SECOND EDITION



SMALL TOWN BACHELOR



BY DELBERT BLANTON
A LITERARY MISCELLANY
A BOOK FOR THE INTELLECTUAL
A BOOK FOR THE COMIC



Greetings from Kokomo, Indiana!!!

Part One



1. THE PLACE, JERRY, THE MEETING, THE DATE, IDA MAY, STICK MILLER, SURPRISE NUPTIALS AND THE ESCAPE

2. BACK AT WORK, JERRY THE ATHLETE, THE SECRET OF STICK MILLER, A MYTH REVEALED, AND A STRANGE OFFER

3. THE VIRGIN, A QUESTION, COOL LEON, MAYBE UNCLE CLESTON, NO
PANTIES IN ATLANTA, AND MICHAEL JORDAN SHARES THE WEALTH

4. A SMALL WORLD, SIESTA KEY, PAUL AND RITA, A SWIM WITH HAMLET, A
DOLPHIN, AND SHRIMP WITH BOBBY KNIGHT

5. FINDING JERRY, CHRISTMAS DINNER WITH THE AMISH, REJECTION, THE
BOBBY KNIGHT DEBATE, THE CRESCENT CLUB, A FRENCH GIRL, AND A
POEM

6. OLD PEOPLE IN SHAPE, FUN OVER THOUGHT, TAKING ON THE CLITORIS,
NOW I’M AN IRISHMAN, AND JERRY GIVES ME AN EDUCATION


Part Two


7. THE ASSEMBLY LINE AND NEW CASTLE RICK

8. A WALL-MART CHICK, THE S-O-C METHOD, FRANCE PARK, PROCLAMATION OF THE HEART, REMEMBREANCE OF TRUE LOVE, AND A POEM FOR A SLUT

9. ARROW HEAD SPRINGS, MISSISSINEWA LAKE, FIREMAN DAN, A NEW
RELIGION AND A COUPLE OF BLONDES

10. BIG TIT SALLY, THE BLUE HERON, A SPORTSCASTER, AND THE
PHENOMENON OF FAME

11. THE NEXT MORNING, TOM FROM MOORESVILLE, A TRIP TO THE TRACK,
AND GIANT MELONS BOUNCING IN THE MAY SUNSHINE

12. ANGER DEVELOPMENT, THE HIP HUGER LOUNGE, AND MRS. FOX

13. JERRY AND GOD, A TRIP TO THE RCA DOME, THE NEWLY CONVERTED,
BILLY GRAHAM, A WEDDING AT IKES, AND THE OFFERING PLATE

14. SEPTMEBER 11, THE HIP HUGGER BIGOT, AND YOLANDA JEFFERSON

15. THE BLANTONS, GRANPA AND A GUN, NEPHEW KIRK, BIG JED, A POOL
GAME AND PENTACOSTAL PREACHER

16. A WRONG TURN, KIRK LOST IN THE CITY, CHICAGO HOOKERS,
MARIJUANA AND I-65 OR BUST


Part Three



17. SIESTA KEY AGAIN, ONE PENNY, WISCONSIN JOHN, THE NEW FLORIDA,
AND A DATE WITH A REPUBLICAN


18. KIRK ARRIVES, I RISE ABOVE, ENGLISH GIRLS AT THE SKOB, CRAZINESS
AT THE FIVE O’CLOCK CLUB, AND ******* A DRUNK *****

19. BRITISH FEMALE MASTURBATION, SHOCK TROOPS, SOPHIA ASKS A
QUESTION AND REMEMBRANCE OF THE BOTTLE


20. GOODBYE TO THE BRITS, NATURE AND A BAR, AND SOME PISSED OFF
GAYS

21. RETURN OF THE CHRYSLER, KIRK GETS A JEWISH GIRL, GIRLS OF THE
PAST, A NEW WALK, MARGOT THE SHRINK, AND PENTINENCE TO THE GAY
MAN


