and stares at Twisty.
“You see Jack Its like this, every journey that you take in your life begins with just one step. And when it comes to the pain of battling ones personal demons, it simply boils down to making the right choice Jack.”
He lights himself another.
“You either take that first step towards the cure, or the disease.. But no one, and I do mean no one, can make that choice for you..”

Two for The Road



He closes his eyes, and in his mind Jack Ryder reflects on his life’s decisions, what could have been different? Could he have possibly spared her from the accident take took her life?. He hears a faint ringing sound at first it is distant, and slowly it draws closer.. Its. The telephone? He opens his eyes slowly and he finds himself standing in his own living room. He picks up the phone, lifting to his ear.
“Hello?”
“Jack?.. Are you there?”
He recognizes the voice it is Madelyn’s best friend Annie Jackson, she is crying.
“Yes Annie I’m here.”
“Jack My God Its Maddy, she’s been in an accident, My god Jack.. She didn’t make it. She’s… dead.”
He feels his hands go numb, as the phone slips from his fingers.. The room has gone black and now all that he hears is thunder, he looks around and he is standing on the front lawn as the rain begins to fall, soaking his clothes.
He looks to the sky and wonders, why is he reliving the most horrible night of his life.
“Choice’s Jack.. Its all about the choices..”
His legs give out as he begins to sob, falling down on his knees.. The rain stops, and now the terrible cold settles in around him, and now he is lying on a cold marble floor a single light descends from the ceiling, ten feet from him he sees the bottle standing there alone.. Beside it on its side there is an empty glass.
“Do you remember how you numbed the pain the first time Jack?”
He slowly moves his body across the floor until his is sitting with the bottle out in front of him. He stares at it for a time.
“Choices Jack.. You either walk towards the disease or you walk towards the cure.”
He lifts the empty glass and stares into it, but finds no easy answers. He draws a deep breath and slowly turns the glass upside down and places it on the floor next to the bottle. He rises from the cold marble floor and turns to the door. He sees the face of Twisty smiling at him.
“Ahhh Jack… I see you’ve made yourself another choice..”
He turns to face Twisty.
“I don’t belong here.”
He steps through the smoke and he is back in the bar again, only this bar he knows.. He has spent many a night here trying to drown his demons.
Then he sees her sitting at the end by herself, so he asks to join her. They engage in small talk and Jack Ryder asks the beautiful young woman to join him for a cup of coffee at the diner down the street, and she reluctantly agrees. As they step outside into the cold night air a soft rain begins to fall.
“By the Way.” he tells her. “I’m Jack.. Jack Ryder.”
She smiles..
“Elisabeth.. Elisabeth Johns.”
The cab pulls up to the curb beside of them and the thin young man with the pale skin wearing the black derby smiles slyly, and asks them if they would like a ride.. They decide to walk.

Scratch.. A.B.T Copyright © 2007.

There is a cold silence followed closely by an awkward feeling of emptiness. His eyes are closed tightly, as he takes another drink of whiskey, and slowly he feels himself falling off of the sofa, catching the bottle before it ever touch’s the floor. The cold icy voice returns, but he doesn’t open his eyes for fear of what he will see.
“Ohhhhh Jack?” the voice says mockingly.. “Jack Ryder… wake up, wake uuuup.”
He slowly opens his eyes to the same vision that he saw before.
“ It’s a fucking clown.” He thinks to himself “An evil looking clown at that.”
It face covered up with thick pancake makeup, made to look like a skeleton of sorts, and it wore a dark colored pen stripe suit, with a black derby perched on top of its head, and the fucker was taunting him.

