Why don’t you stop by and pledge our fraternity, said the more mature-looking college senior in a suit and a tie, and Adidas tennis shoes.  My name is John.  You do not have to live at the house if you pledge but every weekend you must return to the fraternity house and do chores such as cleaning up the bathrooms and the shower area or landscaping the garden surrounding the house.  When the brother requires, each member must attend and participate in the tasks and festivities. 

I do not have time for a fraternity, says Wracks,   I have to get into graduate school, and I am studying to be a doctor.  

The girls do not care what you are studying during a toga party, says Benjamin. They just like to dance. 

I need a B plus average and I am taking all chemistry and biology courses. Whines Wracks

It is not what you know, it is who you know and the Sorority girls all come from fine upscale families. Besides, they do not bite, added Benjamin.

All right, Can I bring a friend to the party, asks Wracks.  His name is Cool.  I don’t own a car.

Cool, Kool, Cool, I have heard that name before, thinks Benjamin out loud. Wracks, do I know Kool?

I don’t think so, says Wracks, he drives a forklift and a caterpillar tractor. 

Mike puts his hand on his head looks up and says, all right; bring him along, but no drugs or guns.

See you on Friday; says Wracks, my last lab is from three to five.

The animal house sits on a hill that guards the big University.  Buses run continuously up and down the hill on an hourly basis.  The big stadium and football field are within sight and the fraternity president stands on the balcony of the Beta house and hits golf balls at the football players.   He has an accurate swing and adequate range with a big wood driver.  Now and then he beans a player in the helmet at three hundred yards and a wrack thinks maybe he should go professional.  The house on a hill has three stories, numerous balconies, and a brown shale roof.   The siding of the structure looks like wood siding painted grayish blue and the windows have wood sash and siding. All in all, the fraternity house looks well lived in from the brothers hanging out of the windows and coming and going through windows utilizing ropes, kind of like Tarzan of the Apes.   In the back of the house sits the garbage dump, with a dumpster and a constant pile of beer kegs stacked up three in a row because when the liquor store delivers, the old kegs serve as the deposit on credit for the new brew. 

The party this Friday night merely serves as a get-together for new pledges with their sponsors.  The festivities include a disco music machine with a conductor, three kegs of Coors beer, chips and nuts, and a stack of pizza boxes ten feet high.  Mike says the money for festivities comes from the dues the brothers pay each month for membership and lodging and graduated brothers donate goods and money to the cause for a continued fest.  On each story is a room with a theme sign and latch like a gate signaling private action.  One room says “Bong” private admission only, another says, “Vroom”, and another says, Love Shack.    The party mostly occurs in the entrance environment, and in the secret lodge, with special movies projected on the ceiling while people sit and drink beer, tons of beer.  Beer remains the currency of fraternity dealings and the bathrooms have a line in front of them.   The beer tastes good, flows freely, and is on the house.  Girls constantly run by in shorts and the sorority girls have their uniforms with a letter on each breast. 

Hello, wracks, says John, how do you like the fraternity? Have any girls abducted you yet?

No, none ever do, I do not have any money, says Wracks

Some girls daddy’s have lots of money and they do not need any, says Ben, one might take a liking to you.   Where is Kool?  Kool is in the secret lodge watching the movies and having a smoke, says Wracks.

What is the vroom?  Asks Wracks.

Why don’t you go upstairs and see, says Benjamin.  With that utterance, two coeds appear and lead John off to the dance floor.  Wracks goes up to the third floor and opens the door to the vroom room.  Inside is a man at a table with a glass vessel that has a receptacle at the top and a fire extinguisher with a suction cup that fits on the outside.  A sorority girl walks in and says to the man, “I want some Vroom,” the brother smiles and asks, Coors or Miller?  Miller says the girl.  The brother takes the bottle of beer and pours it into the receptacle and sticks the suction cup on the end.  The sorority sister puts the other end of the glass vessel in her mouth.  The brother says, are you ready, the girl nods her head and the brother pulls the trigger on the fire extinguisher.  The golden brew disappears through the vroom tube with a whoosh and down the throat of the Coed in under two seconds.  Can I have another, says the girl with a big smile on her face, it beats swallowing.  The brother says, That is your sixth vroom, you have to wait another half hour for another. 

Can I have a vroom, asks Wracks.

No, you are only a pledge; you have to drink the beer like a normal person.  However, you can stay and learn how to use the room like me.  Remember, pull the trigger briskly or they blow up like a balloon. 

I will remember, says Wracks, see you soon and Wracks exits the vroom room.   

Wracks finds Kool in the secret rites room watching the adult movies projected on the ceiling. A wrack doesn’t watch them because they remind him of his lack of female companionship.  

I like this place, says Kool, the girls are good-looking

Unless you are a brother, it is by invitation only, says Wracks

I have connections in high places, insists Kool.  I go where I want. 