22. MARGOT, INTO THE FUTURE, COMPATIBILTY, GET IT ANY WAY YOU CAN,
AND RONALD REAGAN

23. JFK AND REAGAN, MARGOT LEAVES, LOVE ASUNDERED REMEMBERED


24. THE LAST BREAKFAST, NO SPIRIT, THE PROBLEM, ELWOOD HAYNES AND
THE AMISH, AND HOPE FOR A SOLUTION



Epilogue


A. Islam versus Christianity, Fight Myth with Myth, the Amish Freak Out, Divorcing Our Past, and Good-Bye to Jerry

B. BEYOND JERRY, MARIA AND I, THE DINNER PARTY IN CARMEL, KURT VONNEGUT’S LOVE CHILD, MOHAMMAD AND I TALK, GLOBALIZATION, AND GOOD LIES



PREFACE

Like Rousseau’s Memoir, Small Town Bachelor is a dramatization, an embellished work, reality sprinkled with illusion, a hybrid of fact and fiction. Like Moses leading the Hebrews out of bondage from Egypt, Small Town Bachelor is a mix between real events and the stories that evolved from the real events. The Exodus did happen, but the parting of the Red Sea did not, at least not by the hand of God with 50 foot walls of water on each side. (If you are still debating this, you should find a different book to read.) To write a completely fictitious book would require a completely different world, characters that do not or never did exist, non-human creatures in a world yet to be discovered. Of course, science fiction best represents this genre. Objective history is on the other side of the spectrum, non-bias facts about events of the past. In between is Historical fiction, such as the Old Testament, Homer’s Iliad and Odyssey, and Tolstoy’s War and Peace, great stories derived from actual events. Small Town Bachelor is a brief piece of literature about my life. My book is similar to Jack Kerouac’s On The Road or a Bruce Springsteen song. You know there is some truth in there and that the events did happen but you are not sure it happened just like you are reading or hearing it. Science fiction is not for me. History is not for me. Literature is the in-between, the place where we don’t want our lives but love our art.

Delbert Blanton



The word “incredulous” is used instead of the word “skeptical” in reverence to F. Scott Fitzgerald who repeated “incredulous” in The Great Gatsby. This writer and this book seduced me into a life of reading.



Prerequisite reading in order to fully understand this book: The Holy Bible, The Odyssey, Ulysses, Brothers Karamazov, The Great Gatsby, Atlas Shrugged, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, and Green Eggs and Ham.



Dedicated to Jerry.



Part One


CHAPTER ONE

THE PLACE, JERRY, THE MEETING, THE DATE, IDA MAY, STICK MILLER, SURPRISE NUPTIALS AND THE ESCAPE


Hello everyone! I am Delbert, and I live in Kokomo, Indiana. Kokomo is 50 miles north of Indianapolis on U.S. 31. It’s a town of about 50 thousand. There are two big factories in Kokomo. One is Delphi Electronics which makes stereos, electronic sensors and other gadgets for automobiles. They mainly supply General Motors, but I’m sure in today’s international world of capitalism, they sell a few products to Toyota, and maybe even Al-Qaida.

The other big factory is DaimlerChrysler Corporation. This is where I work. We make transmissions. I make the rear carrier for the 604 front wheel drive automatic transmission. That is about all I know. I know my job well, but I know little else about cars, trucks, engines, transmissions or the company. They say the Germans own us now, Daimler, but I have never seen one, a German, except for my friend, Jerry. Jerry is German, but he was born here in Indiana, just north of Kokomo in Miami County. I guess that makes him German-American. I’m Appalachian-American because my parents came from the Appalachian Mountains in Harlan County, Kentucky. Jerry and I meet while we are working in department 9100. I am 23, and Jerry is around 40. I am a new hire at Chrysler and work on the assembly line. Jerry has been with the company for several years. He builds valve bodies.

It is floating around the department that I graduated from Indiana University in Bloomington, Indiana. This intrigues some people, but it pisses Jerry off. Jerry doesn’t like IU. Jerry is a Purdue University fan. His brother played basketball for Purdue. His nephew plays for the Purdue football team. Jerry has a problem with his brain that makes him ask several questions in succession before getting an answer to his first. Jerry approaches me and starts his interrogation. He asks me why I am working on the line when I have a college degree. He asks me why I am not in supervision. He asks me if I know this person or that person. He asks me why I don’t move to Chicago or Phoenix or Denver. He says these cities are hubs for college graduates looking for work. He asks me if I have a girlfriend.

“Not right now,” I answer quickly, getting in a word.

This freezes Jerry. He ponders.

“Hey, hey, would you like to meet my neighbor?” He responds.

“What does she look like?” I wonder.

