Me and my Monkey hate to commute, and I got pierced

It was a dark and stormy night and my monkey was howling.  Actually is was a dark and stormy week and my monkey had been howling for a while.  Friggin' goddamn howler monkey been whispering in my ear (it was loud in my head, at least his message was) and I was starting to listen.  Damn, I missed that dude! 
Anyhow, he was telling me things and I was starting to really want to hear them, because they made sense, you see, lots and lots of sense.  I was waking up and remembering things.  Not the time travel kind of remembering things when you did that one thing that one time and it takes you back, not really, but kinda just like that.  He reminded me of who I used to be, and what I used to want out of life, and the dreams and aspirations I had had once upon a time.  He was constantly putting these thoughts in my head and it was causing me to question damn near everything.
Damn near everything...
It was sad, and it was exciting at the same time.  It was inspirational and awe inspiring, man, I used to ROCK!  It was depression and disheartening, man, look at what I have become.  I still blame it all on customer service... but I will probably get back to that.
Jebus had his hands on me also.   There was no fight between my monkey and my man, it was all copacetic.  Looking at it with a critical eye (because I always look back and wonder about things) it is as if my monkey was putting thoughts in my head and Jesus (or his dad) was slapping me in the face.  Each step of the way, and it wasn't always obvious at the time, but looking back, there were spiritual ninja kicks to my brain balls (I don't know) reinforcing the thoughts I was having and the actions I was starting to take.
For example, I had to go and do this thing for work, I am still not really sure the point of it except for getting more people enjoying the kool-aid, but doing that in itself was a kick in the nads, and again, looking back, it was as if the hand of god threw me in there like a knuckle-ball into the mitt of fate.  I came out very self aware and ready to kick some ass.  I also came out realizing there was a lot of ass to kick and I didn't really want to travel into that battlefield. 
So, anyway, I came out of it all pumped up and wanting to kick someones ass and needing a haircut (really) and thinking about how my wife told me about this tattoo parlor that did haircuts and I thought, you know what, I need my damn haircut and I need to pierce my nipple.  Now... Tonight!!!  And it was like I was being guided by a firm hand on my back, pushing me in the right direction *see, monkey making me want to do something crazy and my man sending me in the right direction, it was perfect.  And 20 years in the making. 
So there I GO, I tell my lovely wife I am going to get my haircut and probably my nipple pierced and she was all for it, go and do you thing, I think is what she said. 
So, it was like this:
Monkey says: Better stop at the liquor store first.
My Man says:  You should get some money out of the cash machine.
Monkey says:  Better get a shitload.
My Man says:  Good idea.
Monkey says: Get some Wild Turkey for your old lady.
My Man says: Yeah!
Monkey says:  Get a little something for yourself and get your ass down to the tattoo place.
My Man was quiet...
So I did, and I did, and I went walking in and I am all like, HEY!  I want to get my haircut and pierced, who wants to go first.  The barber chick was hella preggers and said the piercing dude wasn't there but she could cut my hair.  So I got my haircut... some story, huh?
Hold On!  So the piercer might be at the other parlor, you want me to call?  Yeah.  Ok.  So she calls and he IS there and she says, OK, I am sending you a nipple... She tells me where it is and I bust a move.  It's only about 8 miles away on the same street, so I head out as fast as I can, being safe, of course... Yada yada yada and the dude tells me to take a deep breathe and to exhale and then I saw stars and felt a tug for a second and it was done and I was bleeding like a motherfucker and it didn't even hurt.  Oh, and he gave me some stickers.
My monkey also pointed out to me that WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? a couple days later and punched me in the stomach and made me puke at the bus stop.  He did this a couple times before I got the hint that I really hated riding the bus for 2 hours each morning and dealing with hideously insane people on a daily basis.  I sucked it up for a couple days, but one day I couldn't take it any more.
I got off the bus downtown and puked as soon as the bus pulled away.  It was rainy and cold and the insane dude was walking around the parking lot.  He actually came and sat down in the shelter and started talking some crap of some sort, and I was within 30 seconds of convincing myself to catch the next bus home when my bus showed up.  I got on, kinda depressed about the whole thing and feeling oogy, and at every stop I heard this screaming in my head to get off the bus, get off the bus, get off the bus.  Yes, no, yes, no... Finally we were at the last Seattle stop, all the way up to the U district, and I got off.  I got off and puked in the bus shelter, then I called in sick... Then I felt so much better.  Incredibly better.  Fantastic, actually. 
OH, I hate my job!  No, I thought about it, actually, I hate going IN to my job, if I could do it from home everything would be cool. 