That girl with you looks like she should go to the doctor, says Wracks, her complexion is white and pasty.

I met her tonight at the party, adds Kool, she says she knows you.

If she does, I do not remember, says Wracks.  Promise me you will take her home at a reasonable hour.

I will, promises Cool. Cross my heart and hope to die. 

A wrack looks at the girl and she smiles at him but he does not recognize her.  He thinks however that he has seen her somewhere before in his life but knows not where.  He moves off and looks for John. John stands at the head of the dance hall supervising the activities.   In the middle of the room, a girl in less than a Bikini bursts out of a huge cake and sings Happy Birthday to one of the Brothers. 

She works until Midnight says Benjamin, why you don’t stick around for a while.

I have to leave, says Wracks.  The research library opens at ten tomorrow morning and I have to write a composition every week for my English Literature class.

Tomorrow is Saturday yells John.  Tomorrow at Ten o’clock, the brothers and I will be drinking pots of coffee and pledging allegiance to the United States of America. 

I have to go, says Wracks.  Where is Kool?

He is around somewhere says John, there is lots to do

When you want to pledge, just show up insists John.

My brother joined your fraternity and his grades have hit rock bottom, reveals Wracks. 

It is not a fraternity brother says Benjamin; it’s his friend from Pepperdine.

If you pledge says Benjamin, we will let you join a secret meeting of the togas.

What happens at a secret meeting, asks Wracks

It is a secret, says Mike, and we provide the secret. 

I will think about it, says Wracks, good night.  

Mike, I thought your name was John.  

Tonight, it is John, says Mike for all those concerned

Where is Kool asks the Wracks.   He parked his red truck on the football field because he couldn’t find parking. He says he has friends in high places and no one will bother him.    If I can’t find him, I have to take the bus.

The 10:30 bus is the last bus of the night going to Tranquil Hills.   The Wracks wait at the stop opposite the frat, the huge yellow bus shows up, and the Wracks flips his yearly bus pass and gets on.   He sits near the driver in front of security.   About one-half hour later, when the bus transits through the secluded part of Moonrise boulevard, a tall handsome dark-haired man in a suit pulls the flag, the bus slows, he glowers at the Wracks and he exits amid mansions set in an urban forest.  The Wracks get to the final stop before the bus turns around, gets off, and walks in the dark to his home on Bacon’s way.  He thinks he is lucky to get away, again.

Youth truly is wasted on the young.  Youth can mean foolish impetuousness without impact or direction. What Wracks sees in Retrospect is that the world is people and interaction becomes the imperative for survival and accomplishment.  The world is people and people talk to people, who talk to people and a hug and a sincere kiss are worth more than a million dollars. Human interaction brings more than a handful of emeralds from Columbia or a tryst of pigeon blood rubies from the depths of Sri Lanka. The human touch is worth more than all the treasure bought with blood in a pirate’s plunder.    All the treasure in the world cannot buy someone to love you and tell you so.

She has been cooking all day and she doesn’t want Wracks underfoot in her kitchen.  The turkey is in the oven and she likes to cook it for an hour at 425 degrees to sear and seal the skin and then turn the oven down to cook the poultry for the rest of the time.   In a sauce pot are turkey necks and giblets, basil and parsley, garlic and onion because a broth brews for three hours to make gravy and then sauce for Italian dinners tomorrow and the next day.  The classic green beans steam in a cauldron with crushed garlic and more crushed garlic adorned with sea salt.   A large soup pot holds a myriad of potatoes, boiling happily to become mashed potatoes and the Wracks wait expectantly to mash them.  

Wracks, don’t let me overshoot the cooking time.   The turkey has to cool for at least thirty minutes before carving.   I won’t Mom, says the Wracks

The doorbell rings a ding doing.   The grandparents are here to share a holiday meal.  Grandpa and Grandma show up bearing sacks of food to feed the Wracks.    Outside a Ford Fairlane deluxe town coupé in alabaster white parks, it soon will be converted by the Fonz into a rolling brothel but the Wracks is too young to understand.   All he understands is that he has family and they are here together on the holidays and everything is so special.  Grandma walks over to him and gently kisses him on the forehead and says Happy Thanksgiving.  She is small and has reddish blond hair and green eyes just like him.  Grandpa is here, he has been sick all his adult life and had to leave Australia and then Northern California to come here.  Wherever someone goes, it is all the same.   It is to run from money.  He sits down and vegetates.  Father Wracks hands him the daily newspaper and he reads it the Wracks sit with his grandmother on the sofa and wait for dinner.  

Come mash the potatoes says Mother.   Dinner is ready.

