roballen2

"The Boy Who Dreamed He Could Fly"

By: Rob Allen

Now everyone at one time or another dreams they can fly. Well there was this kid, that grew into a young man...and he always dreamed he could fly.

Not in an airplane.

When he was a little boy one of the first dreams about flying he could remember was...he had a ball-point pen. The clicking kind. Every time he pushed on the end and clicked it...it lifted him up in the air. It took him right to the spot he wanted to be. Kinda floated him there.

Well there was this corner store. This was in the days when every corner had a corner store. This corner store was run by this fat-ass-dirty son of a bitch named, Mr. Tony. He always had a stained up tank-top tee shirt. He was also very ugly to this kid. I don't mean he treated him bad I mean he looked like hells shit. He lived in the back of the store. The store was also pretty dirty, but... it was close and the kid was still very young. The world was still this block he lived on. Also the store always smelled like they were boiling crap in piss for dinner. Anyway...off on a tangent....Once when the kid went in the store he opened up a cooler and the fucked up heavy ass door to the cooler fell off and hit him in the eye. Gave him a hell of a puffed up, purple black eye. Swelled shut. The kid had to clean the sleep bugers out of his eyes with Q-tips for days.

Well in this dream of his (when he was very, very, young) He went to Mr. Tony's store with his magic flying pen. He walked right in. Mr. Tony yelled from the back, "Be right there".

The kid didn't care he was filling his pockets with all the candy and stuff he wanted. When he finished that he started breaking things in the store. This brought 'ol Mr. Tony out of the back in a hurry. The kid runs out of the store with smelly Mr. Tony right behind him. Once outside the kid, Clicks" his magic flying/floating pen and floats right up to the roof of the store, by the sign.

Mr. Tony is surprised to say the least. He waves his fist at the kid and starts bitching. Now the kid being a child with parents that cussed like drunken sailors also cussed as soon as he was out of his parents sight. He told Mr. Tony, "Fuck you smelly bastard, fix them goddamn cooler doors"! Then he floated high up in the treetops and down the block.

There were a lot more childish dreams about flying but....remember this is a "SHORT" story.

Another flying dream he had five or six times....He had long arms and long fingers. There was a thin layer of flesh between his long fingers, and from his hands down to his waist. This was not a pretty sight in his dream.( Nor would it be in reality)...but...this gave him the ability to fly...like a bat. He needed a take off point for this, so he climbed on neighbors garages, Jumped off and flew around. He was very happy in these weird dreams. Much more bad-crazyness reguarding flying dreams happened...it was happening more often as he got older.

Well when he was about 17 years old he had this dream. He was walking down the beach with these big beautiful light grey wings. All the pretty girls were coming up to him petting his wings, asking if he could fly. Asking him if he was an angel. He loved this attention.

He told them, "God just gave me these wing, so I'm sure as hell meant to fly".

Fly he did. He flew all over. he flew over the water. he flew over the beach. He came down and picked up the jucyist, hotties of all the tender little lemon squeezers and flew them around. Some he even dropped in the water just for the hell of it.

Variations of this dream went on for weeks.

Then one day when he was getting dressed he noticed two small, faded scars on his back. He never thought too much of them before. You could really barely see them. He asked his Ma, "Ma what are these little scars on my back"?

She said, "when you were a baby you had a abnormal protruding growth on your shoulder blades, it wasn't much trouble for a Doctor to remove them".

This ate away at him for about two weeks. He thought...mother fuckers had quacks cut off my wings. Then one night he took a acid trip...boy he loved to trip. Then the "Brain Hour" came and he was feeling a bit freaky, on the edge...and he couldn't stop thinking about his goddamn mother and father having his wings cut off. He decided to find Ma's Valium stash and try to calm the fuck down. He looked long and hard at that brand new script...90 ten mg. V's.

The next night he drugged both his parents. Drug them in the basement, bouncing their heads all the way down the steps. Then ...his dad had 4 or 5 sheets of one inch plywood leaning against the wall. He got some 16D sinkers (nails) and laid his folks on two of the boards and just started nailing them all over the boards. He nailed their hands and feet first. He wondered if the Valiums had killed them 'cause they weren't waking up. He listened...yes a heartbeat.

By the time they came out of their fucked up stupor...he had them nailed through the hands, feet, arms, a lot of the skin down their sides, nails on one ear of each of their heads, between their fingers and toes, etc., etc..