Me and my Monkey love my wife and hang with Jesus

Actually, and truthfully, I have always loved the woman that is my wife... I am sure I have told ya'll about this a couple times, but maybe I didn't have the time and didn't REALLY tell you about it.  Now I don't really think this part is insane, at least not in the greatest sense of the word...
Now, I will say, that I have this long standing belief, which I have mentioned to anyone who will listen, that I am severely retarded, and don't realize it.  It is like, how would you know, right?  Really, you are just living your life, in your own special way, and things in life happen that you take for granted, and in reality they are special assistance programs or something.  Like the things that you do that you struggle with, either physically or intellectually, are not really all that, nothing that a normal, non retarded person couldn't do without much struggle, except they get to go home and talk about the retard that they had to follow up behind and fix his shit and shit... and so you stumble through life and all it's difficulties, but they really aren't that bad, you just don't know any better.  Because you are mental, you know.  And you work with a bunch of retards (durrr) because, you know, they group you all together, so all these high tech jobs are not really all that high tech and there are actually smarter people behind the scenes that you don't see or recognize, that get all the real hard shit done, but they do it without any struggles...
Where was I going with this?  Uh, I have loved my wife since I first layed eyes on her... I think I was trying to break out back then.  I was barefoot (still am), had stopped wearing underwear, was wearing a flannel shirt/coat deal, baseball cap on backwards with the word LONO written on the brim... Uh, I was on campus at the local community college and didn't know what the fuck I was doing.  I was either in or had just gotten out of a relationship into a crappy relationship and didn't have a job and didn't really know why I was going to college except that I was hoping somewhere along the line something would just friggin' click and I would suddenly be an adult and not a retard or something...  Somewhere in there I had made friends with a band of misfits, and I was talking to one of them in class one day, and he had just shaved his head, but done a really crappy job, there was blood and stray bits of hair still sticking outta his head and it was kinda freaky and I was all trying to talk to him without discussing his head and somehow we discovered that we were both applying to this liberal arts college down the way, and Hey, there was this chick up in the bookstore that was too.  I should go say hi to her or something... I can't remember but do know it was his suggestion.  So I did, and there was this AWESOME chick behind the counter and she was everything I would ever want from a girl on a completely first glance kinda superficial way, you know, and I remember walking through the store killing time and checking her out and finally found something to buy without anyone else in line and I went up there and said Hi and told her I was applying to the same college and I knew this dude that knew her and she totally blew me off.
I probably looked like hell.  I have a history of that, throughout my life.  Never could really find a style or haircut or clothes that really did anything for me... I stick with faded jeans and white t-shirts where I can anymore.
Anyhow, I got her scent, you dig.  I could sense her around campus.  I would see her walking here and there, and being the cute little pitiful retard that I was, I would go in and say Hey to her every once in a while in the bookstore.  I had a girlfriend (so to speak) at the time and welcomed the time away from her and looked forward to having normal conversations with normal people, so I took my changes where I could.
I remember I had this one class, astronomy I believe, and I had a friend that was in the class and we would sit together, and this hot ass chick would come walking in and I was mesmerized and I would point out her beauty to this other dude, and he said something crude once and I was all like, HEY... don't talk about my future wife that way you dickhead.  I remember making my way up to where she usually sat so I could try and sit closer to her... I also remember having her in this first aid class and watching her due mouth to mouth on the resucitator doll and being completely hot and bothered by it.
I think by this time we were on a somewhat civil course, and I mentioned I would try to find her down at the other college... and then she was gone.
And I moved on down there, with my girlfriend, and met another chick at this restaurant that was much cooler than my girlfriend, but not as cool as my future wife, and I told her that she was my number 3, cause, you know, my future wife was my number one and I couldn't wait for her to get down there, but my current girlfriend was my number 2 since she was paying rent, so this other chick could be my number 3 and if all hell broke loose move on up to number one.  She seemed to enjoy this idea and would do things to try and move  up in the rankings, except she talked a LOT... I don't remember her name...
I do remember it was a long summer, and my girlfriend was driving me NUTS and I wanted her to die or at least go away... and I escaped one afternoon and was walking on campus and I remember thinking that she would be there any day, you know, and I wonder where she would be and damn, there were a bunch of cool hippie dudes down there that I would love to punch, but maybe that's what the girls go for down there... anyhow, I was walking across campus when all of a fucking sudden I heard someone calling my name and I looked up and there was my angel.  Holy Shit she looked good, and she was calling me up and was offering me a beer and she had short shorts on and she was awesome and beautiful and I wanted to fall into her arms and let her use her angelic wings to fly me to someplace happy and safe...  We had a beer and it was good.
We were friends based on not really knowing anyone down there and having the same class and I am not sure there was much more to it from her end than that, at first... but we hung out and I was sprung on her and started writing poetry that was about her and obviously not about my girlfriend, and I actually got advice of some sort from her and her roommates on how to dump my girlfriend, which I finally did, and I am not sure when it happened, I think it was a bit before I was officially broken up with my girlfriend that I was hanging out with my future lady, and we were having a good time talking and drinking and smoking and I gave her a mint and said something retarded about how our lips were so close, and we finally kissed... and I never looked back.  It was great, it was fantstic... it was the future.
My monkey was in full affect at that point, I think.  I had like 3 jobs at once, was half assing my way through classes and doing my own thing.  Somewhere in there we expressed love for one another and spent time getting high and playing nintendo.  Somewhere in there she tried to break up with me, and I don't really remember much about the reason, because I try not to think too hard about it, but I remember scrambling and coming up with some sort of something and she stuck with me.  We went home together, she met my friends, and I met her friends, we met each others parents and it seemed so sweet and real and cool, you know...
Shoot, I'm going somewhere with this... I think it was just so easy, beautiful.  We didn't really fight although maybe we should have.  We survived on the edge of poverty.  She exposed me to so many new things, it was like a whole new world opening up.  We were living together, of course, and her parents approved.  I loved her and asked her to marry me and she said yes.  We had a beautiful wedding, which we both agree we would do totally different if we could do it all over again.  We went on a honeymoon and settled into life.