“She’s tall like you, not bad looking.” Jerry says.

“What’s her number? I’ll give her a call.” I say.

Again, Jerry freezes.

“Hey, you give me your number and I will have her call you.” Jerry says.

I have always been an easy going person, pliable and naïve. Strangely, the assembly line stops, a problem. I quickly jot down my phone number and give the piece of paper to Jerry. The assembly line starts back up, and Jerry darts away.

That Saturday, I get a phone call.

“Is this Mr. Delbert?” A female voice asks.

I wonder why she is calling me “Mr. Delbert?”

“Yes,” I answer.

“Hi. I’m Ida May, Jerry’s neighbor. I’m not suppose to use a phone.” Ida May says.

I don’t know what to say to this.

“Would you like to meet me?” She asks.

“Sure, where do you live? I’ll come by and pick you up.” I answer.

“No. I’m not allowed to be in cars. We’re coming to town tonight. How ‘bout we come by to see you?” She says.

“Who’s we?” I ask.

“Me and my daddy,” Ida May says.

“How old are you?” I ask.

“Twenty one,” she says.

What have I gotten myself into? I might as well see it through. I give Ida May my address. I sit around trying to figure out the mystery. Is Jerry her father? She said she wasn’t allowed to be in a car, but they are coming to town tonight. Are they going to walk to Kokomo from Miami County? And Jerry, this coworker, what is up with this dude? Hell, I barely know the man. Why did I give him my phone number and agree to this blind date?

I start watching a football game and a couple hours pass as I wonder about Ida May, Jerry and the strange phone conversation. Outside, in the distance, I hear a sound. One that I have heard before, but one I don’t recognize.

Clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-clop, clip-clop, clip---clop, clip--------clop, clip------------clop, clip---------------------------CLOP!

I peel back the blinds and look outside my window. I see a horse and a black buggy. Two people are inside. It hits me like a great discovery. This is my date.

“Oh my God! She’s Amish!” I scream.

I peel back the blinds again. There they sit. I see a snoopy neighbor make her way out on her porch. Another neighbor pokes their head out. I’ve got to do something. I walk outside. The horse gives a loud nay and jerks its head. Then………it takes a dump. A huge, solid piece of horse **** bounces off the street. Out pops a middle sized man about 50 years old. He wears some gray bib overhauls and a black hat with a stiff, hard bill that circumvents his head. He has a short gray beard that is cut along his chin and a bare upper lip, no mustache. He is a pilgrim. He has ridden his buggy through time, straight from Mayflower to my front door.

“Hi ya! Hi ya! Don’t worry about tat. Don’t’ worry about tat.” The Amish man says.

How he knew the horse took a **** is a mystery to me. The Amish man reaches in the buggy and grabs a miniature short handled shovel. He scoops up the log like a short stop backhanding a baseball hit in the hole. He dumps the log in a bucket in the back of the buggy. He wipes his hands on a rag and rushes over to me, reaching out his hand. We shake.

“Hi ya. I’m Stick Miller. I live next door to Jarry. You work with Jarry, right? You’re Delbert, right?” Stick Miller asks.

“Yes,” I answer.

“Good, good. This is good. It’s a beautiful day. Isn’t it?” Stick says. “She’s inside. You want to see her?”

I look and see a woman inside the buggy. She’s huge, all cramped up and hunched over. If this is an auction, there is no one around to out bid me.

“Yea, uh, sure.” I say, completely lost.

Stick goes over and opens the buggy door. Out steps Ida May. When she straightens up, she has to be six feet two. She is not heavy, but she’s not thin. She’s a power forward, big and sturdy, big shoulders, big hands, big feet, and………big breasts. I’m sure she could kick my ass. Ida May has blondish, brown hair that is tied up and sits beneath a white bonnet. She has on a button down, long sleeve gray shirt and a long gray skirt with black boots. She might look good in Broad Ripple. Maybe I could take her to this artsy Indianapolis community and get her a tattoo above her huge ass.

“Hello,” I say.

“Please to meet you, Mr. Delbert.” Ida May says in very good English, a modern Amish *****.

I look at Ida May and Ida May looks down at the ground.

“Ya, ya, this is good. This is good.” Stick says. “You kids want to get something to eat?”

Now Ida May looks up and gives me a little smile.

