Scars and Permanence (early part)

Josh came running into the house, red curls bouncing- crying. 

He was very frightened- eyes wide in terror, while trying to tell me, through the gasps for breath, about a great ball of fire that had come out of the thin air- hitting him.

It isn't clear how, "dad" got involved- whether he was called and came rushing home or, if he had coincidentally arrived back to the cell-block after the incident- from his job at "Alloy-Tech" in Grandville Michigan. Either way, "dad" labeled me as the culprit for his "number one son" becoming hit and burned by this mysterious ball of fire.

The funny part was that he had several kids- thirteen maybe, and multiple sons- of which, I was the oldest in this "home" of ours- strip-son more appropriately, but son just the same. Years later, but not many, I would learn, finally, that he was not my father at all. I should have guessed.

Anyway, dad conducted the investigation- finding a container in the yard, with matches inside and around the container- a  container that he had brought home from work and had used to illegally cart gasoline home because he was too cheap to buy a can when he needed money for Green-fees at the various golf-courses he frequented.

He beat my ass for it pretty well. Pretty well, that is, if only he had been punishing himself for being so careless. That could have been the second death of a son that he would have experienced in his life at that point. The first one died of an antibiotic poisoning after an incident on Halloween, where the boy, "Ricky," had to be rushed to a hospital- possibly a Naval Hospital in Virginia, coincidentally, where I was born- Norfolk. 

Forgive me if I am wrong (literature professors). There's a paper trail I do not have time to trace, and it's unimportant for the moment.

I'll get back on track. I was twelve years old- a gangly, "scrawny," nutrient starved boy- stripped, like the bark of a dead Elm tree, of all confidence and self-esteem. I can't work hard enough for anyone, for any reason, to this day- and it sucks- and, makes me incurably thirsty.

So, he gave me another one of his man-sized whooping's as if it were me that had hurt Joshua by playing with matches, and, an almost completely empty "gas can" that he, himself, had put gasoline in, leaving it out in the yard. 

Why was Josh dropping the matches in the can? 

Funny we should all wonder. I still have no idea, and, have yet to ask him about it. That was almost forty years ago...

After sleeping on it, while here, in the Charlevoix jail, one more time due to my delinquent now ex-girl/care-giver, I recall our dad doing somethings with gasoline, matches, and his ego-suit, that he was extremely careful to have pressed and not to wrinkle. I think it was Izod-

He took an empty coffee can, and a small drizzle of fuel, rolled the can around, in order to wick the fuel up the sides of the can, which created a lot of fumes, flipped it upside-down, placing it on a board, so that the edge of the can hung off the side a slight amount- much like lighting an old lantern. Placing a match under the lip that hung over the edge of the board-  "POP!" The can shoots up into the air- due to a force called COMBUSTION, exactly like a piston in a gasoline motor/engine.

He would take matches and wrap them tightly in tin-foil (I'll say Reynold's wrap aluminum foil if they sponsor me), rub the edge of the match on a hard surface, laying it on the stove top burner grate, and applying the flame from the burner to the head, so that it would combust- flying, from the pressure created in the wrapping of the head. The force would cause it to smack into the ceiling or other.

I guess Josh was just imitating his dad's stunts or, "physics lessons". That wasn't the only thing he applied matches too- Remember, this is a story about me. Who the heck am I? Right. I will tell you in a while.

I remember him doing this- well... for our entertainment I suppose, but now that I think about it, that's not a very good thing to share with prepubescent children, especially BOYS. I was ten, and Josh was going to be 5, later that year. I wouldn't have dared try to do it because everything was a trap around our house. The liquor bottle had a mark on it. The matches were numbered. The cupboards were booby-trapped, with things that would indicate that they were opened. Nothing was left to chance. Anything he could jump on my back for. The salt was numbered- and the pepper needed the fly shit sorted out of it, which was my job. I had to taste each piece! Yeah- you think I am kidding, but just enough to take the edge off; Only about the pepper.

Consequently, that was about the only thing I dared touch to my lips, aside from what he shoved past them. I didn't dare reach for anything at the table, and, to this day, I hate eating because it's always been a bad thing. Kids didn't ask to be here- and what we need to remember, when we are punishing those around us, is that we are all someone's kids.

All was normal and routine at home. And, that was why I went to school- to get away from home. I thought that was what school was for, and, why all of us kids went- to get away to a safe place for a while each day. Boy, was I wrong. Maybe, if I would have had a clue, that we weren't all growing up like that, I would have realized that there was something wrong with going to school smelling like the piss I woke up in every morning until he had finally left with my mother's brother's wife- Uncle Gary; He was my favorite until he blamed me for that one. And, up until Rick finally left, I pretty much kept going to school until I left home altogether. Class of 88 cum 91 when I went back- clean, and got my Diploma, after dropping out in 86. I am still educating myself to this breath. And you should be too.
Escaping The Despondent Sea is available on Amazon Kindle Unlimited, and is receiving 5 star reviews on Goodreads.com 

It's A Brand New Day!

Hi everyone. I'm just sitting here, in my grow room, thinking!

 I am very excited about book2 of Escaping the Despondent Sea! 

I am so excited, I can hardly stand it! I, simply, must share some of it with you.

Without having to read the whole book,

this simplifies a great deal out of it.