Then he took all his strength and leaned them up against the basement wall...upside down.

When he thought they were awake enough to understand he started screaming at them about cutting off his wings till he was frothing from the mouth. Then while they whined and moaned, without enough left in them to be really heard...their heads turning beat red from being upside down. The young man went upstairs...took one Valium himself, ate a half a box of coco-crispies smoked his last "Fatty" (rolled in a strawberry paper) and crawled into bed for the big crash.

When he woke up he got all the cash together he could. Sold everything that was worth a dime. Picked up his backpack, sleeping bag, passport and guitar, he boarded a plane to Europe. He wandered to Romania where he worked in a fish market, he live in a small apartment above the fish market.

Then he went on to bigger and better things. Never looked back. never had any more dreams about flying.

All in All...he lived happily ever after.

THE END

Thoughts & Feelings  

I feel like a near extinct, unknown species.
I often don't like myself. I feel like I'm 10,000
Years old.
…Like I lived longer then I was ever meant to.
I lived longer then I ever should have.
Was there ever any people that thought like I think?
I wonder does anyone else feel this way?
How am I suppose to feel?
How am I suppose to think?
Is the way that I am, anything close to; "Normal"?
Was I born this way? Did I somehow do this to myself?
I'm forever changing, but it only seems like
I just get more intense.
I enjoy the experience of life, at the same time it often makes me uncomfortable.
It feels like a strange drug. One I don't like the effects of. I'm aware I'm under the influence of this, "Drug"… and I really can't wait for it to wear off.
…But I'm not on a fuckin' drug. The feeling is not going to wear off. It must be dealt with.
I don't like the company of hardly any of the other humans around me.
I don't like being made to feel I have to pretend.
I can't speak my mind.
…and no matter how much I try to look like them,
No matter how much I keep my mouth shut.
These feather less, fur less, scale less, gross
Combination of all animals combined…
They seem to smell, 'Different" on me.
They don't understand quite what it is.
I don't really understand quite what it is?
I only know I'm different.
The other humans dislike and even fear what they don't understand.
So I stay away from contact with them as much as possible.
I live in the infinite cage that is in my mind.
I have my books. My Art, my Music.
I have a few very beautiful intelligent people that love me a lot, just like I am.
I'm grateful for them.
They pulled the suicide card out of my deck.
I live to grok with them, and all else that lives.
R. Allen 2009

Get real fuckin scared and wake the hell up.

Your failing to realize, your already dead.

Kick those black doors in your mind open. Wander down those dark halls that seem to lead nowhere. Nowhere will take you to panic & amazement. Hear the magical sounds? The sacred words have been spoken. Start the dance. Celebrate, There are many other "Pure" people.

Look down on the uninitiated...for we are "The Evolved".!

"The Turtle That Used to be a Boy & vice/versa"  (by:R. Allen)

.Chapter 1

Where was one baby from, and going too?

Once there was this little boy. He lived in a beautiful Ocean house with his loving parents. He was given swimming lessons from a very early age. He was a good swimmer and was not afraid of the water. He always thought about his own safety. He spent a lot of his summers and free time exploring the beach and marine life. He liked just about all kinds of the different animals and marine life around the lake, but, "turtles". He thought some of the other things around were a bit gross, but he had a certain understanding that theses things were different then him. He felt they must consider their life as important to them, as humans and anything for that matter. He just avoided these creatures. But Turtles? His consideration for all the other living things made it even harder to come to terms with his intense, hatred of Turtles. He never really went out of his way to catch them. In all his explorations he did run across quite a few. This started when he was between three and four years old. He came across a turtle sitting on a piece of log near a puddle in his backyard. His mom was hanging sheets and bedding on the lines so the sun and fresh air would bleach them. The Turtle was about seven inches in diameter and maybe three inches tops at the highest part of his shell. The little boy took the turtle just around the comer of the house and set him on a paving stone. He felt sneaky. He knew he was gonna do something wrong. With the two big baskets of things his mother had to hang up, and him going just around the corner where he could just lean back and reassure his ma he was fine...he'd have time. He did Great-wrongness. First he got a pointy stick and tried digging the turtle out of his shell. Of coarse this brought a lot of blood. He felt very different. Weird and powerful. He even like the slickness that turned sticky after he played with the blood.