Everyone assembles the convertible dining room table to the dining room table lengthened for the holidays.   The Fonz appears from the bedroom, he leaves through the window and doesn’t think anyone knows and sees the girl next door.   The Fonz sits opposite the Wracks on the side next to Mother and Grandpa and Father sits at the head of the table.   The food stands on the walkthrough, ready to be served and eaten.  A fresh bottle of wine opens, it is a Johannesburg Riesling and the Wracks gets a quarter glass of wine mixed with water as it is a European custom to serve the children water and wine on holidays.    Father Wracker pours wine, passes it around, and then says, let’s say our prayer.   Everyone crosses hands and thanks the Lord for this meal and then father says “Manja” which is the Italian word for eat and everyone gets in line to mound their holiday dish with luxurious gourmet cooked food.   The Wracks gets a wing and a leg if he wants it, this is the way his parents want it, tons of mashed potatoes and gravy and a log cabin of garlic and parsley steamed green beans.   After everyone cannot eat anymore, Mom says, I have a pumpkin and cherry pie from Marie Calendars.

The Wracks go inside the kitchen and bring the dessert plates, the serving utensils, and the two pies and set them on the table next to Mother.  She asks everyone what pie they prefer and finally, when she gets to the Wracks, he says; both.   Evening coffee perks in the automatic coffee percolator and the Wracks pours the fresh coffee into the decanter and brings it to the table.   Coffee cups are already there for the grownups.   The Wracks bring all the dishes from the table to the kitchen, because they are English china, they have to be scoured before being put on rinse hold in the automatic dishwasher or they will chip.   The sterling silver cutlery, that Mom received at her wedding, has to be washed by hand and then dried. Grandma helps the Wracks clean the kitchen, removes the China from the dishwasher, places it in the pots and pans, and then starts another load.   The Wracks load the remaining food into storage containers wrap the turkey in aluminum foil and place it into the Whirlpool refrigerator. 

Grandfather moves to the reclining chair, sits down, and lights up a huge Roi tan cigar.   He prefers Roi tan to Cuban hand-rolled blends.   The house fills with smoke, father opens up the sliding glass door and turns the thermostat up and Grandfather puffs away with a big smile on his face.  The other adults’ station in the living room with light green shag carpeting in French chairs given to them by the grandparents.   They each have a glass of cognac or aperitif wine.  Time passes in sublime happiness.  The family is all here, all together for the holidays. 

Finally, the grandparents say they have to leave because they don’t like to drive when it is late, and the Wracks fetch their overcoats from the hall closet and present them to them.  Even the Fonz is here and the Wracker family waves goodbye to the grandparents as they roll away in the Ford Fairlane.  Father is now sitting in the recliner smokes a Pall Mall cigarette and watches television on the color set brought to them by the grandparents.  The Wracks goes and puts away things and straightens things and clears the table as is his custom and constant task.  The Fonz always disappears, he goes and visits the neighbors and will never admit to visiting them.  The Wracks moves to his bedroom which will soon be his grandmother’s bedroom, takes off his pants and shirt, puts on pajamas goes to bed watches as the stars twinkle through the transparent shutters that shroud his room, and finally falls asleep.  

This is one of many to be had, a long time ago, with important people doing important things, and the past slowly slips away.  The Wracks thanks the maker he had a family to live with and have a somewhat normal life.  Many of our beautiful children don’t.  Like our forefathers, who hunted turkey because their crops failed, and the Indians who brought corn and beans to the first Thanksgiving, and lived in harmony with the European colonists, the Wracks want to thank everyone who made his Thanksgiving possible and hope all children will have a good thanksgiving, like he had.  Like water under the bridge, it is all gone now, and what we have are beautiful memories, to share with our offspring.   Happy Thanksgiving.

We the 80 percent demark a proportion of our hourly earnings into funds so he and she can live into retirement and their children will have enough money to be educated upon their demise.  What is the appropriate way for the government to sponsor so the people who fight for the nation and support the infrastructure have enough funds to live into their golden years?   The 20 percent are smarter and have the love of God so they holier than thou can decree how public money is used.   The result of the fruitful meanderings and altruistic research is the mutual fund.   A mutual fund is an investment business staffed by the 20 percent who have the money, had time, had location to attend an Ivy League college and become the financiers of our great nation.   The government which continually tells us that they are on our side says that any interest accrued in a mutual fund is tax-exempt until his or her 65^th birthday.  The 80 percent that believe the dogma of high finance blindly put their hard-earned cash into 401k, 403b, SEP designated cash-exempt funds.  What happens to these billions of dollars that a day laborer or fast-food employee relies upon to give them sustenance during hard times?

