Muhammad Ali, Moldy Bread and Markie D

March 8^th, 1971 Moldy Bread. 

A tribute to my hero and the greatest.    

I felt like I had dug a hole and put my heart in a box. It was shrinking and turning to stone. I buried it to keep it safe. I wanted one thing—to know genuine love and to feel accepted. I put on a pretty good show, but in reality I was terribly afraid of rejection and burying my heart six feet under was one way to cope.  

Without a heart I was nothing more than a robot—a robot with skin—a freshman in high school who was a mere collection of mechanical parts and all kinds of gears that turned inside. I fooled most people into thinking I was human—like I was a real person.  But I wasn’t and they didn’t know.  My family didn’t know me and the shame was so great that I couldn’t share any of my secrets with them—with anyone. 

Maybe it was better that my brothers and sisters didn’t care to really know who I was. I was damaged goods and didn't want the world to know. 

My best friend, Tommy, didn't know. Jeffrey didn't know.

The Blasers didn't know and the Lennons didn't know. Maybe it was better this way.  

My faint pulse was only the beating of the metal pistons beating up and down. I cried when I watched the Wizard of Oz because I was the Tin Man. Like Pinocchio I wanted to become a real boy. I hoped against hope that Andrea would show me the way. 

But,NO!  She hugged that other boy and now my heart was broken and dreams dashed. I dug a deeper hole for that vault that contained my heart. Thankfully that crazy skater kid who I ran into at the ruins of POP, Tony Alva, offered me pot and that made me feel like I could be real someday. Maybe there was some hope for this piece of moldy bread—Tin man—Zombie.

 Thum-thump thum-thump  

My oldest brother was a fanatic fan of World Heavy Weight Boxing Champion, Muhammad Ali.

Though Tony was the mad genius and instigator of inventive sibling torture, he had been kind to me. He and his girlfriend, Patty took me shopping and bought me clothes in the Sixth grade. 

What you don’t know is that the turtleneck sweater I’m wearing (in the picture above) is not really a turtleneck sweater. It’s a dicky—a turtleneck thingy attached to two small squares of fabric. Don’t ask me why they invented something so ridiculous.  But the truth is that I have no shirt on under this jacket—just this square, phony dicky. Goes to show ya - "Things on the inside aren’t always what they appear to be on the outside."   

And because Tony liked Muhammad Ali, I like Muhammad Ali. Ali may have said this to the world, but he may have well said to me, "If they can make penicillin out of moldy bread, they can sure make something out of you."  

“God, I don't know who 'they' are but could you please make something out of this moldy bread. Turn me into penicillin or something.”

Ali is the greatest and tonight he returns to the ring. We had something in common. Like me, he had wrestled an alligator and tussled with a whale. Me too. Me too. Unless of course, he really didn't wrestle an alligator or have a run-in with a rogue whale like he said in one of his famous saying—I did. 

"I done wrestled with an alligator; I done tussled with a whale.

Handcuffed lightning, thrown thunder in jail.

Only last week, I murdered a rock, injured a stone, hospitalized a brick.

I'm so mean I make medicine sick."

Ali was the greatest and tonight at Square Garden place in New York he would pummel Joe Frasier, who was also an undefeated champion in 

The Fight of the Century.  

But we had to wait until the newspapers tomorrow to find out. I think the reason I had so much interest in the fight was that it wasn’t Ali in the ring—it was me. He said I could become something and I believed him. We had a contract. 

It was me against all of my fears. It was me and all of my secrets. This victory tonight meant that I had the chance to become real—a human—a person. There might still be hope that I could find love and be loved.  

Our house was full—full of hippies and brothers and family and strangers who had been welcomed and brought in from the outside. 

But I was on the outside looking in as if only occupying space in our big Venice house. 

You get the Idea!

So I had a lot at stake this fight—it was me against the world. Tony was fan and wanted to see a good fight, but I needed Muhammed Ali to win. 

That thing Andrea did. That hug. Put me on the ropes. My personal Zombie Apocalypse was on the line.  The faint sound of Thum-Thump Thum-Thump you hear is the faint sound of my heart coming through the floor boards like in Edgar Allen Poe's The Tell-Tale Heart"    

I needed Frasier to go down in six. I needed a victory. I needed to know that I would one day free my heart and that I could be kind-of-human. “If I only had a heart.” 

When a man's an empty kettle he should be on his mettle,

And yet I'm torn apart.

Just because I'm presumin' that I could be kind-a-human,

If I only had heart.

I'd be tender - I'd be gentle and awful sentimental

Regarding Love and Art.

I'd be friends with the sparrows ...

and the boys who shoots the arrows

If I only had a heart.

photo credits:

Dicky: http://nocef.com/crochet-dicky-pattern/

Frasier v. Ali Poster:  https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Fight_of_the_Century

Pistons: https://www.pinterest.com/ian6394/work-stuff-very-cool-stuff/

POP ruins: credit in prior post 

"Prophet!' said I, `thing of evil! - bird or devil! Pt II

Tap! Tap! Tap!  As of someone gently rapping, rapping at my chamber floor. It is no one I muttered. No one rapping on my bedroom floor. Deep into darkness peering, long I lay there wondering fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before.
But since the silence was unbroken and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken were the whispered words of "Monday morn!"
This I whispered, "nevermore" an echo chanted louder, "Monday MORN!"

