Writing The Story of a philosopher/incel/wanderer

Status
Not open for further replies.

Lordgoro

LordGoro has SPOKEN!
20191125_111405.jpg
America the Poor: Tales of a Wanderer
Intro: Welcome to my Unlikely existence
Greetings fellow readers, and lovers of stories. You can call me Johnny, but JD, and JJ are also acceptable.Whichever works best for you.. I happen to be them all.
I've got a story to tell you, one that may capture your thoughts,as it has captured mine for a long time.
It's my personal story, and it's quite something I must say.
As of yet, you don't know me, but I'm hoping you will. Fingers crossed.
I've got a tale to tell,but it’s more of a saga. Perhaps unlike any you’ve heard. If I've actually done my job properly, not only will you be entertained, anxious,or even possibly pissed at times, but you may end up changed as well, but only if I've somehow succeeded in my job.
The sad part is I may never know. The curse of the remote writer I suppose. Reading has always been a very personal thing to me, but with many in these modern ages, it's not,which is quite a shame. Sharing thoughts should ALWAYS be personal. Much like between a man and his favorite meal. A private matter, just between us. The devourer and devoured,something to be relished,and savored. I mean consider this, here we are, you and I. I'm at a specific location and time, writing these words, and I know where I'm at at this very moment. But you? You might be anywhere on the planet (or off perhaps), and anywhere in time, and yet, here I am regardless, prying into your head just a bit, rummaging around, inserting Heaven knows what into your innermost thoughts. A bit intimate, don't you think? That's the POWER of writers (the good ones at least). Who knows where we’ll end up? Doing what? Thinking odd, or perhaps very unconventional thoughts that may have never occurred to you. Considering paths in life never tried,venturing to places you’ve never been to. Or would even go to normally, seeing the world a bit differently, and all because a writer got inside your head. Like a needle in the brain, Not lethal maybe, but enough to make a change, however small it may be.
So in a way that's my task. I've tied you down, got the latex gloves on, here's the needle(don't worry it won’t hurt a bit, probably), and the kicker is, you CHOSE this. You want the injection, nay, you beg for it. You want to see the true america,the poor side of the road ,and the sad fate of all those lonely weirdos,misfits and outcasts,the ones who didn't fit the mold of what's considered “normal”. This will not be the land of opportunity you think, nor the optimistic country you’ve heard of and expect to see. This will be a different land,a place of poverty, lives lost to death and despair. Hopeless dreams unfulfilled, and a world of personal sadness,not just mine,but all outcasts from American society.
 
Last edited:

Lordgoro

LordGoro has SPOKEN!
In our hearts we perpetually root for the underdog, the runt with spunk, the man of no means,the disadvantaged but stubborn guy with zero chance.
However we know in our hearts they never end up with the girl, or the good rewards of life,or success, not in reality, but we can still hope. This will be the hard truth behind it all. It is the dark side of our western existence,the road you’ve never travelled, and the facade of so-called american opportunity. Available maybe for a select lucky few, but not all, never all.
I was one of those American children left out in the cold, and learned to fend for myself, or die, which almost happened on many occasions.This is my tale, one to remember. So here we go. The ride will be everything you expect, and a bit more. As well as some things quite unexpected, exploring not just my own, but all of our base natures.
A few laughs here, maybe a casual stroll down a dark path there, or perhaps even a frantic run for your very life on some lonely american highway, it's all here for your perusal.
Evil lurks here, never doubt that,in fact it walks boldly in the open, but Good walks as well, bright and righteous,but far more scarce. We shall endure the best and the very worst of this world, seeing things you probably never thought you’d see. The shadowy underbelly, the darker side, and maybe glimpses of the gorgeous sunlit way high above sometimes. Yet still somehow surviving, and perhaps thriving even, in some strange fashion. You’ll meet some very odd characters (not counting myself of course), see new far highways, and experience situations undreamed of in normal life.

It's going to be told subtly at times, yet still bold enough to make you view the world a bit different,and maybe slightly askew. Like any good story that's worth its salt. Who's to say? Certainly not me.
I'm just here to tell it my way, that's my sole part in this. By the way, a forewarning,an advance apology lets say. There will be moments of joy, times of sheer bliss, and even a sense of awe at times, but it won't be sunshine and rainbows. No happy little keebler elves living in a large tree making cookies, sorry. We will be exploring some very dark places certainly, but to truly appreciate the light you have to know the dark, see it, touch it, ,experience its very nature, and sometimes even embrace it.