All I ever wanted was to make her happy.  I thought it was my job to do so... Not that I had to suffer to do it, but I thought I had to do things so she wouldn't have to, that I would carry us so she wouldn't have to worry about it, and I supressed my monkey to do this.  It was not so obvious at first, but it became obvious as we went along...  I was not the same guy, and she was not the same girl, but I still loved her more than anything...  Then we had babies so obviously I had to be the rock... and she had to be the rock... and we were starting to go through the motions, you know.  We lost each other a bit, although we were always there for each other and presented a unified front.  But there was less effort.  I felt like there was something more I should be doing, but I was so tired, and often, so drunk...  Being drunk made it better, it was an outlet and all we really had, and it was fun at times... but not like it had been fun before.
I realize now that I felt like I was failing her somehow.  HOW???  I thought I was doing all the things that a grown up man with a wife and kids was supposed to do... and I was tired from doing it, and yet I felt there was something that I should be doing.  So I chose to be paranoid, and disgruntled (a bit) and internalized it, except when there was something really stupid to externalize it over... Bins or something... there were a few other things, I think.  It's all hazy.  I remember not feeling comfortable and going to the doctor and getting put on this drug then that drug then going crazy mental and stopping those drugs and going on some other drugs and then... and then... there was always that, hazing my mind, making it seem not so bad, but it was taking more and more to create that haze... Vodka and Vicodin... can really make life... interesting, I suppose.
Always in there, no matter what I was doing, and how crazy I was making myself, or disgruntled I was making myself from outside influences, I always maintained this bright burning fucking fire in my heart for her.  A big ole bonefire (heh, bonefire) of love and lust for her.  She has always been and continues to be the most beautiful woman I know and I look for happiness in her eyes and smile.  How's that for a heavy load to throw on someone.  How can anyone feel comfortable being worshipped that way.  I suppose it isn't really fair, but it was all I had, you know, and it was what I wanted, to some degree.  It was better than anything else in my life (excluding my kids).
This is the part where I feel like a retard, and we are both retarded, and we are taking care of each other as best we can...  I think it might be harder on her as I can't think of anything I really like to do, although I recognize (now) that I have often been a stick in the mud.  I imagine the normal people looking in on us and thinking that it is a little bit cute, but they would never live that way, but we're retards, so what do we know, you know...
I have been learning, lately, a lot about myself, and giving the monkey the key to the cage... I feel a bit disgruntled, a bit paranoid, a bit sorry to her and for myself... and mostly confused.
You know how you go through life, and you are always told 2 + 2 = 4?  And so you believe it for so long, and one day you are sitting there and someone tells you that 2 + 2 does not equal 4, never has, never will and why do you think it ever had?  And you have to believe them because there is nothing left to believe... but you can't forget how you always believed the answer was 4, and now that it isn't and never has been, what are you supposed to do?  What other equations don't compute?  What else have you been missing because you were so misguided?  What else does the world really mean?  How the fuck are you supposed to roll with that???
Ahhh... but it isn't really that big, is it?  It's just a little thing, a little something something that really doesn't mean a lot, right?  Just a turn of the head, a slight change in course.  The destination is the same, and maybe it's not all rainbows and unicorns, and the path is just to the left of where you thought it was, but you are still on the path together, right?  So what's the big deal?  What's the big deal?
That's what I keep asking myself... I am growing... Oh, my, how I am growing.  Like a lizard or snake or something, it is just the pain of shedding my old skin.  God, I can't wait to get rid of that old skin...
I been talking to Jesus about it.  For real.  And he talks back.  Part of me thinks this is a little crazy, but part of me wonders why I hadn't talked to him before.  I asked him about the Buddha... and he said that the Buddha is cool, and it is fine to find the light within yourself, but you know, sometimes you need a little love and maybe a nice hug.  Wow... and he said that thing about looking for demons around corners, and inventing corners to look for demons around, and suggested that maybe the path I want to take shouldn't have any corners... I like that.
So Jesus, when I see him... Well, the first time I saw him, he was wearing board shorts and a button up shirt that wasn't buttoned all the way and didn't have a beard, and had nice hair.  We just sat and talked, and speaking with someone that doesn't believe, they might say that I was just talking to myself, but you know, I never made that much sense.  And I sat there, next to him, and he smiled at me and told me it was true, that he accepted me and loved me and sure, I might be a fuck up sometimes, but shit happens (he actually said that) and he still loves me and it's all cool, just be there and feel the love.  I am getting there.
I call him Dude, and he is cool with it.  Sometimes I call him Jebus, and he is fine with that... he thinks it's kinda funny.  He doesn't appreciate Metallica, but doesn't mind some good metal (I asked him).  He doesn't have a single favorite, it is all his favorite.
And sometimes I say, Jesus, what about this, or what about that, and he sometimes says, you know, that ain't your problem... and he says, I can help you with you, I can't help you with anything else.
We were talking in a clearing once, walking in circles and not talking because you don't always need to talk, sometimes you just need to be quiet.  Anyway we decided to build a fire, and so I started trying to figure out where to find some wood for a fire and he laughed, and he was all like, does it help you to try and imagine the details like that?  How about if I just start a fire, right here... or would you like to think about building a house and all the steps and issues that go along with building a house?  He was right, I was getting caught up in the details.  So he started a fire and we sat there and we drank a beer together, and he was drinking budweiser, and I was all like, budweiser, and he said he liked the can, thought it was cool, so he drank bud, no big deal...
I talked with him another time and he was wearing jeans and another shirt with buttons down the front that weren't all buttoned... I can't remember what we talked about completely, but we sat by the fire and he brought my wife up to sit next to me, and we just sat there in love and watching the fire and not talking...
Oh, there are other times, moments, where he will ask me if I am making the right decisions or getting off track and I will listen to him, and sometimes I decide he is right and stop what I am doing, and other times I don't, and he loves me just the same.  He recognizes that I have a howler monkey that I have dealings with, and he is cool with that too.  He wants me to be happy, to be free, and to be happy and free with other people, and as long as I don't do it like an asshole it will make others feel happy and free also... and that is what it is all about.  All about me, apparently.
It still makes me nervous, scared, anxious, paranoid, jealous... shoot, what are the other traits that people usually hate in other people?  Add those in there and put my face on it...