He was fully aware of what he was doing. Even at that age. He even thought about the turtles feelings. He finished him off and hid the remains outside the back fence, covered with the biggest rock he could lift. Yes, he knew it was wrong. BAD-WRONGNESS! On his seventh birthday he was still hating turtles. The things he did became more involved. It would suffice to say a person that seriously entertains evil thoughts can be creative in most atrocious ways. Things that normal people, ( meaning people with a respect for All that lives) would not dwell on.

Time rolled on till his tenth Birthday.

While on his tenth birthday he work up early. He could not sleep. He went past the mile patch of woods. Along the edge, close to the swamp. He moved along quickly. Then he seen a rather large turtle making its way toward the swampy reeds. He'd just have to make time for this. He was in a hurry to get to the big rocks on the other side of the wooded area. He loved climbing the rock. His parents told him not to go there without them. Of course they had all kinds of safety stuff. He didn't think all that was really necessary. It made the trips to climb a big deal so less often. That was the main reason he got up early. Anyway he snatched up the turtle and killed it more quickly then he would have like to. Then he was climbing the rocks. Man...he thought he was in the " ZONE", The rock was with him. He was higher then he'd ever been. Not scared at all. A hundred foot fall at least, onto the wash of the water and the big rocks scattered all over. He thought, I'd be lucky, "to died" if I fell from this height. He seen the man that played "Superman" in the old movies. He got thrown from a horse and was in a bad way. This made the kid know that there were perhaps things worse then death. He could never live like that. Then in the wash of the water below a bit of the turtles blood, the one the boy had just killed upstream washed on to the rocks below. You think about it. You figure it out. ....but...

     At that instant the boy appeared to be just thrown from the rock. He felt he had secure hand and footholds. And....as faith would have it. He was lucky. He died instantly when he hit a Hugh jagged bolder sticking out of the water. Then the waves seemed th carry him out to the deepest part of the water. Somehow? Someway? The current held him there. After he had been so long Everyone started looking for him. A big birthday party was planned. Everyone ended up having a search party instead. He was well liked. Except for his strange turtle cruelness. He was really pretty normal and popular. He hid the turtle thing. He never told anyone. He was always very careful about that sadistic craving. He never hurt any other animals. He didn't even bother with bugs, unless they were on him, or in his house.

     He was never found. His parents thought he may have run away. There had not been bad feeling among any of them. He was dotted on. Sometime later. He couldn't tell quite when. He woke up in what seemed to be a round case of some kind with a lot of goop in it.

Chapter 2



The Nightmare of a Pregnant Turtle

     There is this big sea turtle. She is very near the time to lay her eggs. Very pregnant to say the least.
This is not the first time she has given life. This is not the first time she has challenged death.
    As the featherless, furless, scale less grotesque combination of all animals combined reckon time., "The Humans"; she is very old.  Over one hundred. This is still prime child bearing years for turtles that have been known to live up to six hundred years old.
    It's getting nearer and nearer to the, "Time".
She roams the beach. Others are there. Other turtle Mothers to be. There is also the predators. This make her nervous.
With her knowledge, and her wisdom she gets slightly away from the rest. Gets as close as she can to the ocean. Then she starts to dig her birthing hole. It is on the edge of some grassy reeds but her bottom will be in there. It will be a clear, short shot for the little ones to make that mad dash for the ocean.
She works very, very hard…till she falls off into a sleep of total exhaustion.
    Then she has a strange and uncomfortable nightmare.
She dreams this is her first birth.  Out of the sand next to her sprouts a gnarly tree. It looks as though it is made of bark less twisted, burnt driftwood.
Instead of any type of foliage coming from the branches, eggs appear. These eggs hatch and within seconds turn into full grown birds. The kind that eat baby turtles as they are making their mad dash for that water.
   She lets out an indescribable sound. A cry, a moan, there's a sadness in this sound that makes her shutter. In her nightmare she is alone now on a dark beach, right beforea red dawn.
   She looks at them birds. She's fully aware of the color of nature. "Blood Red"! She ponders the odds of how many might make it to the water. This get her thinking about the dangers that await them in that ocean. Her heart is heavy, her eyes are full of a thick  watery substance.           She's crying now.  Without making a sound, she cries.
    The tree grows bigger, more eggs, more birds.
What can she do to protect the new life she brings forth into this world. She runs it all through her mind. It doesn't amount to much.
    The birds watch, they wait. These birds were not raised watching violent television.
These birds were not obsessed with bloody, violent video games.
This is  natural for them. This is how they were taught since birth. They don't consider what they do wrong, in any way.
This is the natural order, the color of nature, "Blood Red".
They are hungry. In her nightmare she is the only turtle on the beach. The birds look very strange.  They are not exactly like the ones she's seen in reality. They seem much more menacing.  Strange color eyes, sharper ridged beaks.
   She is scared for her babies and now she worried they won't stop there. She becomes scared for her own life. Oh how she wishes she never heard that mating call. She speaks turtle thoughts in her mind, begging a god unknown for defense.
   The laws of nature are unforgiving, take gravity for example.
   The time has come, she shutters with such force it wakes her.
It take her a few seconds to get her bearings. The eggs come. The eggs hatch. She has chosen well, this birthing spot. All the strong and fast make it to the water. Many make it.
    She recalls her nightmare, she would never choose a place to lay eggs near a tree. She grieves for the less experienced as their baby turtles are swooped up and devoured.
    She tell herself, she will ignore the mating call next season, but deep inside she knows she can't and has told herself that twice before.
    Oh but that nightmare.
Oh the natural order of things.
Why is the color of nature always blood red.
This is a day for many of her young to have a chance.
It is also a day for many a bird to have a good meal.
    She never forgot that nightmare.



