“Don’t be afraid of curiosity”… I assure you we sure weren’t when asked by a Mrs. Brandy Parker to stay at her residents. I mean when you spend three stressful nights homeless, you start to welcome shelter. Not only that, but you tend to look at life with a whole new spectrum.
Little did we know they were former meth addicts who had their kids taken away by C.P.S.; and were now on the road to recovery.
“s**t!” I thought, “Well f**k it. Let’s see how it plays out.”
And played out it was; rather well, too, I might add. While staying there, we were directed into getting food stamps, and helping them with groceries, and cleaning their apartment for them. They were even kind enough to help Suz get a job, working as a telemarketer downtown. We even managed to convince Suz’s mom to help us pay to get our car out of the impound. We needed a car in order to look for better jobs. Reliable jobs are hard to come by when you don’t have a reliable transportation. We were then able to make trips to Wal-Mart where we immaturely took ownership of a puppy we had no business buying.
The car was also a huge convenience for Matt and Brandy. They didn’t seem to need their food stamps, as long as they had ours, so they took our car to a nearby town and traded their food stamps for cigarettes and God knows what else. Not only that, but they would never return our car with gas in it.
One day Suz and I were hanging out in our car playing on my laptop, debating on whether to leave this place, and while we were still undecided, thinking it might be best to wait until our food stamps to come in the mail, when all of a sudden Brandy storms out of the apartment and demands we go look for jobs and stole our keys. We walk to taco bell a couple blocks away with an application, and no longer then fifteen minutes, we arrive back at the apartment to find that my computer was stolen out from under a bunch of clothes inside my now unlocked car. I went straight to Matt and Brandy who stated,
“That’s California for ya.”
I blew up; Walked door to door asking neighbors if they’d seen anything. I Went to the landlord, who was pissed that we were staying there rent free; went back to the apartment demanded my keys; drove to the police station and filed a complaint. We then proceeded to all the nearby pawn shops asking if anyone had turned it in. No luck.
We went back to the apartment, and Matt was throwing a hiss fit about how I handled the situation. I to this day know it was them, but can’t prove it. I would later try to get them to come out with the truth.
I searched what I could of the apartment. No luck. Then, around 7:30 PM, we decided we had stayed there way too long, grabbed our belongings, and stuffed them into the car. Suz, Daisy (our puppy), and I, said “Via con dios Fuckers.” We were off to L.A.
We ended up lost, once again high on triple C’s, and stopped at a gas station in uptown L.A. around 1:30 in the morning. The gas station clerk didn’t have a clue as to where to tell us to go. (A lot of people in L.A. haven’t even been all around L.A. I noticed that some people would just stick to familiar areas, and didn’t venture out too far.) The attendant then pointed at a man and said, “This man can help you.”
“This man?” I asked.
His name was Ray. He was a composer as well. He looked very similar to Tupac. (He even had an early issued magazine portraying a picture of Tupac and it was as if he took the picture himself.) He said we could chill at his place for a while and in appreciation of his kindness I gave him my sole copy of Acid Pro. 4.0 disc. (Acid Pro is a music composition program) We would soon arrive at his apartment complex, where we parked in the back in these garage like cages. Ray’s girlfriend was named April, and he had his brother living with him as well. His brother’s name was Christopher. We hung out for a bit when I decided to run down to my car and get an old demo I had made. On my way to the cages, I ran into a man resembling Samuel L. Jackson, who asked me, saying, “Hey man, You seen my girl?” I said no man I just got here and was on my way to grab a CD real quick. Once I arrived at the cages I saw a shadow dart from behind my car and into a dark corner. I paused then acted like I didn’t see her. I grabbed my CD and locked the car for a final time. L.A. was pretty rough, and the freaks didn’t just come out at night. I really needed a nights rest, plus the last dose I dropped was on the down low. I needed a nap or an upper, but I couldn’t make up my mind. I settled for a 40 oz and retired to my dreams, with Daisy sleeping in between Suz and I.