Maybe my monkey... and Jesus

I've been kinda letting my monkey dictate things lately. Oh, and I've been talking to Jesus. They don't seem to be that different from each other. Kinda like peanut butter and jelly, they just go together well, although you can have a jelly sandwich and be just fine, or a spoonfull of peanut butter and also be just fine. But in this case they work together well.
My monkey is telling me to play it all loosey goosey, but has pointed out a few things that I had been ignoring and are subsequently making my life a little flavorful. Flavorful. You know how you like soup, and could eat it every day? Clam Chowder? But then sometime you go someplace and get the clam chowder and it just don't taste right? It's kinda like that. I'm not sure I like the path, but I know it leads to paradise so I am climbing over the slippery slopes and trying to get there.
Jesus is pretty understanding of things. I heard this about him before but never took the initiative (or wanted to) to look into it. He told me once, he said, you know, we are always looking around corners for demons, and inventing corners to look around so we can find the demons. It's no wonder we end up finding 'em. Jesus, he don't talk fancy, just a regular dude. That's what I call him when we are talking, dude.
He is laying it at my feet, and my monkey is picking it up and running with it, so I just kinda go where I am pointed.
There is a bit of unhappiness involved with it, but it isn't a new unhappiness, just a newly recognized pre existing unhappiness. Whew... it coulda' really blown up in my face, you know. Postal. I am letting it out slowly, like letting air out of a balloon. There is a certain relief in it, a lessening of pressure and a realization that I am not really that crazy, just misguided. Damn customer service!

