Wednesday, October 3, 2012

The Brooklyn Messenger: 2nd Satire




                                          

                     Brooklyn Messenger: Into a new decade!
                        Version -17, 2 cyber Addishun, 1966.
                                   Oct. 2, 2012 send date.

 

                       Our late October Clam was a HUGE success!

 

          An amazing turn-out came forth to enjoy BMUMC first annual Clambake! Many showed to display financial support for our beloved community in Christ on such a chilly November afternoon! Cold as it was, hearts grew most warm when the massive pressure cooker blew to smithereens!

           So blessed were we that several of our flock were paramedics and quickly treated those that encountered second degree steam burns and massive shrapnel intrusions .  So quick did they respond after guzzling so many  of our "Serving Those for the Benefit of Others' free Bud Lites the average person would have  faltered, fainted or just freaked out. Not these men and women, no sireeeee! They gave prayer, most giving praise to our Lord chorally stating:" Holy Shit!" Frantically Dialing 911 with the cells requesting aide,  though sometimes nailing 411 instead,  being greeted with calm female voice: "How can I direct your call?" 


              

                    Many further away from this unfortunate event were happy to receive a baptism of corn kernels and clam hunks that descended from Gods blue skies above them

            “Baptism by falling corn! How utterly unique!” said Abner Jockhead, smile beaming from him as he wiped corn from his loving children’s crying heads. 


            A slender brunette lady wearing a slinky royal blue dress, lacking underwear lines, vastly 'Coked-Up', ventured her thoughts: "This is sooooo cool! I've caught popcorn tossed at me with open mouth, but clams?!?! Never in my life! God be blessed most high!!!! Clams from Heaven! Tastes like Crab though"

           “Wow, can’t say I’ve seen this before!” an unidentified bleach blond wearing the devils short-shorts said enthusiastically. "Anyone know when the 22 bus crosses Archwood and West 25?"

            So many gave loud rejoicing to our lord Jesus, powering us with glorious words of praise, several asking for Jesus to save them: “Jesus Christ!” “Oh my F76k*&G GOD!” “Dear Lord, save us all!”

         One plainly dressed brunette female, who looked Amish, firmly asked for our lord to take her moodiness away from her: “CAN SOMEONE PLEASE REMOVE THIS CRAB CLAW FROM MY EAR?”

         Interesting further still were the amount of Baptists (undoubtedly Holy rollers) that shared with us this fine day. They began frantically rolling around on the ground, telling all how they felt their hearts engulfed with fire of Jesus. “JESUS, GOD ALMIGHTY, I’M ON FIRE!” “I am BURNING, Lord!” God in heaven, rescue us!”

          Some of the Baptists even experienced the freakish phenomenon of spontaneous human confusion! Thank goodness a few stout parishioners had blankets in their trunks to put out their flames!!!

 

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          Soon after the god-filled members of Clevelands EMS units swept those praising God away, we sat and ate a hearty and wondrous meal of exquisite Alaskan clams, Cambodian chicken, Paraguay corn and many a great side dishes prepared by our very own Chapter of the Blue Haired Ladies Guild!

   More than one in attendance graciously remarked how the clams tasted like crab and the corn had the flavor of refried beans. A few of our Chinese congregation spoke of how chicken had the distinctive and surely imported texture of boiled dogs.


              Our Minister shared with us.

"My children, as bread is broken, as we sip, and I must add, the finest of the David Brainless Lounge’s well stocked bar, and at .75 cents a glass a true bargain, not to mention a new craft draft beer from The Cleveland Sewage Companies fine line of ales and lagers, we are sharing divine inspiration at its sublime peaks at a reasonable price! Far gone are the days when we scurried about aimlessly like tiny microbes in search of grandiose parking lot ventures with an evil desire for further real estate!”

Pausing briefly, taking in a generous swig from his tall glass of Cleveland Sewage Companies East Ohio Gas Explosion 1944 IPA, he proudly went on to say how we, Brooklyn Memorial United Methodist Church, have come a long way and will reach greater heights in the coming years. He spoke of the immense generosity of CSC Brewing Co and how they donated kegs for our event. As he exited our grand outdoor pulpit, unquestionably from poor construction, he lost balance and fell to ground where he soon fell asleep. Snoring loudly to the lord, perhaps having sleep apnia, he rested tranquilly on the weed infested tarmac.

Freddie (Alkie) Peters quickly swaggered up to Pastor Ivan and covered him lovingly with a somewhat tattered and vomit smelling Cleveland Browns quilt. “Yes sirrie Bob, he’s out the like the Cavaliers hitting a par-five with a slapshot!. He’s snoring now!”  Such sublime eloquence,  Freddie. Thanks for sharing!

After eating, we had a contest! Courtesy of Long Johns Putt and Stuff, we had a small driving range set up for those that wished to try their hand at golf! Aimed directly at Wishmiers Funeral home, the winner was Ed Marzecian, slicing hard right and missing the netting completely. He took  out of four of their v windows! The prize was a coupon for 15 dollars for our own Methodish restaurant.

Truly, at five dollars a plate, a great time was had by all!

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                                      Accepting Gays all the way!


We dancing to the Rainbow, ho ho ho dont'ya know????

Taking a very  long time for our church to accept Hispanics, Negros, Croatians, Polish and Negros into our fold, we now accept Gay people!

Their turn out has been great and highly profitable for our church! Not only can they sing triumphantly, make great interior decorators, they are amazing cooks and generally contribute 20% of their income!

Truly a win-win on this! Praise god!

    From the Pastors rain damaged desk and beer soaked mind:

My flock, we took a hit on the Clambake. Due a clerical error we purchased King Crab instead of clams and spent a great deal more than we received. We so grossly undercharged patrons of this event we lost approximately 5 thousand dollars.

We have to be far clearer in our thinking as we open our hearts and souls to propel our church into the decade that began two years ago.

Hindsight being twenty-twenty, what will we think last week three months ago?

I am sure we can do much better!

Pastor Ivan Chanowitz.

             Our church is being attacked!

Help us fight the insurgents of evil as our church is facing lawsuits on many fronts!

Like Germany in World War II, Cuba’s Bay of Pigs or the Sherman’s March to the Sea, there’s always going to be collateral damage with any history making event.

Though we religiously sympathize with the burn victims and many a broken window from our First Annual Clambake, we surely cannot be held responsible for what can only be called ‘gods will.’

We are currently seeking Christian lawyers to help us stop these ferocious firings across our bow.

  In closing this electronic entry.

As we face yet another great month, we must realize our importance in Christ as we

  >>>>due to space limitations and bandwidth issues we must add this<<<<

Methodish Restaurant now offers the best of Kosher cuisine!

Our menu now sports Grilled Salmon, Salmon Cakes and Gelfilte Fish Sandwiches sure to please the pallets of the Jews. We also have the tastiest Mothaball (I have never heard of matzah balls before and have difficulty in spelling it. I must think I was given a poor spelling. After all, what food has moths and balls in it?) soup you have ever experienced. So rich in flavor, heart-attackingly drenched in salt with the purest of ducks blood added to it, we think we nailed this multi-cultural favorite down cold yet served hot!

Ever heard of a Kosher BLT? Well, we have it! Succulent Indonesian grown Lettuce married with the finest of Ukrainian Tomatoes pulled together by the fabulous Bologna of Greenland! All ingredients piled high and nestled between to best smoked wood-added bread Taiwan has to offer!

Grape Kool-Aid added to our extensive beverage menu! This classic drink, loved by grandparents, parents and kiddies alike, now served here! Please pray as you drink it in memory of the Jonestown incident.

Did I mention the Cajun Greens as a side dishes?

We’ve also found a place lacking on our breakfast menu: Authentic Southern Grits! An incredibly tasty dish created by toothless immigrants that don't speak InGrish.