Rap, rap, rapping on my bedroom floor.

"Prophet!' said I, 'thing of evil! - prophet still, it bird or devil!
Whether tempter sent, or whether tempest tossed thee here ashore,
Desolate yet all undaunted, on this desert land enchanted
In this Harding house by horror haunted - tell me truly, I implore
Is there - is there balm in my Gilead - my head - tell me, I implore!'
quote the raven, 'Nevermore."

Thump, thump thump grew the rapping as a beating heart of the dead body beneath my floor.

"Monday morn! Monday morn!"shouted in cadence with the tapping from my chamber floor.
"Prophet!" said I, 'thing of evil! - Prophet still, if bird or devil!"
"Nevermore" I said, tossing in my slumber to the haunting voice below one floor.

Thump, thump, thump went the broom handle on the entry ceiling - "Truly your forgiveness I implore."

"Up and at 'em!" yelled the vice that had been rapping at my bedroom floor, "It's Monday morn!"
Presently the light grew stronger and I realized that that tapping and voice morphed into my nightmare lore.
It was not a a heart beating -  not the dead rising - in fact it was not to be that tame!
No! Monday morning was always the same and yet no timid game!

Eyes finally adjusting to the light of day, it was the staff sergeant's broom handle beating on my bedroom floor.
"Up and at 'em!" yelled my dad. "let's go, go, go, go, go" cried he,
"Its time of the harvest moon" he implored!
Be it beating heart, or dead man or ghoul beneath the floor would have been better than what was in store!

Morning morning trash day had become my chore.
This was not Wednesday or Thursday "street cleaning day" circus galore (blog post 7/1/2013).
This did not involve the entire Wolf Pack, only Markie D and this infamous chore.

No one dared go out the backstairs door with what the Veloci Raptor had in store.
No dared tempt the evil bird that was no one's friend!
Someone flesh the rooster was destined to rend!

I marched down stairs with angry in eyes, dragging trash cans twice my size.
"Why was I the only one?" I criticized!
I knew the answer, it was no surprise.
I was Saint Francis, to the evil bird with crazy eyes.

Only me. Markie D!
My gift.  My superpower gave me a free pass
The bird of prey allowed me and me alone on the weeds and remnant grass.
Only I was allowed to drag the trash cans pass.

(Okay, you get the idea and the story will take much too long to continue in the prose of Poe)

Blaming the violent rooster for scares and blood, the older boys on the third floor were not part of my Monday morning ritual on trash day. Dad pounded on the ceiling below my bed. I dragged out the billion cans of trash to alley every Monday morn.  I looked at the rooster with love in my eyes and spoke a language it didn't despise(Blog Post: Kid in a pit with a water hose 2/27/14).  The hideous beast cleared a birth wide enough for this little lass, unhindered by the wild beast, I did pass.

Packing cans and stacking trash in the alley I did my chore.. my chore forever more.
when finished with the mundane task, I turned towards the house alas...
this is where things got wild, for the beast blocked my path - standing on the grass.

The Veloci-Raptor stood in the narrow path between cars and junk old kitchen sink
and a look in the eye of the evil beast cause my heart to sink.
But I was Saint Francis lover of animals not the typical hippie or rat fink!
Why rooster? Why?" Be that word or sing of parting, bird or fiend!" I shrieked upstarting -
"Get thee back into the tempest and quell this nightmarish horror.
Leave no blood foul fowl as a token of our sacred bond and let me pass now and forevermore!"

Why? (Again too much rhyming and I mean it -  anyone care for a peanut)

This is a true story as I looked at the crazy bird
and threw out positive pheromones of gentleness and kind word.
slowly approaching with my Saint Francis confidence and the "Covenant we struck in the Pit"
I trusted that rascle -  "Oh - S...Poop!"

Nevermore be still
Nevermore cursed bird or devil
I shrieked as betraying raptor flew waist high
and struck me repeatedly with sharp talon usually reserved for the hippies and the other guy!

Fresh blood flowed through the holes in my jeans
I laid on the ground with unrequited screams
shaking my fist at a horror worst that any of my bad dreams

Like wounded soldier, I crawled to the back gate
stood to my feet in haste I scrounged for battle gear
I plundered a trash can lid as shield and buckler
a broken mop handle - IT WAS WAR for this little suckler.

(Hey, if Dr. Suess and rappers can make up so so can I)

Thump Thump Thump! Tap Tap Tap! Rap Rap Rap
we clashed in epic battle
With my trash can shield and wodden sward I gave that beast quite a rattle.
Losing my Saint Francis I said, "Mess with me you devilish pig, your shallow grave, I'll gladly dig!"

Anyway, I managed to survive the fiendish attack before I set off that day for school
and was bent on being no bodies fool
Not Erick, Sister Edith, Mike, Terry, not Joe
Though animals and babies, I'll consent to try to give my Saint Francis eye
but for this mini-Godzilla, Wolf pack or foe
all I can say, "Stay clear or my oh my!"

I came in to test my Dad's experimental milk (Post 7/13/13)
and choked down clumpy oat meal meal worms and all (Shocking and Vomitous Thursday post 7/11/13).
and limped off to Saint Mark's school
determined not to be played for anyone's fool




                                    
                       "Watch out Terry, don't even think about messing with my friend Harry!"


Quote the raven, "Nevermore!"