Then later, when you are finally in the light, you can bask in its brightness, drink in its glory, swim in it, and truly appreciate its warmth, and be pleased that you actually made it! I hope you enjoy the journey, as they are meant to be enjoyed. So here we go, my friends. Grab your coffee (or perhaps vodka in some cases, or perhaps something a bit stronger) and let's sit down. Put your feet up, if you have them. Let me tell you a story. A strange one no doubt, but still captivating, as well as a human story I hope.
 
Last edited:

Lordgoro

LordGoro has SPOKEN!
Chapter 1: The Mistake by the Lake

So, it all began in a halfway snow covered american city called Buffalo.. Half the year seems to be winter, the rest, slightly less like winter of course.. Interesting place certainly, at least to a kid in the 70s.. Buffalo city hall is almost an exact replica of the chicago city hall, kinda shaped almost like a throne, with a flagpole RIGHT in the seat, with two towers, and a central tower overlooking lake erie.. And believe it or NOT, the 13th floor doesn't even exist! At least not technically.. Rest assured, it's still there..
Unlike many buildings, they did not rename the 13th floor the into the 14th, it just SKIPS the floor… Like its not even there, although it is!

So, one fine day, as I was exploring city hall as a teen, as teen boys USED to do, once upon a time, in that incomprehensible period before smartphones and the internet even existed, back when dinosaurs roamed the earth I suppose.,. In my exploratory phase, purely by accident or random chance, I actually got a glimpse inside of the 13th absent floor. the floor that officially doesnt exist. Somehow, the elevator opened onto it, even though there's no 13th floor button, and no one on that lonesome floor called for it, yet it opened for me… Like a moment of destiny.. I was of course the only soul inside the elevator car, so therefore the only one who witnessed it.. I think I was the tender age of 13,or somewhere around that age, and it stopped for me, almost like it was destined to happen.. It was all dark and shadowy, with cobwebs everywhere, pieces of ancient office equipment lying around useless, like old discarded toys.. Hat-racks covered in ghostly dirty sheets. Even though there were windows, somehow it was dark.. and quite quiet and creepy!


In the elevator,The floor buttons were not even lit up..
Needless to say, I frantically started pushing buttons just to leave that Godforsaken place..
I actually wouldn’t have been surprised to see a dusty sign over the doorway saying “abandon hope all ye who enter here”..
A very strange floor indeed.. .It was even COLD, although it was the middle of summer..And probably even stranger to a 13 year old boy still learning what things in life were creepy and what were not!

The rest of downtown Buffalo was never a thriving place, at least not in my lifetime. Lots of unused parking lots, plenty of abandoned and only halfway used old office buildings, a dead mall that 70 percent of the stores were no longer there… From what ive heard the mall now is only perhaps 10 percent actual businesses.. Even main street, after they built the subway in the late 80s, never improved or thrived. Abandoned storefronts with soap on the windows, looking dead, and discarded, the rejects of american capitalism due to lack of interest.. Gone the way of the Dodo.. In fact, the whole city only got worse, almost like a large ghost town, but with a few businesses and office workers milling around oblivious to the sense of abandonment and neglect.. A sad state of affairs no doubt.. Also a decidedly strange place to be.. with plenty of quirks..

Buffalo NY, home of the chicken wing, the infamous buffalo bills, best pizza in the country(of course, pizzas and subs were almost heavenly as far as tasting), low rents, and more beer drinkers then i've seen anywhere in the USA.. Combine all these variables, and what do you get? “The Mistake by the Lake”..That's a term I heard back in the 70s, and it's stayed with me all these years… Knowing Buffalo the way I do, I’d have to agree with the sentiment.. Not a flattering picture true… However, If you happen to love all of those things I suppose it's actually heaven.. For me it was closer to purgatory, but it's all about preferences I suppose..