We’re quite sure this new addition to our menu will bring many smiles, and dare we say, the heartiest belches we have ever witnessed!

At Methodish, we believe the bottom-line is more bread for less bread!

>>>>>>>>>>>…................................................................................<<<<<<<<<<<<

  For the Community Around us.

Believing our mission is take those needing help into our realm, we are proud to announce that we’ve employed those around us! In the last month we have hired no less than 6 children of God! Taking in the homeless, purchasing soul-filled discarded WWII cots for them to rest on for a good nights sleep. Placing them in the vacant area adjacent to boiler room for comforting heat and a profound sense of communal joining, we felt it most necessary to give them the best we can meagerly offer.

And at 100 bucks a month, how can we go wrong, my brethren? Sure, some may say we are cheap in payment for services rendered, yet know this brothers and sisters: It’s not like they aren’t getting Welfare, SSI or Disabled Veterans pay. We are giving them the chance to feel useful once again. A chance to feel needed.

We’ve placed two of them in the service of Methodish, and in my opinion and highly paid beliefs, a mighty place to meet Jesus halfway.

In fact, it was William Mark Daruskinheim that said it best when he was sent to cook for us: “I gives drugged self to Jimmy Jones and bak’ries of grape muffins! Thunks, Methadone church takin’ muh in wit my scabby arms ’n falling hairs. Beings a half Nigra, half Asian, half Holstein and two thurdz Whiteness guy, I hopes a’gin! Can I cook Jew food? I’s can bbq’d salmon b’ter than a’nee mofo! Swears, Allah, Fiat be reincarnated, I can does m’bestest. Cants waits fuh ya at tries my grape Kool-Aid! It’s duh bomb!”

So enormously graced to have one of such enthusiasm under our dome, we can only be granted the highest endowments of our Lord.

>>>another word, this time from a patent holder<<<

From the !!! Company, BFE Ohio. Your fine page grants me such splendid royalties from your complete usage of exclamation points that you are putting my children through not only MIT but Harvard as well! Thank you!

>>>>>>>>>>……............................>>>>>>>>>>>>>>




                                         

Heidi’s Brother: Mark William Darus 1002032012

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

  Authors Note: this is a SATIRE of the church mailings I grew up with. Of the many that read P:SA from many Countries, I ask you do not take offense to this. It was written for the sake of humor.

Granted, where the USA is concerned, you should take some offense as we, pardon the pun, farm out most things to other countries and sell our own people short.

It was my pleasure to write this.

I dedicate this to you, Holly, Heidi and David H. <perhaps I should send this Wayne S? lol>







Tuesday, October 2, 2012

Tara: first five scenes combined

                                        
Tara Part: first story written before the world wide web.






Intro to Tara Part.
Original title: The Ballad of Tara Part
By Mark William Darus

  Bright, dark, bright, dark, bright dark, lights flash above her.

THUD! The bed she is strapped to slams through a door, leading to others on her way to the emergency room arena of Mercy Street hospital.

Light and black, light and black, her pupils in a constant state of change, unable to soundly focus on anything without a swirling blur.



Unable to smell anything around her with the oxygen mask taped to her face, she wonders, ‘where the hell am I?’

Trace sounds, most distant, echoing, she hears: “her BP is steady, but her pulse is not consistent at all. We’ve got to move faster, people.” With those voices, the steady hiss of oxygen fills her ears, as the voices state: “I-I-I-I thi-thi-think we’re, we’re we’re losing losing losing her her her” echoing over and over again as if in some deep cavern.

Stabilizing her in the ER, planting her in a Suicide Watch area. Tara lays tranquilized as Haloperidol makes her physically unable to react though her mind never stops thinking, wondering, screaming madly. “Who did this to me?”

Viewing her from behind the two-way mirror, her family and some of the staff look at her with both fascination and outright horror. The amount of dosage given her, she should be knocked out cold, yet she is not and they contemplate why this is.

“She’s always had delusions, heard voices, been a changeling.” Tara’s sister speaks plainly, looking through the glass that separates them.

“Yeah, fuck, her voice even changes…” her brother trails off.

“People, have you even heard of the movie Sybil?” Tara’s eldest brother, highly sarcastically states.

Fuck them all, we’re okay, aren’t we? Tara thinks. Christ, why can’t I move my arms or legs? Damn them all to hell with their drugs, minds and shit. Fuck them all!

  “hmmm, a Multiple! Can’t say I have seen many of these. We’ll treat her for now, but a better suited facility would be more beneficial for her,” an attending says to the room nestled behind the mirror.

  Days pass placing Tara into a land of sedation and pleasant grounds only embraced by her through barred windows. Lost in a world she did not have any control over, she waits for her chance to bolt.

“Hello Tara, I’m doctor Franks. I’m here to help you.” a dark haired male said to her in a blank voice. Looking down at her with a look of superiority.

Tara, clamped to the very bed threatening bed-sores, wanting a shower, wanting to simply stretch her arms out. Wanting to walk and talk without drugs, starring at the man above her.

“Yeah, nice to fuckin’ meet ya. When can I walk again? Damn it, just let me move my legs a bit, fucker!”

“We can work on those things, Tara.”

“Why are you calling me Tara? I’m Kara, you worthless dickhead!”

“No, you’re Tara.”

“Asshole, no I am not!”

“Very well, Kara.” This doctor has a high knowledge of multiple personalities and responds with calm, unthreatening tone.

Her face changing quickly, as it did in transition from Tara to Kara, Phil sobs in a voice most hurt, pleading “Can’t you just let me move, a little bit, these restraints hurt.”

“In time I am most sure we can make this happen. What is your name, please?”

Face twisted, eyes crying completely, mouth twisting as it fights for non-quivering words, “I’m Phil, Dr. Franks. Nice t-t-t-o meet you.”

“Sorry, Phil. It was not my intention to neglect you.”

“Thank you, Dr. Franks.”

“Tara, why did you try to kill yourself?” Franks questioned her with an easy tone, slightly shifting in his leather chair.

  Looking around the tiny world around her, noticing beige walls, white tiled ceiling, grey flooring. Her throat incredibly dry, nearly locking down, she asks, in the tone of a 4 year old, “can I please have a dwink of water.”

“Sorry. Please forgive me. Of course you can.” Leaning over her, he loosens the arm restraints binding them painfully so close to her, noticing bruises profound. Turning from her, he walks to the sink and fills a glass for her and places a straw into it. He knows this will gain her trust. Small token, but meaning much to the one held.

Tara begins to move her arms about. ‘Freedom, sweet freedom , they still work! I was worried for a while there.’ She moves her fingers slowly across her high cheek boned face, liking the feeling of something caressing her more than that of air. ‘they must have gone to the way-back on the drugs.’

“Again, my apologies, Tara, “ Dr Franks says as he hands her the plastic cup.

He angles her bed to the 90 degree position as the sounds of servo motors make it happen.

Taking the white and red striped straw into mouth, she happily begins to suck. Liquid annihilating the worst case of cotton mouth in history as she takes in the best tasting water that only the deprived could now. Tongue splashed, lips wet once again as their dry cracks are engulfed and feel mercy from moist grace. Upper torso muscles more alive, mouth tasting the first thing in days.


Feeling far more capable now to address his question, she says, “I didn’t try to commit suicide.” She looks at him, wanting a rare steak and, maybe, eggs.

“Sorry, Tara, but your sister did find you nearly dead on the floor of your house.”

Looking down with a sheepish face, a wavering male voice takes hold and begins to speak. “It wasn’t Tara, Dr. Franks. I tried to kill us. We have suffered for so long I felt it necessary to pull the p-plug and end us. I really d-d-didn’t want to, please believe m-Me! I had-”

“Phil, you cocksucker! You always try to sell us out!” Kara’s voice sharp and hard like that of a 10 inch butchers knife cutting thin bloody steak.