This piece is hot from the pot of brain stew,

that I have simmering. I just added a pound of marijuana leaves to it,

 in place of spinach. So, let's have a snort,

and see what's what.

Feel free to let me know when I am full of shit.

I can take it.

This may not be so easily read on a smart phone, I don't know, but

if someone really wanted to hear what I have to say,

they will find a way. I mean, China's eating rice 

on the dark side of the Moon right Now!

And, they're doing it with the money that they got from us,

in order for us to have things to fill the holes and hills 

that we make in the Earth. Not to mention,

what we are feeding to the ladies in Wales,

I mean, to the Whales- and the oceans.

We have a serious problem. Correction, we have some serious problems,

here in America, especially. The most important issues that we have to deal with is, the poisoning of our children's minds. It is bad enough, that we are inundated with product placement consisting of subliminal messages, subliminal symbolism, subliminal sexism, and suggestion- all very powerful, and part of the results of the mind control experimentation that has been the subject of debate by too few. Mind control experiments did not end in the sixties, it merely took on a different name- much like slavery, which remains to go on in many forms to this day. Wake Up.

Since the development of computer technology, along with it having been made into a consumable product (commodity), we have let down our guard, where it comes to protecting our children, and managing our time as constituents, to become educated properly as to participate in the further development of our home foundations, communities, and, Our Nation.

Internet abuse is an extremely important issue. It's used as the new babysitter, costing parents very little MONEY, compared to child care expenses, and the “things” babysitters expose our children to.

Furthering the issue is, Gaming, so-called. Games are all fine and dandy. Same as alcohol or particular drugs, when used by persons whom have been well raised, encouraged to read books and to spend time doing some sort of hobby, or the chores it takes to have a functioning farm or household, and have had the proper amount of nurturing, consisting of the appropriate amount of love and affection. People can then be wise enough to choose, or resist, for the sake of their own existentialism, which happens to be ideology- fostered into a child's mind the very first moment it can begin.

Have I... articulated well enough?

Lot's of people have a fantasy of going to Las Vegas, for instance, to win some quick, life changing Money, that they think will make them Happy, Happy, and Rich. What they do not realize is, that they are already rich. 

Happy, and, Wealthy, are both States of Mind. And, the pursuit of these things most often cause only misery. Think about that, as you “game” for hours at a time, while your daughter struggles with maturity, and your son becomes further misled, as to what a Man is, or is not. 

I have dedicated the rest of my Life 

to sharing what I feel is Important, 

especially since I refuse to spend my

alone time, watching the big game.

That has gone on long enough.

It's a

Brand New Day!!!

(that is a link)

Sincerely, Zachery Scott Polk

Prospect Studio

The Bluesilingus People

Google it.

Let's go for a Ride- on Golf Carts

My job was to Caddy. I was groomed to Caddy since I was able to hold the pin. Some of my memories are of a golf course we lived on and ran. There was a guy on the corner of the property who lived in a trailer and had a couple pigs. I remember it being a bit of an issue to my stepfather. We had a pet rabbit that would bring it’s dish to your hand. I always thought that was pretty cool. One time my dad let me help put carts away. I jumped into one and grabbed the wheel, hitting the accelerator pedal and mowing down a fairly good length of plastic chain-link path marker. Yeah, I didn’t get to help for a while after that. We had an orange whip machine in the Pro Shop. I can’t recall if I liked them or not. I couldn’t stand Kit-Kat or M and M’s.

The inside of the house alluded me, maybe a stairwell railing. We were in Georgia. There were some bad storms sometimes. It could be that we were near the coast. There was always rain but we would be out there anyway, playing golf. There was once a preacher who was there, playing in a bit if a rain shower. He was struck by lightning and killed. It wasn’t long after that when we moved from there. I am not sure what happened to the golf course. Bank maybe got it. The year isn’t clear. Whether it was after we had the pizza place, I don’t know. But there were always golf courses. We lived near them and went to them often. I hated it. The bag of clubs was heavy and I was almost always cold.

Before I could go to the course, I was steeped in golf. It was always on television or around the house. He would chip balls in the house. I would be placed at the end of the house in a chair with a roll of tape between my knees. He would hit them through it.

We moved around a great deal. There were so many different places that I can’t get them straight. From what I can tell I was born in Norfolk Virginia. We went from Virginia beach to Pennsylvania, then to Oklahoma, Tennessee, Georgia repeatedly, then back to Michigan where we moved from Bay City to Kalamazoo to Hudsonville, and finally to Marne where I spent ten years mostly until moving to various Grand rapids locations as an adult.

 Jim Zemiatis was my only friend for the most part. We were always seen together and were much like brothers. As it was everyone thought we were both brothers. The area wood’s was our home. We knew every inch of it like it was our kingdom. We had shotguns and fishing gear and used it daily. We never had an accident of any type with any of it. The one time Jim was injured in a freak Roman candle explosion was the only time anything serious had happened. He went through various stages of shock and swore to never play with fireworks again. Of course he got over that in a few days. We always had bottle rockets and firecrackers. Jumping jacks were the best entertainment because they would zip right up off the ground and shoot off. We would hock all the empty beer cans in his house to get money for fireworks. The shop was a few miles away. We would ride our bicycles every couple days. We were crazed with them for a while but it soon changed to something else. That was dirt bikes and the local boys at Chips house where we started hanging out.