The next day I realized that I had locked my keys in the car; and I’ll be damned if some guy didn’t just pop out of nowhere recognize the situation, whip out a clothes hanger from his pants, and say “I’ll have em’ out in a jiffy.” Amazing, simply, amazing. He retrieved the keys asked for a buck to get a beer. He’s poor, lives on the street. On our third day at Ray’s he had had it up as far as he could go with Daisy. She wouldn’t stop pissing on his floor. The manager was onto us too. He threatened to us with a $100 a head just for the water bill alone. Which didn’t make a whole lot of since to me because there are no water bills in California. We said to hell with it and readied to leave. Ray gave us $60, to keep us afloat. “ I thanked him and headed to where he recommended we go. Hollywood. Whew that would be harder then one might think.
Hollywood was a place where traffic was vicious, the people gave bogus directions for fun, and Pixie-Styx (big-straw-sugar-candy) went for $2 a pop. Money talked on the streets. I couldn’t decide where to go, so I was all about flipping a coin as to left or right, trouble was I had none, so directions needed to be sought. We decided to drive to the ocean; Venice Beach, and what a sight. We pulled up next to a dumpster and decided to write letters home. It wasn’t ten minutes when a maroon Lincoln Navigator pulled up behind us. Next thing we knew, this pimped out metallic-purple Cadillac with a tan top, pulls up with a model portraying her sleek figure with a skimpy purple thong bikini. The photographer kept advising motions to the model, as she posed like a dog in heat, waiting to be pounced upon. The photographer looked pleased. After about an hour or so, they left us alone to wander about the streets of L.A., headed for adventure in downtown Hollywood. Why? You might ask. We still don’t know.
We ended up driving all the rest of the day and all of the night around Hollywood’s streets and freeways; Circling the LAX pick up and drop off, as people gawked at our Jim Morrison tapestry atop our car. Not knowing where we were going at all, refusing to try and understand any sort of directions from anyone, piquing on low-grades, we managed to finally arrive back at Ray’s apartment. How? We don’t know. How we managed to take that whole 24 hour trip with only a quarter tank of gas, and around fifty bucks still in our pockets is all beyond me. (We stopped to get tacos from the same place like three times)
We were really drained from the stress of the road, and practically fell out of the car. We then came across a church group that stopped us and asked us to join them in a prayer circle. The leader of the group said, “I can tell you guys have been through a lot and I would like to pray with you for a moment and I ask God to embrace your life with his never ending love and guidance.” We were very lucky they said, and we agreed accordingly. We thanked them and began to trudge our way to Ray’s stoop and buzzed him to, “please,” let us in.
He invited us in and together, with his instrumentals, we recorded a demo. His musical equipment was far grander then anything I’d ever used. I was then on a 30 hour no sleeping binge, and to everyone’s, including my self’s surprise I nailed it. I had 8-10 tracks recorded and edited to my satisfaction. Afterwards Ray’s brother Christopher called over some of his friends who seemed to vibe to it as they hung-out. I couldn’t last much longer after they arrived so I had to pass out. The next morning I awoke to a, pretty much, “here’s $20 now you have to leave. I did and all was well. That night we parked the car, still on a doughnut tire mind you, next to a club, with our Jim Morrison tapestry out for the world to see. We slept in the parking lot for about an hour, when we were harassed by a junkie.
“I know you lookin’!” he said.
I was like, “Hell no!” and we peaced on out of there. We headed back to Hollywood again. Again, we were lost and some how we managed to park at a horse ranch. I remember thinking, “A horse ranch? In f*****g Hollywood?” We assumed the car was near empty, and we had spent the majority of the money on food, gas, cigs, C’s, weed, dog food, and water and medicine for us and our puppy. Some money we gave to the poor for no real reason at all. The rest I hid in the car, hoping I’d forget about it, and come upon it later; when we really needed it. While at the ranch we noticed a dirt trail. With our puppy we managed to walk up and along it, only to realize it was the trail to the Hollywood sign. It was about 7 miles up. About halfway we noticed a radio tower at the top behind the sign. I thought it was a radio station and was then very eager to reach the top. We lingered around with a loss of most if not all motor functioning skills, but somehow, we had made it. I felt like Jesus in the desert for 40 days and 40 nights, and what a view. The sun coming up over the horizon is quite a sight. If you ever get a chance to be up at the Hollywood sign at sunrise, I highly recommend it. We finally reached the very top only to learn that the tower we saw, was actually a police radio tower. Which greatly disappointed us. I then started eating some random plant leaves for no real reason at all. My mouth was on fire. I should not have done that. I do not recommend that at all. I was starting to feel faint and fell to the ground a few time before finally taking a nap in a shady spot. When I awoke I had to get to the car. We made it to the Northern part of the city, when we really did run out of gas. Totally forgetting about the 25 dollars I hid in the trunk, we managed to scrounge up $5 from a stranger, and that got us all but 14 miles from Santa Clarita. I managed to get $10 more in gas from a Fed-Ex man who was conversing with a cop on how cute our puppy was. We thanked the gentlemen and headed off to Santa Clarita. Camping was our new goal.