Most diligent, recognizing the changes before him, he asks, “Kara, please don’t interrupt Phil. I promise you, you’ll have your chance to speak. Phil, what suffering is that you speak of?”

Phil talks honestly, “Confusion. We walk into a store with a reason in mind and we forget why. We buy things we don’t need or want. We wanted food and buy socks or candles and wonder why we go hungry hours after arriving home. This is misery. I gave up and tried to kill us.” Phil looks to the ceiling, gazing from that of Dr Franks view.

“Fucking wanker!” Ebony, a British accented black woman cries out as she descends her fiery glance at Franks. “Mate, you are weak! Off the trolley, buggered, no kippers. You miss Dr. Who so much?”

“And whom might you be, please,”

“I’m Ebony, mind-eater!”

“Grand to meet you, Ebony.” Franks voice, with the greatest of training and experience, wondering of the minefield he has walked into, speaks evenly.

Watching Tara before him, he asks. “Tara, would you like a cheeseburger?”

“I can has cheezzburger?” Tara asks the four word answer in three separate and distinctive voices.

“I’ll order it for you! Any condiments?”

“ketchup would be nice,” Tara says nearly peacefully.

“I want lettuce and tomatoes,” Kara states most loud.

“Tartar sauce! I need tartar sauce,” Ebony exclaims with thick accent.

“Uh, could I have anchovies, please, Doctor?” Phil inquires meekly.

Dr. Franks takes a step back as he hears a chorus of three females voices speak from that of a single mouth.

“No, Phil, we’re not going there!”

Leaving the room, Dr Franks gets several cheeseburgers with various condiments.

 

 

Tara Part: Act one, Scene two




Tara Part: Act one, Scene two.
Shout it out loud.

By Mark William Darus

Continued from part one:

<Watching Tara before him, he asks. “Tara, would you like a cheeseburger?”

“I can has cheezzburger?” Tara asks the four word answer in three separate and distinctive voices.

“I’ll order it for you! Any condiments?”

“ketchup would be nice,” Tara says nearly peacefully.

“I want lettuce and tomatoes,” Kara states most loud.

“Tartar sauce! I need tartar sauce,” Ebony exclaims with thick accent.

“Uh, could I have anchovies, please, Doctor?” Phil inquires meekly.

Dr. Franks takes a step back as he hears a chorus of three females voices speak from that of a single mouth.

“No, Phil, we’re not going there!”

Leaving the room, Dr Franks gets several cheeseburgers with various condiments.>
  Act one, scene two:

  As Dr. Grimly was leaving dietary with a tray full of cheeseburgers, wondering what he’d witness as they were eaten, his digital went off with the message: RETURN TO CONFERENCE ROOM DELTA: STAT.

Quickening his pace to the elevator. The door opens and he is greeted by several associates.

“Buying your staff a pig-out there, Grimmers?”

Shaking his head, answering, “no, just feeding one..” He exits.

“Wow…”

As he enters Room Delta he sees Tara on the floor, knees bent upward while being held down by 4 orderlies. She is screaming like a banshee as sweat flows from her face reddened face.

Setting the tray on the counter to his right, he loudly asks, “What the hell happened?”

A slender, well tanned blond LPN look at him, shaking her head. “I have no idea, Dr. I was doing my rounds down the hall and I heard screaming and thought I should investigate it.”

“What did you find when you entered?”

“She was on the floor pretty much the way she now except she was punching her vaginal area.”

Grimly looks down at Tara, still fighting to break loose from the orderlies.

“Dr.” the LPN speaks slowly. “If I didn’t know any better, she looked like she was. Well, giving birth.”

“Oh, no.” he says while he bends down, getting closer to Tara. “What’s going on, Tara?”

In an instant, her faces changes, redness fading, and the heavy sweat ceasing rapidly.

“WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU THINK’S HAPPENING, DICKHEAD?” Ebony’s pissed off voice blasts, her sharp eyes sending daggers at Grimly.

“Sorry, Ebony. If I knew I wouldn’t have asked.”

Ebony’s face begin to lose it’s rigid edge, her eyes becoming nearly foggy.

“Uh, Dr. Grimly, this is Phil. I think she’s having Bill’s baby. I could be wrong. I spend a lot of my life being wrong…”

The LPN steps back, watching the sudden facial changes before her.

“5mg’s of Hal, STAT, before she’s starts breaking bones.”

He is handed a syringe which he quickly administers to her.

Warmth covering the body on the floor. Drowsy, eyes closing, falling into drug induced rest.

The Dr. nods at the orderlies to let go. Slowly standing, their muscles aching mildly, wondering what they had just seen.

With inquisitive tone, the LPN inquires, “Dr. Grimly, is she multiple?”

Turning his head as he raises it, looking at her while nodding ‘yes’.

“My God! Dr., is there anything else I can do?”

“No, I think I have this after these good men place her on a gurney and strap her down.”

Before anyone could react fast enough, Tara stood up looking somehow taller.

“Hello Everyone, my name is Bill. I am so very pleased to meet you all!” Bill has a cocky edge to voice matching his overly confident stance, slightly cocked the left.

A person Grimly has never met from Tara smiles at him, the orderlies and the LPN.



‘Damn. Imagine how this would look if Tara were sporting a bikini.’ the Dr. ponders, shutting it down as fast as it had arisen. “Bill, I’m dr. Grimly. How are you, today?”

“Top of the World, Doc. Nice to be here, let me tell you!”

“That is good to know, Bill. Where did you co-”

Cutting off Grimly, Bill enthusiastically exclaims: “Congratulate me!”

“Oh, is today special Bill? Why is that so?" Grimly fights to maintain composure. This event goes beyond anything he's experienced before.

Beaming with an ear to ear grin that looked more evil than happy, Bill, in full command of room Delta, shouts: "IT'S MY BIRTHDAY!"



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

 

 

Tara Part: Act one, Scene three.



Tara Part: Act one, Scene three.
By Mark William Darus

    continued from previous act:

<“Top of the World, Doc. Nice to be here, let me tell you!”

“That is good to know, Bill. Where did you co-”

Cutting off Grimly, Bill enthusiastically exclaims: “Congratulate me!”

“Oh, is today special Bill, and if so, why is that so,” Grimly fights to maintain composure.

Beaming with an ear to ear grin that looked more evil that happy, he informs them, “Today’s my birthday.”>

Act one, Scene three
  Locked in fully as things get more intense by the second, Grimly smiles at Bill and extends his hand to shake it. His eyes move slowly from Tara’s swaggering movement to the orderlies and the LPN.

Bill, still smiling like the cat that ate the canary, reaches to grasp it.

“NOW!” Grimly yells setting the room into motion with sudden urgency.

“Wha-” Bill chorts as the biggest of the two orderlies grab to purchase hold as the LPN shoots him with a strong tranquilizer.

Exhaling quick, feeling sweat build on his brow, Grimly says, “Good Work, everyone!”

“What the FUCK did we just see, Doc?” the biggest of the strong-armed men said slightly out of breath.



“I’m not really sure. I’ve never had one born before me…”

  The unison of the hive-mind buzzing with unspent energy causing disruption most profound. Single brain attempting control with input crashing in from 5 sources all at the same time. It was like that of turntable in an old railroad yard with many important locomotives going for the main spot to fulfill their obligations.

“Like we weren’t drugged enough?” Kara cuts through the huge amount of white noise.

“Just more loo-fuck wankers holdin’ us down, mates!” Ebony slashes across an open channel.

“I think I’m going to be sick,” Phil’s weak voice whimpers.

“My Birthday! My damn Birthday and I got stung? This shit is not happening!” Bill sounding firm and unyielding.

The wasted body soon strapped to the bed gazes upward with eyes glazed over as if a light coating of Elmer’s glue had been applied. Fuzzy world to see.

Far fuzzier to live in.