It was beer and cigarettes, weed and laughs. They would stand around Chip in his shop where he cut and welded steel up into weight equipment that he sold for cash. He makes a cut and they would drink, spray a bit of paint and light a smoke. He drank a beer, and laugh his laugh, then go to making another cut. He would fire up the arc welder and throw a spray of sparks high into the air as he laid a bead and cackled his laugh. The wood stove would steady kick out heat into the room.

We would bring our motorcycle to him with questions about repairs. He’d say, “Well, use your better Judgement.” If it sounded like there was pieces flying around broken inside, that meant you had to crack the case opened. He was a pretty smart guy and a great mechanic. He could do anything. But then again, we were fourteen or fifteen. He had an old Chevy pick-up truck that ended up parked for one reason or another but got an el Camino from Dale McKinnon. It wasn’t long before Chip took the tranny from the truck and had it bolted to the el Camino motor- mostly. The only thing about the el Camino was the frame was broken on one side just in front of the rear axle. Every time you hit the gas the back end of the car would flex out and try to fold in half. Chip put a tack wed on it and ran it down the road. It wasn’t long before we realized that the gas tank was no good. We ended up with a five-gallon plastic can in the rear with the fuel line running to it. Every weekend that he got his unemployment check we would load the bicycles in the back and head out to Grand Haven to camp out and hang. The routine was to score some acid from… damn some guy with a gator in his basement. We would set up camp in Duncan’s woods and cruise the piers and strips tripping balls and drinking beers. But drinking ber wasn’t enough. We had to do beer bongs with a funnel. We were all the way at the end, where it’s windy as hell but Chip wants to roll a joint and smoke so I go up behind the wall in the tower while he is standing there funneling another beer into himself. That’s when he say’s, “I think that Coast Guard saw us.” I lick and twist the joint in time to look up and see the boat getting up on its hydrofoils, coming right at us. We jump on our bikes and peddle in to the shore and all the people. I was scared shitless. Later that evening I would get frightened again when a cop tackles a guy who is sitting right near me smoking a joint. The musical fountain was beginning to display. Chip was passed out in the grass next to me. We would duck in and out of “Tip a Few Tavern” through out the day. Wet burritos and beer. Chip almost pissed on a pot plant that was growing outside. We pulled it and took it back up towards our camp, stopping at the park of the YMCA compound. Chip just started eating it. I managed to dry some near our fire later.

There was a guy with a dog who was talking to us on the stairs descending from the hills to the beach. A woman walked by as we talked and his dog bit her. She screamed and threatened him with a comment about dog bites being fifteen hundred dollars. We ended going back to his place and smoking. I don’t know what became of the dog bite. I never saw the guy again. This had to be around 86. I had no idea that Chip was struggling with cocaine addiction. He was using needles. The guy upstairs was selling. That was Al. This was part of Chips going to the lake when he gets paid, to keep away from Al. Chip made up for it in alcohol, which had a heyday with Chip’s already warped mind. He had a thing for young girls. There were always girls coming around to have him buy booze for them. The girls from 9mile Auto were over one night, drinking. I started blowing in one of their ears and the next thing I know I am in the basement sitting on a bench press kissing. Somehow I was taped to the bench with duct tape. She was riding me however she pleased herself to. I was helpless. Chip laughed when he came down to find me as she had left me. They were trying to get him to give them a ride home but he wouldn’t do it.

Not long after that Chip had two girls over, Tina Wheeler, and a Seadorf girl. It was knowing these girls that got me out of a jamb when Chip went to jail for drunk driving. Tina’s mom and dad liked me enough to have me stay at their place. I soon got a job a Florentine’s, where their son John worked. I was seventeen. My mom was happy with that, seems she knew these people somehow. I started hanging out at the Pool hall with Tina and soon was regularly there. I had worked at Pizza Hut for a week but quit. I worked at Bill Knapp’s for several months but quit. Then I got in at Florentines where I washed dishes at night and bussed tables during the day. I was making a ton of money. The waitresses tipped me out big. Eventually there was a blowout fight about me between them. That was not a comfortable setting. The icing on the cake was when Mary doyle, the salad girl, got into a fist fight with our Deluxe sized breast waitress in a jealous rage. It was then that they asked me to quit. I did but continued to see Mary. It was mostly in an attempt to get laid. Chief concern it was, being that I was just turning eighteen. I was so concerned with getting my own desires that I failed to see the signs that this was not a good idea. I just thought that they called her crazy as a general term. I didn’t realize it was clinical. Still, I was game. She had a child so I knew she gave up the goods. She offered the booze and that was it. I didn’t think nothing of her driving by every old boyfriend she knew existed, driving by their houses lamenting some sick thought. The car is still novel to her. Her apartment was a clutter of attempts at decorating with accumulated junk. The laundry spilled from a separate room meant for handling large capacities. Having space in the living room to sit was in order. What did I care, that her laundry was backed up? “Where‘s the drinks?” All I cared about was getting into her clothing, I’d pay for it later. After swearing upon everything that I was not trying to trick her to get her kid taken away from her, she finally gave in, and telling me of all the things her daddy did to her. It came out in buckets that this woman was close to gone. She became more and more paranoid. I was with her for a week before the fits of rage came out. I couldn’t go anywhere without being drilled for who what where’s. She began to demand that I pull my pants down to smell of my genital area. She was insistent on my behavior constantly. She had told me of how she tried to masturbate her child when he was an infant and of how she has her nephew, Kenny suckle her breasts from time to time. She insisted that everyone thought she was crazy because of a letter she had written where she claimed to have had sex with the devil. She said it was just a story she was writing and that it meant nothing.