“Sure,” I say.

I look over at my car, and I look back at Stick. He gives me a frown.

“Let’s take the buggy.” He says.

Could I? Would I? If I say no, I will go back inside and watch another football game. If I say yes, I might do an Amish woman. I give a wave to all my snoopy neighbors and hop in the buggy.

“Let’s go Betsy.” Stick says and gives the reins a snap.

Betsy the horse starts a trot. I sit in front with Stick. Big Ida May is scrunched up in the back.

“Daddy, it’s crowded back here.” Ida May says.

“Ah, ya, let’s move the bench up.” Stick says in his German accent.

He reaches for a lever beneath the bench, and we pull our hind ends forward. The bench snaps into place.

“This is a new buggy. It has all the modern stuff.” Stick says.

I’m a good sport and conversationalist, but I have no idea what to say. Sensing I’m in shock, Stick does all the talking as Ida May and I sit quietly.

“So you work at Chrysler?” Stick offers as he turns Betsy onto Washington, the busiest street in Kokomo.

“Yes, I work at Chrysler.” I answer.

Cars and trucks back up behind us. Betsy trots along. The cars and trucks slowly pull around the Amish horse and buggy. No one honks. The Amish are not a strange site on the streets of Kokomo. For me, though, this is a new view. I am inside the buggy.

“Do you like factory work?” Stick asks.

“It’s ok.” I say.

“Have you ever raised a barn?” Stick asks.

I glance over.

“You’re kind of skinny.” Stick says to me.

“Yes, I guess so.” I answer.

“Don’t you eat much?” Stick asks.

“Daddy, don’t ask him stuff like that. Sorry, Mr. Delbert. Daddy asks a lot of questions.” Ida May says.

“Now, Ida May might not be the best thing to look at but she’s a good cook and that looks like what you need, a good cook to fatten you up some, and she’s strong, can chop a cord of wood in a couple hours. This will come in handy when having babies…..a strong woman. Don’t want no skinny woman for babies. I guess you’re the skinny one.” Stick says, and gives a chuckle.

“Daddy, please!” Ida May says, raising her voice.

“OK, why don’t you two talk?” Stick says.

I don’t know what to say so I look out the side window. For some strange reason, my sister Debbie is in her car in the next lane. I lean forward in excitement and knock on the window.

“Oh! Debbie! Debbie!” I scream.

“What is it?” Stick asks.

“My sister is next to us.” I say.

“You want her to come along?” Stick asks.

“No, no. I………… was just surprised.” I say

The light turns green. Debbie looks up at the buggy. At the sight of me, she lets out a shriek and veers to her right almost hitting the car in the far right hand lane. Debbie straightens our her car and pulls away on Washington Street as Stick turns the buggy left onto Markland Avenue. I am alone again with the Amish.

“Let’s go to Noble Romans. I like their breadsticks.” Stick says.

He trots Betsy up Markland Avenue towards the Markland Mall. The front right wheel makes a thump with each revolution. Strangely, I notice an orange electrical cord on the floor. I keep my mouth shut.

Noble Romans is in the mall parking lot next to Sears. Stick guides Betsy into a spot far away from any cars. I get out and Stick gets out and Ida May climbs over the bench somehow. She is big, agile, a good athlete. We could make some huge babies.

Inside, we take a booth. Ida May sits on the side with her dad. If I look at her, she looks away. Shy, I guess. We order some breadsticks, and Stick starts up again.

“Now, my granddad raised Big Ben.” Stick says.

“Big Ben?” I wonder.

“Ya, ya, Big Ben,” Stick says again.

“You mean the cow in Highland Park?” I ask.

Stick gives me an incredulous, condescending look

“We gelded Big Ben,” Stick says.

My balls tighten. I look at Stick.

“Big Ben was a steer, not a cow,” Sticks says, giving me a little frown, firmly realizing that I am a city boy.

A picture comes into my mind, Big Ben, the world’s largest steer, weighing over 5000 pounds, and an incredible 16 feet long. In 1910, Big Ben slipped on some ice and broke his leg. He was put to death and his stuffed body resides in Highland Park in Kokomo, Indiana, minus what must have been the biggest balls in the world.

“Are you sure? I thought those people were named Murphy.” I say.