I took a test the other day that was supposed to tell my what type of person I am so I can be prepared to learn about emotional intelligence. I probably shouldn't focus on it, but one of the things it said about me was that I was dependable... and dull. Usually right, also, but really, dependable and dull. That is a winning combination. And I am supposed to learn how to relate to people knowing this about myself?!? That I am dull and dependable, dependable and dull?
Ok, let's focus on my shortcomings for a moment, shall we... ok...
I am:
Slow to get things done
Perfectionist (oh really?)
Withdrawn...
Dull
Sullen
Shy
Passive

And based on being the type of dude I would have typically picked on and given a mental dilema, I am supposed to now learn how to deal with people that are none of these things? Talk about coming up from the bottom... It makes me feel like drop kicking someone (that is probably the monkey speaking, though).
So, let's take a look at my strengths:
Exacting
Thorough (oh really?)
Factual (hardly)
Reserved
Meticulous (HAHAHAHHA)
Practical (Ok, I will give them that one)
Calm (only on the outside, inside I am a volcano, and not the kind surrounded by a stripper college and, uh, a beer volcano, ok, nevermind)
High Standards
Risk Avoider

So, the typical Fonzy type of guy that chicks just dig... I don't think, that based on this description, I could even be in The Revenge of the Nerds. Oh, but maybe I am making too much of this, it was just a test that was supposed to take about 10 minutes to take and I completed in less than 2. My monkey is full of RAGE at this. This is not the person I was always trying to convince people I was not for all those years. Oh, I mean, this is the person I was trying to convince people I was not for all those years. I am (was) a badass! Dirty! Mean! Nasty! Leather jacket and dirty sneakers, punk rock and pot. An almighty individual!!! Dammit!!! Not a dependable desk jockey! I had aspirations beyond this, what the hell happened? Oh... my god... have I accepted this??? Is this what I recognize myself to be? Can I move myself up the graph and be something more than this?

My monkey says yes? Yes, but it will be painful. You could lose your house, and your job, and something something that really matters. Ahhhh, the something something that seems to be slipping away from me, like a distant memory or a love that I don't really remember... something something... there should be something definable there, something to describe as a great loss in my life if I, uh, do something... If this, then that, subsequently... this... Do I really have something to lose?

So check it, if I lost it, lost it all, everything, all the something somethings, I know where I would end up, and you could find me there if you were willing to make the trip. Patagonia! Look it up. I would move to Patagonia, and as much as I would like to be a traveling barber, I think the better choice woule be to open a fish stand, somewhere just outside (right outside) the tourist district. Me and my monkey, hell, we would sell fresh american style deep fried fish and chips. Would probably have to use the fat of baby penguins since I ain't really sure they have pigs down there for the rendering. I hear duck fat is the best for fries... maybe they have ducks... penguins are like ducks, except for the flying and the migrating and shit. Me and my monkey, and Jesus, we would stand there, leaning up against the wooden plank we use to serve the fish on, drinking local beer or some sort of nasty high proof booze that is popular amongst the locals. I will wear one of those hats like the gauchos, some puffy pants and boots made out of baby penguins. I might have to learn some spanish or something, but you know, I can do that. Me and my monkey, and Jesus, would stand there, drinking all day and when someone actually came up to buy some fish and chips I would tell them that it was some sort of local fish that tasted a lot like halibut, but isn't, but tastes just the same anyhow and is a local delicacy, then get them all wasted on the local hooch and charge them some outrages sum of money since the exchange rate is all funky and a billion chilean Peso's is quite resonable for a meal for 2 plus some of my private reserve.
There will be a mighty fight of conscious going on behind me, with my monkey and Jesus duking it out like a little angel and devil on my shoulder, but you know what? I decided today, I am going to be a kind of Hank Williams (Sr.)/Johhny Cash/Willie Nelson kinda christian. Will do all sorts of things that I may regret later, then maybe write a song and go to church and make it all good. I will keep in the back of my mind that maybe what I am doing is not the best thing in the world to do, but I will feel bad about it later so it should all even out... the battle between monkey and Jebus will be a draw.

Or maybe I will go with my original plan and go to Nova Scotia. Wouldn't really have to learn a new language that way, and you know I got the salty sea in my blood. Actually my not so distant relatives were lumber men, but a ways back beyond that they were vikings. So I may just trace my roots back to where my people first came over and did nasty things to the locals, and do nasty things to the locals. Nah... I may just sit on the beach with a pipe and a rusty knife and carve pipes out of driftwood or something. Pile rocks on the beach and eat crab and mussels every day. Nasty life, should teach me some shit, you know.

Somethings gotta break...