“Dear Lord, why? Why is this happening? Why does this keep happening? I didn’t hurt anyone at all,” Tara’s mind mutters on, eventually closing the chatter from the others that annoy her so deeply. Her mind taking in the room she’s rolled into. The bright smell of the tiles above her, sounds of the greenish walls surrounding her and the taste of the History Channels documentary on the invasion of Normandy Beach.

Finally falling into the peaceful realms of gentle sounds of burbling water over rock, gently clouded blue skies pleasing to the viewer mixed with scents of fall looming over with that of fresh cut grass. Serenity deserved, Tara falls to sleep.

Alone with herself, Tara tranquilly begins to dream.

She is standing in a long flowing deep blue nightgown, her long dark hair dancing with the warm gentle breeze that crosses. Behind her is a misty landscape of green meadows rising from dense forest between two rises with bluish/grayish skyline in the center.

Scents of heather and lilac dance in her nose, bringing a smile to her face so calm and restful. The timid rustle of the strong leaves of oak and maple trees engulf her, planting her in this place of triumphant nature.

Turning slowly, taking in as much as she can for as long as she can, she raises slender arms to the heavens as she leans her head backward, eyes closed. Tara’s mind goes to a song she’d heard long ago, Why, by Annie Lennox, and how, in this place, she can ponder such things by herself.

Tara looks down to where her feet are planted. Her eyes are treated to the billowing silky sheath on her and how her breasts look small, but firm. Traveling down, spotting her bare feet standing on what appears to be rough granite. ‘good place to stand now, isn’t, it?’.

Tara’s heart is soaring and free.

She is at one with all around her.

“I don’t mean to disturb you, fine lady, but I’m sort of lost. Can you help me, please?” a man asks her with a tone of true sincerity.

Looking toward the voice, Tara twists her frail body to meet its maker. “I’m not sure I can, sir. My name’s Tara. And yours?”

He’s gazing at her like that of a lover waiting to hold the one of his desire.

“My name’s Bill. Very nice to meet you, Tara.”

Beautiful landscape shifting about with the movement of the sun creating a swirling effect surrounding them through dancing shadows and mist.

Through the tossing clouds, a single beam of light from the sun lands upon them.

Tara and Bill embrace. Like that of lovers wanting a comfy place to lay, they draw each other closer.

As a dream can soon become a nightmare.


 

Mark William Darus. 09242012.

 

 

 

Tara Part: Act one, Scene Four. Tiny Dancer.

By Mark William Darus.

Continued from previous Scene:

<
He’s gazing at her like that of a lover waiting to hold the one of his desire.

“My name’s Bill. Very nice to meet you, Tara.”

Beautiful landscape shifting about with the movement of the sun creating a swirling effect surrounding them through dancing shadows and mist.

Through the tossing clouds, a single beam of light from the sun lands upon them.

Tara and Bill embrace. Like that of lovers wanting a comfy place to lay, they draw each other closer.>

Scene four:

Holding one another with a grip almost constricting, the lonely, beckoning sounds of a Hammond B-3 begins to play from the very mists surrounding them. Procol Harums Whiter Shade of Pale churns forth filling the valley of tall bright green heather and pretty flowers with its song of desperate longing.

Tara and Bill totally alone in this dream-world, their bodies intertwined, begin to sway as one, pelvis’ fused together, turning, writhing, backs arching in unison. Their heads slowly leave the others shoulders as their faces meet, eyes locked to one another. Tara looking at him with such a look of need, wanting acceptance from another, getting lost as she sees her own reflection in his eyes. Bill, wanting her, not knowing why, having no past memories to fall back on for reference to aide him, stares back at her, frightened though not displaying it.

…We skipped a light fandango…

Rhythmically gliding to their left, joined fully, their foreheads gently meet as their noses so lightly touch. Crickets chirp and birds call out to the setting sun as the clouds disperse, giving the purest of vibrant, darkening blue skies as the music plays on.

‘Finally, sweet Jesus. I am happy! I’ve found one that wants me as I am’ Tara thinks. Serenity filling her face, tears of happiness running down her cheeks, arms around Bill tightly holding fast. ‘If this is a dream, may I please die here and now.’

…Turned cartwheels ‘cross the floor…

Dancing on ever so slowly, taking in the wondrous emotional sensations of finding someone as darkness descends further, bodies and minds carrying the slightly distracting, yet comforting dizziness. The moon began to shine over the mountain to their left as the sun dives to its days ending. The B-3 smashing onward with its unique qualities as the drummer plays on.

A meteor breaches from the heavens leaving a slash of white as its tail crosses the horizon.

….that I wandered through my playing cards…

 

Bill, holding Tara’s small waist, liking the feeling of her breasts against his chest, his penis swelling and not knowing why it does so, follows her lead and does as her movements convey.

…I was feeling kind of seasick…

Tara and Bill shared this moment in time. There was a solid connection between them as love filled Tara’s fragile heart with better places of tomorrows beyond anything she had known or hoped before.

 

…that her face at first turned ghostly…

The mountain area surrounding her began to disappear, the crickets songs going quiet, the scent of flowers parting company with her steadily.

“NO!” Tara cries out! ‘no-no-no-no,’ her mind sadly pleads as her muscles begin to tense up. ‘noooooo.’

Laying restrained to a bed of many horrible memories she is not happily connected with, afraid to open her eyes, yet scared of keeping them closed, stunned. Tara’s head begins to swim groggy waters as dreamland goes to drug induced awakenings.

“nooooooooo,” she mutters.

“Tara, we’re glad you’re back!” an overweight LPN says to her.

“n-NOT!”

“What’s that, Tara?”

“I’m not gla-” Tara is shut down as another voice is heard.

“I’m still here with you, Tara. I love you and I will never leave you,” Bill says.

“Bill! This night was special, wasn’t it?” Tara begins to sob as blood vessels on her brow pronounce themselves.

“Yes, it was, m’love.”

The LPN, a second shift new hire, stood there wondering who Tara was speaking to her back-right. Looking over her shoulder as the single person holding both parts of a conversation with female and male voice ran on, had a feeling cross her about her latest job choice.

…turned a whiter shade of pale…

“Thank you for being real, Bill! I love you…” Tara said as the drugs wore off, happily facing a new day with Bill.

Mark William Darus 09262012

 

Authors Note: This being the fourth part of Tara’s adult life, my fifth entry about her on Psychopathy: Another Life, I am grateful that I can keep writing about her.

Tara is most dear to me in many regards. She has been a constant companion to me over the decades. The kind of friend that can be so far away yet never far from the sincerest places of mind and heart.

I have to thank Procol Harum. I played this song repeatedly while I spent nearly three hours writing this. One of the best songs ever written: Whiter Shade of Pale.

Also: Thanks to the producers and writers of the TV show House, for making me remember the importance of this song.

 

 

Tara Part: Act one, Scene Five: Before we killed Christ.

by Mark William Darus.

 

 

 

Continued from part four….

<
“I’m still here with you, Tara. I love you and I will never leave you,” Bill says.

“Bill! This night was special, wasn’t it?” Tara begins to sob as blood vessels on her brow pronounce themselves.

“Yes, it was, m’love.”

The LPN, a second shift new hire, stood there wondering who Tara was speaking to her back-right. Looking over her shoulder as the single person holding both parts of a conversation with female and male voice ran on, had a feeling cross her about her latest job choice.

…turned a whiter shade of pale…

“Thank you for being real, Bill! I love you…” Tara said as the drugs wore off, happily facing a new day with Bill.>

 

Part Five.

“Tara, an attending will meet you momentarily. He’ll talk to you until Dr. Grimly returns his page. Please, just relax and don’t fight the restraints.” She tried to maintain a calm voice but feared she didn’t. Anya, the LPN, with unwashed dirty-blond hair and thick cheap glasses looked down at Tara. “you’re gonna be alright, hon. You’re in good hands.” ‘Damn,’ Anya thought, ‘how lame is that to say? Can’t I do better than a bad commercial tag-line?’

