Merlin Speak


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 ‘Look!’ said Merlin, ‘that is the sword I spoke of.’ And the King looked again, and a maiden stood upon the water. ‘That is the Lady of the Lake,’ said Merlin, ‘and she is coming to you, and if you ask her courteously she will give you the sword.‘ 

Excalibur The SwordHoward Pyle,1902

Photo by good2begone

Anatomy Of A Mom


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To some…..this is probably an odd family photo.

Not all of the individuals….look…..like family.

But alas, they are family.

My family.

This is a tribute to my Mom.

After her and my father got married. They yearned to start a family.

But,

doctors told her there was a higher than likely chance that she would not be able to.

That was not a deterrence in their quest.

The love of motherhood did not have to emanate from her womb, it could blossom from adoption.

My older brother, sitting next to her in the photo, would be their first child.

Fast forward a bit more than a year later.

The higher than likely chance of not conceiving a child turned out to be a false prophesy……

I was born.

That’s me in the top left of the photo…..kind of.

Now she was Mom to 2.

A year and a half later……

2 became 3 with the birth of my younger brother. That’s him with the bewildered look in the Grey shirt that matches my Dad’s shirt.

Raising 3 boys all similar in age was challenging I am sure.

We were more than a handful.

But,

my Mother always longed to have a daughter.

She was an only child.

She has lots of knowledge to pass on that her dirty muddy always breaking things boys just wouldn’t understand.

Fast forward 9 long years after the birth of her last child.

Her and my father turned to adoption, once again.

Through friends of friends they learned of a couple that was having a child that they could not keep.

They and there 4 other children were living in rough conditions and could not afford another child.

My parents were contacted and told them they would be there for the birth and if the child was a female they would adopt her.

Enter my youngest brother, standing next to me and above my Father.

When he was born, my Mother held him and looked into his eyes his newly opened eyes and couldn’t…..not…..adopt him.

That’s how 3 became 4.

Discouraged to be daughterless but overjoyed with her new son, life continued on………

For 1 month and 1 day.

With a single phone call, 4 would become 5.

We have family friends that live in Chihuahua, Mexico.

They knew of my Mother’s desire to have a daughter.

I’m not sure if it is still true or not, but, back then having a child out of wedlock was a big no no in Mexico.

The phone call told the story of a prominent doctor who had a daughter who gave birth to a daughter out of wedlock. She would not be allowed to keep her.  They preferred to have the child grow up in America.

Before my parents could hang up the phone, they were loading up the car and driving to receive the gift she always wanted.

A daughter, standing at the far right of the photo.

A photo may be worth a thousand words.

To the 5 kids surrounding the woman in the center of this one, it only says one-

Mom.

Paint It Black


I don’t do death well.

I can make up stories with it as a main topic, watch stuff on the dummy box that is engulfed in it, read the news every day where it is a mainstay of virility.

But in reality, it’s not that easy.

It is the end result of life.

Once the first cry out of the womb is bellowed, the clock to the end…..begins.

As expected as it is…….whenever it happens it is almost never expected.

When it does happen…and it is someone that at one time or another I ran around with, it becomes hard for me to deal with.

You know…..I’ve been clean and sober for quite a few years now.

The actual length of that time really doesn’t matter to me anymore. I don’t and haven’t been in AA or any other support group for a considerable length of time either.

I love being sober.

I just don’t feel I need to talk about it to be able to maintain it.

I just do.

I also hated seeing people coming in and out, in and out, in and out……until some just quit coming back in.

“Someone may have to die for me to say sober” I would hear in meetings.

Which I think is crap, by the way.

Anyway….

There’s this guy I used to sponsor when I was in AA.

Every time I saw him I would say,

“Dude….you’ve got tattoos….ON YOUR FACE!”

I would say that, because he did.

He would come over and have dinner with my family almost every night. We would talk about what was going on and my wife and I would give him suggestions.

Always to the point….never beating around the proverbial bush.

Before I sponsored him, he had like 12 other sponsors.

After me, probably many others.

Regardless of the state of his sobriety and my exit from AA, we remained friendly and in contact.

He would come around.

Then be gone.

And….repeat.

We got word yesterday that he got killed by getting run over by a car shortly after getting kicked out of a sober living house.

I hadn’t seen or spoke to him in a few months but he will be on my mind every day.

I drive a beat up truck that was green when it rolled of the factory floor decades ago.

When I got it, it had been completely spray painted black….with individual spray paint cans and recently repossessed by the owner for lack of payment. 

