[218] Screed City

[218]

01/05/2023 Thursday. Kitchen Microwave. Beaver Haus. Lower Granville, Vermont.

Well, I feel like that Charlemagne Palestine video where he keeps saying; I gotta get out of here, I gotta get out of here, while riding a motorcycle or something, and then he breaks into song, I mean, Vermont, fucking Vermont. It's too much. The other day me and G went down to Woodstock, Vermont to buy some riding boots for G, with the idea that they can take riding lessons this year, I mean, the lady that ran the place was quite fantastic, I called her before we went there because it was Monday, the day after New Years, to make sure that they were open and she said Yes, and I asked if they sold riding boots and she said Yes, we got some, who are they for, and I said My child, and she asked How big my child was and I said 15 and she told me to come down. So we went down. And it was fun and she was very knowledgeable and during the purchase she asked me where I lived, well, more like she asked G where they lived, and then she asked me where I lived, I mean, I guess it was obvious that we didn't live together, that maybe it was typical for a dad to bring his teenager into a horse shop to buy riding boots, like I was trying to make up for something, as a father, or maybe she just read the room real easy, either way, after I told her where I lived she said; Oh, I guess you don't work in the state then? Which, say what you will about her preternaturally ability to know everything about me, what a brutal statement, because it was true. Vermont is a void. And after a week of unseasonable warm weather, Vermont is a disgusting muddy void. Ugly as hell.

[Insert Charlamagne Video]

But the next day, G and I got on the road in the morning, to meet up with their mom in Manch Town, the roads were wet and the temperature was dropping, I was going to go over the mountain, because driving through Buttland hurts my feelings, but as we were driving I was having a debate in my mind about whether or not the mountain roads would be to hairy to drive on, just outside of Pittsfield, Vermont, we passed a car turned over, exhaust coming out of the thing, I couldn't see anybody in the car, but it didn't look like anyone had gotten out of the car, for some reason my mind thought; Ghost car. I pulled over. A truck was pulled over in front of us. A guy was running to the wreckage. I put my hazards on and told G to wait. I ran back, the road was icy, slippery. The running man from before was bent down, looking into the car. I bent down myself. He stood up and removed his multi-tool and started banging on the window, trying to break it. It wasn't really working. I picked up a length of metal that had broken off from the car and tried to hand it to him, he wouldn't take it. He just kept banging on the window with his multi-tool, I could tell it was hurting him because he kept stopping and rubbing his hand, I don't know if he was in shock or what, because he yelled at me to call 911, I didn't have my phone. It was back in the car. I knew I didn't have service either, but I was about to go back and get it, but by then two other cars had stopped and the people in them were on their phones. Talking to the emergency service. One of them said; Where are we? Someone told him. The running man finally broke the window. He stuck half his body inside and looked around. He pulled out again and started banging on the rear door window. I didn't try and hand him the metal thing again, instead I ran back to Junior Mint to get my hammer. When I got there G had locked the doors, I banged on the window. Opened the trunk, grabbed the hammer and ran back. The running man wouldn't take it. He kept banging on the window with his multi-tool. The window eventually broke. He threw his multi-tool onto the ground and ducked into the car. At that point a truck carrying a large metal tube of what I assumed was something inflammable jack knifed as he slammed on his brakes to avoid running into all the cars now parked on the highway. All of us standing there just watched, mouths agape, it was something horrible coming at us. Yet somehow the truck stopped before anything tragic happened.

