Someone who isn’t me…

 

Four years ago I found myself wandering beside the pier. It was my day off and I had nothing to do and no friends. I bought a coffee and just stared at the water and the skyline. I had no reason to be in north Van. I was soon to leave but before I did I walked through the market and found a book lying on one of the tables. Like when the phone rings and you know it’s for you… The inside of the front cover read: “Hello, if you’ve picked up this book I hope you read it…” The book was titled “In Cold Blood”. 

I didn’t want to read it. A book about a quadruple murder that has already been solved?… I loved Breakfast at Tiff’s but why would I care about a crime committed in Kansas 60 years ago? Since I had nothing better to do I set about reading it.

I managed not to number it until I had read well over 90 percent…

Then I took out my blade. I started with Herbert Clutter… who was nothing more than an honest man… an everyday friend sort whom I will say no more of. No real reading seemed to enlarge or shrink his solid character. Happy daughter’s. A faithful, mature wife! A family farm… Workers…

But upon looking at the other number sets; I found myself a bit tortured. I had been sucked into a vortex. Some sort of trap. I had also noted that Herbert Clutter’s left ring finger was all but cut off in a farm accident. Truman brings up a ton of ominous “facts”. The name Willie-Jay for instance; a friend of Perry and Dick is brought up a number of times… Anyone who understands this reference certainly would be perplexed for life. But certainly the most haunting allusion is a vision of a “Parrot” that Perry Smith has while in an orphanage on page 93. For anyone familiar with Christian eschatology the implications of this are nothing short of spine chilling.

What could this mean? It was as if someone wanted me to find the book. Truman Capote made such an impression on me with this book that I named a stray cat after him. I love him to death but sometimes I really would like to strangle him.

Truman is the worst excuse for a familiar. He is also a terrifying dragon of an author. Saying he tortured me with his invention of ‘In cold blood’ is an understatement… I am still recovering. On the other side in the wave form he left a series of clues for me to find his book at the Que down on Lonsdale.

I grew up in a house with a 151 address. My name was Richard. A name which sends shivers down my spine like a sword caught in a scabbard…

I suppose that is an obscure reference… So let’s start with the sword. Can you imagine a blade that catches on its casing? You might as well not even carry it. It’s a  liability. If you carry any blade at all you must trust it. Especially when you need it. You must know exactly where it is at all times; and if G-d forbid you misplace it, you must be adamant to its where-abouts… I only lost my blade once… The blades name is Zelda and it’s is a Leatherman Skeletool and I lost her for a day and half once. The most terrifying part of this story was the following night a Triple Homicide was reported in my home town! I still have the paper for it. In the end I found it after making my bed.

Anyhow… I take very well and proper care of my blades. This one in particular has is serrated edged blade and it’s very annoying to sharpen. But tactically it’s a very sound all-purpose cutting instrument when sharpened. The steel on this one feels a bit soft for daily use. (420 ss) so it needs to be sharpened. I really appreciate the serrations ability to overload the cutting surface with cuttage and still have that satisfying feeling of the blade pop through with little to no effort. It is a wonderful first timers all-purpose cutter. Its techy so if your not on your cool than it can be a bit slow. They sacrificed handling for weight; remember that or you’ll be in detention.  All the same I like to cut more deliberately according to the blades size. So I also have a Skeletool CX named Belle (With a 154 CM) it has much prettier looking non serrated blade. Each and every blade must be sharpened and maintained according to its own nature and use. It’s a tool and if you even begin to imagine it as a weapon then it’s time to go home and do some chanting… Not everyone can keep a blade…

Back to Richard…

Richard became the ghost at the door… Richard liked to find feats… He loved the feats… He listened to older cousins stories and decided to make his own rules. So naturally he found a friend. The friend was the lead singer in some sort of metal band. Anyhow Richard made several blood oaths with a blade. And things came back. Not to haunt him silly, but promises he wanted to be kept… is that a haunt? May be for you… But; no; not for Richard… he was just there. He had a lot to deal with. Richard lived under the shadow of “Ramirez” and the number “151” for like 12 years! #JesusChrist #RichardRamirez. The situation was a schizotypal head trip into “no where’s” land; where the lead wolf is the last boss… The Nightstalker… The Werewolf. Not anything to write home about. A level of Hell mostly.

