The Mediocre.

99.9 percent of Americans grew up thinking they were special. Schools K-12 told students that anything was possible and that all was within their reach. In post education, still riding that high, many kids enrolled in courses that would never attain them financial stability. Psychology, Anthropology, History, Geology, and Art. When they left there was no demand.

Enter the age of mediocrity. And believe it or not, the powers that be are just fine keeping these kids there. In the state of flux. For the mediocre are the pawns that keep the economy rolling. The debt culture is the perfect habitat for the species to dwell.

I am mediocre. I work nine to five, pay my bills on time, and have nothing to show for it. I have ideas, hopes, and dreams because I am a human being. I know risk comes with change, but the logic of risking it all fails. Because what is left is all I got. And if I lost all I got, I am no more. Or am I?

The Excavation.

I got a call last week from friend and colleague Dr. Sanders Patterson. He informed me of a job opportunity in Pleasantville Iowa just outside of Des Moines. It was a Chippewa Indian excavation, but the tone of his voice lead me to believe it to be more than that. Otherwise he would not have called on my services for such a basic job. I asked how much it paid, and he said one hundred thousand, which was more than I got paid in 2 years. With my suspicions rising, I asked who was paying, and the answer being 'did I want the job?' Yes, I wanted the job. My final question was, "Sanders, what does a native-american dig want with a Byzantine specialist?"

"Dr. Murkaugh, you'll find out when you get here!" was the reply.

And here it is one week since the phone call. I am at the Des Moines International airport awaiting a ride. I approach a man with a sign that had my name on it.

"I am Dennis Murkaugh."

I was driven through the city heading southeast. The tree shadows were creating a strobe effect with the sun, that left me feeling dazed. In the blue glow of twilight we turned down a dirt road. And for half an hour I saw nothing but the dirt road illuminated by the car's headlights. Then the scene appeared. Behind a barbed wired fence whose entrance was guarded by what looked like some government security agency, they let us pass through without stopping. Inside the "complex" was less elaborate than what the fence told. Five tents and a fifty yard wide hole. The sound of generators were deafening, and the whole place was lit by several worklights whereupon thousands of moths and other insects fervently bounced off back and forth in the warm summer night.

(to be continued, maybe, yawn.)

Neglected.

This blog has been neglected. It has lacked inspiration. It lacks interest. It is in a sad state. And it hasn't been healthy. The blog has been smoking and drinking recklessly. One pull up and 8 push ups was all it could muster. A climb up three flight of stairs almost killed it. It looks into the future and could only see six months. Pondering questions relentlessly, and then pondering the same ones afterwards without even remembering. Indecisive, unable to communicate, and lack of proper hygiene.

The Masterpiece

An old man is meticulously writing his masterpiece.

"...and finally, the end." the man writes by pen into the
manuscript. He gently closes the book and holds it up to admire the bindings. Five years was how long it took to write this one. He looks over at his manservant.

"Walter, I am done with my masterpiece.", the old man declares.

"And a fine one it is sir. I'd say it is your best one yet. Do you want me to put it with the others?" says the man servant.

"But of course Walter. But of course."

Walter carefully picks up the manuscript and walks away. The old man pulls out a new pen to start another. Walter walks through several rooms and down a flight of stairs down into the furnace room. He open's the furnace and tosses the book inside.

I am a smoker.

I am a quitter, I have quit many things in my life. I've quit jobs, schools, exercise, saving money, amongst other things, the list goes on. You get the picture. But the one thing that I absolutely can not quit, is the love of my life, smoking. In many ways it has been a boon to my existence, massaging my shoulders during times of stress while at the same time stabbing my air sacs with microscopic particles to remind me massages are not for free. I am losing focus here...

HELL! I just quite Myspace and am having no withdrawal symptoms. I've quitted booze for periods of time. I know it is an addiction, but I quit other addictions that are not to be mentioned here. So if you are a kid and have managed to stumble upon this blog, and are contemplating lighting up a sweet sweet cigarette, I guess the name means miniature cigar or feminine cigar or something. cigar-ette....They call them fags in the UK. Did you know that?