“So.. Tell me Jack.. How did you arrive at this place?.. How in the hell did you get so fucked up aye?”
He slowly pulls himself up off of the floor momentarily leaving the bottle there, he straitens up and slowly his eyes begin to focus. The clown is staring strait through him.
“How did I arrive at what place?”
It slowly comes forward.. Towards him, its arms slowly opening up, its hands, its fingers slowly extending, making that strange little Ta Da gesture.
“Look around you Jack.. Does this look like home to you?.. You are definitely NOT in Kansas anymore Dorothy!”
He looks around and strange.. He don’t remember picking the bottle up, but there it is in his hands, and slowly it slips free from his grasp, he hears it hit the dirt, making a clinking glassy sound as it lands.. He looks at his surroundings. He is out of doors now standing in a clearing surrounded by a tent city of sorts, in a heavily wooded area, it is slightly past dusk. He looks at the clown and then at the giant tents that seem to stretch out for miles..
“What in the hell is this supposed to be?.”
“This is where you belong Jack.. Its going to be your new home soon.. And I’m going to give you the grand tour.”
It leads him to the very edge of the closest largest tent, he can vaguely detect the sounds of slightly offbeat carnival music playing in the distance.. He closes his eyes, and the smell of cheap whiskey, cigar smoke and the stench of human urine overload his senses, forcing him to open his eyes. The clown throws back the flap of the door of the first tent and the flood of smoke almost consumes him.
“Welcome Jack Ryder!! .. To Uncle Twisty’s carnival of lost souls!!”

For what Its Worth.



He strains his eyes to peer through the thick canopy of smoke, slowly moving, almost involuntarily forward. Dim lights slowly become brighter through the haze and when he steps into the clear he is standing in a barroom full of People, all drinking and smoking. He feels the clowns cold clammy fingers grasp his elbow, its icy cold breath whispering in his ear..
“Uncle Twisty’s children Jack. They’re home here too.”
He turns to face the voice.
“Your Uncle twisty?”
He smiles.. Slowly moving through the room, everything has stopped now, the people look real but are as still as mannequins. Time has stood still.
Jack Ryder looks at his surroundings and then at the clown that calls himself Uncle Twisty.
“Who are these people really?” he asks.
“Dregs of the earth Jack.. the lowest of the low.. The downtrodden.. The Morally bankrupt.. Hopeless, pitiful, street urchins.. Victims and predators.. All under the same roof, locked inside the same void, in a society that has long since abandoned them.. This is the shit Jack.. End of the line.. Bottom of the well.”
He walks by a young woman sitting on a stool at the end of the bar, his eyes slowly look her up and down and then return their attention to Jack
Ryder.
“Look at her Jack.. Her name is Elisabeth Johns, Young, beautiful, but sad to say, she’s already damaged goods.”
He smiles slyly at Jack Ryder.
Jack walks around her checking her out carefully.
“Damaged How Twisty?”
He pulls up a stool beside of the young woman.
“It’s the eyes Jack, it always starts in the eyes, the unmistakable vacancy.. The emptiness.. She’s only 22 and she’s already lost to the only world she has ever known. She was raped by her step father when she was twelve, and was continually molested on a daily basis until she ran away from home the first time at sixteen. Her mother was so fucked up drunk all of the time that she never saw it or didn’t care. So she did the obvious.”
Jack Ryder stares at the young woman.
“The Obvious?”
“Booze… Drugs.. Sex… Hell whatever it takes to numb the pain, pain that will never likely leave her until she dies. She won’t live to see 30. Most likely not even 28..”
He turns to face Jack Ryder.
“But you Jack.. You know all about that, don’t you? Numbing the pain.. How Many times a night do you see her face Jack.. Your wife wasn’t she? What was her name? Mab-” He stops.. “No… Madelyn, Madelyn Ryder.
A car accident wasn’t it Jack?.. So how did YOU numb your pain the first time?”
He Hangs his head slightly remembering his own pain. But he doesn’t
answer.
“You see Jack.. The thing is.. The longer you choose to stay in that bottle, you can only drink yourself in ONE direction, and once you reach the bottom, your done.”
He leans forward and whispers into Jack Ryder’s ear once again.
“Welcome home Jack.”

Scratch. A.B.T Copyright © 2007.

Chatting Up The Darkside Tavern!!

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Mr. P's In the Slammer.. Flea's remodeling the Boogie palace.. so we have to use the Darkside for the saturday night playlist.. oh well I don't think that anyone will Mind.. Yo Doc!! May I have this Dance??