Born to an abusive mother, an absent father, and a family that I rarely saw, due to the fact that my mother was a “black sheep”, and treated as such… Of course, I realize why she was despised by the rest of the family, and in all honesty I cannot blame them for that treatment.. She was well-deserving of it all, and more too.. She historically didn't just make a bad choice or two, but her Entire life was one bad choice after another!! Just like a gambler that continuously bets on red, but the wheel spins black every time! I look back on her life, and the plethora of bad choices, and I sometimes wonder if bad luck truly exists.. Or an “anti-psychic” ability…A “knack” perhaps to go the wrong direction…
 
Last edited:

Lordgoro

LordGoro has SPOKEN!
It happens sometimes i suppose..
Or maybe its just a predilection or a gift for choosing the wrong path literally everytime, a curse to always take the opposite path. That was my mother..

Every boyfriend or husband she ever chose was either an alcoholic, an abuser, or a pervert.. Sometimes all of the above! Take your pick! Of course, she was no gem either, nor a catch.. So perhaps it was balanced out after all.. She suffered for her choices, and her choices also had to suffer her..In the end, I suppose I was the one who suffered the most.. being her son!
Her only child, a prodigy yes, but a victim, an unwilling witness to her depravity..
Of course, between all those factors, I became somewhat self-sufficient, but also borderline diabolical in my nature… I secreted bathed in the misery of others, perhaps because I was so miserable, and as they say, misery LOVES company… I am living proof of that.

To say I was a strange child would be tantamount to calling a whale a fairly large animal.. “Strange” just doesn't cut it.. Eccentric, even less so.. From the very beginning, I wasn't considered “normal”..
I was ousted and somewhat of a young pariah from my earliest grades in school.. Cursed with a stuttering impairment, ridiculed for everything and anything.My clothing, my manners, my solitary nature, and never just “one of the kids”. Always a loner. A watcher, never a participant.
 
Last edited:

Lordgoro

LordGoro has SPOKEN!
From my earliest information i've heard from family members, I was considered a prodigy.. Supposedly from the tender age of two, not only was I speaking with an articulate manner, and had the very basics of speech, but I was able to read simple words and sentences by that early time… Pretty much unheard of during that period, and probably just as much in these times as then…

From my earliest years, I was obsessed with drawings, reading, and electronics… Mainly the dismantling and reassembling of old components.. As far as drawing, I had no talent for originality, literally None. However I did have a unique ability, through sheer Force of intense concentration I could take intricate drawings of others, from media, books, comics, newspapers, etc, and make large sized posters of them, line for line, regardless of sizes.. Almost like a human copy machine with a zoom feature… But that was the full extent of my drawing ability… I could draw nothing from my mind.. Not one object or shape.. Just copy the works of others.. Perhaps I was a born plagiarist.. except with drawings, not literature..

Not particularly useful, at least not in this day and age.. Perhaps if I had lived during the dark ages, I would have been a monk copying books with religious art? Alone in my cell and quiet, meticulously copying sanctity itself. Alas, not in this time. I remember something a family member told me about myself as a teen. Apparently, along with a curiosity about electronic components and principles, I figured how to use any speaker as a microphone, and I wired the entire house under the rugs, and around corners.. So I literally had the entire house “bugged”, and all wires ran deep into my closet, where I had a small tape recorder hooked up, and could listen in on any conversation within the entire house.. Eventually my mother found out, and I can only imagine my punishment.. I'm sure it was beyond unpleasant…
 
Last edited:

Lordgoro

LordGoro has SPOKEN!
She was known for extreme temper tantrums and all sorts of crazy abuse, which no kid should ever have to endure.. Living with her was never “normal”, but it was my lot at the time. She was both my personal cross to bear, but also a lesson in how inhuman humans can become. But its something I truly wish I wasn’t forced to learn. To be perfectly honest, I not NOT a model kid, trouble was my middle name.. Sometimes I suppose I even gloried in it, making her miserable, but mainly because she made me miserable, and turnabout is fair play right?
I got in my share of mischief not merely at home, but daily in school… In those days, I was a known prankster, and an infamous underachiever. I Was constantly sitting in the principal’s office, and usually deserved it… Even on the school bus (yes, the old yellow ones), I was written up pretty much 4 days out of 5… Once was for “sewing” on the bus. That was certainly a unique occurrence at the time, and got some attention from the school..