I am rambling. Kids, don't do it. Your life depends on it.

America and the Suburbs

I am silent. I sit and listen and smile politely and quietly judge you. You my friend have made some mistakes in your life, as I hear often. I have not. If there was a picture of perfection in the dictionary, it would be a picture of me. I tell you nothing of myself and there is a reason. I've been down this road before, I will not give you the fuel to run your empathy machine. There is nothing in common between you and I. Nor can you judge me. But even if you did know anything about me, you would find nothing. Really. There is not much that is intriguing hidden away under this charismatic stone cold fascade. You say to live life now. We will see about that when I am fifty and have a secure 401k savings plan, a nice house, and car. You say that you like to smoke and drink. We would see who is laughing when someone comes down with terminal lung cancer or cirrosis of the liver. I will give you a hint, that person would not be me. I would be the one dancing and laughing at your grave. Oh yeah, I will be dancing with my kids who shall carry my legacy on forever. They will still talk about me generations to come. And we would all be dancing on 5000 dollar Segways. Because we would be rich. We shall see who was right. I am. Life is long, play soft.

I don't know what is going on anymore...

(long time since last post, this is a work in progress, as they all are --hh 12/07/06)

My job as the forklift operator has taken its toll upon my health. Back and forth, shipping boxes of chicken legs from the truck to the freezer and on to another truck. Fourteen hour days, and no time to think. I cough. Sometimes, I think briefly about my future. It is not in agreement with what I had pictured. I used to have dreams, and in those dreams, hope existed. And now those dreams are dead, hope is dead, and oblivion awaits.

I have problems sleeping after work. I walk the city in a haze. My heart thumping in my chest, the cause being either, over exertion, or the beer mixed with the painkillers. I am a ghost blending into the ether. Camouflaged into nothing. I pass out at my door step. The next morning I wake up in bed, I tell the woman next to me to leave. She is fifty, I am thirty, way too old. Old enough to be my mother. She cries and somberly picks up her clothes. I feel sorrow for a moment. And then she is gone.

The day at work was a mixture of sedatives and coffee. The boss yelled at me for working too slowly. I gave him the finger when he wasn't looking. If only had the backbone to quit. Today's task was moving chicken from freezer #3 to freezer #4 because freezer #3 needed maintenance. The only problem being that freezer #4 was already full. I told the boss this and he said if I could not do it, then he would find someone else that could. So I shoved everything inside the best I could. If they wanted to ship, for example, the honey glazed legs today(packed in the furthest region), then that would be a problem.

In the early evening, I barely made it to my couch. Sitting in a forklift all day, sounds relaxing, but it is not. The stiffness of my body was uncomfortable until I took the muscle relaxers. My kids called. I talked to them for a little bit, asked them how their grades were. Its the same routine everytime. I know the only reason they called was because their mother needed more money besides the child support. I asked them to put mommy on the phone. She explains what they need. I am sure its for her and not them. Then I send the money. What am I going to do with the money anyhow? All I do is work and sleep. And of course drink. But there is always something left over.

I awake at midnight. The city lights seem brighter than the day at times. It filters in through my shades and onto my face. I get up and look in the fridge for food. Nothing.

I put on my jacket and go to get something. I pass a bar on the way. Why not?

I show up the next day at work still drunk. The boss has seen me like this before and looks the other way. I'm all smiles and flirt with the office secretary. She doesn't even look at me, my judgement is poor. I feel ashamed for a moment and hop into the forklift....and fall asleep. I awoke to the pain of the 4ton machine pinned on my leg. Evidently, I drove it off of the dock leaving me where I lie at the moment. My coworkers get together and try to right the machine. I scream at the slightest movement. Paramedics come and give me morphine. From ambulance I arrive at the ER. The doctor mumbles something to me, and I nod my head. They put a breathing apparatus over my face and the next thing I know I am in a hospital bed.

I look around the room and see my kids, ex-wife, and her new boyfriend. My kids look worried so I smile and that reassured them. They smiled back. The doctor walks into the room and says something to me and my wife. He is asking a question, I just nod my head. He gives me something intraveniously and I get real tired. The doctor puts his hand on my shoulder and tells me something. And before I fall asleep, I thought, 'no fucking way'.