Her father was very ill with cancer. He insisted on dying at home, which he did. I was there that day. They had been taking turns swabbing his lips with wet lip mops. He turned to Mary and told her that I was a good one, to hold onto me. Then his face was awash with a smile and he was gone.

Not long into living with Mary, my mother introduced me to a plumber she knew,  from the American Legion. She said he needed an apprentice so next thing I knew I was working for this old guy, Bob Bolthouse. He was a plumber with two sons- one was unaware that he was about to get a new apprentice. Bill was quickly saddled with finding me things to do when Bob didn’t need to have me drive him around. He always said the same thing, “this guy owes me some money.” He started off at the Wolf’s Den, then to the Legion, on and on until he was done or had a woman to take back to the hotel room he kept on Division and Fiftieth. I’ll never forget the girl he brought back there. I think her name was Jan, she was hit by a train on Homecoming night. Her boyfriend died along with her child…? She needs an operation to be able to talk that costs something like five grand. It was very sad to sit with her while she communicated. She was prostituting herself and drinking her life away.

Bill and I became good friends pretty quickly. He was like a brother to me. I enjoyed hanging out at his place. Beers were a plenty and tunes were blasting. Little did I know that Bill had a cocaine and alcohol addiction and that he had just gotten out of rehab. I would have never guessed that, ever. In fact, I didn’t see a problem at all. Outside of the things bill would tell me, I only saw the bachelor lifestyle. He said something that I never forgot; “I graduated high school and went to a party. Then I went to another and another until I got here where I am today, with the things I have to show for myself. My buddy Mike got out went to work, bought a house. Now his house is paid for, he has a boat and toys, jet skis, motorcycles, and he’s married. All I got is what’s in the fridge. Is that the girl of your dreams? You’ve got to go out there and find the girl of your dreams. Live and work toward something big!”

It was soon after that that Mary became pregnant. I was so stupid to think I couldn’t have kids because of an injury to my scrotum. Just because we had been having unprotected sex for months and nothing would happen I thought, Hmm. Boy was I wrong. I should have taken it as a sign that I was to not become tied to this woman. But I am dense. It would take a pretty big sign. The night she went into labor, I was working with Bill. Mary had spoke to me on the phone saying that she didn’t want me to come up to the hospital because she wanted to claim not knowing who the father is- influenced by her sister, Julie. Julie seemed to have an angle for working the state. She had several kids all from different fathers, though she was married to a man the entire time who thought the kids were all his. Ken got the sit end of the stick eventually from that woman. Little did I know, the hospital thing would later haunt me when she claimed how I refused to show up to sign the Birth Certificate. A bit more damage to my relationship with Sarah.

Mary started in with her delusions and paranoia about six months in to sarah’s life and tormented the home for coming months until I had no choice but to leave. She had accused me of having sex with the homosexual couple down the street, pulling a large knife from behind her- just like in the movies. After she lunged at me with the knife, I wrestled her to the ground, causing her to lose grip of the knife. I kicked it down the steps and got up from her to clamber back a good distance. Seeing the opening to the staircase, I dodged for it and never went back that night. Instead, I went to meet a woman I had met at lunch, Mindy.

I had already decided that I was leaving Mary as soon as possible. The main issue was transportation, and was solved this particular day because I had Paul’s truck. Earlier that day I had set it up to go out with Mindy. I hadn’t yet had a new place to live in mind or that I would need to find it tonight. Somehow being attacked with the knife changed all of that. When I left to go to Mindy’s house I had no idea what I would encounter, so I brought beer, wine, liquor, weed- and condoms.

That would not be enough, because when I got there I found out about mushrooms.  We jumped right in the truck to get some. When I got back to their house, Mindy was laying in bed after having taken a Percocet, while listening to Soundgarden- “I know what to do”. In my head was, “Day Tripper” by the Beatles. I figured she was a pill head because of the Percocet. Either way, she put her moves on me and we did it. She acted like she knew what she was doing. I would never believe she was just recently a virgin. By the time I realized we were finished I noticed my boots were still on. I never did figure out if I meant to leave them on or if it was the hypnosis.

Mariah’s little girl, Alexis, claimed that she saw a little boy sleeping on Mindy’s tummy. She said the boy lives in the house. It was understood that Alexis saw a ghost. Mindy was soon to discover that she was pregnant. I had asked her if it was all good even though I did have condoms. She was calculating by rhythm and miscounted. I was a bit relieved since she was now more or less acquired. I went right to work setting money aside to get our own place even though her aunt offered to get her an abortion and relocate her. Her father assumed the condom broke, sarcastically implying that no one really breaks a condom. What ever story they were told, didn’t change the reaction from Judith, Mindy’s mom. She went on a tirade about this type of thing happening to other families, and that this family should never be having this sort of thing let alone with a Hick for the father that she has nothing in common with.

