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   a stabbed nazi in the hospital
Sunday, May 11 1997 a stabbed nazi in the hospital

Today's lesson: The official justice system is one of many parallel justice systems in America.


      awoke and discovered something laying next to me. Whatever it was had its feet near my head. I reached over and grabbed a handfull of human toes. For some reason I assumed I'd been stuck with providing a bed for Toni, Morgan's drunken gutter punk friend. It was a pretty horrid thought. It turns out, though, that the object beside me was actually Sara Poiron. When I stood up to get water and take a leak, I discovered the entire Malvernian contingent stretched out on my floor in various places, using what blankets they could scrounge. Sara Poiron had the most comfortable place beside mine. The floor in my room, you see, is made of hard oak boards.

    She implied that Slurpees are good things to drink when you don't have a toothbrush.
    Later, as we gradually awoke, Sara Poiron was teasing me about drunken things I'd said last night about the little Pink Barrette Gallery Neo Vino Girl. She also expressed random interest in drinking a 7-11 Slurpee. She implied that Slurpees are good things to drink when you don't have a toothbrush. The others seemed to be into the idea, so before long we all piled into the Schwam's Audi. Monster Boy was left sleeping on the couch; there was no room for him in the Audi. We took a very long and circuitous route to the Ivy Road 7-11. I kept being distracted from giving directions by a catalogue Jessika had brought. It featured numerous different kinds of grotesque latex masks. Jessika says that her father (a chemist and a Leo) provides the latex for the masks in the catalogue and that she plans to get a job working for the mask company herself. We'll see about that.

    I made the mistake of getting the Piña Colada flavoured slurpee. It tasted so thoroughly artificial that it made me feel almost nauseous, but my Taurus Rising kept me a'drinking it anyway. I don't think I've ever had a slurpee before and I doubt I'll have one again.

    I labeled what happened next the "7-11 parking lot experience." We hung out briefly in the parking lot and made a lot of references to the "7-11 parking lot experience" we were supposedly having without doing much else. Sara made a half-hearted attempt at heckling some customers, and I watched a crow fly off with a french fry in his beak like cigarette. Jessika sat in the car, not participating in our "7-11 parking lot experience."

    I have a congenital aversion to eggs, so I sat apart from them with Sara Poiron.
    Next we went to the Preston Avenue Bodo's and ordered various kinds of bagels. The place was packed with overdressed Sunday children and mothers having their Mothers' Day experience. The speakers played uplifting classical music. Jessika, Bri-Bri and Schwam all had some kind of disgusting eggy slime in their bagels. I have a congenital aversion to eggs, so I sat apart from them with Sara Poiron. She called the content of their bagels "chicken menses."

    We went to the Downtown Mall and talked to Ana, Nemo and Ana's mother when we ran across them. Ana was in Germany until fairly recently. Things aren't going so well in Ana's non-marriage to Raphæl and she will be living alone soon.

    We pissed away considerable time in a toy store on the Mall and also stopped by the Downtown Artspace briefly. Jenfariello was there, and she told me some interesting things about her experiences at Space Party II. It had been a lot of fun for her; she said she's never had so much fun in my house before. She and I have had sex there you know.


    e'd heard rumours to the effect that there had been a big altercation between the Eric the Huffanator Huffman and Persad. Word on the street said Persad had stabbed the Huffanator with a knife and that the latter had gone to the hospital. Persad himself may have gone to the hospital too. He's on the frequent-flier plan there by now, I imagine. Also: Melanie (the Huffanator's girlfriend) and Theresa had some kind of big fight and Theresa apparently proved victorious.