Mutual funds are divided into various designations depending on how much time the investment allocates or the amount of risk the investor wants to assume.  Growth funds invest in companies that are productive and rapidly expanding.   Asset allocation funds invest in blue chip giants that use their and mortar base to make money.  Once someone has money, they can lend it or leverage it to make more money and this is what mutual funds do.  Index funds use stable giants that guarantee returns and are less susceptible to stirring.  What is stirring?    Students of psychology note that human beings will endeavor in anything that offers financial returns.  The staff of mutual funds, all highly educated, buy and sell stocks and bonds and make a commission on their buys and sells so naturally they will use derivative methods to buy and sell stocks, bonds, and commodities so they can earn six-figure incomes gambling the grub stake of wage earners.    Has anyone ever heard of a poor investment banker?   Probably not, because they live in exclusive gated communities in large houses with a pool.  The as they stir the more investment staff make and index funds are composed of entities that do not need to be stirred as much. 

Overseas stocks are highly speculative no matter what investment bankers state.   They do not fall under United States government jurisdiction, so the money can not be appropriately and exactly quantitated.  This means that third-party players and middlemen take a cut as the money happens from other countries and eventually finds its way to the United States where it can be taxed.   What is better than having money make money in a foreign country and no one, even the government knows how much cash is being generated or reinvested in infrastructure?   Only the 20 percent know.   Only the shadow knows what evil lurks in the hearts of men.   Let the giants of industry outsource the economy so no one knows how much cash the companies generate, they can employ slave laborers, and they take a cut and put it in a Swiss bank awaiting retirement and no one knows.  Stir, stir, allocate with abandon, and store the booty in overseas accounts along with drug traffickers. 

My grandfather was a man of few words and I was too immature to appreciate him.   What he said is that men only do what suits them and that if you are not part of the solution, you are part of the problem.

Enter the dragon.   If public money is to be invested unscrupulously, the government should do it.   If hard-earned cash is to be stolen, the government should steal it, not Ivy League investment bankers. 

We shall establish mutual funds based on NET INCOME as demarcated in the yearly prospectus.

We shall establish mutual funds based on slope as given in a Cartesian coordinate system with an x and y-axis.

We shall establish mutual funds based on capital because profit derives from capital and large companies are stable entities for all.  Owners’ equity in the equation Assets = liabilities and owners’ equity is a sum that can be taxed and leveraged.  Like one of my mentors stated; “it takes money to make money.”

Mathematical quantities like ROI. Quick ratio and others are merely guides for an intelligent investor to proceed because like all math, figures lie and liar’s figure.   

One of the most pertinent places to put a nest egg is a certificate of deposit in a FIDC-accredited bank and label the money as an IRA.  Bonds are merely debentures that float around, and never go away and the working class pays the interest when they are tagged onto the property tax.   Money is money and when this author was a child a peer said he would teach him about money.  The author gave him five dollars on loan and the person said to ask for it back and when the author did, he got punched in the face.  This is how money is. 

This author is not a rabble-rouser or politician.  Let him play the devil’s advocate and state empirically that he is mad he never got a piece of the skullduggery.   We the people vote to ensure the blessings of liberty for ourselves and our posterity do ordain and establish……

Estranged to a lonely room

Littered with trash and splattered gloom

Fettered and sentenced to early doom

Distressed and distraught to a sordid mood

Creeps and crawls and stalks at night

To make sure the windows latched

To make sure the door to match

Hope to God to soon to catch

Before settling to an unworldly nap

Creeps and crawls and stalks at night

Late night battered darkness broken

Metallic taste in my mouth beholden

Bathroom rush with my mouth open

Rinse the mouth and nose thus salted

Creeps and crawls and stalks at night

I never see the imp come or go

Only disturbance in light or dark shadow

Low to the floor  slither  and flow

Dash under the bed, I don’t really know

Creeps and crawls and stalks at night

Maybe it is up on the ledge

Or under the bed or behind the case

Or cowering in a corner or place

Peeking out  from a closet embrace

Creeps and crawls and stalks at night

In my dreams I see a sordid face

Withered and shriveled and contorted with hate

Laronian imp with purpose of fate

In my mouth it squirts the paste

Creeps and crawls and stalks at night

Again I wake and bolt for the sink

From the corner of my eye I see the imp

He disappears in wink or a blink

Invisible to the man with a limp

Creeps and crawls and stalks at night

Pint sized demon un happily  born

Raised to hurt and kill with poison

Never seen in a man with reason

Punished in a life of torture and scorn

Creeps and crawls and stalks at night

In the darkness I see a leap

Up to the ledge an amazing  feat

For a tiny thing at most two feet

Hiding until I fall asleep

Creeps and crawls and stalks at night

Needles inserted into my feet

Slow painful  sore legs they do  retreat

Hope to lord my soul to keep

Late at night in darkness deep

Creeps and crawls and stalks at night

In the blackness I hear a click

Grab a sword and after it

Under the bed in a squealing fit

Damaged with a warbling tweet

Creeps and crawls and stalks at night

Should I slowly pass away

Hopefully my children remember me

Horrible taste with it at bay

Awakening to a brand new day

Creeps and crawls and stalks at night

Should I survive to tell a story

Of terror, pain and faith and glory

Unbelievable unreasonable stodgy and gory

Peers in as I swoon with sedated foray

Creeps and crawls and stalks at night

sinking in a stormy sea Lord Jesus

Bailing suits me just fine.