A thunderstorm splashes her room with brilliant light as thunder soon follows.

 

Tara’s face tightening as the sight of Bill departs from view in the slow motion of an old black and white horror movie. His legs, unmoving, his stance, unchanging, yet dissolving into the background of mental mists getting smaller and smaller with every second.

“Bill! Don’t go! Please, please don’t go away!” she begs aloud as his shape turns into murky shades of brown becoming the carved and abused closet doors of her tiny room. ‘Too good to be true, right?’ her mind begins to ramble. ‘I’m here for you, Bill.’

The door to Tara’s little world opens with a familiar creaking sound as an average looking man enters, wearing a suit to the 9’s and an easy going smile. This man holds a confidence in his studies of mental health reaching far and beyond his college degrees would acclaim. He is a follower of Dr. Robert Hare and Dr. Hervey Cleckley work in psychopathy, Eberhardt Gmelin, Pierre Janet, and Christine Beauchamp work in Multiple Personality Disorders. His name is Dr. Gerry Buckfeldt and he is very ready to meet Tara.

“Hello, Dr, here’s the current pressings,” Anya hands this evenings paperwork to him with frantic voice and tired eyes.

“I’ll read this later, thank you. What has she been given?”

“Well, Dr, we gaaaaaaaaaaaaave heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeer aaaaaaa shooooooooooot offffffffffffff=“

‘Damn it!’ Kara spoke to Tara. ‘Here comes another munchkin.’

‘Quiet, Kara! This ones dif-’ Phil tried to say.

‘Bitch, be still! Phil’s right. This one be different, mate,’ Ebony firmly finished Phil’s statement.

Taking every ounce of her energy to do so, she meekly opens her eyes to the new voice in the room. He appears to her as a silhouette against the blinding white background of her room. Longish hair falling over broad shoulders, over 6 feet in height leaning to his right.

“I’m Tara, dr.” she quietly speaks. “Well, what’s left of her that is.”

“Tara, just call me Gerry. I am glad to work with you. I am new here, but being new really doesn’t mean anything, does it?” As he spoke to her, his eyes never leaving hers, he reached down and removed her restraints. “It this better?”

Laying flat, bringing her arms together, hands grasping at opposing wrists, she stretches out. Finally making her fingers intertwine with joined hands, Tara raises them toward the heavens, her eyes sharing the smile on her face.

In a voice less stressed, she begins to sing in a single tone so sweet: “I reach out, you reach out, we reach out, TODAY!” she begins to sing a song by Stryper to Dr. Gerry.

Knowing this song quite well, Gerry responds with the bobbing of his head. Loving this song and how it brought he and his wife together many years ago at a Christian concert in Columbus Ohio, goes with the flow as he did then. His eyes closed, unthreatening stance, smile crossing his high cheek boned face.

Whipping his hair back, eyes never leaving hers, he sings with a weak tenor voice: “I was looking, never finding… Always feeling empty inside…..”

Tara, not sure how to respond, sings, “Needing a Light to see…..”

 

Gerry, feeling he’d hit pay dirt with Tara and her minions, continued. He shifted the gears that only a multiple could embrace as the rooms in their heads like the fast changing arenas that would bog down the normal mind. He’s head banging, eyes light in depth as he sings, “ Love can be so cold. And loneliness gets ollllllllld.”

Tara looks at her legs and begins to bend her knees to her.

“May I please stand, Dr?”

“Call me Gerry and of course you can!!

Tara reaches for Gerry’s hand and slowly rises her body once again.

Standing too quickly, a blurred head-rush encompasses her. Holding Gerry’s hand, she sees Bill face as she rises. She leans her willing mouth to Gerry and he angles to his left making her gesture a pure hug.



Taking Gerry into her life finally knowing he is not Bill, she sadly sings. “And you can’t go on anymoooooooore,”

They physically part.

“Tara, when did you first hear Stryper? Please, share this with me.”

“MTV. Loved them. They made sense to us. Warm, hopeful.” Her eyes set like that of a cows, totally deep, sincere and loving.

“Shit, G! These Yankees kicked ass here! Tossing bibles and jamming’, gotta love it!” Ebony added, her British accent most proud.

“I cried when I saw them do the Easter Song! I really did!” Phil spoke as eyes filled with tears. Slump shouldered, slowly heaving body between sobs.

“Phil, once again, you are wrong! The Easter Song was by Second Chapter of Acts! Christ, just once can you get something right?” Kara spoke plainly. A devote atheist, wonders much of those she’s shares a place with.

“ We all know what Phil meant, Kara, back off!” Bill cut in, making Tara feel more elated by hearing his loving voice. She looks about the room but can only see him with her eyes closed loosely.

 

“Gerry, I heard them when I was a kid. I had two brothers that loved their music. They played when they got ready for school and I loved it. I saw them in concert when my bro Heli was at college at Ohio Wesleyan. Did hours on a Greyhound to get there to spend a weekend with him.”

“Stryper played Ohio Wesleyan?” Gerry asked.

“No, Second Chapter did. It was around 1979 or so,” she peacefully said.

“What’s your favorite song by them?” Filled with energy, the attending DR. had to ask.

Tara, her smiling, gentle face innocently looking about, feeling no fear begins to say, “ I’ve always been fond of Mansion-”

BANG! A door is forcibly slammed shut cutting her off as well as the hallway world.

“I’m a Dr. Grimly. What are your observations, attending?” His voice is annoyed, perturbed. He was so close to scoring with a hooker til his pager went off.

“Good evening, Doct-”



“Yes, yes, very well. What did you witness?”

“Yes, sir! Here’s what I have seen,” Gerry began with and was bludgeoning cut off with the sharpness of a spoon.

“Did you chart it? What are your notes for me to review?”

“Dr. Grimly, you just entered and I haven’t a chance to chart or note anything.” Gerry is feeling tiny hairs rise to the back of his neck. ’you want to rock, idiot? Let’s rock!’

“Incompitent fool! Do you not know what I am dealing with?” Grimly’s impudent voice is all over the place.

“Oh, yes, Dr. Grimly! I know the ocean you’re swimming in, Sir”

“Yes, and so you should! Would you be kind enough to fetch me a triple espresso mocha from the lab dr. Bumfelt?”

“That’s Buckfedlt, Dr. Grimlly, and yes, I’ll hit the lab for you.” Smirking as he obliges, mentally adding to the “other wards’ charts of what others professionally speak about Dr. Grimly. Lowering his proud head, hands behind his back and away from Grimly, fingers clutch together and tighten. Bending down, stretching backward in motion meeting a firm, confident sigh, he again stands tall before Tara.

 

“Okay, Tara, I’ll be gone for a bit. It’s was nice to make your aquaintance.” Gerry, feeling vultures and predators at his back as he said this. Gerry’s hand resting on the Tara’s bed, taking note of the shape-shifter he wants to know.

“Dr. Buckenfald, you will never see my patient again!”

“Of course, Dr. Grimes!”

“My name is Grimly, sir”

“Yes, and mine’s Buckfeldt, Dr.”

 

Gerry’s right hand still on the bed is met with Tara’s sound left grasp.

Hoarse voice, seriously wanting water, Kara cocks her head and talks to Gerry. “Don’t you, forget about us….”

Grimly, checking his pager, disregards her words.

Gerry looks at Tara and the voices that rise from her being.

“I won’t forget you all. Count on it. I ---”

“I think I can deal with this, Dr. Buchenfeld. I am the Chief here, an I not?”

“Of course you are, Dr. Grimly.” Gerry spoke with the enthusiasm of an infomercial. “You are D’Man!” Gerry’s mind forgetting little, but if it did, having confidence in the video’s these rooms have to share the inquiring mind if all else fails.

Grimly thinking he controls all, tells Dr. Gerry to leave.