Chapter 3

     Some unknown time later....

   The boy that fell from the rock found himself pushing, pounding, clawing and breaking his way out. FINALLY....He was out...scratching around in the sand. He looked around and was shocked. He was a baby turtle.

He still retained a memory of his life as a human. So...the thought of being a turtle made him sick. He thought, this must be hell. He heard a little about re-incarnation, he wasn't totally aware of what it was all about, but he knew. Some cultures believed you could come back to the world after you die as something (or somebody) else. Why a turtle? Why Me? A lot of human self piety, but turtle instinct took over and he had to eat and survive. He was now the living expression of a Sea Turtle. Caught between the consciousness of his former human self and the self awareness of the Sea Turtle he had become. He retreated into the thought stream of the turtle .

It felt right. After a while it seemed that the thoughts or memories he had of being human were a distant dream. Never-the-less his human thinking saved his life many, many times. What he came to consider gut instinct, was sub-conscious intelligence. One day he was crossing the beach. A giant bird swooped down and caught him up by the back foot. This bird, in the tales of the creatures that live, was said to be a stork. The oldest of the waters say that it was a larger more sturdier bird then a stork. "Stork", makes for good myth. Anyway..... This bird was high in the blue sky. The turtle was very afraid. He pooped...and peed. He was only thinking about how happy his life as a turtle was. He was wiggling to get free. He hoped he'd land in the water if he got free from the bird. There was thr beach, rocks, and water to fall into. He got free. Lost a couple toes/claws to the bird. He was happy he wasn't going to be eaten by the bird. Or spit  into baby birds mouth for food. He was super happy for about four seconds. The he realized he was falling fast. On his spins around he seen rocks below...maybe more rocks then water? He hit. He wasn't aware of it but it was the same rock he died on as a human boy. His shell popped right open. Landing softly in the grass and low warm water fell a "HUMAN" baby boy. Which appeared to have grown to the size of a six moth old child in seconds.

It's strange but it sure is true. Well all the other Sea Turtles understood. Some of them were hundreds of years old,  they had life s wisdom. They raise the baby boy.

     Apes raised Tarzan, The boy in, "Jungle Book" was raised by wolfs. This is not so strange. Like the turtle that could remember the boy he had once been. This new human child he had become, could remember large parts of both life s that were at other places in time. This helped quite a bit while being raised by Sea Turtles. The turtles brought the boy along quickly. It helped that he retained so much useful knowledge from other life s.

The turtles never hid anything from him. They told them everything they knew and felt about his existence. He understood them. He looked just like the boy the couple lost some years back. The couple had changed then. They were sadder. Withdrawn. Every holiday they half thought there would be a knock on the door and there would stand their son, older...wiser...and in good health. One day when the child was five, with the help of the old turtles he took the hike to the peoples house. He was only five years old, but he had the wisdom of a few life s behind him. When the people answered the door, they were both there. The woman looked at the little boy and started crying. His compulsion was instantly, loving compassion. He ran up and held her while she slid down the wall to sitting on the floor. Her head in the little boys arms. He smelled her hair and he cried. The man kept repeating his sons name. Shocked, Dumbfounded. After everyone came back around to composing themselves. The little boy told them the whole story. He remembered more then he ever would have thought. The couple compared pictures of their son at five and this boy, They looked exact.

