Red White and Burbank- part 2- The maze at birth- the maze that made it all.

Its never been a quiet world for me.

Ive prayed my whole life, even after I found out god was a farce, that the things around me would eventually make sense.

Ive idly waited like a fool.

Ive been handed one thing and seen an infinite amount of other things. All the same object- but every time a new shape.

Any time I was able to wrap a nervous and excited palm around the fabric of a "concrete" concept, it re liquified and changed. Became greater. Became terrifying. Became less. Became impossible. Became the un-breaking shoulder of atlas, Became the knot in his spine that echoed into eternity.

There was a time when I saw my life as an ode to impermanence.

It was beautiful and free.

And then I realized- Im going to be here for a while.

                             Red White and Burbank- The Maze that Made it all

"Mom , whats the white part of that stick called?" I asked, referring to a road side reflector.  I understood at the time what the shinny orange circle was called, but the canvas it had been thrust upon must have had a name.

"Its a..." She replied, expecting to have an answer for a child- A juke box full of simple questions and corresponding answers. "Umm.." she hesitated. I was un-shaken as I didn't understand the significance of a stuttering pause. "Well it's a post."

I looked on as endless rows passed me by. I cant honestly say if I knew she was wrong, or ill informed, or just trying to offer some answer to a question that to most, had no meaning.But to this child would linger until adulthood. 

I was 18 sitting in a cold attic with an old friend the first time I heard the Velvet Underground.

I was 18 sitting in a cold attic with an ex girlfriend the first time a smoked pot.

I was 18 sitting in a cold attic when I realized the questions I asked as a child, the questions I stopped asking outwardly as a teenager, and the questions Im still asking today weren't just nonsense. I also realized they weren't questions everyone asked.

I began to lose my mind.

Im not sure how I was able to hold on so tightly to something I quickly and violently realized was in its liquid form. My mind was un-frozen at birth yet somehow as a child I was able to cup my hands and carry it around as a fragile burden without anyone seeing.

"What is this?" my teacher, Mrs. Gahleger asked thrusting an off white rectangle I had scribbled gibberish on.

' Thats...my homework?' I didnt reply

"Does your son have trouble reading Mrs. Baker?" She asked my mother, releasing the paper.

My mother looked down at the sheet of state approved parchment she had been handed. She looked confused.

What did I do wrong.

"Well, he can read but-" She started, looking back down to the paper.

When I was in Kindergarten, as homework we were given a sheet of cheap paper with a space at the bottom to write a sentence and a much larger space at the top ( About 75% of the page) to draw a picture. Now I cant give little me credit for this level of deductive reasoning but Im fairly certain i perceived the larger space as the more important one.

In the space provided for the drawing I drew a man stacking bricks, A wheelbarrow, Clouds, tools piled on the ground, the sun, the mortar betwix the bricks, the mans overalls, the dirt on the man from his labors, the already constructed chimney, and a makeshift border the frame the scene.

In the space provided for the sentence, I replied to the prompt I was given: "A Man building a house". I was supposed to draw what I read in the prompt and re-write the prompt itself.

"ADNM BAILDUNG EE OUSEH" I had written. Just as they had asked. Clear as day.

That was the day I started to having to answer questions I didn't know the answers to.

Time passed.

I clawed my way through elementary school and found my self at the gates of the next obstacle:"Jordan Middle School".

This is where I learned what "They" say might not always be right.

Red White and Burbank- Pt 1 " The Whore house"

"see, heres my problem," I began, knowing what I was about to spit would be nonsense to M. Ness. "I dont want to play the guitar anymore, I dont want to play with a toy. I want to kill something. I want to make my guitar bleed to proove its alive!" Ness tagged me with blank eyes and recovered with a knowing glance as genuine as vacu-form plastic.

"yea exactly" He shot back, knowing nothing.

"no no you dont get it" I stumbled, arguing a point we both understood but would never resolve. "its-" I tried. "I-" I spat hoping for a wave. I finally settled on a brown paper statement: " I want the sound to be raw, real loud, and almost without reason."

Ness nodded in fervent agreement to something he didnt quite understand. It was his nature to appease the senses of his peers because it worked. He was liked, honored, respected ( to some degree measured in language, expression, and sexual favors ) and in essence - succeeded in the social game were all expected to play.

" So like Motorhead?" He uttered with calm confidence.

"y-..yeah dude" I was stunned. An obvious reply but correct. Simple in the way I was striving to portray. And coming from a less than intelligent source - I was taken aback. Not by his "genius" but by all the stumbling I had done dancing around the point I was trying to make. It wasn't the whole picture but it was a clear enough comparison to show he know what I was getting at.

Marveling at the simplicity achieved by a close friend I considered a dullard I sat back. ( A note on the asshole writing this song- I believe simplicity to be the pinnacle of understanding and unfairly attribute it to the "intelligent" when really the moron displays [ in most cases ] a more clear understanding of the basic meanings).

I was on the verge of apologizing when Ness began explaining how good the local "new country" station was. He was and is probably right.

"Duuuuuuude" he interrupted himself.

"sup?" i shot back. Reflex.

"I think I found a brothel in NoHo." He looked at me half smiling half shocked.

"whaaaaat, noo," I started, playfully dismissing the notion. " Wait like, old west shit or what?"

"No dude, fully legit." He held the same stare, unshaken.

"How the fuck did you-" I started, surprise in my voice but no trace in my knowing.

"Some internet shit." He shot back. " Dude I havent been but I swear its legit!" Ness continued, setting his les Paul face first on the couch. This guitar was art, engineering, science, sound, and negligence wrapped up into an expensive package no one could believe hadn't been broken yet. It was the third singer in our highschool punk band, the envy of kids wealthier than us, and a mystery to everyone. How was this hunk of wood and metal still in one piece? My guess is that it was born into a cradle of chaos and fed off the stupidity of those who enjoyed it.

"Great sales pitch dick." I replied. Typical Ness bullshit. " So anyway I want to start with something like this- " I offered , dismissing Ness's more than typical brag-rant. I began wrecking the strings with half learned chords.

" NO DUDE" Ness spat, slapping his hand onto my fretboard. " THIS SHIT IS FOR FUCKING REAL."

" How could you possibly know that you fuck, you've never been, you heard about it on the internet, and it wasn't important enough to tell me the SECOND you found out. So tell me - how the fuck do you know this shit is real? I dont doubt there are brothels in the valley but I sincerely doubt whatever you heard on the interweb is of any consequence. Prove it dick." Your turn Ness.

"Go, I have the adress." Ness said with confidence.

"Ok so im the test monkey now? I guess whore monkey isn't so bad. Give me cash then, if you want me to prove it." I became interested, more so at the prospect of a free adventure.

"Dawg, im broke as shit," He began, dismissing it all and grabbing his guitar again.

"Fuck man." I said looking past six strings, knowing i couldnt turn down the chance to prove him wrong- or right- or both of us wrong and end up in jail. At this point I had accepted experience is more valuable than the possible positive or negative outcome that could be waiting for me.

"Godamnit." I shat.

" you know your gonna do it ." Amil said from the bathroom. He had be listening for some time as he worked on a beer shit that could rival - honestly there was no competition. It had been hours.

"Fuck you both." I said defeated and ready. "Adress?"