I walk the streets with my music player. It plays the old R&B classics, the music I like. "Whats going on?" My other hand supports me with a crutch. I ask people for money. Missing a leg makes many feel generous. When they tell me to buy myself a hot meal. I tell them 'hell no, I am not buying food, I am buying booze!' Why lie? How else can I keep the good times rolling and expurge my sins by vomiting blood.

My favorite song comes on and I start hopping around on one leg like a madman. People look at me. And I say, 'go away!' Can't a man enjoy his music in peace. Somebody points out that their is no music and I do not have a radio. And I tell them, its not a radio (fucking fools!) that it is an MP3 player with a tuner. What is this 19-fucking-95? This is the future man, and I am a time traveler!

A young man approaches me and calls me dad or something. I scream with spit that dribbles down my beard. And he leaves.

My New Setup

This is my new computer setup. Its the 2.66 quad xeon mac pro. hopefully i can put it to good use. Its my first upgrade in six years. maybe this would last another six.

my evil dopple ganger part 3

It was early in the evening, when Officer Charlie Smith and his partner Rey Sanchez were called to investigate a 390-D; which is police code for an unconscious drunk. Their car, a 1994 Crown Victoria, greeted the elderly caller who waited for them at the front entrance to the southside mall. A floral mu-mu draped over her obese figure and a hair net covered her thick gray hair, which Officer Sanchez thought to be a wig.

"Yes ma'am, what is it?", he asked.

"Over there, several cars down, in front of a Jeep, there is a man on the ground." She pointed towards the half-filled parking lot, which was illuminated by florescent street lamps.

"Is he moving?"

"A little. He tried to tell me something, but I could not understand a word of it."

"Sounds drunk to me. Ma'am, wait here while we check it out. Okay?"

The woman nodded in comprehension.

------------------------------------

Officer Smith and Sanchez walked into the parking lot which was getting darker by the minute. They scanned the area methodically until they spotted the described individual. The man was exactly where the old lady had said, 'several cars down, in front of a Jeep.' He looked to be wearing 'biker' clothes, and had several prominent tattoos on his arms and neck. His face was less describable. It was hideously swollen and had dried blood caked all over it. The man was not intoxicated after all, but was instead the victim of some vicious attack.

"Rey, we better call an ambulance." said Officer Smith. Officer Sanchez nodded and left the scene to use the car phone.

Officer Smith squatted to examine the assault victim, and almost got sick to his stomach after seeing the injuries up close. Out of all the injuries, the worst was the man's jaw which was obviously broken in a couple of places. It bulged on one side, and twisted grotesquely on the other. He checked the man's pulse which was going strong.

"Hey buddy, what happened to you?", the officer asked.

The bloodied man opened his eyes and looked at Officer Smith. He tried to answer him, but all that came out was a gurgling sound.

"Thats okay, don't try to talk,... help is on the way." Officer Smith regretted asking such a stupid questions, like 'what happened?' to a man with a jaw injury.

Meanwhile, the injured man had turned his attention elsewhere. He looked to an area of the parking lot that was in darkness.

"What is it? Is there something over there?" Officer smith asked before reprimanding himself.

STUPID QUESTION!

He walked in the direction of the injured man's eyes. When he got to the dark area, he turned on his flashlight and saw a young woman lying face down in a pool of blood. She wore a trenchcoat on her body and a scarf on her head.

"Hey, ma'am? Are you alright?" After recieving no response, he checked her pulse for vital signs. There was nothing, she was dead. He turned her over and saw that her throat had been slit.

"Poor girl." he said to the corpse.

"Hey Rey!" Officer Smith shouted.

"What?" Officer Sanchez shouted back from a distance.

"We got a 187!"

"A what?"

"A 187!"

"Who?"

"A girl!"

"A what?"

"Just call it in! And rope off the perimeter!"

Officer Smith knew now, that he was going to be there for the rest of the evening. Soon the place would be covered with people from all over the police department. Detectives, Forensics, Coroners, etc.

