I am Making this All Up.
My silver communicator was lit. The traffic of the Hot Channel was heating up. I had 3 messages from the Potomac Elephant. What could he possibly want? Two were marked urgent. I surveyed the creek and stopped while I listened.
What was he talking about? He and his parents wanted to hear my words? He wanted me to come to his house in Potomac, take a shower in his bathroom, sleep in his room, while he gave me massage treatments? I thought that a bit odd. He mentioned how he would understand if I went to North Carolina, how his parents had called Adult Protective Services on him when he got like I had gotten, and thrown a glass.
I didn’t understand what was going on. There was a message from the silver haired one that glowed amber.
“Called the Naths. I was worried.”
I wrote to the Potomac Elephant.
I just heard your voice mail messages last night. I wasn't sure what you were talking about until papa mentioned he called your residence on Sunday afternoon. Prior to his calling, we had an argument that was a result of the car accident that occurred in February. I said some things, he said some things, I went for a bike ride, came back, we had tea. It sounds like papa may have exaggerated the situation.”
Thanks for the offer to help.
This subject is closed for discussion.
He wrote me back:
I am sorry you had an argument with your father.
He was extremely distraught when he called our home, looking high and low for help, wondering if he needs to call the "authorities" or social service agencies, or what? not knowing , reaching out for help desperately.
I am sorry that you say this subject is closed for discussion.
For me, talking about my mental health is an open subject amongst caring individuals.
I feel like you are closing the door on an important subject, but i can respect your position, to some extent.
Taking medication , including the herb Holy Basil, known as Tulasi in India, (check PlanetaryHerbals.com website, HolyBasil) has helped me to be more calm and collected and has propelled me to higher levels of performance than before.
In my estimation, closing the door on communication is a big sign of trouble, so i hope you will be open and honest with me in the future instead of putting up airs of humor or brushing it over.
Your not calling me after all this is unskillful in my opinion and i am a little offended. It deserves some explanation, not anger, if you do recognize the depth of our friendship.
If you really want me as a brother in your life, then treat me as such. I care about you alot, and expect better communication on your part, because i know you are capable of it, despite the feelings of vulnerability that may surface. It's a 2way street, i assure you, and i will share with you likewise.
I await your phone call. Be Well, and Aloha, for now.
I wrote the Potomac Elephant back:
your parents were justified in calling adult protective services. you beat up your mother. everyone in the indian community knows this. i was shocked when i first heard about this through the grapevine.
He wrote me back:
Good bye Mr. Sudeep
have a nice life
do not come to our home ever again.
I wrote him back:
grow up. you need to learn how to deal with people. think about the reaction the girl you met a couple of weeks ago had to you. your behavior repels people. i had the same reaction to you when you called a few years ago. i tried to be nice, because you seemed so lonely. if you can't take constructive criticism, you'll end up nowhere. and don't make assumptions about my health. you know nothing about it.
get some rhythm too.
The Potomac Elephant grew angry:
Sudeep you sick fuck, i don't want anything to do with you ever again.
Your Mom is dead, your sister wants nothing to do with you, and your dad is whatever
Goodbye and good riddens you sick fuck, pathetic lawyer, social goof.
He was so angry at 1 in the morning, that he wrote me again:
if you ever do come to my house or call me or email me, i will immediately notify the Police of everything including your provocatory remarks, AND File Charges.
i don't trust you at all, nor your judgement or motives
Be Advised, this is your final warning, and the end of our Connection. ***(1:08 am, 3.2.11)
I wrote him back. He wouldn’t stop bothering me.
yeah whatever. i've already talked to the police.
and your entire story is on the web. you're a character in my novel called "the elephant." that's the real reason i talked to you.
but then you went wacko. i informed MC as well. i sent them a message comparing you to the virginia tech fellow and the arizona shooter. not a far leap.
you must be a fag, judging from your emails to me about not calling you back. people don't call you back because they don't like talking to you. no one does.
you are a big fat gay elephant.
call the police.
sticks and stones, mister retard.
The elephant grew even more irate. “Oh no! I've received another email!” he exclaimed. “The lad I've been harassing to bugger me has finally had it. Surely this must be a violation of the local ordinances? Even a pathetic attorney like Shampy must know that. I will call him at once!"
He called me and activated my silver communicator. I answered it.
"No it's not."
"Reeeealy?"
"Actually, you sir, are afoul of the law, for harassment. If you continue with your hateful emails, which constitute unprotected speech against 1st amendment defenses, you could be liable for severe penalties. Disabled people, such as your incontinent, legless law student apple of your eye, are protected under the hate speech statute, a federal law. But even without that, your relentless calling and pestering show either a penchant in lust or some sort of perverted, ulterior motive. Who invites another bloke to lay dormant in his little room whilst you manipulate his epidermis. If this not be a gay quest, than I say, what can be? Hardly a gayer elephant could exist. Your unwanted phone calls grew obsessive. People are too polite to say anything, until finally they have had enough, you beg and beg for a reprieve, and when none is forthcoming, you issue such declarative such as this:
Sudeep you sick fuck, i don't want anything to do with you ever again.