It all make’s sense just as you die… that exact moment that the blade cleaves the skin there is only a whitish/lavender suck-mark of an amassing would-be blood-stain… then you remember… and the blood fills in the opening and you begin to bleed. The blood has a charge to it…

The name Richard cracked like a whip. Not only did the name harbor the nasty shadow of “Ramirez” but it also worked like a choke chain for anyone wanting to stress the name. You can whisper “Richard” really loud; you can scream it really well… If you think like I do than people never believe you when you’re Richard… And its nickname of Dick I would rather avoid. That`s a nickname for a mature well to do older fellow; I know him he collects antiques and is a wonderful conversationalist. I always go away feeling good after speaking with him. That’s not a joke either. He is my friend.

Yet I am still bothered by Truman… I think I might demote him to “Tucker”… 9 points and if he doesn’t repent I’ll cut his nuts off! My familiar is a loved one. But he’s trouble! He’s always around at the wrong times… just one step ahead of killing himself permanently. He is excellent at getting in the way. Yet he crosses busy streets by himself all the time. He also likes to “shit down his own chimney on night missions”. He also has a record of abuse with my two prides-women.

I can’t help but treat him like a doormat most of the time. He rushes the food dish whenever I try and feed the ladies first…That’s extremely rude. He is also “British short-hair” and it has been claimed they are very talkative. Indeed; he asks stupid question all the time. When can we eat?  It’s so annoying that he is such a good communicator. He totally understands language. He is also walkable without a leash in and around the neighborhood. Truman is certainly a swinish feline. His DNA is certainly cut with a pigs. He is a piggy cat. I am so happy to have him a part of my family but g-d I wish he would learn to shut up. The problem with his “talks” is that he will nag you until you verbally respond to him… Even if its just “WHAT!” Or “Shut up!!” that’s when he has you… you’ve been sucked into his vortex and you are now the nut-case who talks to his annoying cat! He is like the town cryer who screams only about food or what was recently cooked or to let him in.

Truman also likes to tell all sorts of lies. Things like; “My other family down the block feeds me 5 square meals a day! And any responsible pet owner should do the same…” Sure Truman… He also likes to rummage through your old memories and ask things like “Why have you never dated a blond?” I am reminded of the movie Denis the menace; the scene where Mr. Wilson is in the attic looking for the G D garden lantterns and Denis is looking at at old fashion nudey magazine… Denis pipes up; “Wow you have to be oftly brave to ride a Tiger in your underpants… to which Mr Wilson bellows; “Put that away that’s not for kids!” Truman is my menace…

I don’t at all regret keeping him though. We talked about it one day;  I told him; ‘I loved breakfast at Tiffany’s it’s my favorite book of all time; but “In Cold Blood” vexed me worse than any other piece of literature I have ever read’. He told me: ‘Starless buddy ‘that’s just the nature of the beast… but what you read is only the work of a skilled magician… Plus you have me to protect you now!’ He blinked at me with his kind little eyes and budged his head into my armpit.

After living in the darkness of the 151 shadow for so long, I often find myself remembering sort of an older cousin named Richard as a guide at times… He is certainly and incarnation of Richard Ramirez. A Werewolf… That means he worships the Moonlight. He has a natural snarl on his face which seems to exaggerate the dimensions of his cheek bones. He is an odd sort of character who says almost nothing but takes pride in backing up his younger siblings and cousins. He is a good guy to have around. And aside from the mythical associations he is more or less just a friendly odd-fellow who is usually leaving; (He doesn’t like crowds) If you have ever been his foster brother than you know his favorite thing to do is attempt to feed you rotten food. Or trick you into it. His lessons are hard but it’s well worth the torture.

When all is over and done I would much rather live with Slain though. Things are more fair with him around. Richard tolerated far too much it’s exactly why he burned out and why I can shine.

-The Slain Fates stick together!