Sitting in a little row boat bailing

One step over the line

I want to have a good time Mother Mary

I want to have a really good time

Going way down in a subway station

One step over the line

I want to say hello Saint Peter

Say hello one more time

Sitting alone in a subway station

One step over the line

I never wanted to offend old Smoky

I want to give him a piece of my mind

Keeping to myself in a railway station

One step over the line

Saint Micheal says I have a long way to go

don’t pay people no mind

Sitting by myself at a railway station

One step over the line

Blue blood doesn’t suit me, lord Jesus

I need help most of the time

Lost with myself on the internet

One step over the line

There exist words that everyone speaks but only a few practice or believe.  Words like truth, honesty, friendship, and mostly justice.  Justice looks truly beautiful and I have seen her and she tells me that truth lives and waits for you.  She doesn’t have to posture or take off her clothes or say anything because her smile her eyes and her manner reveal all that is good and real.  Justice lives where the light shines and light shines brightly for those who want to see and sight shines in the world for everyone who wants to look. Where the light is, is where your heart lies, and it is your heart that cannot lie to you.  Follow your heart, think with your mind, and believe with all your feelings and the future will become real and all yours.  Transcend obstacles because hurdles are only to be surmounted and death does not hurt.  Evil, prejudice, and inequity are the pains that we might have to live with.  Goodness leaves a good feeling and the others don’t and the integral of positivity and optimism yield a positive first derivative and a second derivative in the fourth dimension.  What it is all adds up to and positive values add up and non-positive values subtract.  What I am trying to say, is that the way is toward the light and no other path exists or matters and this is why.

He does not want you to look at him because he has become horrible to behold.  His hands warp into claws and he has eyes like a cat, a dark complexion, and thick black wavy hair.  His teeth are all canines because he eats meat and nothing else…  He wears black and purple clothes because black is his color and purple signifies royalty and the only colors, he sees are orange and purple, grey and black, and nothing in between.  His demeanor breeds horror, death, and wanting and a hunger that never can be satisfied and he asks you to denounce your religion and follow him.  He shows a bag of gold and a handful of jewels.    In this revelation and the horror, God installs a cruelty that cannot be cured, forever.  His friend is tall and slender and reminds someone somewhere of a snake. The blond has blue eyes, a long head, and hands like him transfigured by the lord into claws of revulsion, hate, deception, and torture. He wears a long robe with nothing underneath.   He too, asks a soul to denounce his faith and follow him.  They promise riches beyond the imagination, hot women that never satiate, and a life of action, adventure, lust, and carnage. This life does not last forever.  They don’t accept no for an answer. They never have and never will, and any pauper looks for time to end and for his children to grow up, be educated, and start their families so they can finally find rest. 

Life is beautiful and offers something to everyone.  What this life offers a soul is the truth and a truth that no one can ever cloud, obfuscate, purvey, or destroy.  In this life and the truth with justice, beauty, and faithfulness, the powers manage to support until ends and means are met. However, who wants to be a Shaolin monk holding a rice bowl in the streets? Better are the other 80 percent. Aphrodite wears a white Russian mink she has blond hair and she promises something somewhere forever.  The Chinese girl is here.  She likes to ride horses and wields a sword like a man and has no other.  She carries a dagger in a leg scabbard and stabs anyone who tries to approach the Rendu Temujin. When you see the light, dreams, and hallucinations are enough to satisfy this life in the promise of something better, longer and faster. In the acceleration of life to the speed of light, someone can love, and in this love is everything and much more.  Numbers, strategic assessments, the way, the weather, the seasons, and discipline.    The Meek shall inherit the earth.  It is all real and apparent in the 4D.  The real is probably a dream, or nightmare, or hallucination that exists in the eye of Allah and to him, it doesn’t matter anyway, because the game is not really a game.