God Is A Groovy Guy

I let my monkey out

I let my monkey out the other day.  It had to be done.  He had been whispering in my ear, and he gave quite the convincing argument. 
He was saying, all quiet like: Hey, Catfish, come on.  Let's go, come on.
So I let him out of his cage.  He was quiet well behaved, as well behaved as a wild animal who has been kept in captivity for years can be.  He took my hand and I let him guide me, I followed where he lead.  We went to the liquor store first, he was thirsty.  He was a cheap date, we got a pint of Canadian Mist.  We passed the bottle back and forth for a bit, then got on the bus.  I wasn't sure where we were going, but I didn't care.  We went downtown, went to find something smelly and sweet.  We bought some incense, som patchouli, some sandalwood.  We sniffed at the boxes and looked at all the craven images.
We watched the fools flinging fish for the tourists.  We watched the japanese tourists take their pictures next to a pig.  We followed a couple women and a man pushing a stroller down the street.  They were moving slow, but we kept pace behind them.  We went down an alley and past some women smoking outside a bar.  I felt like they were watching me, maybe wanted them to be watching me, but we kept on going.  We passed a man with some sort of sickness outside a clinic, but didn't stop, we kept on walking.
We ended up in a irish bar.  Their were tourists and a couple gay dudes sitting at the bar.  I listened to the bartender explain to the tourists that the original skid row was just outside...  he didn't explain why it was called that, but the tourists were duelly inpressed anyhow.  We sat down and smell our smelly stuff, rubbed some on our wrists.
The waitress came over and I waited for my monkey to whisper in my ear, tell me what the plan was.  The plan called for a pint of Guinness and a shot of Wild Turkey.  I liked this plan so put it into motion.  Hell, I took pictures of it when it was delivered. 
I sat looking at it, waiting for instructions.  I was suprised when the instructions came to take a big sip of the Guinness and pinch my left nipple at the same time.  What the hell?!?  I did it.  Another fantastic plan.  Things were going great and my nipple tingled.  We sat in silence, listening, drinking and just being.  Whew... I was buzzed, and I was happy and my monkey patted my thighs and smiled.  He made me buy a tee-shirt.
We left and walked down the street, past a man dressed like a pimp in a fur coat, a dude stumbled down the road, I stumbled in the opposite direction.  There were stores, shops, I would never go in to.  There were fancy bars/restraunts with names I don't remember, but would never go into.  We went down the road one way, turned around and went down the road the other way.  We crossed the street and went down a different road.  Another slow moving pedestrian blocked our path, this time we practiced impatience and hustled by her.  We came to a busstop that would work for us, but had some time to kill so we went in a smoke shop.  The plan was to buy a bong, specifically a plastic one, about 6 inches tall, purple if they had one.  They didn't.  I suggested we buy a glass one with a dragon on it, but my monkey told me that wasn't such a good idea.  I suggested a cigar.  My monkey said no.  So we left.   My monkey told me I needed to take a pull off the whiskey, right there at the bus stop, so I did. 
I was tired and delirious, my mind was reeling and I felt fantastic.  I wanted to hug someone.  I was smiling at everyone.
We got on the bus and sat in the back.  There was a cute girl that got on that I see sometimes and she sat next to me, kinda.  I looked at her and she stared straight ahead.  My monkey said Nah and I agreed. 