The running man pulled out an oxygen tank and put it next to the car. The hose still attachted. Still connected to the mouth piece, I suppose, although when I looked inside, the mouth piece was not attachted to the womans face. She was trapped under the passanger side seat somehow. She hadn't been wearing her seatbelt. Which is why I couldn't see her when me and G drove by. She looked quite frightened. But as far as I could tell she wasn't gravely injured, or, I mean, I guess she wasn't covered in blood and she seemed more scared than hurt. But she was trapped. The running man threw two bottles of wiper fluid out and told us to cut them in a way so he could bail water. The car was in a runoff. And since it had been quite warm all week, the car was slightly under water. Someone with a knife cut one of the wiper fluid bottles in way that the running man could use to bail water. He handed it back. Then the running man yelled out; Is that oxygen tank working? I mean, he had yelled this before and I had seen that it was on empty, and I said as much, but that didn't satisfy him, so he asked again. I yelled, I don't know. It's empty. Then he yelled, It's in here for a reason! I wanted to yell back; I understand, but I don't know if it is working or not! And then he yelled; Is anyone coming? Someone yelled; They are on the way! I mean, this is why I assumed the guy was in shock, because he couldn't hear anything and he was just doing stuff that wasn't doing anything. I mean, he was bailing water, but it was just going right back into the car, and it's not like the car was suddenly going to sink into the river and drown everyone, I mean, sure it must have sucked to be trapped in that car after crashing, and the water was probably cold as shit, but if anything we should have done nothing but comfort the poor woman and wait for the ambulance to come, but this is the curse of the very American; Just do something! mentality. I mean, I was glad he broke those windows, they needed to be broken, whether or not the running man needed to break his hand doing so, I am not sure, but after that, I mean, the woman was alert and cognizant, she didn't seem to be bleeding profusely, and as much as I am the kind of guy that believes you should give up first and then the solution will present itself, I mean, if anything we should have been trying to find blankets or something, but this is also the problem with the biggest bully having the most power, I knew the ambulance would not be far off, it's Vermont for Christ' sake, at that moment there was probably every cop and ambulance in a hundred mile radius hauling ass to get there, and all we were really doing was making sure she didn't drown or get hypothermia, which, I mean, talking about now, I guess I could have intervened, I guess, I mean, I know how these things work, you can only have one person in charge or there will be chaos, but this guy was hell bent on bailing her out, and who am I to stop him?

I mean, after a while he stopped. He poked his head out. Asking if there was a way to keep the water from rushing back in. It was a ridiculous question. I was holding his multi-tool, having found it in the snow, having wiped it off, he said; Oh, that's mine, thanks. I mean, when he said that I wondered whether or not he was in shock, but then he went back to bailing water again, so I couldn't tell. I looked down in the ditch, there was can of chewing tobacco in the muck, and some empty cans of cider. The woman must have flipped the car when she crashed, and then the car must have spun around and ended up pointing in the opposite way she had been driving. I mean, the car was upside down. The horn was blaring. I mean, as much as I thought I was aware of everything happening, I don't know why I didn't crouch down myself and get inside and turn the car off, but I really felt like a bystander at this point. The traffic jam we had created was slowly dissolving. People were moving their cars or just driving away. The truck with the giant metal tube of explosives snaked it's way past us. I was distracted by the chewing tobacco can at that point to notice what he was hauling, maybe it was maple syrup, I mean, this abnormal weather had sent the maple farms scrambling, three months early, unsure there would be a sugar season at all.

I mean, I walked back to Junior Mint to move the car, to check in with G, I put the hammer back in my tool bag. I tried to pull up and put the car out of the way, but Vermont doesn't believe in shoulders for their highways, so I got further and further away, looking for a place to park, but then I saw two cops in the distance, their lights on, their sirens, and then I didn't know what to do, I hadn't actually seen the crash, so I didn't have any information to give anyone, the woman seemed quite alive, not that I could have helped had she been less than alive, the two people that were originally on the scene, the ones that cut the bailing jugs, they seemed to be engaged, on the phone with the authorities or whatever, I mean, I had a tinge of guilt as I kept driving, but I really didn't see how me being part of the peanut gallery was going to do anything, so I drove off. Driving towards Rutland instead of taking the better, more peaceful mountain roads.

I mean, I have been in this same situation before. In Brooklyn, where this guy in a mini-van had hit a light pole driving down Atlantic Avenue. I mean, that guy was extremely cut up. I can still picture his wounds. I was crossing the street, heading to Jack's studio, I mean, I called the ambulance and waited for it to arrive, but there really wasn't much else I could do. I mean, being part of the panic brigade can only help things so much. But I did wait until the ambulance arrived. And then I kind of just snuck off into the sunset.

Anyway, I guess I feel guilty about leaving, and if it had just been me and the running man there, I would have stuck waited the two more minutes until the authorities showed up, but when I left there were way more people standing around doing nothing than there needed to be, and they probably would have told me to get lost anyway, right? I mean, G sent me the news report, and the woman is in horrible shape, but I don't know how sticking around would have changed that. I mean, when I drove back through, barely an hour later, the car was gone, and all evidence of the crash had been removed.