The guy who it was repossessed from was the same one who spray painted it.

And was the same guy I used to sponsor that had tattoos on his face.

I’m just kind of numb.

Emotions aren’t my thing either.

I just hope he is now at peace.

As for me…

I will keep on truckin’

Funnel Clouded


Mother Nature can be a bit of a bitch from time to time.

My guess is she has to show who is really  in charge of it all.

Earthquakes.

Erupting volcanoes.

She has gotten her “pissed off on” as we say in the country, as of late.

For me….it doesn’t seem real…..

I mean, I know it is, but seeing devastation on TV is still…..just watching TV.

Take this past week for example.

The number 1 story from every news outlet was the earthquake in Nepal.

As it should have been.

I can’t even imagine what it was, is, AND will be like to be there in the foreseeable future.

It is completely unfathomable to me.

In contrast, the number 2 story…..which was barely beaten out by the earthquake, was…..

Drumroll please…..

Bruce Jenner announcing that he is a woman.

How that news effects anyone outside his circle of have to be constantly in the spotlight by just being rich friends and family is once again…..

Unfathomable to me. Completely.

But….this is America.

And on our list of have to do,

Keeping up with any and all things related to the Kardashian’s is much more important than pretty much anything else.

I have never even used the “K” word before this and my autocorrect knew what I was spelling before I did.

Anyway, I’m getting my pissed off on just thinking about the importance of celebrity in our society and have gotten off topic.

Back to my reality.

I’ve always wanted to witness a tornado in action.

Just watch a funnel drop out of the sky and destroy.

It has to be awe inspiring.

Well….

I don’t anymore.

We had one drop down in our area a few days ago.

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That is an upside down boat dock.

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That dock used to be in the water.

Those docks are heavy. Let me repeat that last word-

HEAVY.

Mother nature picked them up and tossed them over like a game of jenga.

Lots of property damage, but luckily no injuries.

Once again, real life does for me what TV can’t.

Cult Forty5


Through the black acrid smoke and bright  flames that were ablaze in my dream, the child walked out from within the fire and pointed at me.

Then, turned his palm up and beckoned me to come with his index finger.

As the hot embers encircled and danced around him, he stared directly into my soul, smiled a devious smile and said-

“You should be here with me….”

He then put the hand up to his mouth, blew on the muzzle of his index finger, turned, dropped his weapon to his side and returned to the blaze.

The bang on the metal door is what awoke me and prevented me from following the child into his abyss.

BANG BANG

“Med time, Forty5.”

I got up from the bed and made a slow walk to the door.

The slot on the center of the door opened and a cup with a single pill and another cup  filled with water were pushed through. 

From behind the tempered glass window above the slot, the pill pusher said,

“I expect you to be shuffling around in a daze the next time I do my rounds like the rest of the psychos in this place.  Swallow your pill this time. Don’t make us come in and force you again.”

Without a word, I looked him in the eyes and pointed my index finger at him. Then I turned my palm up and beckoned him to
him to come in, while wearing a devious smile across my sunken pale face.

He returned the smile with a missing  front tooth and held up his arm which was in a cast and replied-

“I said us…..not me. I learn a lot quicker than you psyche patients do, which is why I am on this side of the cell and you are on the other. Take your pill.”

I took the pill and swallowed it.

I then put my index finger up to my mouth and blew on the muzzle, turned and returned to my bed on the other side of the sparcely furnished cell.

“Good boy, Forty5. Once you are nice and loopy, the doc is gonna come by for a session. Don’t worry….he will have back up, also.”

My name is not Forty5, by the way.

It’s the cell number.

I’m not the only Forty5 that has called this dump home. Evidence of their past occupancy are carved into the concrete walls like cemetery headstones.  Names, dates, conversations, pleads for help, admissions of abuse and criminal acts by patients and staff.

The walls are a virtual soap opera of psychotic bliss.

The pills I am forced to take are Thorazine…..which are used to keep psychotic and schizophrenic people in check.

By, in check, I mean turning them into zombies that shuffle around in circles until then last coherent thought slowly escapes their mind and the drooling sets in.  

Then hours of sleep.

I’m not crazy.

It’s just that no one believes that they are real.

……………..

And…

That they will stop at nothing to get me to join them.

(Shuffle shuffle)

………………

I thought the fire……..

(Shuffle shuffle)

But even death won’t…….

………………

Sometimes the writing on the walls talk.