Sadly, he didn't mind working this sort of night, because it was easy work. All he had to do was control the crowds at the perimeter, while the 'real' work was done by the team of investigators. Crowd control should be a piece-of-cake too since no one shopped at the southside mall.

This mall should be scrapped, and something better should be built in its place. he thought to himself. The mall, in its current condition, was an eye sore, one more piece of blight in a troubled neighborhood. Or was it? He pondered the question while shielding his lighter, from the wind while he lit a cigarette. He inhaled deeply and felt the nicotine enter his body. He looked skywards at the emerging stars.

"What a beautiful night. Sorry you had to miss it." Officer Smith solemnly said to the unresponsive corpse. "Its a shame. Why would someone do such a thing to such an attractive girl. You know, I'd ask you out on a date, if of course, you weren't dead. I know, I know. Why should being dead come between us? I've thought about that myself and experimented when I was young and naive. But now, I am older and wiser."

Officer Smith's attention returned back to earth, when he heard a footstep nearby. Silhouetted by the street lamps, just a few yards away, a murky figure emerged. With veteran reflexes, he flashed his light with one hand and drew his pistol with the other. To his surprise, it was the bloodied-man with the broken jaw. Officer Smith, sighed and reholstered his weapon. He walked over to the injured man.

"Sir, you shouldn't be on your feet right now. You are seriously hurt... Don't worry about your girlfriend over there, she is going to be okay. You just get back there and lie down. Help is on the way." Officer Smith grabbed the man by the arm and gently steered him back. He didn't notice the man reaching for his gun until it was too late.

Officer Charlie Smith was shot three times, twice in the torso, and once in the head.

Officer Sanchez, startled by the sound of gunshots, burst into the scene, ready for a shootout. He saw the dead woman and Officer Smith next to her. He made a quick search of the area for the gunman, but found nothing but a brown stain where the injured man used to be. He went back to check Officer Smith's condition, there was no pulse. Examining the wounds he concluded that it would be pointless to perform CPR.

Officer Sanchez, a devout catholic, made the sign of the cross. But something struck him funny about Officer Smith's position. He looked as if he was spooned the dead girl with the nice body.

Officer Sanchez chuckled to himself and said, "Finally, Charlie has found a beautiful woman!"

Somewhere in the distance, emergency vehicles rapidly approached. Their sirens mourning the loss of one of their own.

my evil dopple ganger part 2

"Once upon a time, there was a boy and a girl, that lived in a far away land. They were young and naive and got married very quickly. And all was well, until the king of the land, sent the boy to a long long war. The years went by and the young boy never returned. The heartbroken girl was never the same again. Depressed, she cast herself off of the highest cliff she could find.”

“And she died?”

“No Henry, she lived. Against all odds she lived. And in a cruel twist of fate, her husband came back with no recollection of ever meeting her.”

“And then, what happened next?”

“Nothing happened next. That's the end.” Marla looked away and put her sunglasses back on.

“Henry, I am sorry to have bothered you.”, was all she said before leaving the table.

Henry watched her walk away for a moment, stunned by the suddenness of her departure. He had many unanswered questions, that he wanted answered. Somehow, Marla Solenski was in his head and he wanted to know how that was. He could not let her go. He regretted telling her a lie to make his own ego feel altruistic. He thought she wasn't well, but now it was becoming apparent that he was the one, who wasn't well.

“Marla!” he shouted after her.

She stopped and faced him.

“Marla, don’t go. I do remember you.”

Marla looked as if the weight of the world had been lifted off of her shoulders. But still suspicion lingered and hurt emotions showed as tears dropped from her eyes.

“Then why did you tell me that you didn’t?” she said.

“Because my memory of you is fragmented. It's in pieces. And, I didn’t want to get your hopes up.”

“Henry, hope is the only reason that I am still alive.”

Henry approached her and gently put his hand upon her shoulder. He said, “I know, that's why, I can’t let you leave.” She began to cry once again, and he pulled her body into his and they embraced. "I need this too."