“Dr, my name is Bcukfeldt,”

“Don’t you think I know this? You think me a simple minded fool?”

“Of course not, Dr. But if you were to have an error occur on your fine paperwork, with spelling perhaps, it could mean much.”

Yelling freely, losing control: “ARE YOU TELLING ME WHAT I DO NOT ALREADY KNOW? WHOM DO YOU THINK YOU ARE???”

 

“Uh, Doc, do you know where you are?” Kara asks plainly hearing Guns n Roses Welcome to the Jungle in her mind.

“I gonna watch you scream!” Ebony fills the silence.

“Hmmm, yes, that is all well and good, but how does this help you, Johnny?” Grimly verbally shits.

“D-d-doc, we’ve got fun and games. Learn to live like an animal in the jungle were we play…” Phil’s voice so weak yet hitting home with Gerry’s mind.

A proud professional LPN, albeit overweight, chops Phil asking: “Dr Grimly, no disrespect intended, who is Johnny? I’ve, well, been keeping track, sir, there is no Johnny.”

“I did dismiss you, didn’t I, uh, nurse, “

“Fatima, Dr, yes you did. Leaving.” Anya gives Gerry a nod as she leaves.

“Yes, Dr, Grimly! I will get you the triple expresso mocha from the lab you asked for!” Gerry nods to his senior, thinking of Tara and how they might help her to become whole again, or perhaps for the first time in her life.



The hiss of air from the convectors fills the moments of silence with white noise greatly meaning. An FTD florist, thinking of his lovely wife, strolls the halls with a gift for a nurse at least someone wishes to bed, and splendid fragrance of the flowers sharing before they perish. Figureless humans behind shower curtained glass, walking as they mutter with faces straight ahead, distantancing themselves from decisions to yet create as their hearts grow heavier than ever known before.

 

“Who’s here?” Tara eyes locking on nothing. Her hive-mind community forgotten her, such a tiny child in a land of millions. Forsaken.

“I am here, Tara! You’ve taken swims in pavements hard. Have you seen my coffee, dearie?” His sound was as tough as sandpaper.

“S’ry, shitheels! Hmm, do you remember where you last placed it?” Ebony and Kara spoke in Tara’s defense, strongly siding with her as she stood alone once again.

A tall crow lands at Tara’s window. Taking in the trapped flies caught in the spiders web, it feasts without worry. Spider in dwelling, patiently knowing, ants and other things will come.

The lord will provide…

 

“Tara, I am here to help you,” Grimly says to her. His voice carries all the power of a paper bag against a hurricane.

 

Stopping at the threshold of Tara‘s shred of life, Gerry looks back at Tara and asks, singing a Second Chapter of Acts song, dropping to both knees:

“So why should I worry, why should fret?” he asks totally out of tune.

Stopped dead, the LPN is blank, the clock in the room still does what it does, and Grimly is still an asshole.

“b--because I have a Massion Builder that ain’t through with me yet?”

“No! This hospital is not building anything in the near future.” Grimly coughs and takes Scripto to paper and emotionlessly writes.

…there are those who will learn how to fly… Gerry.

 

Looking up, seeing all the stable of minds can comprehend, Tara takes in vivid seas of black dots and on white horizon. Tara, watching the orderlies attempt to shuffle Gerry away, she fights against with frail frame.

“Hey, Grimly, Chapter of Acts, live, EAT THIS!

What’cha say, Second Chapter of Acts blasts from her mind as her body moves in the rhythms unordinary.

Not isolated from Tara, Gerry gyrates with her as one though separated.

‘Oh, we are not done here, brothers! No WAY!’ Gerry thinks as he walks to the cafeteria for breakfast. With tray in hand, smelling what could be cardboard eggs and really bad sausage, Gerry hears her voice.

“Wow, I watched ya, there buddy. Somethings hit y’net, ain’t it?”

Gerry holds his tray without sitting. Looking at his woman, he asks, “want to take a walk?”

Elevator ride north, cold stainless steel box ascending, ending at Tara’s floor. Door opens as Gerry motions then to hold back.

“You do her no good, Dr. Fuck your name it is not important. She is Tara and I am Dr. Grimly!”

 

“You are so very wrong, Asshole! “

 

“Then who is she may I ask?”



“She, we are many! You’ve such a tiny mind….”

 

“my education has taught me-”

“Nothing! It has taught nothing with those like us.”

 

\ “Gerry, “ the voice of Tara tells him, “go, get yourself a coffee.”

And Gerry will do this, but not after setting his knives into Grmily’s back.

 

Mark William Darus 09292012

Monday, October 1, 2012

25 years of marriage. To my Bestest Friends. A Celebration.





                         An anniversary after 25 years of marriage.
                                      By Mark William Darus.




                                                    

 

      Such a wondrous event I witnessed today. My best and friend, dare I say, Brother, renewed his vows of marriage with his beautiful wife after 25 years together. His loving family put this grand event together for them.

                                                   

      I was so touched to be there. It was so nice to see smiles from so many, tears of joy, to once again hear the sound of laughter so spontaneous and sincere that didn’t occur from a totally human accident. I am blessed to have these this wonderful family in my life.

                                                        
                                             

                        I would’ve committed suicide two decades ago if it hadn’t been for them freely taking me into their lives and giving me a gentle place to be.
                                                  

      To my Bestest (“Bestest” is an intentional misspelling. Sometimes, this expresses more than the proper,) friend of over 35 years, I cannot say enough about you. You’ve always accepted me and my odd ideas, bizarre way of living and my absurd thoughts. You are my Brother. Over the years, we’ve shared so very much. We’ve rebuilt engines, made a pool after leveling your yard <that your neighbors tree took out weeks later> , and witnessed your wife getting shocked with a vacuum cleaner and the pool. You’ve been with me through the best and worst of times of my life. In over 35 years, he and I had one single disagreement, but sharing a loyalty like nothing I have ever known, it was soon disregarded. He and I also saw the passing of Dale Earnhardt Sr that day at Daytona. I so vividly remember the shocked looks that passed between us.
                                                 

                                                 
                                                    

       To his wonderful wife. A truly amazing woman in all regards. Many is the time she fed me, and still does. A devout Star Wars fan, she always put up with my beliefs on the series and how my thoughts made her furious with me. Oh yeah, she’d storm away from me with eyes aflame with unbridled anger. Seriously, I sincerely believe I pushed this woman’s patience to the brink and sometimes beyond. I find it totally amazing I did not get banned from their house. At her daughters birthday party so long ago, she trusted me to video tape it. OH MY GOD, what I did with their camcorder was horrendous! I constantly inverted it, spiraled the images and thoroughly pissed her off! C, I in all honesty don’t know how you put up with me over the many years. You are a woman way above most!
                                                



       What can I say further about them?

       Well, after all, I a wordy man and can write about almost anything, so here goes

                                        25 years of marriage.
                                                     

           Such a monumental landmark in a day and age when most things are totally disposable and replaced. Friends in relation to our lives come and go so fleetingly. With job changes, tiny disagreements and the smallest of perceived slights, many blow us off with increasing regularity that barely a blur passes in their wake. The times we live in people so easily fall for the bullshit of instant happiness, lack of boredom and the desire of illusionary greener pastures that breed the shallowest of temporary contentment. So completely deceived by weak desires and what we’re missing fueled by mass media commercials and divorce attorneys, people get lost and, well, become stupid.

             I am so grateful you two are not a member of this ever growing community of long lasting depression and the using of others as human-bandages to cut the pain created from hastily made bad decisions.

            Well, I’m not a statistician. I have no clue what that Quarterback did over time, or a pitcher did in his career or that basketball players history. I’ve always found those memory filling things to be most worthless, like taking a millionth step into a pile of dog shit or the importance of having yet another case of the flu at fifty years of age.

             I do know this: You two are the only people, I personally know that have that have:

Never been divorced at any point in your lives.