(Shuffle shuffle stop stare)

Beware of the listening bugs in the vents – November 1973 fourdefive

I pull my stubbed pencil out of my pocket and scrawl a sentence on the wall amongst the other cemetery residents.

(Turn shuffle shuffle)

The bed…..is……far.

I reach the bed, groggy….lay down and face the wall that I just wrote on.

As I surrender to the effects of the pill, my  epitaph on the wall rings through my head-

And a child shall lead them – yesterday today n fourever Forty5

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To be continued……

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good2begone:

A history lesson on Honest Abe from a 12 year old who cares not for learning history.

Originally posted on Good2begone:

Middle school and history class. 2 phrases that don’t get along.

I enjoy history. Not just American history but World History. To know where your going, you have have to know where you’ve been as a nation.

When my middle school aged step daughter comes home with History homework I like to help try to engage her in conversation to see what she is learning.

One particular topic that she was studying this past year was Abraham Lincoln. One of my favorite subjects and most fascinating to me. It was time to engage…..

Me- tell me what you know about Pres. Lincoln.

Her- he had a beard….but no mustache, wore that hat that looked like the one that guitar guy you like wears, he was famous for some address he lived at-

Me- address he lived it? You mean The White house?

Her- no, he gave some speech about some…

View original 280 more words

Feeding The Labrinth


The labrynth calls to me…..beckons me into its maze of bound backs and spines filled with stories from centuries long past and ones yet to be told.

Fantastic imaginative yarns weaved with words that speak louder with each page that is turned.

The labrynth allows journeys to the farthest corners of the earth and beyond. The only barrier being the limits of the imagination of the one who breaches it’s hallowed corridors.

One does not seek the labrynth. The labrynth seeks for the one.

Calling out in dreams that begs to seek the reality.

The labrynth has no address, no sign to announce it’s existence.

It is only found when the one seeks to follow it’s call.

The whispers begin at the back of my  memory. A distant calling back to a time when when audible letters became words. Pieced together, they became sentences. Transcribed on paper and repeated through the eyes they became magic. Unleashing worlds and creatures that beg for existence beyond paper and ink.

Those whispers beckon the search for the location where imagination lies in print.

The Labrynth.

The whispers called to me.

The only rule of the labrynth is this-

To satisfy my hunger for the labrynth, the labrynth must be fed in return.

To keep the delicate balance of the mysterious labrynth in check, I  must give my words in order to take someone elses.

I left my home as day was turning to night. Dark clouds began to roll in and shielded the blood moon from illuminating my way.

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The whispers as my only guide. Leather satchel flung over my shoulder containing a bound portfolio of my minds work.

My imagination.

My sweat.

My cramped hands.

My soul.

Stories created on this blog, casually listed under the menu section, transcribed from screen to paper using ink that flowed like blood once the process began.

My words.

My sentences.

My stories.

My soul.

About to be turned over to a place that I have never been to and will probably never find again.

In order to be fed…..I must feed.

The whispers grew louder as my journey wore on.

Beckoning.

Begging.

Pleading.

My head was ringing with interconnecting voices, accents, and language I could not decipher.

My eyes began to water and blur from the decibels the arose within my mind. I closed them tight to regain my focus.

As I turned a bend in the road and nearly collapsed from the weight of the drawing force within me……

Everything stopped.

Silence.

I gripped my leather satchel with both hands until they became numb and then opened my eyes.

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A single building with a single light stood before me in the darkness.

I walked up the few steps and cautiously rapped on the metal door.

Knock…..

Knock….

Knock….

The door opened.

A man who stood easily over 7 feet, looked me up and down and said,

“Welcome to the Labrynth…..we have been waiting for you.”

I walked past him and into the entryway of the labrynth. My first thought was he smelled of dust…..and time.

“I trust you have brought something of yourself to leave behind….” he asked.

I opened up my satchel and reached in to grab my portfolio.

The tall man stopped me and shook his head.

“You dont give to me, young man. You give to the labrynth. Leave it in place of the one you take.”

I quizzingly asked,

“How will I know which one to take?”

He smiled and replied,

“The labrynth knows…..the labrynth knows. Come. It is time.”

He walked over to 2 large oak doors that stood taller than he. He pulled them open revealing as many stories of books above as there were stories below.

Walkways.

Hallways.

A virtual skyscraper of books that reached into the heavens and to the depths of the underworld.

I tried to take in the massive inventory of bound words.

All I could manage was a gulp.

The man led me in and said,

“Take all the time you need. Find what has been waiting for you. Leave what will be sought. Exit through the door from which you came.”