The Howler Monkey

The Howler Monkey lives inside of me.  Always has.  I maintain, that at this point, he lives in a cage, put there from years of customer service.  He can't be trusted out in public in my line of work. 
He's pissed.  The cage that holds him is strong, padlocked, and he has a noose around his neck to try and keep in him line.  All of it.  He didn't realize that he was being put in this position, didn't realize it for years, but one day he woke up and realized that he hadn't been out in a while.  At first he just thought about it, thought, Hey, this sucks, being in this cage.  Then he tried to get out.  He shrieked, rattled the cage, flung poo, but he was in tight.
I don't claim to speak monkey, but I do.  I heard him in there, first just rattling his cage. but then he started speaking to me.  At first it was almost polite, a gentle, Hey, can I get out of here, please.  Then he got nasty, was cussin' at me, mostly along the lines of Let me the FUCK out of here, let me out, let me out!!! 
He was quiet for a while, realized he was kinda stuck there, but as is his nature, he couldn't sit still for that. 
It started one day with a low howl, always in the background, a long drawn out buzz that eventually became like white noise for me, and it made me sleepy.  Then there was more.  A shake to the soul, so to speak.  Banging and pounding and screaming, he wanted out.  He made promises that he would behave if I just let him out, just a little bit, to see what it felt like.  He tried to reason with me but monkey logic doesn't fit in with the nine to five grind.   He tried to tell me all the things that I was missing, all the wonders of the world that were at my fingertips, that I was turning my back on and I was being foolish.  Talk talk talk.  Now he is hoarse, his neck rubbed raw from the noose, blisters on his hands from rattleing the cage and jacking off in the corner to try and sooth the soul.  I can hear him whispering in there, randomly picking at his ass and desperately flinging poo because he can't give up. Let me out of here you fucker and so help me I will rip your fucking throat out.  So help me, you will pay for this.  If I ever get out of here you will pay.
The only other thing he really does is reach out from between the bars and grabs my spine and shakes me to the base of my brain.  It's a friggin' jolt, man.  I never know when he is going to do it, and all of a sudden there it is, a earth shattering slam, altering my reality and making me question my existence. 
The hairy bastard must have gotten ahold of some speed or something lately as the jolts are getting stronger and more frequent.  My reality is getting hazier and funkier and more (and less) less realistic.  More real, less real.  I think he has found the mainline to my heart, blocking off my arteries and depriving my brain of oxygen.  I am getting delirious.
I try to soothe the monkey.  I spank him. I offer him whiskey.  I give him vidodin and sleeping pills.  Somehow they don't have the desired affect.  They seem to have the opposite affect, instead of making him mellow, they somehow remind him even more that he is in a cage, has been in a cage for a long, long time.  The cage gets weaker the more I offer him.  I try to pretend he doesn't exist.  I pretend he is someone else, just for a while.  I act like everyone has a monkey and I ain't no different and everyone else has their monkey in control, and who am I to let my monkey out, to run free, in this world. 
Sometimes I even pretend my monkey is free, free to do what monkeys do.  I pretend that the things I do are wild and free, my monkey is just a greyback, a gorrila in the mist, and just doesn't have the energy to swing with the pretenders.  I wonder about them, the pretenders, the ones who seem to have never had their monkeys in cages.  Never seem to have to worry about what their monkey is going to come up with next.  Their monkeys are full of energy and a natural sight to behold.  I see these people and wonder how they have their monkeys in control, so well behaved in public.  How can they go out and do that, day after day, night after night, annd their monkeys recover so quickly... they get back up and fling some poo again at the next opportunity and don't seem the worse for wear.
Is my monkey so different?  Is he so unwell behaved and incorrigible?  Does my monkey really cause so much pain and suffering that he needs to be locked up?  It isn"t comfortable having him locked up, wouldn't it be better to set him free?  Perhaps there would be some bloodshed, at first, some tears and laughter, but wouldn't he (and I) be happier in the long run?  He would wear himself out shortly, I bet... get back to being a well behaved and exciting member of society, life of the party, as they say. 
Haven't I just imagined the damage that could be done?  I seem to remember times when he was free... It wasn't so bad, was it?  Sure, grown men cried, women screamed in fury, there was much unhappiness, and there was love.  I remember my monkey being somewhat level headed, noone ever came to any physical harm... 
I feel sad, and oh so bad, that things have come to this.  And truth be told, noone ever told me to lock my bad boy away, it was just something I thought I had to do, something that I had seen other people do... and customer service, there is always that.  Can't be flinging poo when you are representing the people that give you the kool-aid. 

"Hey white boy! Come here, I'm gonna rehabilitate your skinny ass!"