We stopped once more in route for directions to Valencia, and the road to Green Valley. Originally we were looking for a place called Cottonwood but we soon learned that, that was the place we’d most likely get shot or stabbed. We stopped at a Ranger Station and they managed to squeeze $5 out of us. We then came across a gas station at $1.55 a gallon. We filled up with the money I had in the trunk, and bought some more smokes and snacks. As we were prepping to leave we ran into a woman named Terri. She adored our puppy and asked if we were hikers. We answered no but told her of who we were and what we were doing there. She then asked if she could kid nap us. We looked at each other like..”eh…, you want to?” She then explained that the reason she asked if we were hikers is because she was a Trail Angel. She posts up living quarters for hikers that travel along a trail that stretches from Mexico to Canada. And her house is a checkpoint. She took us under her wing offering shelter food beer and dank weed. Her husband’s name was Joe, who specialized in lighting for the T.V. show “Jag“ at USA studios. While we were there we recorded another single and scheduled an appointment with Capitol Records. Which we never made , due to our lost mind state. We were piss poor with any sense of direction. We made it back to Terri and Joe’s house after another misadventure. Upon our return we made really friends with their kids. Justin and his girlfriend Renee seem to stick out the most. Also, during our stay there, we took up the task of cleaning the lawn of their neighbor Mike. Mike gave us a meal, some puppy food, supplies for cooking outdoors, got us ripped, gave us a package of cigarettes, and $57 to get our car tire fixed. No more donut. We’d traveled roughly a good thousand miles on it; never driving under the speed limit. Very dangerous, not recommended. We were very blessed, and I would love nothing more then to be able to repay those guys.
We were once again off and about, for Tulare County, for our court dates. .Mine was a day before Suz’s. I had to swap shorts for pants with someone in the courthouse, for I wasn’t properly dressed to state standards. All this only to learn that my charges were dropped. What a relief. We then decided to stake out the night at the Sear’s parking lot. We were just hanging right outside the mall entrance, when we ran into the alchemist tweeker again. The one that filled up on mustard and ketchup packets. This time I had a white blanket around me looking like a cloak and I told him that the sun was following him. He took off running , for God knows why, and we knew it was time to split. We fill’ied around the town and made our way to Borders and bought Michael Moore’s “Fahrenheit 9/11.” Not to mention the Dollar Tree down the road had knock off Corricidon for a dollar a box. This place was bound, damned, determined to be our death bed. But God had other plans in store for us.
From our Dollar Tree discovery, we started making many collect calls home. We also wrote a long and heart-felt letter to our latest arch-nemesis’s Matt Meyers and Brandy Parker. We would pay them a visit the following morning. We arrived at their apartment early the next morning, and planned to pay another visit in the afternoon to catch their response; but first we would go to Social Services to check and see if our food stamps were finally available. Today was the deadline for us to receive them. They informed us that they had been mailed to the address we gave them. We explained that we didn’t live at that address anymore and that we feared that we may never get them. They suggested we go back to the address and collect the our stamps. Little did we know, someone “supposedly” broke into Matt and Brandy’s apartment and stole their laptop. How creative I thought. All too familiar. Hum? They called an officer to the residence and we told him the story. He wanted to check out our car. The car just so happened to be across town at the library. Just as we were getting ready to head to the Library, we saw their neighbor stroll up to their door with a garbage bag full of food. I was pissed. We rode with the officer to the car and let him thoroughly search it. He came up empty handed and suggested we not mess with the likes of Matt and Brandy, just to be on the safe side. I had had enough of these gay Olympics, and crybaby antics, I was just going to have to walk away from this one. The clouds were starting to collect themselves and a cold rain began to fall. We noticed a dog curled up by the library entrance. Suz thought it would be a nice gesture to cover the dog with a jacket she didn’t want anymore. We then made it a point to go back to Social Services and have the food stamps cut off. We then re-applied for them, and they gave us some food vouchers to hold us over until the stamps arrived. We then decided a trip to a Save-a-lot, was in order. We loaded up our backseat with a huge box of junk food, non perishable goods, water, pop, bread and lunchmeat. I also purchased a cooler to keep things cool. Together we conclusively came to the idea of getting a high, so we thought a trip to Wal-Mart, would be most appropriate.