They had no idea that I was a skilled trade or anything of any value. Before too long Mindy’s dad would have his hands in my financial affairs by way of doing my taxes. He was helping us get into a real home as well. It was not understood what the dynamic was between him and I where this home was involved. I later found out that we had been renting the house from him, that he had bought it, not us. Then he turns around and does the same thing to us at the second house in East Grand Rapids. I really was shocked when I found out that the house was his, especially since I was going through the divorce with Mindy, and had thought if nothing else I have the house. Not so. I had lost my business, my wife and kids, and my house. That was before Thanksgiving. By Christmas I had quit my job at Permalife. It was the only place in Grand Rapids that would hire me. Coincidentally, it was Randy Bouma, Doug’s cousin. My theory is that I was blackballed. I couldn’t take coming home to an empty house. When Christmas bonuses came, it was like twenty five dollars or something like that. It was the last blow I could take. I went all out on a drinking binge and road the alleys with the crack scrounges. I had given up but I am not there yet.

"A Father's Cries Always Go Unheard?" section6 post happiness before breaking up

I wrote this letter in a desperate plea to preserve my home and family back when I made "Life Is Passing By" on youtube https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3so46rnOQu4
Siena is 13. Her mother will not "parent"- and her big idea is to just let her grow as she picks and chooses- and to place me in my own place so the Jen can have me as she picks and chooses. Gardens don't plant themselves. Nor does laundry or cooking and cleaning. I was a happy person giving to this family. I was not happy sacrificing my work and identity but I made those sacrifices in order to benefit this child.  I only regret not maintaining my dreams as well.

Dear Siena,
With Life comes responsibility. You will never be happy in life if you don’t know how to take care of your things. 
Victoria’s house is not the norm but you seem to have accepted the living standards of people whom we are not.  You deserve to have a nice environment. You deserve better than what you are doing to yourself. That is why I said our house is no different than trailer park trash and I refuse to live that way. I said you were all trailer trash because that is where we are headed with our spending issues and I will not stand for it any longer. If you want me in your life- or anyone else that may benefit you in the least, then you need to conform to a standard of acceptable living. The lifestyle we have been living is making me want to drink and I do not want to drink at all. I WANT TO BE A HUSBAND and A FATHER MORE THAN ANYTHING IN LIFE. I am not your stepfather if mom and I are not married. She led me on that we had a family but refuses us to marry.

 All I ever wanted was to belong to someone. All I ever wanted was to be important to my people. I dream of the times we can spend together. I dream of us going fishing, and you, catching a nicer fish than I do. I dream of you coming out to the barn, and hanging out with me, while I work on some impossible task. I fantasize religiously about the time we could spend together doing whatever we wanted to do. I dream of us picking berries together and making jelly and other things in the kitchen together. Things like Elephant ears and muffins and cookies.

I am sorry for hurting your feelings when I said you were trailer park trash but you have to believe how fed up and disgusted I am at where our family is going. I am scared to death for where I see us all going individually but you remain wholly clueless to my feelings and that hurts so badly. You have to understand what I am trying to do for you with my views on parenting. I think I did pretty darn good and you cannot deny me that. I showed you all the world I could and you grabbed it out of the air for your own- just as I hoped you would. I mean, you got to see a grasshopper poop! Do you know how lucky you are to have witnessed that?

Yesterday I deleted video footage of slaughtering Doodle. I recorded it to show you
But mom said maybe that wasn’t a good idea- so I didn’t ever show you the video. You won’t have the things you need to make yourself happy or attain anything in life. You have so many ideas about what you want to do but you bury yourself in the digital chaos and suffer from sleep deprivation and malnutrition. This is very serious. Look it up and you will be blown away about it. You need to know how to care for yourself. You deserve better than to sit among trash and disaster. You must learn to love yourself. Just because your mother and biological father are divorced has nothing to do with whether you are good enough. You were important and good enough for me to spend my every day of the past seven years exposing you to music, art, writing, nature, and everything else I shared with you. I made sure I taught you whatever I could. It breaks my heart completely that you choose to hide in your room on the computer. You are on your way to a very bad place in life. You must have a certain amount of structure and rules and expectations in order to be a well-balanced individual in the world. It’s a dangerous place and difficult to manage without the proper training and tools. THAT IS WHAT I HAVE BEEN TRYING TO GIVE YOU SIENA. Just like you would expect me to try to put out the fire if our home was burning down.

You must recognize that we have had a lot of suffering. You must acknowledge that I have a direct connection with the spirit world. There is something else after life here as humans. You must believe me when I tell you that those that have died can hear and communicate. I know this as a fact. The promise of everlasting life through the professions of Jesus Christ is real and true. Honesty should allow you to see the reality in this:

We lost our flock because we couldn’t close the gate to the pen. We lost Pheonix because mom wouldn’t listen when Paul warned not to take the bird out with the dachshunds there. I still shed tears for the loss of Pheonix and all of the time I had with him training him and conditioning him. We had to get rid of Boston because we could not be responsible for his safety and well-being. We lost our truck when your mom tried to appease your demands for silence when she shifted to reverse and blew the engine. I gave away Ursa after I couldn’t handle the destruction and personal losses since no one would pay attention to her for the sake of their computer use. We lost Cherokee because we couldn’t be responsible enough to keep her safe and on the line- knowing she runs off to hunt animals.
I was overloaded a long time ago but I kept welcoming all the responsibility I could. I suffered a great deal of personal loss due to lack of family unification, support, attention, and involvement. Our home is destroyed because nobody wants to be responsible for the pets.