“Ya, ya, I’m sure. The Murphy’s are on my mother’s side. We still have some of the meat from Big Ben.” Stick says.

Ida May giggles. The waitress brings our drinks.

“I thought he was raised in Howard County.” I say.

“No, no. Miami County. On our farm. Come on out sometime, and I’ll show you. Why, we could ride out tonight.” Stick says.

I think I have ridden enough in the black buggy. I only like horses from a distance, like when they are racing in the Kentucky Derby. I think I want to go back to my car.

“Excuse me. I need to go to the restroom.” I say.

“When a man’s got to go, a man’s got to go.” Stick says and Ida May giggles.

Of course, I don’t have to piss. In the restroom, I splash some water on my face and look in the mirror. I just need some reflection. I need to know if this is real or some dream. I go into the stall and get some paper and blow my nose. I go back and look in the mirror. I blast out laughing. HA! HA! HA! HA! HA! This Jerry guy is a real trip, setting me up on a blind date with an Amish woman. I open the door to leave and see Ida May standing in the hallway against the wall.

“What’s so funny in there?” She starts.

“Uh, what are you doing here?” I ask.

“I wanted to see you.” She says.

“I was coming right back.” I say.

Ida May is not shy. Ida May takes a step forward. I’m 6’4” and she is looking me straight in the eyes. She takes another step forward, pressing her giant breasts gently into me. Ida May has me pinned.

“We can’t talk out there in front of daddy.” She says.

“Uh, look, let’s just go back to the table, ok?” I say.

I duck down beneath the giant breast and squirm away. I walk back to the booth and take my seat. A moment later, Ida May shows. She sits next to her daddy. The waitress brings the breadsticks, and things get extra weird.

“Would you like a little wine with your bread?” Stick asks me.

“They sell wine here?” I ask.

“I don’t know. I brought some home brew.” Stick says.

He reaches into one of the many pockets on his bib overhauls and pulls out a wine sack.

“This is made of goat skin.” Stick says.

He points the nozzle towards his open mouth and squeezes the wine sack together. A stream of red wine shoots into the back of his throat. He passes it over to me. I hold the goat sack and give it a strange look as I feel Ida May’s big boot going up my leg.

“Easy,” I say.

“Yea, that’s right, easy. You don’t want to shoot too much in.” Stick says.

“It feels good.” I say, holding the goat sack.

Ida May gives me a little smile.

“Now, that’s real goat skin.” Stick says.

“Where did you get it?” I ask.

“I bought it up in Shipshewana, ya, ya. It’s been very good to me. Go ahead. Have a squirt……..ah, wait, have some bread first.” Stick says.

Ida May takes the top of her boot and rubs it on the inside of my leg. She must be double jointed. Now, when I look at her, she smiles big, like Betsy the horse. I look at Stick to make sure he isn’t smiling. Stick holds a breadstick out towards me and I break off a piece. I take a bite and chew it up and swallow. Then, I hold the goat sack up and squirt some red wine into my mouth. They watch me intensely. I take another squirt of red wine and hand the goat sack back to Stick.

“Ah ha! There you go my boy! It’s almost done!” Stick says and slaps his knee.

“Yea, yea, daddy!” Ida May says.

“What’s almost done?” I ask.

“Now, just sit tight, my boy, ya, ya, it’s almost done, ya, ya.” Stick says.

I don’t like Stick calling me “my boy.” Stick stands up and pulls a Bible out of another pouch on his bib overhauls. He opens the Bible and starts reading out loud in a foreign language. It sounds like a harsh yodel.

“Is that German?” I ask Ida May.

“It’s Beachy, a German dialect, like Pennsylvania Dutch. We use it for all wedding ceremonies.” She says.

I **** my head and give a small, incredulous smile.

“Who’s getting married?” I ask.

“Why, we are silly.” She says.

I look at Stick, and I look at Ida May. I slowly **** my head back towards Stick, and it hits me. These Amish people are ******* serious!

“Hey, wait a minute. Hold up.” I say to Stick.

Stick lowers the Bible and looks at me.

“What’s wrong, my boy?” He asks.

“What’s going on here?” I ask him.

“I’m marrying you two so you can come to church with us where we can get a Deacon to give us a proper wedding. You’ll be accepted into the church. You won’t be an Englishman anymore. You’ll be one of us. You’ll be Amish, ya, ya.” Stick explains.