Your Mom is dead, your sister wants nothing to do with you, and your dad is whatever
Goodbye and good riddens you sick fuck, pathetic lawyer, social goof.
Just a few minutes after such a missive as this:
In my estimation, closing the door on communication is a big sign of trouble, so i hope you will be open and honest with me in the future instead of putting up airs of humor or brushing it over.
Your not calling me after all this is unskillful in my opinion and i am a little offended. It deserves some explanation, not anger, if you do recognize the depth of our friendship.
If you really want me as a brother in your life, then treat me as such. I care about you alot, and expect better communication on your part, because i know you are capable of it, despite the feelings of vulnerability that may surface. It's a 2way street, i assure you, and i will share with you likewise.
You are a big fat loser. I heard juicy stories about you being nuts. I thought I was a bit bi as well. Sometimes happy. Sometimes sappy. So I thought, a commonality like that would make a great dumb-ass friend bait. You took it, hook line and sinker. Of course, I am making this all up. As this is fiction. And, as attested to below. Copyrighted. Forwarding of this email to anyone will put you in violation of said copyright. Even mentioning it. That, plus your stalker crimes will put you away in the looney bin for a long time to come.
An Ice Cream Cone.
I broke a glass. Papa had botched another auto. This time he was scared of the invisible eyes. They watch your every move. If you move out of formation, a flash occurs, an image is prepared, papered and delivered to a metal boyish sort of device perched like a signal fire, embers glowing and waning.
“Ouch,” I declared when the big, 1980’s Ford Econoline crushed the bitty maroon city car into a smaller space. The expenditure in realigning the car and putting it back into its proper shape exceeded the value of a properly functioning version of itself.
Waves were appearing all over the place. I tried to count them out. Visualize them. One of them had four parts. A big first opening salvo that was way down, so big, so fat that it was pee hat, and all I did was follow along. I repeated after myself, silently, away from the clouds, GOOD After NOON. I stressed the first syllable of “After.” That’s the way I wanted to sound when I said hello to everyone out there. Some were sitting in their cars. Some were mucking about. Maybe some were at what they considered work.
“Ooooh! I’m soooooo scared of the cameras. There is one here, is that correct? What to do? I will receive a bill for a hundred forty bucks. I do not want that to happen! Oh, what to do?!”
I watched the seconds count down on the walk signal. The pedestrian was flashing red. The countdown reached zero, the overhanging light stalk flashed red and settled into a purring, steady red light. Papa stopped haltingly. He lurched forward into the middle of the intersection. The light was red. The van was about to crash. He couldn’t go through. No one else was moving. He stopped. He didn’t want to have a ticket in the mail. The horror. Oh, the horror.
He stopped in the middle of the intersection. I didn’t know what was happening. I had never experienced anything like it before. There was a loud noise and a violent jerk forward. The van must have impacted the rear of the maroon little city car while traveling at a rate of speed between thirty and forty miles per hour. We were stopped.
The impact was crushing. The rear of the car was one foot or so shorter. None of the windows broke. The frame maintained its integrity against the Ford. The trunk was there to absorb the blow. The Ford was undamaged. Both cars were mechanically fine and drivable.
None of the windows broke. My leg bumped the bottom of the dashboard where the glove compartment was. Just an inch or two to the rear, if I had moved my seat back, I could have avoided the leg bump.
I remember getting out of the car and hopping about.
“Ouch! Oof-ooooh, indeed. I say, dear papa, I do believe my leg will not fall off.”
“Really? You are certain of this?”
“Yes. It will remain attached.”
Papa threw pebbles at the stars in the midmorning February sky. “Oh thank the heavens! I am the luckiest man on the planet.” He was laughing and hopping from one foot to the next.
“How about a silver scooter of some sort in replacement? Or an ice cream cone?”
An Activated Sensory Zone.
It was a dark and rainy night. I woke up to the sound of the rain. It was around one in the morning. I put on some Columbia trash bag shorts I purchased at Kohl’s for fourteen dollars after the coupon, and an orange bike jacket I got from REI. I was ready to go.
I used some water, let go of some, brushed my teeth and then put on my most expensive pair of pants. Then, my most expensive jacket. A four hundred dollar suit. I was the most comfortable person on the planet. I had a plethora of pockets. In them, I put small things. I was their God. Their operator, if you will.
I stepped outside into the rain. Luckily, I had on my brown REI rain hat that I got for eleven dollars. It was great. It protected me from the rain, while allowing me to turn my best friend, my head, freely, unlike the encumbered movement that results from a hood or an umbrella. Think about it.
The charley bar fell from its bracket as I slid the glass portal barrier shut. I could see it before me, yet could do nothing to prevent my impending doom.
I was locked out of the ship. I could die. There were waves all around me. I didn’t know what to do.