This couple knew in some tangled, "Jackson Pollack" web of life s cosmic-consciousness, This was truth and without false hope they felt in their heart this was their son. Never-the-less they understood the legal system. First the father had the child s fingerprints compared with his sons. Exact. Blood test, again exact. Next DNA....Exact! Now they were sure. They were all very happy. They agreed that the story should stay between them. The move some miles north along the same beach. The world wasn't ready, nor were they ready for the worlds questions. He often went on hikes with his parents and took his turtle friends treats.

The End

As I look at the content submitted by various artists
On the internet I am often amazed.
The talent and insight fulness. Some are very talented in different areas of expression. Some are "One Note" songs.
Some are mouse pushing, keypad punching charlatans that sometimes get lucky and create something worth looking at.
    "To Think Is To Create" You create an idea. Following this is the desire to manifest this Idea into some form of reality. Then…the reality of the creation itself.
     There are people doped on amusements that NEVER get an IDEA in the first place. There are others that are just happy getting an idea, and never get past that point.
     There are so many people that think their Idea,
Is the MOST Important.
    All content is idea diffusion. None of us are totally original. We are all suffering from a bad case of mental diarrhea. Spewing shit a mile a minute. I am no exception.
The only way I may differ from the rest of the shit slingers is, "I look at, read, and attempt to understand what others are trying to convey with their creations".
More often then not the creators out here in cyber space are like little children, "LOOK AT ME!,  LOOK AT ME", LOOK AT ME"! Then they go about collecting friends. Now if they checked the views, or reads, or whatever the form of expression…they would see, these unknown people that are "Claiming" to be "Friends" are not even looking at the content of the people they befriend.
    Outside the people you know, "In Reality", it is a very rare thing to have someone on the internet that you would really consider, "A Friend". Even the ones you know "In Reality" will keep you walking with your back to the wall.
    All this having been typed, let me get to some kind
Of point.
     We are all just stuffing more shit into an already over stuffed receptacle of EGO.
     Megalomania is spreading like a plague. I'm sure this multiple personality thing that is constantly being done on the internet will not be good for human communication.
People are having more and more trouble talking to one another. They can't express TRUE feeling when "Face To Face" with another person.
    Oh but it's so easy to fire off a nasty E-mail, or write a hurtful comment.
     It's the simpleton, assholes that get the most attention. My theory on this is the rest of the sheeple can see a certain part of themselves in this person.
    This only sets the bar higher in stupidity.
It also pushes the limit on acceptable modes of personality traits.
    It is all suppose to start with an IDEA. Hopefully a clear one.
    Now in this "Global Community" that is, "The Internet". Everyone is conditioned by different people, often in varied forms of societies. This is not a brave new world. This is a world of hopelessly oppressed cowards.
They are all conditioned to think their way is the right, true way. Their system is The Best, and God (What ever the fuck they believe that to be) is On Their Side.
    Lets take one word-"FREEDOM".
    You realize how many different meaning there are to this one word?
How many people are there on this planet?
That's how many different meanings to this one word there are.
    The same thing applies for the viewing of art.
It means something different to everyone that sees it. On top of that, art, like beauty is in the MIND of the beholder.
    To the non-artist, art is a wall decoration. A knick-knack. Why the hell would they want to pay any fair sum for an original piece of art. They can go into almost any department store, or furniture store and get one to go with current decorating trends. Cheaper.
   If you think your, "SPECIAL" because you express yourself in some form of art.
Remember-If you can utter a sound, you can sing.
If you can walk-you can dance.
If you can make any kind of mark, with anything that can make a mark, or if you've made sand castles or mud pies…
You can be, or call yourself an artist.
   Plus, anyone that applies themselves long enough to the pursuit of one goal. No matter what it is…"They will improve".
   During an exceptionally cold winter, Van Gogh's mother burned forty two paintings he was keeping stored at her house.

    Now really, who The Fuck, do we think we are?