“Are you crazy? I never said anything about getting married, and I’m not an Englishman!” I say, raising my voice.

“Everyone is an Englishman except us, and Jerry said you wanted to get married. That’s why we made this long trip into town.” Stick says.

“He’s going to leave, daddy, make him stay. He said he was going to marry me!” Ida May screams.

She scoots out of the booth and stands up in the aisle. She’s huge, 6’2, 200. I might weigh 170. Ida May is going to kick my ass. My body shakes as I stand up in the aisle and we square off. People glance over their shoulders to get a look. I hear laughter.

“I’m not marrying you! I’m not marrying anyone!” I shout looking at Ida May, then to Stick.

“Now, my boy, you ate the bread and drank the wine. That’s telling our Lord that you are ready to get married, ya, ya.” Stick says.

Stick grits on me hard. My balls shrivel up. I don’t want to marry any woman and I don’t want to be like Big Ben. I decide to make a run for it.

“Hey, I’m out of here.” I say.

Ida May gives me a stare. I brush past her and she gives me a shoulder in the chest. I bump into a table and knock over a pitcher of coke. The cooks come up front. They gyrate up and down and smack their bellies. I hustle by the counter and out the door. I start running towards the Markland Mall. A car pulls up beside me.

“Hey, what’s going on?” Someone says.

I turn and see it’s my sister Debbie.

“Let’s get out of here!” I scream and jump in her car.

“Was that you in that horse and buggy on Washington Street?” She asks.

“Yea,” I answer.

“What were you doing?” She wonders.

“It’s a long story, Debbie. Let’s get out of here before they catch us.” I say.

“Before who catches us?” She asks.

“The Amish people! They’re after me! Let’s go!” I shout.



CHAPTER TWO

BACK AT WORK, JERRY THE ATHLETE, THE SECRET OF STICK MILLER, A MYTH REVEALED, AND A STRANGE OFFER


I head back to work at Chrysler. I stand on the assembly line. I don’t stand next to the assembly line. I stand on the assembly line. The Line moves through me, my exterior, my realm, my spirit. It is a J-Bar assembly line. The transmission sits inside an iron J. The iron J is painted orange. It is locked into a position. There are 55 J-Bars that are next to each other on The Line. A chain overhead moves the J-Bars with the transmissions slowly past us workers so we can do our jobs. Some workers use levers to move the J-Bar to different positions. This allows the worker easier access to the transmission. The Line creeps along. It moves slowly, and I move slowly. We are sure of ourselves, me and The Line. I’ve got to come to terms with The Line or The Line will take my mind and my spirit. I do the same movements over and over and someone gets a new car. This is the itemization of labor. This is capitalism. The Line is not far away, only inches from my physical body. It is far away from my special place, the place that makes my atoms different from the atoms in the iron. For some people, this is God, their connection to God, their soul. For me, it is art. Or, I should write, the part of me that wants to create, the part of me that reaches for art. It is that part of me that cannot be quantified. It is my essence. If The Line gets this, I am dead.

Not far from me, Jerry is working. He is working off the assembly line. He is sitting

Question:
WHAT IS THIS?

Choices:
NO ANSWER
EXISTENTIALISM

 

You should have married Ida May...Those Millers have Money...And are pretty nice people too...And after you loose your Chrysler Job...Barn building skills, would have came in handy...Oh well you blew it

Sounds like Seinfeld...

I enjoyed the story once it started but the other stuff was boring. LOL

Pynchon, Faulkner, and Proust wrote books for intellectuals. I think that you are channeling "A Confederacy of Dunces". I must admit that after your dissing of Ayn it will be hard for me to judge you absent malice.