You’ve been together in marriage for:

9125 days

219,000 hours

13,140,000 minutes

788,400,000 seconds

            This is an amazing, huge testimonial of perseverance, loyalty and love. You both maintain the best parts of the words so freely said by so many others yet lacking any meaning, truth or sincerity: For richer or poorer, through sickness and in health, to death do you part. <<<now granted, that last part (the death do us part thing I totally disagree with. If the bond of the two is true and everlasting, is there really a parting?) I don’t think so. At least not in the emotional sense.>>>

           Today, I saw an anniversary given and witnessed by family and friends of my Bestest friends. Such emotions so positive, enriching and most high in energy and love filling the hall that surrounded me with their glory and communion. We broke bread, laughter and the lightest of hearts I haven’t seen in a group setting in decades without alcohol filling most in presence.

           Good god, smiles so real and touching their eyes. Happy sounds of comments freely spoken during their ‘roasting’ spoken, with photos, by their family members. The scent of candles and food made with tender hands and contented hearts.
                                                
                                              

         I bow my head to you both, tears wanting to well up in me, Dave and Cindi: You are my BESTEST friends and congratulations!
                                             

          Your anniversary taught me the best in an area I have sought for years.

          Thanks to you and your children.
                                      

         You have taught me, from my being blessed by knowing you, what truly is being human.

             Dave and Cindi, may God always shine you on. Through stormy clouds yet holding the brighest of beams for you both to embrace the warmth of each others arms eternal, yours is a love most true.
                                                 
                                          



Mark William Darus 09302012



Saturday, September 29, 2012

Tara Part: Scene Five: Mansion Builder.




                        Tara Part: Act one, Scene Five: Massion Builder
                                              by Mark William Darus.

 

 

 

                                 Continued from part four….

<
“I’m still here with you, Tara. I love you and I will never leave you,” Bill says.

“Bill! This night was special, wasn’t it?” Tara begins to sob as blood vessels on her brow pronounce themselves.

“Yes, it was, m’love.”

The LPN, a second shift new hire, stood there wondering who Tara was speaking to her back-right. Looking over her shoulder as the single person holding both parts of a conversation with female and male voice ran on, had a feeling cross her about her latest job choice.

…turned a whiter shade of pale…

“Thank you for being real, Bill! I love you…” Tara said as the drugs wore off, happily facing a new day with Bill.>

 
 
                                                      
                                                         Part Five.

               “Tara, an attending will meet you momentarily. He’ll talk to you until Dr. Grimly returns his page. Please, just relax and don’t fight the restraints.” She tried to maintain a calm voice but feared she didn’t. Anya, the LPN, with unwashed dirty-blond hair and thick cheap glasses looked down at Tara. “you’re gonna be alright, hon. You’re in good hands.” ‘Damn,’ Anya thought, ‘how lame is that to say? Can’t I do better than a bad commercial tag-line?’

           A thunderstorm splashes her room with brilliant light as thunder soon follows.

 

            Tara’s face tightening as the sight of Bill departs from view in the slow motion of an old black and white horror movie. His legs, unmoving, his stance, unchanging, yet dissolving into the background of mental mists getting smaller and smaller with every second.

            “Bill! Don’t go! Please, please don’t go away!” she begs aloud as his shape turns into murky shades of brown becoming the carved and abused closet doors of her tiny room. ‘Too good to be true, right?’ her mind begins to ramble. ‘I’m here for you, Bill.’

           The door to Tara’s little world opens with a familiar creaking sound as an average looking man enters, wearing a suit to the 9’s and an easy going smile. This man holds a confidence in his studies of mental health reaching far and beyond his college degrees would acclaim. He is a follower of Dr. Robert Hare and Dr. Hervey Cleckley work in psychopathy, Eberhardt Gmelin, Pierre Janet, and Christine Beauchamp work in Multiple Personality Disorders. His name is Dr. Gerry Buckfeldt and he is very ready to meet Tara.

          “Hello, Dr, here’s the current pressings,” Anya hands this evenings paperwork to him with frantic voice and tired eyes.

          “I’ll read this later, thank you. What has she been given?”

           “Well, Dr, we gaaaaaaaaaaaaave heeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeer aaaaaaa shooooooooooot offffffffffffff=“

                 ‘ Damn it!’ Kara spoke to Tara. ‘Here comes another munchkin.’

          ‘Quiet, Kara! This ones dif-’ Phil tried to say.

            ‘Bitch, be still! Phil’s right. This one be different, mate,’ Ebony firmly finished Phil’s statement.

            Taking every ounce of her energy to do so, she meekly opens her eyes to the new voice in the room. He appears to her as a silhouette against the blinding white background of her room. Longish hair falling over broad shoulders, over 6 feet in height leaning to his right.

          “I’m Tara, dr.” she quietly speaks. “Well, what’s left of her that is.”

          “Tara, just call me Gerry. I am glad to work with you. I am new here, but being new really doesn’t mean anything, does it?” As he spoke to her, his eyes never leaving hers, he reached down and removed her restraints. “It this better?”

          Laying flat, bringing her arms together, hands grasping at opposing wrists, she stretches out. Finally making her fingers intertwine with joined hands, Tara raises them toward the heavens, her eyes sharing the smile on her face.

          In a voice less stressed, she begins to sing in a single tone so sweet: “I reach out, you reach out, we reach out, TODAY!” she begins to sing a song by Stryper to Dr. Gerry.

            Knowing this song quite well, Gerry responds with the bobbing of his head. Loving this song and how it brought he and his wife together many years ago at a Christian concert in Columbus Ohio, goes with the flow as he did then. His eyes closed, unthreatening stance, smile crossing his high cheek boned face.

         Whipping his hair back, eyes never leaving hers, he sings with a weak tenor voice: “I was looking, never finding… Always feeling empty inside…..”

         Tara, not sure how to respond, sings, “Needing a Light to see…..”

 

           Gerry, feeling he’d hit pay dirt with Tara and her minions, continued. He shifted the gears that only a multiple could embrace as the rooms in their heads like the fast changing arenas that would bog down the normal mind. He’s head banging, eyes light in depth as he sings, “ Love can be so cold. And loneliness gets ollllllllld.”

          Tara looks at her legs and begins to bend her knees to her.

           “May I please stand, Dr?”

           “Call me Gerry and of course you can!!

          Tara reaches for Gerry’s hand and slowly rises her body once again.

         Standing too quickly, a blurred head-rush encompasses her. Holding Gerry’s hand, she sees Bill face as she rises. She leans her willing mouth to Gerry and he angles to his left making her gesture a pure hug.



         Taking Gerry into her life finally knowing he is not Bill, she sadly sings. “And you can’t go on anymoooooooore,”

        They physically part.

        “Tara, when did you first hear Stryper? Please, share this with me.”

         “MTV. Loved them. They made sense to us. Warm, hopeful.” Her eyes set like that of a cows, totally deep, sincere and loving.

           “Shit, G! These Yankees kicked ass here! Tossing bibles and jamming’, gotta love it!” Ebony added, her British accent most proud.

           “I cried when I saw them do the Easter Song! I really did!” Phil spoke as eyes filled with tears. Slump shouldered, slowly heaving body between sobs.

        “Phil, once again, you are wrong! The Easter Song was by Second Chapter of Acts! Christ, just once can you get something right?” Kara spoke plainly. A devote atheist, wonders much of those she’s shares a place with.

        “ We all know what Phil meant, Kara, back off!” Bill cut in, making Tara feel more elated by hearing his loving voice. She looks about the room but can only see him with her eyes closed loosely.

 

            “Gerry, I heard them when I was a kid. I had two brothers that loved their music. They played when they got ready for school and I loved it. I saw them in concert when my bro Heli was at college at Ohio Wesleyan. Did hours on a Greyhound to get there to spend a weekend with him.”