We can’t buy a house because we cannot control our spending. The only thing we save money for is the casino, dining out, and vacation. I do not go fishing. I do not go on my daily walk through the forest. I do not go out at night or any other time. I don’t play out or sing karaoke. I do not promote the library or band’s music anymore because mom doesn’t want me to. I do not write. I do not eat. I worry about your welfare, your schooling and your future. I worry about mom’s job, her health, her mom, her family and the money we have not paid back to our relatives. I do not write like I am supposed to and we are not doing anything with publishing my books. That’s the real gamble to bet on but your mom wont place a bet on a sure thing. She likes to lose. But she’ll send you to author quest, which happens to be because of my influence. She will bet on you and I suppose I should be grateful for that but I am scared of where we are headed- where we actually are.

I am very proud of you, that you donated your hair to locks of love. I am very proud that you got to play with the band after all of your hard work learning how to play the flute. I am extremely proud that you won the gold prize for the Eddie essay contest. It was me that called your grandma to tell her and have her at the awards ceremony. I was elated when you were in the play. I am very proud of you shooting the bow and arrow, and doing “country stuff”. You have been the main concern in my every day. I worry that you do not wash your face a couple times a day. I worry that you don’t brush your teeth a couple times a day. I worry that you can’t take care of your possessions enough to suit yourself. I worry that your future is tainted with addictive behavior. It’s killing me to watch our home fall apart. Mom cannot control her spending or saving. We are doomed without the proper assertiveness in our business of maintaining a family. You can’t just throw everything away when you clean up. You must deal with things as needed. I am embarrassed to have anyone over to our house because of the way everything is.

Dog feces and urine everywhere- that is unacceptable. The toilet is always filthy. The tub is always a wreck. Laundry is always in a heap behind the door and the towel is wet, wadded up and well on the way to molding which happens to be a respiratory problem that can kill you!
 Mom threw a tantrum and shattered the shower door- it’s still broke and wrapped with plastic sheeting.

Mom has tuned out and refuses to tend to anything. She never answers the phone or deals with any of the things that need to be dealt with. I am losing my mind and shriveling away to nothing. If you really want to understand what has happened to us then you need to see a film-  you need to watch a youtube video titled “The Spine”. It’s a short animate film that is life changing. IT WAS ON ANIMATE Channel 573 ShortsHD. That will explain a lot to you. Promise me you will watch that film.   70% of our household battle/problem is money management. 30% of our problems involve PARENTING. I cannot handle these things alone. Mom and I are not married so I am nothing to you legally. I volunteered to be your father and it made me so happy to have you as my own child. But now, because of all of our own selfish devices, we all pay the price. And mom is too proud to see any wrong in anything she does. I withstood all that I could and then some. I had given my whole life to you all- as imperfect as I know I AM THOUGH I ALWAYS TRIED TO BE SOMETHING BETTER. I want our family to be whole again. I want to be wishing all of our family members could feel the love that we shared, for them selves. It’s easier to do than you may think.
I miss you and I love you more than you will ever know. And I will always love you and your mother to death.
And Now I have Nothing At All Because I gave All Of Myself To You.

"Being Someone's Father" pre ludington trailer fiasco

A young boy I recently met sent me messenger chat, sharing something that I had not the time to look at. After talking to his mom, I learned that he had only shared this with me, I was then obligated to go and read what he had written.

For fear of violating his confidence, I was not going to share it. I will tell you that this boy has been damaged by "adults," and he is hurting badly. There is a huge story to be added to my book, "Escaping The Despondent Sea," that is directly relative.

His Name is, Colin, and he has no Father in his life... that has ever done him right, or that is there now.

My pain for these children is too great to bear, on top of the weight of my own.

I hope you find value in it.

I will share my response to this boy, who obviously thinks very highly of me, and I am Truly Honored

he asked, "hey, I was wondering about writing sum music"

shared two pages of text, which are at the bottom.
I replied-

"I just read your piece Colin- Very good! By All Means- WRITE. It's the first thing you need to do in order to heal yourself from the pains you should not have had to deal with, at this point I your life. There is NOT ONE educated person who will tell you otherwise. Writing is the most important thing a person can do to understand themselves and those around them. It is The Best Way to organize and build on thoughts that will change your life for the better. Not to mention for the community that you are a part of. Every Great Man/Person In History, Wrote- and Writes. Now all you need to do is work on your skills- comma placement so that it can be read and understood properly by the reader. Go Back, and rewrite it. Rewrite it fifteen times, if that's what it takes. Do not stop writing it until it's perfect- perfect to YOU. And, You Pursue Everything You Find An Interest in. Save those things like inventions that are someday going to be for sale in your store. You Are Your Own Brand, Colin. GREAT JOB- especially the references to main stream, so-called, "Artists"

 

He then replied with, "I was wondering if I could sign with you also when I finish my music?"

me, "You Bet, Colin!"

