In an unspecific season, in one of those rather dulled years. During a period of self analysis. When I spent more time writing than actually leaving my home, or wanting to leave, for that matter. (I'm like Nicholson in that movie) "It gets as good as it gets"? Or what have you. I happened upon an opportunity to take an extra- -ordinary trip of 'healing'. You know, one of those rare childhood dreams come true? Finding closure with your demon speckled past? Guaranteeing you, your god given right, to eternal bliss and resolve!? Or, just the shitty luck of finding a quicker, hotter more comprehendible trip straight back to hell. You ever miss skipping 5th period after lunch, and blazing a doob with friends, playing pinball? I sure in the fuck do. I should have known better, God damn it! Shit, Piss! Fuck a log with a log on a stump. But once again I tried to be 'maturer and wiser'. Really though, who am I kidding? I can barely stay sober while keeping myself from blatantly biting people in public. I once fell in love with a street car named Perspire, then got dumped for not eating crackers in the bed. Whatever happened to pounding about five heaping spoonfulls of sugar into your bowl of Post raison bran in the morning before school in 2nd grade? You ever miss that? I do. So anyway, after not seeing any of my family members (on my mother's side) for eight years. (After a rather large fall out between her and myself). On top of which, we had already spent fifteen years apart before that ill reunion seven years hence. Because my father had custody of me growing up. In other words, these people were practically strangers to me. Not to mention, I must confess, I still am carrying a bit of a bitter shoulder chip about it all. Unfortunately, time waits for nothing, nor no one. Not even those that deserve it too. Not that I do now, but believe it, or not there was a time when... I even asked -=Dark_Angel=- for advice on how to handle it. And he was right, and it has helped me a great deal at communicating, once again, with these blood linked phantoms from my past. But death is as faithful as an old yellow stone parked geyser. The bad 'always' piggy- -backs in with the good, doesn't it? I mean, can't anything ever just go down the way you initially hoped it would? Never, that would be too uncannily hopeful, and not in the 'master' plan. A universe of opening and closing strings. A universe of membranes. So... with the good news of my mother, and I, falling in love once again? Forgiving one another for what happened between us, and my half sister, seven years back. But more importantly, for the wheels she helped set in motion. From the time I was born until the split. And right when I got to the point where things were beginning to make more sense in life, and I realized that you can't blame children for being kids even if they are in all honesty, full-grown adults in denial. Then you discover someone you'd like to love, and maybe, get to know a little better in life Is seriously ill with a combination of deadly jungle parasites, and three orange sized tumors in their liver, and a necrotizing Strep-B bacteria patiently eating it's way through the flesh upon his upper abdomen into the muscle and ribs. Going for that juicy marrow. Basically, causing seeping vile holes in your body that never ever close up, just grow larger. Not to mention, it's highly contagious. Living all by himself with his Jack Russell terrier in the middle of fucking nowhere. Is my stubborn grandfather trying not to be a burden. Refusing to go to the hospital, because he's worried about his fruit trees freezing? And that's not because he's some kind of fruit farmer neither. He has only about ten to fifteen trees? Am I crazy, or would you be running to the hospital waving the white flag like me if your flesh was being consumed on both ends by a flesh eating bacteria? Guilt, it'll fuck with your head, and I mean big time. Why do you think prisoners sodomize one another? So do the Gods. My mother asked me If I would help her do an intervention, and go up north to talk him into coming down from the mountain and his hermitage. To perhaps seek some medical attention? I agreed, and before I knew it there were five of us going up there. My dad, my mom, her mom, and my little brother, in a rented mini-van. Sixteen hours there and back of awkward conversation and finger pointing. My dad toting his 'Magical Indian medicine bags and bowls', along with his hawk wings and claws? Yeah, I know, don't even ask. He hasn't been right since his last seven year stint in prison. Now, you have to appreciate the moment. This was the first time in my life that I'd ever been with my mother and father at the same time in the same place, ever. In other words, I felt like... I felt like the universe was going to show me something divine about our troubled pasts together. Instead, I only discovered that which I'd already known. Some people just don't get along. End of the fucking story. When we finally arrived, my grandfather was very moved by the spectical of us all together, and I believe we all were on the same page as him, to say the least. He was merely about fifty pounds lighter, but nonetheless still the man I knew to be my grandfather. He seemed as feisty as usual. For example, when he was showing us his fruit trees, and vegetable garden? He offered me a tiny Chile. Which I proudly took and then consumed. Of course, without knowing that I was about to go blind, and have snot hanging three feet from my nose for the next thirty minutes or so. I guess even the sick and dying can be jokers, practical. It promotes healing, I'm assuming. Robin Williams is a rarely wrong Jew, and he told me that once. Everyone laughed, but I wept openly while running about for my dear life. Making them laugh, even harder. My mother had to hand feed me ice and mango preserves for fifteen minutes while I passed off a modicum of effort at being a macho man. Though my audible whimpering, and child like sniffle sort of ruined that. Apparently, upon further inquiry, my grandfather told me "That's the hottest Chile on the planet", and that he'd thought for sure I was aware of that fact also. Silly old me. Summoning us all together by a small shed out back. He showed us his chickens. One was a huge white Belgian hen. Then there was a dark smaller hen, and a scraggly old lame rooster. Grandfather bent down and grabbed himself a large brown egg out of one of the nests, and in a thick German accent said, "Well, we have one of us fed for tomorrow." In such a way, that my brother and I? Thought for sure that there wasn't a scrap of food to cook, or eat, in this old crafty hermit's house besides eggs, and satanic Chiles. Then my brother dared ask him" Why's the big white hen missing feathers on its face and its tail?" At this my grandfather chuckled, and said "Oh well, you know Leo, my dog? Well, that's his girlfriend there." He says, with a point towards the big white chicken. My brother, and father, laugh boisterously at this. Because, it strikes them as naturally impossible. But mother, and I? We knew that it wasn't. Calling for his trained hyper active Jack Russell, Leo. To come over for a demonstration to convince the non-believers in our bunch. My grandfather tells his dog "Look Leo, there is your girlfriend, show everyone how much you love her, and what kind of man you are?" And I'd be damned if that dog didn't hit that Belgian hen at full speed. Like John Holmes on crack cocaine and Viagra in a Mexican whorehouse. By the way my grandmother slightly moaned, and made the sign of the cross? She was impressed too, I could tell. My brother of course peed his pants and practically vomited with laughter. Especially when Leo spun the hen around and started working her face like a jackhammer on hot Goergia asphalt. It wasn't until the pre-ejaculation-howl-combo-turbo-finally. (Where their unnatural dance ends with them collapsed upon one another) That I fully began to appreciate the love between this dog and chicken. For a moment there? I even thought I was going to get aroused. But the thought left as quickly as it had came. I must be horribly over sexed? I worried about myself. Yes, that's it for sure. That's why for a brief moment there. I found myself realizing I have been both the dog, and the chicken in this lifetime. And you know what? I was totally cool with that, and better off for it. Yeah, definitely better off.