          “Stryper played Ohio Wesleyan?” Gerry asked.

             “No, Second Chapter did. It was around 1979 or so,” she peacefully said.

            “What’s your favorite song by them?” Filled with energy, the attending DR. had to ask.

               Tara, her smiling, gentle face innocently looking about, feeling no fear begins to say, “ I’ve always been fond of Mansion-”

            BANG! A door is forcibly slammed shut cutting her off as well as the hallway world.

          “I’m a Dr. Grimly. What are your observations, attending?” His voice is annoyed, perturbed. He was so close to scoring with a hooker til his pager went off.

          “Good evening, Doct-”
 
                        





            “Yes, yes, very well. What did you witness?”

         “Yes, sir! Here’s what I have seen,” Gerry began with and was bludgeoning cut off with the sharpness of a spoon.

            “Did you chart it? What are your notes for me to review?”

            “Dr. Grimly, you just entered and I haven’t a chance to chart or note anything.” Gerry is feeling tiny hairs rise to the back of his neck. ’you want to rock, idiot? Let’s rock!’

                “Incompitent fool! Do you not know what I am dealing with?” Grimly’s impudent voice is all over the place.

              “Oh, yes, Dr. Grimly! I know the ocean you’re swimming in, Sir”

             “Yes, and so you should! Would you be kind enough to fetch me a triple espresso mocha from the lab dr. Bumfelt?”

           “That’s Buckfedlt, Dr. Grimlly, and yes, I’ll hit the lab for you.” Smirking as he obliges, mentally adding to the “other wards’ charts of what others professionally speak about Dr. Grimly. Lowering his proud head, hands behind his back and away from Grimly, fingers clutch together and tighten. Bending down, stretching backward in motion meeting a firm, confident sigh, he again stands tall before Tara.

 

            “Okay, Tara, I’ll be gone for a bit. It’s was nice to make your aquaintance.” Gerry, feeling vultures and predators at his back as he said this. Gerry’s hand resting on the Tara’s bed, taking note of the shape-shifter he wants to know.

             “Dr. Buckenfald, you will never see my patient again!”

               “Of course, Dr. Grimes!”

               “My name is Grimly, sir”

                “Yes, and mine’s Buckfeldt, Dr.”

 

                Gerry’s right hand still on the bed is met with Tara’s sound left grasp.

            Hoarse voice, seriously wanting water, Kara cocks her head and talks to Gerry. “Don’t you, forget about us….”

            Grimly, checking his pager, disregards her words.

            Gerry looks at Tara and the voices that rise from her being.

              “I won’t forget you all. Count on it. I ---”

              “I think I can deal with this, Dr. Buchenfeld. I am the Chief here, an I not?”

              “Of course you are, Dr. Grimly.” Gerry spoke with the enthusiasm of an infomercial. “You are D’Man!” Gerry’s mind forgetting little, but if it did, having confidence in the video’s these rooms have to share the inquiring mind if all else fails.

             Grimly thinking he controls all, tells Dr. Gerry to leave.

            “Dr, my name is Bcukfeldt,”

              “Don’t you think I know this? You think me a simple minded fool?”

             “Of course not, Dr. But if you were to have an error occur on your fine paperwork, with spelling perhaps, it could mean much.”

               Yelling freely, losing control: “ARE YOU TELLING ME WHAT I DO NOT ALREADY KNOW? WHOM DO YOU THINK YOU ARE???”

 

              “Uh, Doc, do you know where you are?” Kara asks plainly hearing Guns n Roses Welcome to the Jungle in her mind.

              “I gonna watch you scream!” Ebony fills the silence.

              “Hmmm, yes, that is all well and good, but how does this help you, Johnny?” Grimly verbally shits.

              “D-d-doc, we’ve got fun and games. Learn to live like an animal in the jungle were we play…” Phil’s voice so weak yet hitting home with Gerry’s mind.

             A proud professional LPN, albeit overweight, chops Phil asking: “Dr Grimly, no disrespect intended, who is Johnny? I’ve, well, been keeping track, sir, there is no Johnny.”

          “I did dismiss you, didn’t I, uh, nurse, “

          “Fatima, Dr, yes you did. Leaving.” Anya gives Gerry a nod as she leaves.

           “Yes, Dr, Grimly! I will get you the triple expresso mocha from the lab you asked for!” Gerry nods to his senior, thinking of Tara and how they might help her to become whole again, or perhaps for the first time in her life.



       the hiss of air from the convectors fills the moments of silence with white noise greatly meaning. An FTD florist, thinking of his lovely wife, strolls the halls with a gift for a nurse at least someone wishes to bed, and splendid fragrance of the flowers sharing before they perish. Figureless humans behind shower curtained glass, walking as they mutter with faces straight ahead, distantancing themselves from decisions to yet create as their hearts grow heavier than ever known before.

 

          “Who’s here?” Tara eyes locking on nothing. Her hive-mind community forgotten her, such a tiny child in a land of millions. Forsaken.

         “I am here, Tara! You’ve taken swims in pavements hard. Have you seen my coffee, dearie?” His sound was as tough as sandpaper.

          “S’ry, shitheels! Hmm, do you remember where you last placed it?” Ebony and Kara spoke in Tara’s defense, strongly siding with her as she stood alone once again.

           A tall crow lands at Tara’s window. Taking in the trapped flies caught in the spiders web, it feasts without worry. Spider in dwelling, patiently knowing, ants and other things will come.

                           The lord will provide…

 

         “Tara, I am here to help you,” Grimly says to her. His voice carries all the power of a paper bag against a hurricane.

 

          Stopping at the threshold of Tara‘s shred of life, Gerry looks back at Tara and asks, singing a Second Chapter of Acts song, dropping to both knees:

          “So why should I worry, why should fret?” he asks totally out of tune.

          Stopped dead, the LPN is blank, the clock in the room still does what it does, and Grimly is still an asshole.

          “b--because I have a Massion Builder that ain’t through with me yet?”

             “No! This hospital is not building anything in the near future.” Grimly coughs and takes Scripto to paper and emotionlessly writes.

                  …there are those who will learn how to fly… Gerry.

 

              Looking up, seeing all the stable of minds can comprehend, Tara takes in vivid seas of black dots and on white horizon. Tara, watching the orderlies attempt to shuffle Gerry away, she fights against with frail frame.

           “Hey, Grimly, Chapter of Acts, live, EAT THIS!

          What’cha say, Second Chapter of Acts blasts from her mind as her body moves in the rhythms unordinary.

             Not isolated from Tara, Gerry gyrates with her as one though separated.

          ‘Oh, we are not done here, brothers! No WAY!’ Gerry thinks as he walks to the cafeteria for breakfast. With tray in hand, smelling what could be cardboard eggs and really bad sausage, Gerry hears her voice.

           “Wow, I watched ya, there buddy. Somethings hit y’net, ain’t it?”

         Gerry holds his tray without sitting. Looking at his woman, he asks, “want to take a walk?”

           Elevator ride north, cold stainless steel box ascending, ending at Tara’s floor. Door opens as Gerry motions then to hold back.

            “You do her no good, Dr. Fuck your name it is not important. She is Tara and I am Dr. Grimly!”

 

            “You are so very wrong, Asshole! “

 

              “Then who is she may I ask?”



            “She, we are many! You’ve such a tiny mind….”

 

                  “my education has taught me-”

            “Nothing! It has taught me with those like us.”

 

              “Gerry, “ the voice of Tara tells him, “go, get yourself a coffee.”

                 And Gerry will do this, but not after setting his knives into Grmily’s back.

                 Hearing her voice, singing as he walks down the dimly lit tile floored hallway, " I have a mansion builder that ain't finished with me yet..."

                    "he's broken through, hasn't he Tara?"

                            "We believe so, "




                                              Gerry walks on.,...

 
                                              


 




 

Mark William Darus 09292012