After more conversation, Colin gave me permission to include it in my efforts. Here it is- unpolished and raw-
Verse 1: "Bruh cant sleep, counting black sheep, trying to close my eyes too,
instead- i'm vocalizing my word in to this sentence.
yes, it's a rap bout time you know that,
what u don't understand- i'm no country boy-
city boy all my life so, please don't beg me to watch CMT,
if wanna know me,
lets watch mtv
now lets get to the main picture,
i hate mumble rappers desighner,
design sum better lyrics. i'm sorry you had gotten shot,
but you sound like an auto tuned robot,
and chief keef- you think your rhymes are l...egit, you mumbling git,
so go ahead try a little harder u might get the music award next to year of never better,
but boy ur life is about to be my new toy,
im hitten this song like a fallout across the nation, they will know my name,
i will rise to fame before lets not forget little wayne!
u sound like and 89 year old on a breathing tube smoking crack cocain,
im not in this to dis but somebody had to end that shit so
let me end this rap this new MC is on the attack_logical "

 " should i pursue rap career?"

Oh geez, "They Are Entitled!" (drafts) from "Escaping The Despondent Sea" by zachery polk

The place looked like a third world country. 

Doors were ripped off of their hinges, and the stops were ripped loose and hanging, which should have clearly indicated a lurking violence... but I allowed myself to drift into their reality with my foolish heart, seeking out affection like Gold, and Gems.

At some point she set the hook in my ego, with statements about past failures at relationships, and how men, with no purpose and very little use, only wanted her for...

her money. 

A sensible, self respecting man, with the least amount of dignity, could have seen through that bit of manipulation while in a coma but not me… Mom said, I never did listen.

Your life is a business. 

Choose your business partner wisely- from some failures there is no recovery. 

My business decision resulted in a serious scolding from Danny, becoming involved with a customer, but he dealt with it, while there was not much that he could do to offer change to the situation.

Few days would pass before she would come out to Conklin, for a pint of, Guinness, at the Irish Pub, near the house I worked on- and where I stayed. 

For some reason, I insisted on following her home in my own vehicle, hitting a deer on the way, which ruined the front end of my truck. 

The plan was that I needed my truck for a buffer but not to provide a cushion for deer. It was so I could leave her house on my own, hoping I wouldn’t have to gnaw off one of my arms to do it. 

Part of me was also imprisoned by my ego, after all, it was bad enough that I was “living at moms” and really had no money at all- just an uninsured truck and the urgency for anything that instantly gratified me.

 So, seems how I really only had enough gas to get there, I was stuck for a few days, until I needed to make it to a doctors appointment in Grand Haven.

A day or two later, Danny and I would go to Grand Haven for that doctor’s appointment, that I had made at the Community Mental Health, (CMH) department. 

We paid RB a visit at the music store, where he worked. We purchased a guitar strap and some strings for my guitar.

 We decided to look at the truck while we were there because the transmission was chattering and jerking a bit on our way out. 

What I found was that the transmission cooler had received a bit of damage from the impact with the deer, tearing a hole in the cooling fins. 

The auto parts store across the street had some J.B. Weld, so I purchased it to try for the first time in my life. 

 Luckily, I had done enough repairs in the past to take care to clean the surface with some electrical cleaner that they had at the music store. 

The repair had worked like magic, and I was now sold on J.B. Weld- Paul Harvey was right. YEAH J.B. Weld!!

Sooner than later, even after Danny’s protest about our plans of going south, to find a new home in a musician community somewhere, I moved in with her. 

This, I am quite positive, was a decision made out of my anguish over the inability to relate with my own family. 

There was nowhere else to live, and I couldn’t provide to myself alone. 

Codependent.

Staying with Danny was always cool but I wasn’t really living there. There wasn’t any running water, and this woman clearly needed a man. 

The daughter’s father had just died of Liver Cancer from drinking and drugs. Everything prodded my heart.

Yeah, she was one of the ugliest women I’d ever seen but I was willing to try anything; anything to get away from the torment of subjecting myself to scenarios that left me without affection that I so desperately needed. 

The added appeal was that it was close to the music scene and doctors that I needed to get to, and it was right in the locale of the trout stream we were always trying to get taken to as kids- my friend Jimmy and I, the Rogue River.

It seems the kid learned to abuse my availability or maybe it was a combination of her and her mother preying on my ego, and my need to be useful, and my drive to prove my worth to them. 

Casey had just turned fourteen in December. The ride was necessary because they were not fortunate enough to live within the Rockford school district to be included on the bus route. 

Her mother, Julie, had taken her out of the Comstock Park School after the child’s tantrums caused her to become suspended repeatedly. This was coupled with pity over the father recently dying in the home while in hospice with them.

Casey had a friend at Rockford, and a chance for a fresh start. 

At Comstock, she had been the subject for much discipline and scrutiny that had to be the product of a lack of discipline in the home, making the child’s lot a miserably distorted perception of reality. 

Part of her grief was due to the repercussions of her unsupervised choices in clothing. 

Casey insisted on wearing totally inappropriate things to school, and had no sense or guidance at dressing or caring for her self. 

This was an extreme problem for the school, having a persistent and blatant disregard for the dress code.

She wore these "fashion" boots religiously, that her grandmother purchased for her after a long pattern of begging, whining and badgering. 

They were in the fashion worn by Paul Stanley or Gene Simmons of KISS, the original Punk band. 

These were worn day in and day out, as if they were the only pair of footwear the child had. 

They were black knee-high with platform soles, and had a series of Velcro strap fastenings all the way up. 

They were cheap, made in China, to begin with, and were rank and cheesed out from lack of proper hygiene and the use of socks. 