I began walking through the catacombs. Brushing my hand against books that could very well be older than time itself.

Every language.

Every genre.

Every type of script ever imagined.

Shelves upon shelves lined with books, manuscripts, stories, lives waiting to be awoken and explored.

I searched up.

I searched down.

I lost track of time and place.

Mesmerized by the centuries of print.

As I glided down a certain corridor lit only by candlelight, I was strangely drawn to a spine that seem to illuminate the closer I got.

My heart rate quickened, my fingers seemed to tingle as I brought the book out from the chorus line of the adventures that surrounded it.

Upon releasing the novel from its libraric prison, a soft but quite audible

“yeeeeeeesssss.”

was heard from somewhere deep in the labrynth.

I turned the cover toward me and shuddered when I saw the title-

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With shaking hands I placed the book into my satchel and pulled out my portfolio to put in its place.

As I pushed it onto the shelf and released my fingers from my written soul another soft yet audible sound was heard-

“aahhhhh”

Then all went silent.

The only sound was my footsteps as they were strangely led directly to the door from which I entered at the other end of the very corridor from which the feeding took place.

I walked out of the labrynth into the sunlight, which was overtaking the west and illuminating toward the other horizons.

I felt exhausted…..yet light on my feet. With my prize under my arm, I began to walk back to where my reality resided.

Stopping once to smell the bluebonnets, whose sight and smell were much brighter than I had ever imagined.

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I stood up and opened my satchel. In the darkness of the case, the book that lay within, which bore the chosen name of my blog, seemed to tell me-

“We have such sights to show you……”

But that…..

Is another story all together.
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All photos taken by good2begone or Mr. B Gone, if you will.

Story created as a tribute to the ‘Cemetery of Forgotten Books‘ found within the pages of “The Shadow of the Wind” series written by Carlos Ruiz Zafon.

The “We have such sights to show you” Quote taken from “Hellraiser” by Clive Barker.

GET YOUR READ ON

The Deep End


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Sometimes, the best thing about work comes down to 3 things-

1- location
2- location
3- location

If you ain’t doin’ what makes you happy, maybe it’s time to dive into something new.

Chicken Coup


Clucking news from the good2begone underwire-

A Kentucky woman who allegedly tried to strangle another woman with a bra was thwarted when the victim fought back with a ceramic chicken.

Police in Lexington arrested Ashley Sies, 31, early Monday morning after she allegedly pushed her way into a home belonging to Patricia Leece, 61.

“It happened about 12:30 the other night. Someone came to my doors, banging, screaming and hollering,” Leece told WKYT.

At first, Leece thought her granddaughter was the one banging on the door. Instead, it was Sies, who pushed her way inside of Leece’s home and wrapped a bra around the homeowner’s neck.

Sies and Leece struggled for about 15 to 20 minutes before the victim found a way to protect herself, Leece says.

“Finally, I saw one of my (ceramic) chickens on the floor so I picked it up and started bashing her on the head with it,” she said, according to UPI.com.

Sies was knocked out by the chicken. Leece locked herself in the bathroom and called police, Kentucky.com reports.

Officers then took Sies to the hospital before booking her on charges of first-degree burglary, WKYT reports. Leece told the station she also plans to press charges for the attack.

Sies was in court Tuesday morning where she pleaded not guilty to the burglary charge, according to Kentucky.com.

Colonel Sanders was not available for comment at newstime.

We are still waiting for word on whether or not the apparent burglar was under the impression that the homeowner was in fact about to go public with the infamous secret that Victoria has been hiding.

As far as places with crime worth talking about…..Kentucky remains undefeated.

That’s the news, that does in fact, taste like chicken.

I’m good2begone…..

And your not.

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—————–

Actual story from David Moye at the Huffington Post.

It’s true….no matter how much I wish I made it up.

Memory Lane


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Norman Bates: …..No one really runs away from anything. It’s like a private trap that holds us in like a prison. You know what I think? I think that we’re all in our private traps, clamped in them, and none of us can ever get out. We scratch and we claw, but only at the air, only at each other, and for all of it, we never budge an inch.

Marion Crane: Sometimes… we deliberately step into those traps.

Norman Bates: I was born into mine. I don’t mind it anymore.

Marion Crane: Oh, but you should. You should mind it.

Norman Bates: Oh, I do…
[laughs]…..But I say I don’t.

Quotes from Alfred Hitchcock’s “Psycho”

Image by good2begone.