In the twentieth century Bells

In twinkling render hell

And sad melody dothe foretell

 In the dark and endless night

Beginning heartless tearing fright

 I hear those bells bells bells

I hear the wind-driven shameless shaking bells

In the day they merrily ring

With a ding a ling a ling

And my mind imagines things

Please my soul don’t fearfully wing

I hold my ears to stop the din

Of those bells bells bells

Of those piercing grinning banshee-driven bells

Of bells with ringing chime

Ting ting shrilling sordid rhyme

Allah, please deliver a sign

Marking the end of this time

Instruct the fates to be so kind

At the yelling and the shrieking of the bells

Of those horrid screaming profane tingling bells

I always hear the bells

When I am sick or when I am well

With a flinch or with a yell

May my sanity be weld

Or my future be foretold

With those bells bells bells

Of those merciless tearing ringing pinging bells

Of course, bells are only noise

And disrupt my natural poise

May their sounds I  will avoid

Until I go unto my lord

In the far and distant future

O those bells bells bells

Of those bing bong binging evil bells

Inside the gift reclines love inviting. Around the gift reside space and Om and the Om live in quiet harmony with the gift and the all.  The all changes into everything and everything becomes an arena for the all, the gift, the ego, and the mind to fraternize.   The all exists as a wave function that was and will always be after the end of time and the new beginning. The all lives as itself and inside the all lives the love that the all insists upon in his or her loneliness and perpetuity.   If the space becomes a screen and the gift caresses the space then the result returns a picture of what happens in an in-phase sine wave projection.  The gift sees and does not know a master, the gift only knows truth, justice, and harmony and sees only them when awakening and when falling into complete slumber.  The other side of the gift yields mercilessness.  The gift knows no sides, takes no hostages, and makes no bargains, it only sees what happens in reality and is delivered in the space given to it by the all.  The all can be benevolent and shield the gift from what the all does not want the gift to see. The all screens the content of the gift because the master of the gift born mortal has weakness and human failings and viciousness. Inherent in an incarnation of a human being.  The all gives an ego to the gift to control the output of the picture the gift provides the incarnation.  The ego hopes the gift will not see the truth and only deliver a feeling or volume of the existence of space-time at the instant of arousal and focus.  The gift can be evil. After all, it knows no master because they all want it that way.  In the imagination of the all, the whim becomes the gift and the gift sees what it is not supposed to see and the ego scolds it for seeing it.  In the recklessness of the ego as a mortal being comes weakness because the ego only reasons with the anagrams of experience provided by upbringing and the environment and the life of the gift in a human stems from the imagination of a lonely all.  During sleep, the gift looks around unbridled, uncensored by the ego, and sees what truly happens in the darkness and shadows of the night.  The gift as a mind’s eye reacts to stimuli appropriately without regard to race, creed, or color only in the intent-based upon a vector gram in a 180-degree Cartesian coordinate system given to it by the all.  Because the gift has no feeling, no empathy, and no prejudice, it can seem to act inappropriately to a casual observer.  In unconsciousness or during an attack, the gift sees and may choose not to arouse the ego in rapid eye movement slumber because death does not register as a permanent state to the gift.  The gift sees death as a necessary or paramount experience that returns the gift to all for safekeeping.  Should the gift decide to arouse the ego in everything surrounded by ether and the undertaking of mortals then appropriate action ensues instantly, drastically, and completely.  The ego feels the gift likes to kill and the ego tries to shield the gift from any information that sets it on a collision course with reality. In the world of the gift lives a woman because a woman in a male gift transmits love and love is the sound that makes life worth living.  In the mind’s eye lives a woman and her image becomes one instantly in the space-time continuum no matter the time of day or night or distance from the modular transmission station.  The all let the gift see the love and show the ego the beauty of the word in its entirety.  All this occurs instantly without lag, upload, and delay on the bus because they all want it.   This vision given to man or woman debuts not as 3D but as 4D because the experience transcends time, space, or matter.  The Om equals the vibration of matter at an instant in the space-time continuum. The vibrations of humans may be in phase or out of phase with the Om.  The gift senses out-of-phase variations in the environment of the all.   Who can believe that humankind lives in the world only as a dream in the mind of the gift of God.   

4D sees you in a mind’s eye even when I sleep.   And it can feel love.

From a long adventure bearing Bottled up my youth and yearning in my home alone and fearing Screaming, hissing, writhing, Fitting Crucifix in my hand I do the implore Came a tapping at my window floor

So I looked outside and nothing more

 In a  bed in a  room alight Demons hissing, flitting then alight Turn up the juice for  more light Monsters from the darkness come alive and, in my weakness, I might die Comes a rapping at my window floor And

I know for sure there is nothing there.

 It is like a peculiar tapping, not a coarse and raucous rapping not a loud and boisterous crashing A little pecking, clicking thrashing directed at the window floor I dare not look outside for gravest fear

I am sure there is nothing there.

 Lying in the hospital bed insane Roommate dearest also a bane Booming air duct sounds along with pain Darkness madness freedom maimed Others here they are the same Comes a tapping at my window floor

So I scream out loud and nothing more.

 In this hotel, they shock and twist and drug and startle and slap and rip They come back shadows through the big oak door Grinning devils bare and bored, and in the night returns the rapping A little trite peculiar winking tapping Tapping at my window floor

So I start to pray and nothing more.