I surveyed the situation, then I shed some light on the situation.
I decided to try to make it to the upper deck. The inside passage was locked. The key was nowhere to be found. I decided to brave the elements. I weathered the storm. I survived.
The upper deck was about 42 feet above me. There I could find sanctuary. Food, warmth, clouds. I had to get there. The rains were getting stronger. I did not have my orange tagged set of keys. I had the metaled keys for the pods. What to do.
I started to use my muscles and brains in conjunction with each other, to save my life. First, I emptied the detritus from the small Koko Pelli box. I put it in a wooden box and lighted the circle. “Ray. Where have you been?”
“Over by the bright lights. It’s nice over there. Do you need any help?”
“Perhaps. But I think I’ve prepared properly.”
“Except for the failure to portage the orange-tagged keys.”
“But there are other options.”
“Such as?”
“I have a lithium powered activator. I can go anywhere. Even in the rains.”
“Where would you go?”
“To see things and smell the air.”
“You like that, don’t you.”
“The world is an activated sensory zone, is it not?”
I wrote a letter to Charley and sent it to him on the cloud. That was the only way to communicate with him. It was because of Charley and his bar that I am locked out.
Charley, it was not a good thing to lock me out at 6.15 PM today in this cold weather. I knocked and pleaded to you to open the door. On the contrary, you went down and made yourself comfortable. You are supposed to protect me and not make me sick staying out. Please don't do such things again. I was very scared. You are an intelligent person and you should be very thoughtful. I love you lot and you should be doing the same. Shamp
The Drones Were Flying Again.
qw3th==
I poured myself a cup of coffee out of thermos. It was piping hot.
"This coffee is hot!" I declared excitedly.
"what did you expect?! THAT is the purpose of a thermos. Stupid dumb-butt. Why are you so stupid?" Papa aked me.
"I'm just sayin' dude that this is some hot ass coffee." I pleaded my case.
"A Thermos keeps hot things hot," Papa admonished.
"And cold things cold." I retorted.
I like retorting. What could be a better thing to do? Like report. Or snort. How else should I respond? 2:07 AM 3/10/2011. Was that really the time? The cable clock said 2:06. That clock was never wrong. And wasn't today the eleventh? I could never remember what day it was. I had to check the newspaper to read the name of the day. Otherwise I wouldn't know what to do. That's the main reason to take the paper. That, and to burn it. It it up well. The smell blended well with the lavender black burning sticks.
I warmed up some milk and roiled it, stirring in the sugar and adding the coffee ounce by ounce, watching the waves ebb and flow and the temperature of the concoction rose and fell.
Sitting in the black pilots chair, swiveling around, I drank a cup out of the silver thermos. The admixture warmed me to the depths of my soul. So pleasant were the current orbitings.
I thought about the coffee. It was still steaming hot. If Papa knew about the Thermos function, why did he bother with a tea cozy and a microwave? How gay and effeminate our world has become.
The Drones were flying again. I could hear them overhead, just outside the glass wall. Over to teach another rich oil baron a lesson. I put all my available cash in oil and gas and sat back and relaxed, ready to ride the roller coaster that would put me ahead of the game.
The game was so simple. Is the grocer the smartest fellow in town? Or just the thriftiest? Think about it.
The Drones Were Flying Again.
qw3th==
I poured myself a cup of coffee out of thermos. It was piping hot.
"This coffee is hot!" I declared excitedly.
"what did you expect?! THAT is the purpose of a thermos. Stupid dumb-butt. Why are you so stupid?" Papa aked me.
"I'm just sayin' dude that this is some hot ass coffee." I pleaded my case.
"A Thermos keeps hot things hot," Papa admonished.
"And cold things cold." I retorted.
I like retorting. What could be a better thing to do? Like report. Or snort. How else should I respond? 2:07 AM 3/10/2011. Was that really the time? The cable clock said 2:06. That clock was never wrong. And wasn't today the eleventh? I could never remember what day it was. I had to check the newspaper to read the name of the day. Otherwise I wouldn't know what to do. That's the main reason to take the paper. That, and to burn it. It it up well. The smell blended well with the lavender black burning sticks.
I warmed up some milk and roiled it, stirring in the sugar and adding the coffee ounce by ounce, watching the waves ebb and flow and the temperature of the concoction rose and fell.
Sitting in the black pilots chair, swiveling around, I drank a cup out of the silver thermos. The admixture warmed me to the depths of my soul. So pleasant were the current orbitings.
I thought about the coffee. It was still steaming hot. If Papa knew about the Thermos function, why did he bother with a tea cozy and a microwave? How gay and effeminate our world has become.
The Drones were flying again. I could hear them overhead, just outside the glass wall. Over to teach another rich oil baron a lesson. I put all my available cash in oil and gas and sat back and relaxed, ready to ride the roller coaster that would put me ahead of the game.
The game was so simple. Is the grocer the smartest fellow in town? Or just the thriftiest? Think about it.