To Seize the Day: You understand where I am going. I hope you buy the book and read it all, cover to cover. Truth reveals itself from paragraph to paragraph. Yes, I told some lies, but so did Theodore Roosevelt when he built the Panama Canal. The lie was needed to reach the common good, the canal, just as the anceint Spartans had to tell a lie to defend Themopolye, just as Bush told a lie to get a foot in the desert. It is all long and complicated. I still lean towards the left but the right has some purpose........Raskolinkov,,,thanks for the compliment...I am in no way compared to Pynchon or Faulkner or Proust. I see Proust as the greastest of these three, then Pynchon, then Faulkner. I was never a big Faulkner fan, nor Hemingway, but F. Scott and the Great Gatsby was true Romanticism, just the oppposite of Prisig and Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintienance....I put Gatsby on the far left in pure romanticism and pirsig on the far right in objective thought....must go...chow...

my previous literary spectrum was not correct,,,fitzgerald on the far left, yes, with the great gatsby,,ayn rand on the far right with atlas shrugged, and prisig above all politics with the scientific zen and the art of motocycle maintenance,,,now i can sleep since i corrected my mistake and wrote truth,,,seize,,,do you work at chrysler? i use to now i work for gm,,,,now the government, was chrysler then daimler then cerebrus then gm then an unknown capitalist named john galt who thought that he was greater than everyone else and these else people were bringing him down and you must rememeber seize that they were all born rich, dagney, and her brother, and john and francisco domigo carlos andres sebastian d'Anconia were born rich only hank readen was born poor and he came up through the iron ore mines in minnesota so he is legitmate all the others are country club set even danneskjold who turned into a theif you donm't get it gm takes over chrysler now you go under you and your farming commuintiy because you voted for bush the man who believes in galt's gulch and the dollar bill as the stature in colorado...lost...lost and loney you are seize,,,this is truth,,,will be at sycamore market place friday at midnight will be the frankenstein,,,later,,,dasvindanaya,,long live dostoevsky, a real writer down with alyssem rosenbaum, aka, ayn rand, the one who thought she was better than everyone else and that the "others" were bringing her down the jew ***** from saint petersburg russia i have been there have you seixe?

I liked the omish story. Thats a book you wrote? I may have to go get it.

google Small Town Bachelor Second Edition. I think it is 20 bucks,,,amazon, target, other sites,,,thanks

quote:

Originally posted by PixieDust:
You should have married Ida May...Those Millers have Money...And are pretty nice people too...And after you loose your Chrysler Job...Barn building skills, would have came in handy...Oh well you blew it

Dear PixieDust,

Dear PixieDust:

Who are you? Do you know me? If you live out in this Miami Community, I want to sincerely apologize for my book, and what happened to Jerry. He was my friend and I betrayed him. I am the cause for his decision. I have to live with this everyday and feel much remorse. When the book was finished, I had a decision to make, to throw it into the trash or to go forward. I went forward because there is much truth in my book, and this truth is greater than the human condition which is essentially star dust left over from the Big Bang. Yes, PixieDust, this is what we are, us humans, stardust where light was trying to travel faster than the cosmic speed limit and, therefore, was formed into matter and all matter, including us humans, is a product from this explosion. At one time, there were Neanderthal men that walked the earth, mainly in what is now France. These creatures were over eight feet tall. They were some type of “in between” us homo sapiens and homo erectus. Of course, there were dinosaurs, too. This is all very complex and I don’t profess to know it all. I just finished reading 100 Nights of Solitude by Gabriel Marquez. In it there are these parchments written in Sanskrit by this Melquiades character. Different men in the Buendia family try to decode them and they all fail, sort of like searching for the philosopher’s stone. One man, Aureliano, does translate the parchments and they tell the entire family history and all the truth in the world and then he dies,,,,,it is sort of like once you know it all it is over but you continue to search because the search is inside us. I searched for the truth and the truth led me to the writing of my book, Small Town Bachelor Second Edition. So, I had to give the truth as I saw it to the world and let this truth of mine live when I, too, am dead and gone. You are right. Chrysler is leaving, going to its grave, too, because stupid people keep voting for republicans who want to make this country like Mexico, a third world place where the labor is cheap, near slavery. This is all in the book, too. I am going to post a poem I wrote for Jerry. It is a very small gesture to him on my behalf. If I ever get rich from my book, I will establish a Memorial scholarship for a Maconaquah High School senior who runs track and is going to Purdue. There are many people who hate me now, the Amish, the Hip Hugger people, people at Chrysler, “Christians”, and many others but we now see that everything passes, even Chrysler is soon to be gone. All I can hope for is that eventually someone in New York City, some influential literary critic will see my book as great literature that tries to tell the truth of the world. I write much about my drinking in the book. I stayed sober for six years, but with the death of Jerry hanging over my every moment of being and now the inevitable collapse of Chrysler due to stupid people in Washington and Detroit and Stuggart, Germany, I have relented and been drinking every day,,,large quanities, drunk,,,this is poetic justice for the one’s I had to betray in order to write my book. Also, my right nut has swollen and I am sure I have prostate cancer. I am not going to seek any medical help,,,just going to ride it out until my passing into the other realm. This Second Edition is not completely perfect. There is a major problem in it, specifically the two Latin terms de facto and de jure. I have them mixed up in the book. I have corrected it and also did some other improvements. This will be the final edition. I am not sure how I am going to clarify this,,,Third Edition? Adieu? Something. I will not go the way of Jerry,,,,,self inflicted. If I do this, then public opinion will be that my book is a lie. I will tolerate the cancer pain (if indeed it is cancer) with the alcohol and eventually it will come,,,,,