I felt so bad for so many reasons, having no choice but to clean them up, putting polish on them to hide the scuffed off finish coating, picking the matted lint and hair from the Velcro because they wouldn’t stick, and replacing the insoles.

 It took a weekend for that. And, me, having no Authority- it was one of the only things I could do to feel like I was helping.

Aside from the boots, she wore radical clothing like stuff that was very risqué for a thirteen year old girl- a skirt that was nothing more than a waistband with a six inch ruffle attached to it, possibly designed for an eight or nine year old child if it wasn’t actually for a toddler.

 It did not cover her "full figured" rump, leaving a whole lot of butt-cheek out in the wind. 

It was the same thing with the shirts she wore, so small they looked like sports bras stretched over unwashed and rotting pumpkins.

 She was dressing to show these over-developments off which made her a target, a 36D, topping it all off with her mothers leather coat. 

It was now obvious that she was an early teen by the copious amounts of baby fat popping out everywhere that stays on youths who never leave the house for anything outdoors.

 I could see her being targeted. Just imagine being me, and being seen letting her out of my truck in the front of the High school in Rockford, an affluent community. 

It was a bad way to start the day for anyone.

As for getting the girl to school, the major difference between me doing it, and her mother taking her was that she always showed up to class perfumed with the smell of pot. 

I am almost certain that the school knew about it. 

Julie smoked it like the end of the world was upon her, leaving the kid to reek of it. 

Her slovenly and lackadaisical lifestyle was a constant mismanagement of time, along with every other resource that is crucial to running a household. 

Ten minutes from the time she had to be twenty minutes away, no matter what it was for or how important, she would stop to roll a joint for the road. 

We were always late for every appointment. 

For me, pot wasn’t about getting high. It was medicinal and disciplined for relief of anxiety and to focus, as well as taking the edge off of my arthritis pain. That was it. I smoked in the early evening during the week, and in the morning, taking a puff or two on the toilet.

So, between the mom, and acorns not falling far from the tree, I was a squirrel among nuts. 

My feelings that I was providing a great service by filling a familial void made me overlook the reality, which only fueled the façade. 

How desperate I was to replace my family, to feel normal again, to be the man I once was?

I wanted to be the father, the husband, the leader, the earner and provider again. 

In my mind, the keys to the equation were there, and the product was possible. I could see my own children back in my life.

The distractions and distortions of reality caused by the excessive amounts of alcohol and estrogen, combined with my enormous deficiency of…. something, I don’t know what, maybe just plain BRAINS or maybe my inner drive to do everything in life the hardest way possible, was chiefly planting seeds for my grief. 

It was all too much for my senses, I guess. I suppose it was like Gremlins or an Iceberg- there was cuteness and a sense of wonder that attracted you, all the while a hidden force of destruction that, once discovered, is too late to combat with a favorable outcome. 

Had I not been so distracted, I would have paid closer attention to their claims of being “White Witches”, which I shrugged of as nonsense.

Oblivious, I walked right into the trap and started dancing to their songs. 

The magic went right to work, and the next thing I knew, I was cleaning up the disasters as soon as I got back from taking Casey to school that first day.

 My understanding of the adults operating in a household is that they set the living standards and see to it that everyone under the roof helps to maintain them- things like policing the cat box, as it demands in order to be tolerated in a living space.

 The kitchen has to be free of dirty dishes, and the counters need to be kept clean. The stovetop has to be cleaned after cooking meals while the foodstuffs can be wiped off easily.

 Oh, what a fiasco!     

There was always a lack of dishes at mealtime. It seemed that the leftovers held some priority or sentimental value, being set in the refrigerator using the dishware for a length of time that could earn them rights of the unsalvageable, then to be tossed into the trash- programming or an accustomed practice in this particular household's evolutionary pattern- either way, disturbing.

My secret inspections of so-called personal space led to the discovery of lots of missing dishes and flatware, mountains of soiled clothing, and items to prove a lurking deviance and lack of parental authority that could prove disastrous for myself. 

Some things I left alone, to be subtly coaxed from their locations by my seemingly innocent guidance through questioning the possible locations: …”get a chair and look really good in your closet, like up on the shelf, maybe it’s in there”. 

A future move would reveal more, maybe too much but I still didn’t get it.

Yeah, it was a nightmare but next to the unobtainable affections within my own family, and my outright fright of what I’d seen in the streets, it was a welcome challenge with rewards that were, to me, of immeasurable value and wealth of religious proportions-

 my Holy Grail. 

At least I was now closer to Danny, Bruce, and the guys. And even though having their own dysfunctions, they all loved me and believed in me, supporting who I was. That was important to me, to feel like people valued me as an individual. My life maintained a balance by having their company to surround myself with when I needed a break from the absolute chaos- to recharge. 

Little did I realize, at Julies house, the chaotic was actually something that they liked. 

And although I wanted to be sober, this family would push me right back into the bottle with the stress- and  the extent of my medical condition was yet to be realized. 

And, despite my flaws and weaknesses and, so-called, "mis-perceptions," 

I will continue on with what I think is Right, after having witnessed and suffered senseless losses for far too long because of those I have known, worked for, supported, or been a contributor to, who have believed that, They are Entitled.

Thank You.  zachery polk

Updated 4/25/2017