    We went to Goth Central to learn all the juicy details, but alas, no one was there. We sat relaxing in the pleasant air on the front stoop of the apartment complex containing Goth Central. We were randomly met there by Morgan Anarchy, Bad Beef, Toni, Eddie the Ness and Toni's dog BN (short for Burlington Northern; he's a hobo dog: sharp as a tack, utterly mannerless and full of worms). We discussed the Huffanator's injuries and the fight that had precipitated them. It seems now that, near 14th Street on Wertland, Melanie had attacked Theresa and she'd fought back ripping off Melanie's shirt (exposing her "knockers") and beating the hell of her. That's when the Huffanator stepped in on his girlfriend's behalf. And that's when Persad attacked. Apparently he jabbled deep and then pulled the blade down, leaving a big gash. Sara was chattering about the stabbing continuously. She was postulating what various people's reaction to would be. The funniest postulation was about Matthew Hart. Matthew had apparently once claimed that Persad is "just a dork." The stabbing would no doubt increase his opinion of Persad enormously.

    We went down Wertland and hung out across the street from the Dynashack, near my Dart. Eddie the Ness has quit drinking, and he's developed the personality of a used-car salesman, hustler or pimp: wheeling and dealing, and chit-chatting constantly, occasionally sliding into a contrived Hispanic accent. He had a lot of money today and was wanting to buy things. He offered me over $300 for my Dart.

    I hadn't seen Bad Beef in a rather long time. He's gained a lot of weight and walking looks to be an ordeal for him. He and Eddie the Ness rolled a joint and we smoked it right there on Wertland by my Dodge Dart. Once I was stoned, my head swam with too many thoughts to recount now. I looked at BN the dog, and considered how he views the world. It's all one big tapestry of odours and chemical contents, some of which need to be sampled by taste as well. Nothing is too disgusting for him except alcohol. He runs around with mutilated animals and bloody tampons in his mouth. Should he see a cat, he gives chase immediately. Then I looked up at the birds and thought about how effeminate they seemed. Their fully three dimensional lives are so exiting and seemingly care free. Looking for more birds, I saw some crows and black birds hopping around from branch to branch in a gnarled old tree. These, I then thought, are clearly the birds of the "dark side." They are the goths of the animal kingdom: as birds they are weak and effeminate like goths. But as eaters of carrion and wearers of black, their affinity with death is also an important dimension to their Darwinian niche.

    a stabbed nazi in the hospital
    a stabbed nazi in the hospital
    a stabbed nazi in the hospital
    a stabbed nazi in the hospital
    a stabbed nazi in the hospital
    a stabbed nazi in the hospital
    a stabbed nazi in the hospital
    a stabbed nazi in the hospital
    Sara and Jessika are both very aware that their lives are a story.

    ventually Morgan, Toni, Eddie, Bad Beef and BN all departed, leaving me alone with the Malvernian contingent. Sara Poiron had suddenly developed a new obsession: she thought it would be a novel idea to go visit the Huffanator in the hospital. She had us all picturing the scene of us walking up the desk to make an inquiry as to his condition, and being granted permission to visit him. Sara and Jessika are both very aware that their lives are a story. And since they know I am telling the story, they are even more aware. We do things now just to liven up the story that is our lives. It's partly adventure, but as Jessika frequently reminds me, "Think of the Musings!"

    Schwam is so dark that black women stop him to tell him how much they love his hair...he's not the kind a nazi skinhead white supremacist is going to want to see on his sick bed.
    The Malvernians were all babies and wanted me to drive them to the hospital. It's only about two blocks away. Where I parked was only about a block away, in the Trax parking lot. We marched up to the hospital's front desk just like they do in the movies. We wore artificial looks of concern for our fallen "friend." Sara Poiron did all the talking, using her "phone voice" (an artificially sweet style of talking that she uses for business purposes, usually over a telephone). The receptionist quizzed her about how old the Huffanator is and where he came from as she navigated through windows of her receptionist software. Finally we were granted approval to visit. But only two could actually see him at a time. The rest would have to wait in the lobby. Remember now, the Huffanator spat on Bri Bri yesterday, and Schwam is so dark that black women stop him to tell him how much they love his hair...he's not the kind a nazi skinhead white supremacist is going to want to see on his sick bed. And though the Huffanator once got me high, he barely knows me. So Jessika and Sara were the obvious ones to do the actual visiting.

