Harrumph File #078 07.24.2011_Apocalypse Now Redux Redodo

   The backyard.  Shit.  I wasn’t even in the backyard yet.  Every time… I think I’m gonna wake up in the backyard. When I was done after the first time I scooped it up it was worse.  When I was there I wanted to be inside the house. When I was inside the house all I could think about was trying to stay out of the backyard.  I’ve been sitting here in this room for 2 hours waiting for a mission... getting softer.  Every minute I stay in the house I get weaker.  And every minute “Charlie” squats out in the grass, he gets stronger. Everyone gets everything he wants.  I wanted a mission... and for my sins I got one.  It was a real choice mission. And when it was over, I’d never want another…

    “I watched a snail... crawl along the edge of a straight razor.  That’s my dream.  That’s my nightmare.  Crawling, slithering... along the edge... of a straight razor... and surviving.”  “But we must scoop them. We must shovel them.  Log after log.  Stool after stool.  Pile after pile.  And they call me a poop scooper.  What do you call it when the poop scoopers accuse the poop scooper?”  The voice was haunting.  I couldn’t get it out of my head.  I knew the only way I could get it to stop was to throw on some old shoes, grab my shovel, and head to the backyard.

Coleman before he lost his head.

    I went to the backyard wearing shorts and a t-shirt, a pretty common sight back there.  They said it was a good way to pick up information and move without drawing attention, and that was okay.  I needed the air and the time.  Only problem was I knew I wouldn’t be alone.  They were mostly just kids—hairy beasts with one or two of their four feet in their graves.  One of ‘em—the one they called Coleman—was from Shingletown.  He was wrapped too tight for the backyard.  Probably wrapped too tight for Shingletown.  Jasper was a famous epileptic from the valley east of San Francisco. 

Jasper catchin' some 'rays.'

To look at him, you wouldn’t believe he’d ever had a fit in his life.  ‘Pez… Princess Pez’ was from some south Tracy shit-hole and I think the light and the space of the backyard really put the zap on her head.  Then there was the chief—Little Pirate.  It might have been my mission, but it sure as hell was Little Pirates’ backyard.

Pez... "Princess" Pez.

    “My orders say I’m not supposed to know the destination, so I don’t.  But one look at you and I know it’s gonna be hot, wherever it is.”  The voice in my head knew where it was going.  I was close... real close.  I started on the west end of the lawn, searching, stepping carefully.  Always looking over my shoulder... they could be anywhere.  There are many moments for ruthless action—what is often called ruthless but may in many circumstances be only clarity—seeing clearly what there is to be done and doing it—directly, quickly, awake.  I am beyond their timid, lying morality, and so I am beyond caring.

"Little Pirate," Chief of the boat.

    It smelled like slow death out there.  I’ve seen the horrors... horrors that you’ve seen.  The squishing sound that you hear after you’ve made your last “clean” step.  The indiscriminate “bombing” of the free—fire area near the maple tree.  It’s impossible for words to describe what is necessary to those who do not know what horror means.  Horror.  Horror has a face.  And you must make a friend of horror.  Horror and terror are your friends.  If they are not then they are enemies to be feared.  They are truly enemies.  I remember once out in the backyard.  Seems... a thousand centuries ago.  We went out to scoop.  When we left the backyard this old man came running after us, and he was crying.  He couldn’t say.  We went back there... and “they” had come and arranged all the logs.  There they were in a line—a line of little logs.  And I remember I—I—I cried.  I wept like some grandmother.  And I want to remember it.  I never want to forget it.  And then I realized... like I was shot—like I was shot with a diamond—a diamond bullet right through my forehead.  And I thought “My God, the genius of that.  The genius.”  The will to do that.  Perfect, genuine, complete, crystalline, pure.  And then I realized... “they” were stronger than me because they could stand it.  That they had the strength—the strength... to do that.  If I had 10 divisions of “them” then my troubles in the backyard would be over very quickly...

   They were gonna make me a major for this... and I wasn’t even in their friggin’ army anymore.  Everyone wanted me to do it.  “Them” most of all.  I felt like they were out there waiting for me to shovel them away.   Even the jungle wanted them gone.  And that’s who they really took their orders from anyway.

    The horror... the horror... Harrumph…

    “This is the end…beautiful friend.  This is the end...my only friend...the end.  Of our elaborate plans...the end.”