 Back at home in just a wink Once a week I see a shrink Asking what I see and hear What I think and what I fear and my future goes amidst the tears and in the blackness comes that tapping the familiar simple shortened clapping A click-clacking at my window floor

And I am sure outside there is nothing there.

 Even in the morning early While I awaken slow and surely Before the sun rises so sweet and cheery.  The sound appears that I abhor I hear a tapping at the front door A little trifled intentioned clacking. A peculiar light and constant tapping Tapping again at my front door

I am afraid to look and nothing more.

 Reading in the night so deep No sounds, no light no insects creep No mice to remind of loss of sleep Then returns the peculiar click and ticking Alight and brusque and sickening pecking A tap tap tapping at my window floor Gone and back and rotten fear

I am scared to death and nothing more.

 And this before the sounds and words Are peculiar things that I have heard in the blossom of my youth Came a loving brush with death and to this day sometimes I hear a tick and tapping Always a light and affectionate clacking A click clack clacking at my new front door and now my soul is not so bare

So I look away because nothing’s there

Let’s go trick or treating tonight, Kool, Wracks drawls, It’s Halloween
Yeah, I have Cranks shaving cream and a carton of rotten eggs, promises Kool.
Wall be sold me some tear gas, says Wracks, I can’t wait to try it. We need some pretty young girls to
terrorize on Alls Hallow eve.
We can live on candy, says Wracks and Nate can come along.
See you at the dark, screams kool, I have cherry bombs.
Kool runs away screaming “Cherry bombs”, and he disappears up Mellow man’s street.
Wracks, I don’t want the police to call me from jail like the day you and Timey were hunting deer down
in the Canyon with Bows and Arrows, says Papa Wracks.
I promise I won’t do anything radical except have a good time, says Wracks
Be home before curfew or they will run you in, says Papa Wracks.
Tonight, Cool, Wracks, and Nate will ascend Bacon way and try to draw out the opposition. Bacon Way
winds uphill, the incline increasing until Bacon Way becomes Disenchanted Drive and Way of the Saint
Inez. Almost all the homes on Bacon Way celebrate Halloween. Some carve spooky pumpkins and set
them out front with candles blowing eerily in the night breeze. Others display lights and banners or play
scary sounds through intercoms and hidden speakers. Others just leave a huge bowl of candy out front
under a light and next to a lighted jack-o-lantern because they are somewhere attending a Halloween
party. Kool Wracks and Nate walk up to houses and level their shaving cream at the door of the
celebrants. When the door opens they yell “trick or treat,” level their weapons and pull their bandito
masks over their faces. The usual reply becomes a bowl of candy and the three scoop handfuls of the
prizes and transfers the goods to their backpacks. A little child dressed like an Indian walks by and Kool
throws a lit cherry bomb inside his full bag of candy. The bomb explodes with a loud wham and candy
flies like shrapnel everywhere, and the little kid sits down and starts to cry. The child’s parent starts to
chase Kool but Kool outdistances the adult and hides in a bush.
What is his name demands the distraught adult with a crying child dressed like an Indian.
His name is Barney and he lives on Deadman’s says Nate. Five houses up.
You will all pay for what just happened, promises the adult.
About half an hour later, Wracks finds Kool talking to one of the neighborhood girls who is dressed like a
Cat with a long black tail tight leotards and a cat mask. They both smoke cigarettes and turn to look
over wracks and Nate who are now nearing the top of the hill.
Hello, I am Wracks, Happy Halloween.
The pretty little cat bats her eyelashes at him and then blinks.
Kool, why did you blow up the kid’s bag of candy, asks Wracks
The devil made me do it says Kool. Besides, I do not like his dad.
He says he is going to call the Police, says Wracks.
They cannot prove a thing, says Cool, not a thing.
Let’s head over on Disenchanted, command Wracks.
The three cross the street from Upper Bacon and start on Disenchanted Drive. The first house on the
hill has lights on and looks open except that the owner has a huge dish of candy with a sign of
“Eat at your own risk.” The three youngsters dressed as hoodlums take handfuls of candy from
the bowl and then Kool takes the bowl and empties the entire contents into his backpack.
Yeah, says Kool. Happy Halloween.
The house across the street situates on an alcove and lush foliage shrouds the entirety of the house. Only
a small entrance niche and a long living room window show the main extent of the house. The
three gangsters knock on the front door where a small iron pumpkin with a candle within
flickers in an odious and ominous way. The door slowly opens and a woman with curly hair in
an evening gown greets them. She holds a small dish with candy in front of the three and says,
“Take one only.” Wracks takes one, Nate takes two, and Kool scoops a handful off the tray. The
curly haired woman smiles and withdraws. Behind her sitting in the shadows is a man with a
goatee dark black beard, dressed in a suit with a black hat and black boots, almost like he was to
attend a party, on a large chair that looks almost like a throne. The shadows shroud the man’s