I came from a decidedly poor household, So poor that mayonnaise sandwiches were a thing in my house, as well as a lack of toys, a very small selection of different clothing to wear, and an absence of regular laundry.. In fact, my mother usually couldn’t afford it.. I was lucky for her to do it perhaps once a month, if even that. in fact, my mother usually couldn’t afford to even do that. We were constantly moving from apartment to apartment, like modern day gypsies I suppose,without the caravans or bangles, either for financial reasons, or other reasons I was not aware or at the time..

From one side of town to another, never resting for very long… So the concept of neighborhood friends was not something I was ever familiar with…Although I did have my share of neighborhood enemies.. Those are easy for me to pick up. Like gum on the bottom of your shoe.. Of course, I adapted in my own ways. Never a sociable kid, but I was a smart one for sure! I was never considered “popular” with any other kids in the neighborhood, and that was just fine with me, I got by,Sometimes at a leisurely stroll, but more often at a top speed run for my LIFE, but I made it somehow. I generally preferred my own company anyway. Im a pretty good conversationalist regardless.. And if that makes me crazy in the eyes of society, so be it, im in good company. Personally I have always enjoyed my own thoughts. I’ve had some wonderful conversations with myself, and more than a few arguments, but they’ve always worked out in the end..I suppose that puts me in my own category, but im used to it, trust me. Insane or not, I've got plenty to say.
 
Last edited:

Lordgoro

LordGoro has SPOKEN!
So, Buffalo in the late 70s-early 80s was strange. There was the west side, still mostly safe to walk down the streets back then… Folks actually watered lawns, and took pride of the looks of their properties. I usually lived on the west side throughout most of our transitions from one place to another… I suppose rents were cheap, and easy to move around.. Even though we never stayed too long in one location, there was an old family house on Rhode Island st.. It was definitely a nicer neighborhood back then.. I enjoyed the company of my grandparents often on the weekends.. I liked them, but I always got the impression that they never felt the same way about me…
Almost like i was being merely tolerated, and they were going through the motions because it was their duty, and as the only grandchild of the family, like an obligation for them. Never “unfriendly” but never actually that friendly either.. Perhaps it was annoyance by “association”, since ive already mentioned my mother was the black sheep of the family, and being her son, they saw her IN me. Very possible, even to this day I don’t know, and probably never will.

I loved the family house,it was like a refuge for me whenever I would spend time there.. Always somewhat luxurious, at least to a dirt poor boy like me.. My grandmother always had a large choice of foods available, and her cooking was exquisite. The house was always warm and cozy, and quiet.. Whats not to love? It was the complete opposite from the poor apartment flats I usually stayed in.. Often the heating and/or electric were turned off due to being late with payments.. So I was often cold, and hungry.. Not a great way to grow up, cold, sometimes borderline starving, and an outcast from other kids as well.. I had to develop my own strengths, not dependant on the normal social structures most american kids have access to.. I made my own path, far different from most, of not all my peers..Not out of choice, but from absolute necessity.

One of the weird habits I developed was forced upon me, and yet I took it to extremes, as I usually do.. My mother didnt like me very much, and trust me, the feelings were mutual. She wanted me out of the house most of the time. Since my biggest love at the time was reading novels, there was nothing I longed to do more then sitting quietly in my room in solitude and making my way through a good novel. I had very few enjoyable activities, and that was certainly my ideal way to spend my time..
Since she did not like having me around, even though I was in my room whenever possible, she literally forced me outside, using the term often “go out and play johnny”! Even though I never actually played, and she knew it.. Also the prospect of being in the neighborhood around a bunch of other kids whom automatically despised me was not appealing.. So I started my wanderings at that early time.. I would start walking, and walking. Taking in the sights to see, noticing everything, filing away mentally where all landmarks and interesting places were. Perhaps it was then that the seeds of my later adventuring started finding fertile soil? I enjoyed my walks.. Short ones of first, the perimeter of my neighborhood, then the next, and always a bit further.. Seeing what I could see, never talking to anyone, just watching and learning...
Eventually heading well out of my comfort zone into new parts of the west side, going through the business section, and working my way down niagara st, and the unknown places
beyond..
 