On our way to Wally World, we noticed some hitchhikers and a familiar looking dog, thumbing for a ride. We walked over and offered some assistance. The hikers were two gruesome looking hippies, a male (also named Matt, who went by the name of Scarecrow, due to the fact that his frame and appearance resembled that of a simplified scarecrow; had traveled out west from Boston, by bicycle, to meet his online girlfriend in Missouri) and female (Teach, was her nick name. I can‘t recall her actual name, but she was a bigger framed Russian lady from San Francisco, who also traveled by bicycle with Scarecrow from Missouri). Their four legged companion was Babooshka. (Babooshka was a Russian term for grandma or something or another, I can’t recall). They were headed to the hot springs. We offered to give them a ride if they didn’t mind us tagging along with them once we got there. We also explained that Suz had a court date the very next day, and if they could hold off their travels until we found out her verdict. They agreed and we all camped out in a nearby camping resort, after-hours, so as not to have to pay to stay. We set up camp around 11:30 pm. We showered ourselves and managed to boil us all up some Ramen Noodles. We got to know one another, and shared stories of our travels, even cluing them in on the fact that we were the ones that blanketed their dog at the library. They were wondering about that, they confirmed. We then planned out our day for tomorrow, and hit the hay.
The next day, Suz and I were a little worried about whether or not she would have the same luck as I. Teach assured us that no matter what, she believed everything would work out in our favor, being since Suz was just my so called accomplice, and if I had gotten off, then she would most likely as well. And so it was. She was off scot-free as well, and we were all then off to new and better things. The Remington Hot Springs.
Along the way to the hot springs, it would appear that we actually, had the gall to stop at a rest stop, off of a highway, at the half-way mark between Tulare County and Kernville. It is noted that Ray Manzarek’s mom, once if not even still owns a tavern there. She was noted for once chasing, if not more then once, skate-boarders’ from riding on her front awning patio.
At the rest stop, we heard some rambunctiously old woman obviously proud of her lot lizard look; It seemed if she got caught up in the gypsy mantra and was now reduced to the lifestyle of sucking truckers off for meth or what ever she was into that day. I had stopped beside a vehicle as she was exiting from the passenger side and asked her how far it was to the Kernville Hot Springs , when she proclaimed she just, and I quote,
“I Aint got time fir this s**t!!!! errr” Ya herr dat’ s**t ’ted…I aint gots’ tha’ time.”
And with that, just as she spoke, her false teeth, along with, missing false teeth, almost fell out. It was even funnier to myself at least that the hole in the back of her buttocks exposed a very patriotic, Republican Elephant. Suz, myself, and the hitchhikers were thrilled and anxious to exit this scene and unto another parking spot. We headed on out and started to collaborate on why it is we trust our instincts more then what other people tell us. A common, yet intrusive way of finding yourself.
After the old white rabbit, we decided to make a break for the bathrooms. I think it was the dank weed talking this time. And what a relief it was to do so.
After we were all relieved, we met up in-front of the bathrooms, where we then decided to walk upon the direction of a truck driver, reading a map. I personally believe that this truck driver was some sort of spawn of Hitler. He was a nice guy (at least to us whites.) He was just too bizarre for comfort. He told stories of gay slayings, he had partaken in. He also proclaimed, or at least decided to entrust us, with stories of having beaten a Mexican, near death, with a club he kept in his truck, due to the fact that the poor Mexican didn’t know English.
Hard luck tended to follow people who chose to follow Americas’ streets of gold. I remember thinking, “Oh s**t; We may need more drugs.”
Our next adventure involved all of us hikers, dog included. It was a small city of Kernville. Kernville was the home of Lake Isabella. On our way through Kernville, into the heart of Lake Isabella, we slowly began to encompass the distance from the town to the hot springs, when Matt, (Scarecrow), proclaimed, “Hey you guys like mushrooms?”