Marla's emotion was changing from confusion to excitement, she said, “Henry, that's terrific! This means that I am not crazy, and that something has happened to your memory... and who knows, maybe we can fix it. Don't you think? Henry, what about me do you remember?”

“Not much. Like I said, bits and pieces. Like at my mother’s funeral. I remember being there in the front row grieving, and seeing your hand in mine. But that is all that I remember, your hand. When I saw your hand at the table it brought the memory back, and I made the connection. Then more things about you came to me... I know it sounds strange.”

“Nothing sounds strange to me anymore. I was there Henry, and if you could remember that much about me, then perhaps there is a way we could unlock the rest.”

"Maybe." Henry said with pessimism. He was not as optimistic as she was.

Sensing his unease she said, “Henry, I do not know why these things are happening, the world seems all messed up. For the last couple of years, I have been trying to piece my life back together, and for some reason this world that seems alien to me. It looks like a perfect forgery but a forgery nonetheless. Have you ever felt that? I've been trying to assimilate back into life, but then you showed up--” She interrupted her sentence as an idea came to her. She planted a kiss on Henry’s lips. Surprised at first, Henry eventually succumbed because it felt good and right. When it was over they both had a smile on their faces.

"What was that for?"

“Did that jog your memory?”

“No, maybe another kiss might do the trick.” This time he kissed her.

----------------------------------------

"This is so sweeeeeeeeeeeeet!", an unapologetically sarcastic male voice interrupted their intimate moment.

Henry glanced a shadowy male figure out of the corner of his eye before a fist hit him in it. As Henry fell to the ground the mystery man grabbed Marla by her hair and violently yanked it back until she was off balance.

"This is it slutI You've cheated on me for the last time. This time I am gonna kill you.”

Henry looked up with his good eye, and thought the man looked oddly familiar. He glanced over at Marla who looked completely horrified. He got up just in time to grab the mystery man from behind before he could hurt Marla. Henry spun the man around to punch him, but his fist froze when the mystery man's face came into view. Except for the tattoos and goatee, the attacker looked exactly like him. The attackers face reflected the same astonishment.

Marla looked at the two together, and her mouth animated, as if she wanted to say something but all that came out was a high pitched shriek. She frantically ran away in a random direction. Her departure drew Henry's attention long enough to snap Henry out of his paralysis. He roughly threw his doppleganger to the ground and chased after her.

As Henry dissappeared around a corner, the doppleganger rose up off of the ground and muttered to himself, “Run coward. I don’t care if you look like me! Nobody touches Henry Fulton’s wife and lives!”

-------------------------------------

Henry caught with Marla outside in the parking lot. She was sitting on a the curb shaking and sobbing with her hands on her temples. He approached her, and gently put his arm around her back. She instinctivly flinched and realized that he was not a threat to her.

“Marla, who was that guy?”, he asked.

“I don’t know.”

“He looked just like me.”

“I know that! It doesn’t make sense... it doesn’t make sense.” she repeated the sentence over and over, and Henry was afraid that he had lost her. Henry looked over his shoulder at the mall's entrance where everything seemed calm for the moment. He glanced over at another entrance further away but stll there was nothing. As he turned his attention back to the shell-shocked Marla Solenski, a voice came booming from behind like a chalk board being scratched.

“Marlaaaaaaa! Yooouu whooooore!!!!”

Henry picked up Marla, but he was not strong enough to flee while carrying her weight. The doppleganger caught up and jumped onto Henry’s back, pushing him and Marla to the ground. The doppleganger struggled to produce a switchblade from his pocket which gave Henry enough time to get up in a defensive stance. His military training instinctively kicked in. The doppleganger lunged forward jabbing his knife wildly. Henry dodged the assault with ease, after which the doppleganger, not being disciplined, repeated the same attack with even more intensity. Henry was not prepared for the ferocity and was only able to raise his arms while being driven backwards. His forearms were cut several times. Then all of the sudden the attack stopped.