"Hey white boy!  Come here, I'm gonna rehabilitate your skinny ass!"
Oh shit, oh shit... What the fuck am I doing down here, downtown, in the dark, all alone except for the crazy dude sitting in the bus shelter screaming things at me?  Well, he ain't really screaming things at me, he is just screaming.  At least I don't think he is screaming at me.
I find myself downtown most every morning, 4th and Royal Brougham, waiting for my 3rd bus of the day.  Now it is dark, often cold and wet, and I feel alone.  I see the cars driving by, north and south, but I can't see anyone in them.  I see the train go by, I see busses that are not mine running by without stopping.  I occasionally see people go walking by, some that you can tell are productive members of society, holding jobs and not screaming.  I see other people that are not what I would call productive members.  They are carrying their belongings with them and for some reason often seem to be injured.  And I see the violent crazy shouting dude.
I like to think that there are different levels of insanity, and lord knows I have personal experience in a few of them.  I prefer to believe that there is a level of insanity that puts people in a good place; rainbows and butterflies and happy meadows with a trout filled stream.  This level is pleasant and even if you end up talking to yourself and waving your hands around for emphasis it ain't a bad thing.  Well apart from the insanity. 
But I know that many of the people that I see are not in a good place, and I can't even begin to imagine what it is they are feeling (seeing or thinking).  Crazy shouty dude is one of those. 
The first time I really became aware of him he was quite benign, just sitting there on the curb towards the back of the parking lot.  I don't remember him talking, but he did get up and sit back down, get up and sit back down, several times.  The next time I really became aware of him he was sitting back there in the parking lot and his arm was moving around oddly.  At first I was scared he was sitting back there jacking off, which I did not want to experience.  But I had to look, and it wasn't anything as pleasant as that.  He was swinging his arm up and cracking himself in the face, over and over.  It wasn't a nonstop battering ram of punches that he was throwing at his face.  He would punch himself in the nose, stop for a second, then punch himself in the nose again.  Then stop.  Then go.  Hard... completely violent.
I was concerned, you know, and thinking that as a good citizen I should probably do something about this, report it to someone.  But I didn't. 
I saw him doing it again, this time he was much closer.  I had been standing there, waiting, and he came walking up.  He looked at me but I don't know if he saw me or if he did and didn't know that I was real.  Anyhow, he sat down in the shelter, put his stuff down, leaned forward and slammed his fist into his nose.  Hit, pause, hit, pause, hit... I could see blood streaming down his face, and could tell (somehow) that not all of it was fresh.  It is all a bit blurry now, but he may have been talking.
I know he talks, and the talk is worse than just the violence.  Oh, the things he says.  Right out loud...  I know what he is saying, it is usually along the same lines every time... One of the things he says something about rehabilitating my ass.  I don't know if he is telling someone this, or repeating something he was told.  I believe it is the second.  There are a couple other things he says that I can't repeat, at least not here... these things are really not meant for polite public consumption.  Dirty, nasty, evil, mean things... things I would never imagine saying no matter how mad or unhappy I was.  Things vile and racist. 
Sometimes he says these things and punches himself, sometimes he just punches himself, and, of course, sometimes he just says things.  Did I mention he does this loudly?  He does.
I am not the only one that has experienced this of him.  I have, at times, had company that didn't frighten me, that was there to experience these things.  I have seen him doing it as people walk by, people that would be optimally offended at some of the things he say.  No-one ever does anything about it. 
Once, just once, he was doing these things, and I was standing about 20 feet away.  It was raining and I was standing beneath a tree, trying to stay dry.   I pretend I don't see him, and usually have my music up just loud enough that I can hear him saying something, but I can't tell what.  I don't look at him, except every once in a while, outta the corner of my eye, just to make sure he hasn't moved or started doing something new.  This time though, I wasn't watching, and this time, though, he actually got up and came walking up to me.  I saw some movement, and there he was, about 5 feet away, just looking at me.  He didn't say anything, was just looking, then he turned around and went back to his seat and sat down.  I was freakin' terrified...
What the fuck am I doing down here?  Why here?  I don't have to catch my bus here, and honestly, sometimes, when I have the time, I do walk down around the corner to the busway to catch my bus... but I don't usually.  I could go farther downtown, way farther, if I wanted to... But the same things that bother me, the same things that frighten me and make me wonder, are the same things that keep me coming to the same stop.  It's dark, and it's quiet, and when the crazy dude ain't there, I am usually alone.  I get the chance to feel dirty and crazy.  I get to pretend that I am a little something more than what I am, although I don't know what...  Something about being like my hero's, Buckowski, Burroughs, Miller, Kerouac, Thompson... experiencing the other side of life, apart from the white collar customer service soaked existence that saps my soul.  I get to tell people that I do these things, that I have to take 3 buses to get to work, that it takes me 2 hours to make the journey... I stand in the dark and smoke.  I sometimes have a bottle in my backpack... I think about things and imagine that I could take a turn to the left or right and go and do something irresponsible.  I could disappear or find myself some intrigue that makes for good conversation.  But something ultimately that would stop me from going any further.  I get to have this little fantasy for 15 or 20 minutes a day. 
The threat of being beaten up by some insane bum is not exciting.  I would be powerless against him, this I know.  I could alternately get mugged by some of the other bums I know are out and about.  Any number of unhappy things could happen to me and I am torn.  Sometimes the insanity that I like to imagine, the happy flowers and horny unicorns, take the form of being on the other side of the tracks.  I am not so insane that I don't recognize that I want people to think I am a little nuts for living this way.  I don't know what it is that I want them to see though.  It isn't respect.  They don't need to think I am tough or admire me for the sacrifice I am making in doing this... More likely than not I need to be seen as different, not like them, not like you... out of the ordinary.  “There
he goes. One of God's own prototypes. Some kind of high powered mutant
never even considered for mass production. Too weird to live, and too
rare to die.” as HST said.