We were enthralled and decided to, and I mean right in front of them, to pop the rest of our cold medicine. Perhaps they weren’t for everybody. The hitchhikers chose to not partake, and decided to hold off on the mushrooms for a later time. We all decisively chose not to continue our journey to the Remington Hot Spring, as of yet, but instead, we chose to camp out at the hobo campground just outside of the Hot Springs parking spot. (about a 1 mile to be exact.) During the Great Depression camps like these were built to facilitate large groups of migrant workers, down and out on their luck. For us it was a place to eat sleep and s**t as well as get to see just how camping with hikers for a while was going to be. The next morning we arrived at the Remington Hot Springs. The springs were a good mile down a steep and twisted, rocky-dirt trail; you were lucky if you didn’t bust your ass, skid a few yards on the sandy dirt, trip over an exposed root, slide through the vegetation and slated boulders, or lose your smokes along the way. We found a full pack of cigarettes and an unopened pack of gum. It was Amazing. The springs were man made and only God himself could of possessed a man to build such a secluded paradise. “Hippie Heaven” was written out with blue-jeweled stones in the cement of the first spring.
The springs supplied hot sulfur water to the cement tubs, and ran alongside the Kern River. The river ran down the mountain valley. It was the death-bed to 168, not counting the bodies never found, and also served as a decent fishing location. We walked along the side of the river unto a white sandy beach area, and decided to set up camp for a while. Scarecrow then whipped out a quarter of shrooms. We boiled up some tea, and made ourselves a pitcher of shroom tea. We then partook in a bole of purple-erple. Afterwards Teach made some Ramon Noodles, and Suz and I decided to try out the tubs. When we arrived the sun was near setting, there were three boys and two girls celebrating one of the fellows’ birthday. We got Scarecrow and Teach involved and matched them a couple of boles, and they passed around a bottle of tequila. We exchanged stories and went about our business. The group of kids weren’t about the nudity of the hot springs, so they decided not to partake. Suz and I were a little uncomfortable too, so we just wore our swim suits. What a relaxing time that was. To be able to kick back in a hot tub and hang you arms over the edge into the cold river water. A clear, starlit sky, with a full moon, buzzed to the max and tripping within ourselves. Suz and I made it back to the camp within like three hours, and just sat holding each other, on the white sandy beach, close by the fire in front of our tent; and watched the light of the moon and stars shimmer on the river water, along with its mountainous background. This was what we had been after this whole time. The perfection of being able to settle. The release of all stresses. The spiritual awakening of our senses. The love that the Lord had bestowed upon us.
The next day we met a man named Albi; a paraplegic drug addict, who had been shot through his back and leg by a guy in New Mexico. He couldn’t walk very well, but he would somehow manage to make his way down the treacherous path to the hot springs very regularly. He had a guide dog named Turkey. Granted I’m high as a kite by now, and my only consolation, is to recommend that you try this for yourself.
The Austin, Texas bus stop has now come upon us. This story will have to continue…. I desperately need a re-up.
That f*****g swine I swear to GOD, aw f**k it. We just got some weed stolen from us. But no worries, The satchel containing our social security cards and blue-berry bud, won’t be missed. I mean f**k it; we had a bus to catch and; well…. More on that later. Back to the continuance.
(Back to the Remington Hot Springs)
Story even more choppy here not very pleasd with the flow, howeve a quick edit, some in put all over would be nice, thanks litter mate
Albi and Turkey were good hearted beings. He was great at whittling wire into fascinating shapes. He made us a “Pot-Head”, which was an elaborate hemp leaf with stick legs and arms. He said he would hafta’ go and see his mom here in a few if we’d like to hang out until then. No worries here…He led us up a different route to the top of the hill and Suz Scarecrow Turkey and I piled into the car. Albi, I thought “was surely familiar with the driving tactics of a young Dean Moriarty.” (I never asked though.) he would be whipping and swerving darting back and forth from one lane unto another, speeding down this winding road; through the mountains; and finally into town. I believe we made it in like 3 minutes at least. We finally arrived at his mothers trailer and were invited in for a smoke. Albi was a good son, to his mother but a little on the Norman Bates side of life. We rather enjoyed ourselves there. We drank and smoked and found out some very resourceful knowledge, that is if we were to continue to live like hobos. It was fun so far, so I really didn’t see any harm in it. We were able to locate thrift stores too.
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