    We took the elevator to the 5th floor, as we'd been instructed. We realized immediately that the sort of people hospitalized on the fifth floor are in pretty damn sorry shape. They are wheeled around flat on their backs with lots of IV tubes and a sheet over them up to their necks, always at the ready should it need to be pulled over their heads. I started feeling kind of sorry for the poor nazi.

    We all went out into a great open-air balcony off the fifth floor and sat in the smoking section. Suddenly the girls were having second thoughts about whether they should visit the Huffanator at all. What could they possibly discuss with him? I jokingly wrote the musings aloud for them, saying, "We went to the hospital, but we chickened out at the last minute." So, with nervous steps, Sara and Jessika set off to visit the Huffanator while we boys continued to hang out on the balcony. I looked around at the others, the strangers, who relaxed and figgeted on the balcony with us. Some wore looks of despair. No doubt some of them had dying loved ones on the fifth floor somewhere.

    Perhaps by distracting them with friendliness or even tricks, he can convince them to reward him with treats.
    A crow suddenly flew in from the Charlottesville skies and landed near me on a picnic table. He was a magnificent bird, in the same way that Cecelia the Brazilian Girl is a magnificent goth. The crow let out one quiet caw and then busied himself finding snacks. He looked at us half-expecting to be fed, I suppose, and then he became bored and flew off. Crows are wonderfully intelligent birds, and I'm sure this crow is used to taking advantage of the many friends and relatives of the sick who pace the balcony in despondent misery. Perhaps by distracting them with friendliness or even tricks, he can convince them to reward him with treats. A smart crow would be in the habit of checking out the balcony several times a day, like a smart pan handler, a smart hitch hiker, or a smart fisherman.

    Sara and Jessika had second thoughts as they approached the Huffanator's room. They looked in and saw the Huffanator's nazi but unbooted foot and some of his big scary redneck white supremacist friends. They chickened out again. But when they came back to us boys and we discussed it and they thought about it, they didn't want to go down in history as being such cowards. So again they went in and again we boys waited on the balcony.

    The balcony is high above another roof over another sector of the hospital. Anyone so depressed as to jump from the balcony would surely die. There's an emergency phone plainly available. My guess is that it is partly intended for anyone contemplating suicide. Some people get awfully depressed about the gradual loss of a loved one. There's a rail on the edge of the balcony, and it's painted green. People stand with their elbows on the rail and survey the roofscapes below, perhaps distracted for a moment from the concern they are feeling.

    Perhaps the fact that grandma was dying made them think of their own mortality.
    I examined the rail and saw that many people had carved their names or initials into the green paint. Among the carvings, I found a remarkable series, carved on the rail in March of this year by members of the Cook family. They'd all stood in a row, little Tammy on the left, Jamie and Chris on the right. They'd been bored waiting for the relatives to finish up visiting grandma. Perhaps the fact that grandma was dying made them think of their own mortality. What would be their legacy? The little they could do to leave their mark on history no doubt occupied their time and partially slaked their boredom: all three scratched their names in the green paint. And here I was, having come along to find their artifacts and then publish them for all the world to know on the Internet.

    Finally the girls visited the Huffanator. They lived to tell about it too. He'd been nothing but pleasant to them. He's on a morphine drip, and Jessika could see a heroinesque look to his eyes. Everything is pleasant when morphine courses through your veins. Even when you're a pissed off nazi skinhead.


    he wound, which the Huffanator insisted on showing the girls, was a vertical incision in his chest. It started out as a deep stab, puncturing the lung and procedes at a more shallow depth down the abdomen. The version of the story I tell on the streets of Charlottesville is that the gash neatly bisects one of his swastika tattoos. A little plastic hose runs into the stab wound to drain blood out of the lung. The Huffanator insisted on showing the girls that as well. It is very important that the Huffanator not vomit while his chest muscles are cleaved as they are. For this reason he can't drink or eat anything. He had the girls dab water on his parched lips.