features but his hands are long, almost feminine, with nails shaped like claws. The door closes
and the three walk off.
Nate says, that man in the chair looks just like the devil. I can’t believe it. What a radical costume. I bet
he wins first prize at a party.
A wrack says that man looked really evil. His hair was black, he had claws and he dresses in a business
suit on Halloween. He must be really rich to afford a makeup artist like that. I was ready to run
in case he lunged at us and tried to grab our throats.
Cool’s eyes turn up in his head and he screams out, “Twisted,” twisted on Halloween. He then
masticates a tootsie roll up into a wad in his mouth and spits the soft food on Nate. Nate in
disgust wipes off the sticky mess with a paper towel and glares at Cool. “Don’t you ever make a
fool of me again?”
Up away on Disenchanted live the Pickle family and the Van horror. The pickles live like active
sociopaths and ride motorcycles out in the desert with Wrack’s brother. The van Horrors have
motocross bikes too and the youngest van horror daughter has a beautiful face, nice figure, and
fine brown hair almost like angel vellum. However, the Van Horror beautiful woman is the
subject of a supernatural horror film and no one dates her. Wracks cannot figure out why. She
looks unbelievably attractive. Maybe if he had an income, he would be able to date her although
no one else does. She looks at him and waves on this Halloween and Dike Pickle heaves a
spoiled tomato and beans Wracks square on the chest. With that initial sighting round, a hail of
tomatoes, lemons, and rotten eggs rain upon the three from behind the gate at the front of the
house.
Retreat says Wracks, we are outnumbered. The three-turnabout face and run-down disenchanted Drive
and then flip off their victorious adversaries from a safe distance. In the distance Wracks sees
three people with a huge slingshot muster a large water balloon. The loader pulls back on the
elastic cords holding the sling to the shot and then let it fly. A water balloon arcs towards the
three from about one hundred yards away.
Take Cover yells Nate. They have artillery. A large water balloon filled with house paint impacts and
explodes ten feet away. The three-turnabout face and run for their lives. They have lost the
battle of disenchanted drive and have been driven away. Back down on Bacon way the three
hunts for another gang upon which to take their revenge. The only adversaries to be found are
three pretty young girls dressed as nymphs in skintight leotards with makeup and wigs. Cool
proceeds to inundate each of them with shaving cream and then toss firecrackers at them. A
wrack sprays one of the girls who jumps away giggling. The loud explosions of the firecrackers
drive the pretty young girls away running. Within ten minutes an adult in blue jeans runs at the
three. Cool sees him first and leaps away into the bushes. The man is Nate’s next store neighbor
and he applies a headlock on Wracks and leads him away.
Why are you attacking my daughters’ girlfriends he asks Wracks.
Because it is Halloween, and everyone has to play pranks. Says Wracks
Where your shaving is cream, asks the man.
I must have dropped it when you put a headlock on me, explains Wracks.
I am going to call the police and complain, says the man. Now be on your way
Go ahead says Wracks, I haven’t done anything illegal.
Down the street, the two other cronies wait for Wracks. What happened, they asked. An adult attacked
me then let me go, says wracks. They were looking for your Cool, but they got me instead. Kool
smiles and shoves another piece of candy in his mouth. On Wraks watch he sees that the time is
about ten thirty P.M. Cool says, I have to be home for curfew. So do I, says Nate. The three
then shake hands and split up. Nate walks back up Bacon way to his house. Kool runs up
Mellowman’s and disappears into his driveway and Wracks enters his house from the front. His
mother lets him in the front door and Wracks spies a Snickers candy bar treat, grabs the candy,
tears open the wrapper, and throws it into his mouth.
Happy Halloween, says Wracks and he exits to his bedroom where his brother lies asleep already,
wrapped up like a mummy and snoring. Wracks takes off his shoes, pants and shirt and
slides into the small bunk bed on the wall opposite the Fonz. Sleep rapidly overtakes him.
How was your Halloween, asks Father Wracks at the breakfast table over a cup of coffee.
I was ambushed and pelted in an artillery barrage and then the neighbor beat me up.
Don’t say I never told you so, says Father Wracks. You should have stayed home and handed out candy.
I should have, could have would have, and then life wouldn’t be the way it is thinks Wracks.
Today strikes as All Souls Day, the day of the Dead. This day chronicles as a day the dead walk the earth
and check up on their families. If on All Souls Day, a stranger walks up to a person and tells them
something unbelievably poignant or entirely strange, then they are an angel. God lets the
departed circulate freely amongst the living if they do not meddle or contact anyone. Once a
soul speaks to a mortal man or woman; they must be reincarnated and relive an earthly
existence. If someone who isn’t an acquaintance relays important information to him or her on
All Souls Day, please listen. As punishment, they must be reborn. Happy Halloween.