[Insert News Report]

https://www.news10.com/news/rutland-county/rutland-police-respond-to-rollover-car-accident/

I mean, in other horrible news; I went to drop off my rent check for the next three months at the New Landlord's house. He answered the door wearing a see-through cotton shirt that only a pirate would wear, as well as some of the fanciest pants I have ever seen on anyone below the age of 55, I mean, I don't even know how to describe them, aside from Trust Fund Baby brand, I mean, they were pants of leisure, I mean, he was supposed to come over on New Years Eve, I mean, we had a party he was invited to, and he said he had spent the last few days doing nothing, so why go out? I mean, I agreed with him on that point. I mean, I even agreed with his outfit, but god-damn! I mean, I had the check in my hand, I looked over at his recycling, I saw the empty beer cans, the same beer from the Brewery I work at. I mean, I said; I see you are drinking [The Beer,] I probably watched those cans go off the line. And he said; Just doing my best to keep you employed. And I said; Yeah, you buy the beer so I can go to work and pay you the rent. I mean, he did seemed embarrassed about this statement, but still, that is sick. That is the nature of this idea that we live in a world where those with money create the jobs so we can work the jobs so we can buy the things they sell so we can pay the rents on the buildings they own so they can buy the beer so we can work so they can get the rent money. I mean, it's not untrue, but FUCK YOU. It's not trickle down, it's firehose up.

I mean, in other bizarre news, there is a AI scam happening at the moment with regards to my writing. There is a fake Joey Truman out there selling books that I didn't write. Or maybe the book is my writing but with a different cover. The problem is the book costs $54 dollars and I sure as hell aint going to pay that much money to find out somebody is ripping me off, and not only that, but the book seems awful. It is called: The Moon In A Glass [Italics,] or do you use italics when the book is a phony? I mean, the only thing I can think of is, I did a momentary thing on the computer the other day when I needed to do a word count for this last thing I wrote called: Slicker & Goose [Italics,] where this guy used to be a Mormon and his wife dies suddenly and he is having trouble processing her death because he has a photographic memory and he can't forget her, so he ends up getting addicted to gambling and et cetera, et al, but one thing from that book is he doesn't believe in heaven anymore so he pictures his dead wife riding a unicorn on the moon, and aside from that brief 30 seconds I used the word counter, I mean, I erased it immediately, I mean, I guess I need to stop doing that, I guess, I mean, it is one thing to have people read my books, which, whatever, one day, ONE DAY, but if I can't even put shit on the computer for two seconds without the bots coming for it? That is some dark shit. I mean, however, I also sent it to the Publisher, so...I mean, it is on the internet now, it wasn't before, but it is now, even if it's only in document form, I mean, I don't know, that seems quite dark. But so what, there is a work around I will use from now on, I mean, files like that are quite small, I can just send the manuscript over on a thumb drive, and I really doubt that a phony book like that is going to be anything, but who knows? I mean, I feel like I should do a Kickstarter to raise the money to buy the book to see what it is? But then what? It's firehose up all over again.

[Insert Phony Book]

https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-moon-in-a-glass-joey-truman/1142875159

I mean, I don't mean to be paranoid, and not only that, but am I writing things so profoundly original that I even need to worry about it? I doubt it. Not in any real sense, I mean, I mean, Slicker & Goose [Italics] is funny because it addresses this notion of story telling that no matter what you do, the story is always the same, it only depends on who is telling it, I mean, at one point the narrator has to stop telling the story because it is just too exhausting and all the details are irrelevant, but then he goes right back into it, and then by the end the story becomes a "Normal" novel with action and conflict and whatever, a story-line with things and emotions, but in the end, spoiler alert, even that isn't enough to keep the thing going and he just kind of gives up, and basically no matter what you do you always end up back where you started. I mean, Candide all over again. I mean, my point is, sure it may be AI doing it now, but we have all been doing it for hundreds, thousands of years, so maybe I should just pay the $54 bucks to read this garbage, it may be insightful, like a way to fight back. Right? Anyway, send money to:

[Insert Venmo]

@joey-truman-1

I mean, we can get to the bottom of this if we just believe in ourselves and our hearts are pure and you send me money. All I am asking is for 54 true believers to send me $1 dollar to perpetuate this scam.

Moral: Tend your garden.