When he looked at the doppleganger, he saw Marla holding onto the doppleganger's arm with all her strength. The dopple ganger shrugged her off and punched her in the mouth which caused two teeth to fall out. The doppleganger paused to admire his work, which was a mistake because he forgot about Henry for a split second. Which was all the time that a pissed off Henry needed to put his military training to use.

Henry tackled the doppleganger which sent the two crashing to the ground. Henry got his knees on top of the man’s shoulders and repeatedly, without mercy, pummeled the doppleganger in the face. Over and over until there was no more movement coming forth from the victim. Henry eased up after he felt the man’s jaw break under the pounding. He stood up and just watched the man as he weakly writhed back and forth in pain, the knife he held, fell from his limp hands. Henry picked it up and tossed it far away.

"Marla, are you ok?"

She nodded her head while holding her bleeding mouth. Henry looked around and found her teeth which he handed to her. Together, they got into Henry's 2001 Honda Civic and left the mall, turning west on route 40.

Henry used his shirt to stop the bleeding from his arms. He managed a glance over towards Marla who held her head-scarf over her mouth to soak up the blood that poured from where two of her teeth used to be. A steady stream of tears fell down from her cheeks. Henry wondered if she would ever stop crying. The crying was understandable considering the ordeal that they had been through. But he admitted to himself that it was annoying.

A few disturbing questions remained unanswered that he didn't want to bother her with immediately. This idea he brushed aside as he weighed the importance of the answers against Marla's emotional comfort.

“Marla, what was it that happened to me? That made me forget you?", he asked.

“Oh Henry, can we do this later?"

"We could, but I really want to know. Like now."

"Don't you think we've been through enough?"

"Yeah, we have. However, I don't know that man who attacked us. For all I know, he was your boyfriend or something. I am generously giving you the benefit of doubt right now... after you dragged me into this mess. Can I, at least, get a few questions answered?--"

"Fine. Whatever. What happened to you. Ok, you went to war,... you do remember that part, right?”

"Yeah, of course, that was a couple of years ago."

"And that was the last I've ever heard of you." she said, and elevated her crying to new level of sentimentality.

“And that's all? Did you ask my whereabouts? Marla, talk to me." Henry tried his best to be gentle but firm. He was in no mood to tip toe around her emotions.

Marla stopped crying, as she realized that she couldn't evade the question any longer. And in a blunt manner, she said “You died in Iraq.”

Henry fell silent. The news was just one more unexpected surprise in a day that was full of them.

Marla continued, "One day I got a visit from the Army people and they told me that a roadside bomb killed you. And of course, I believed them."

“In Iraq?”

She nodded.

Henry thought about how such a huge mistake could have been made by the Army. Afterall, he was involved in such an attack. He verbally went through what had happended, "I mean, there was a roadside bomb that injured me. My leg got hurt but that was all. However, I was the lone survivor of my company...”

“Henry, lets not talk about this now. I don’t know why the Army told me you were dead, or even why it is that you don't remember me. And I definitely don’t know why that man back at the mall knew me, or why he looked exactly . like you. Why is everything fucked up? I don't know.”

“Marla the only thing that I am beginning to think is fucked up is--”

“Me. I know. But isn’t it odd? That you do remember me in some capacity? To tell you the truth, I really don't expect us to get back together. I had some hopes at first, when I first saw you at Wholesale Pyrotechnics, but now I realize how much of an unattainable dream that is. The only thing that motivates me at the moment is to find out what has happened to us. Something here isn’t right and we should, at least, find out what it is. And, oh yeah, I saw your body at your funeral, you are dead.”

With that said, Henry said nothing else. He did not want to believe her, but many of the things that she had told him were correct. Not since his childhood, had the world seemed this bewildering to him. It was as if he had walked into some bizarre alternative universe. Where the familiar seemed foreign. Or like what Marla had said earlier, a perfect forgery.

For a while they drove in silence. Marla rubbed Henry's shoulder to comfort him but he kept to himself.

“I am not dead.”, he eventually declared aloud, to let her know, and himself.

“I know.”, she said, squeezing his arm lightly.

“It's as if we are not from this world.”

“I know.”

The car sped down the freeway as the sun set in a swath of orange light.