    The Huffanator referred to Persad dericively as "the Kid" and said he wouldn't press charges. No, he intends to settle the score his own way. Justice in the world of a nazi skinhead is not something dealt out by the official "justice system." It is a more primitive and noble kind of justice, where hands are made dirty and the interaction between plaintiff and defendant is highly interactive.

    The girls emerged from their visit with the Huffanator much more somber than they'd set out. He'd been so pleasant that he'd apparently restored (to an extent) their assessment of his humanity.

    They also talked about Persad. Poor Persad. He'd have to leave Charlottesville. The Huffanator is relentless and his "justice" is not something anyone would ever want to experience. Both Jessika and Sara had reassessed Persad's stabbing. Now it seemed like a foolish act. If he had wanted to settle his problems with the Huffanator, he should have just killed him discretely and disposed of the body.

    We went to Goth Central again in a futile attempt to get Persad and Theresa's spin on the stabbing. Then we ordered a cheap pizza from Gumby's. I was unexpectedly wealthy and paid for most of it. We ate it in front of Two Moons Burritos (occupied Jerusalem). Two Moons is closed on Sundays, see.

    They'd been putting it off all day, but inevitably the Malvernians took their leave and headed back to Malvern, Pennsylvania, Bri Bri had to go to work on Monday, see. I was left alone to cope with the wreakage of the weekend.

    The Malvernians, especially Sara Poiron, had had a highly enjoyable experience on this particular visit. It had, after all, been like living as characters in a dramatic novel. To paraphrase someone famous, truth is stranger than fiction because we have no control over it. Now Sara is even talking about wanting to move back to Charlottesville so she can live "on Wertland Ave."


      decided to do run some much-needed party-related errands, such as taking kegs and tubs back to Farmer Jack. Josh Mustin, Jesse and the Brazilian Girls turned up as I cleaned out the ice tubs. They helped me load it all in my Dart and they rode with me on my missions.

    For some reason that defied all logic, the guy who accepts keg returns at Farmer Jack said that only one keg was mentioned on the receipt, even though I'd bought three on Friday night. So he'd only accept one back. I was amazed that by returning just three tubs and one keg (and no taps, mind you), I received a $104.50 deposit.

    Josh Mustin picked up a case of Beast Ice and I bought a six pack of Labatt's Ice. We sat drinking these on the front porch of the Dynashack. Eventually we were joined by Will, then Elizabeth. Will and I were alone for a bit and he talked about the others. He thinks the Brazilian Girls and especially Jesse are cool, but he shares my opinion on Josh Mustin.

    Josh Mustin is a brat. I mean, he really is a brat, not like Elizabeth (who I once called a brat in a fit of annoyance). But Cecelia takes no shit from him. When he said something about how the girls should have more sex with the boys, she threw a bottle at him. She threw it gently, but it smashed on the concrete anyway. Later I wanted to play my electric guitar amplified into the open air out in front and I had to forceably extricate it from his hands.

    The little thug Chaz came up and talked with Josh briefly, and Elizabeth came down to tell me that I shouldn't tolerate him in the Dynashack front yard. I hadn't yet made the connection between the innocent looking lad and the name "Chaz," the evil perpetrator of ultraviolence. After she set me straight on who he was, I declared that he would be an easy mosquito to squash. Just as I said "squash" I stomped a can of Beast Ice with my boot.

    I gradually became drunk. Morgan and his drifter friend known as Toni arrived. For what should to me have been obvious reasons, I was having a better with Will and Elizabeth than I was with my drunk & bored punk friends. I accompanied them on a mission to the Corner.

    He handles them on all surfaces with his grubby filthy street punk fingers.
    Later, in my room, Morgan, Josh Mustin and Toni hung out, playing my CDs. Morgan's respect for CDs is almost non existant. He handles them on all surfaces with his grubby filthy street punk fingers. In the future I will do all I can to keep him away from them. His casual disregard for the property of anyone, including his own, is one of his many serious character flaws.

    Before very late I evicted everyone from my room, latched my door, and went to sleep. Several people tried to get in, but (ha! ha!) they could not. I was so completely sick of socializing.

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