Then the people who hated the book will be satisfied and I will be in a different dimension,,,maybe on Siesta Key as a jelly fish…

Raskolikov,,,Delbert,,,no pity,,don’t need it and don’t make any suggestion that we meet…I am guilty….

Wow!

Raskolinkov,

Stop drinking, find an editor, get some antibiotic for your infected testicle, and read the book "Geek Love".

PS: Kudoes for having read "Atlas Shrugged". Most people form an opinion without ever opening the book. BTW the key take-aways from A.S. are "A=A" and "every man is responsible for himself". All the capitalist ranting is secondary.

PSS: If you're going to drink anyway, drink wine and/or scotch (single malt).

Dear Raskolinkov...I'm pretty sure that I don't know you...I'm curious about what happened to Jerry though??? Why must you punish yourself...Explain Please...PixieDust

Raskolinkov.....all is not lost. We all have guilt. Don't give up yet. Your purpose here on earth is not finished. Hang around for a while. Please.

quote:

Originally posted by PixieDust:
Dear Raskolinkov...I'm pretty sure that I don't know you...I'm curious about what happened to Jerry though??? Why must you punish yourself...Explain Please...PixieDust

Dear PixieDust:
Jerry was my friend. We met at Chrysler back in 1988. All this is in the book I wrote. Anyway, two weeks after I published my book,July or 2005, Jerry was found dead in a cornfield in Lake County, Indiana. All the detectives would say is that it was a knife wound and no one else was involved. I was privy to the investigation until his family cut me off so I never got the official word, accident or self inflicted, from the autopsy. The dectective thought we were gay lovers so I was question. This is far from the truth. Jerry and I were and are both heterosexual males. We we're always together though because we never got married and had no immediate family. Whenever we would have a vacation, we would go down to Siesta Key just off the Gulf of Mexico very near Sarasota, Florida, or Vegas, or Colorado, or anywhere and everywhere. I was always throwing my money around on strippers or big fancy meal and Jerry would sleep in Motel-6 and eat at White Castle. We were quite the pair. Anyway, after meditating on how everything played out, I am sure Jerry committed suicide because of my book which he was deeply ashamed of. I had to go forward, though. It took me three years to write, the first three years of my sobriety. I drank tonight but not too bad,,,am sober, four or five Heinekens over a three hour period. I just played a game of chess against an opponent with an 1850 ranking and I am only a 1460 ranking and I beat him so I know I am sober. Maybe I am building up that tolerance again,,ha..I went to the doctor about my swollen nut and he just acted like it was no big deal. I am not sure what is going on here. I will probably go a different doctor. However, if it does turn out to be something serious, cancer or a tumor, I will not fight it. I admit I used Jerry and others to write my book, but at the time, I did not know what I was doing. Most of the stories happened when we were drinking,,then I sober and write my book...I didn't plan all this. It just happend this way. I hope you will buy the book. It is a good read although slanted towards the intellectual male and the left side of the political spectrum so you might not like it if you are a woman who attends church reguarly....oh to Seize the Day,,yes I remember A=A. My copy of Atlas Shrugged is all beat up. You can tell that I spent some serious time with this book. It is one of those books that must be digested and the reader must decide which side he is on,,,,just like everything else I write about in my book,,,ideas and people that demand intellectual decisions,,,race, God, the Amish, homosexuality, Ayn Rand, Bobby Knight, anything that forces the man to make a decsion pro or con is what I write about. I am going to find the poem I wrote for Jerry and then hit the sack....Raskolinkov,,,Delbert....

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