Last edited:

Lordgoro

LordGoro has SPOKEN!
Always in the distance I could see the tall buildings of downtown, like beacons for my wandering young soul. Always drawing me closer… Like they were exotic towers, beckoning me to their secrets, tall , imposing, and mysterious. I knew somehow I would end up there eventually. Its in my nature to wander, explore, even to my own detriment sometimes, but the need to know is always there, to see, and consequences be damned!
I’d pass places like the peace bridge, although I never understood why it was named such.. It was never particularly “peaceful” and always quite ugly, more of a practical way to get across the niagara river to the canadian realm, but never looked pretty.. Always dark, dingy, and kinda intimidating to a kid.. I also passed tons of businesses on niagara st, many were closed, boarded up, and even the ones that were actually open looked run-down, dirty, forlorn.. I have no idea how they made money, but if they were still open, I suppose they did…

So I would wander, because my mother forced me to leave, but mainly because I learned to love it.. Became part of myself, like so many other behaviors. One afternoon I finally wandered far enough to touch downtown.. I passed wierd strange apartment buildings, that seem native to Buffalo… SO odd ive never seen them anywhere else in the country.. they were like clones of each other… I’ve often wonder who actually deigned to live in them.. Were they all allke, working similar jobs, with similar mates, all doing the same activities?
Perhaps looking also very much like each other, with very common thoughts… In a way, I could not help but suspect that was true, and that these cloned apartments were so close to downtown Buffalo… I wondered if there was a connection, however tenuous it might be. To this day, they are still there, and I still wonder about them.. Strange for a 12 year old boy in the 80s to have these thoughts, but there they were…
Something I should mention about my impressions of Buffalo, unlike many american cities in this age, it was NOT green… It was a concrete jungle. Very few trees, no real greenery, just concrete, steel, wood, and man made structures.. Yes, we had some parks, but few and far between. Just grey buildings, and the few trees that were there almost seemed like an afterthought. Like some city planner looked at the layout of all these concrete and steel buildings and said “maybe we should put a tree or two here and there?”. And another more powerful planner replied: “if you MUST”. Ive always wondered if that’s maybe exactly what they might be thinking at the time? Who knows what goes through the minds of such exotic folks known as city planners? I just know I would have gone a different route certainly.
 
Last edited:

Lordgoro

LordGoro has SPOKEN!
Downtown Buffalo, in the eyes of a 10 year old boy.. Exotic? At first yes. Different? Certainly. Imposing? definitely! However, it was something new at the time, and therefore appealing, Dangerous even, but alluring. Overlooking the niagara river, and Lake Erie, and irresistable to me at the time! City hall, with a giant circle in front of it, with a central rounded tower, and two smaller towers attached to its sides and front… With a middle platform between the lesser towers, which was the missing 13tth floor of course.. Almost looked thronelike, in its majesty.. Like a gigantic King could sit there, and rule the entire region from his size alone!!
It literally is shaped like such a throne… The only drawback that detracts from this image is a long flagpole, centered on the platform between the smaller side towers.. Definitely doesn’t appear like it belongs there,yet there it stands. A very strange looking structure, and undoubtedly old, at least to a young american boy, who has seen little of the world thus far.
To me, it might be as old and exotic as the pyramids of egypt, or the tower of Babel, same category to me.. Unknown, old, and different were enough to captivate me at the time.. After all, I was used to a crazy home, with little in the way of comforts, with an abusive psychotic mother in charge, and a neighborhood of kids who despised and teased me for being different, so literally even the very gates of HELL would have been more appealing for my time than staying home..
Upon reaching the circle in front of City hall, I was impressed, and slightly in awe.. Here were people of power, living, working, eating their lunches, looking at me.. Going in and out of this amazing building, getting paid, controlling our very lives, in a roundabout way, through laws, proclamations, and sheer power.. How did they get there? Who were they? What were they eating for lunch? What privileged households were they from that they wielded such power over us fellow Buffalonians? Those were my thoughts, as i looked over the circle and city hall itself. What an amazing place, at least at the time,who were these powerful humans streaming in and out of this ancient incredible monolith of authority?
First time I made it to downtown it was summer, hot and muggy, but I didnt care.. I was there, and a whole new territory for me to explore and see.. The circle in front of City Hall, with cars constantly circling, like vultures, waiting for dinner… On one side, Statler tower, a very large building, with almost infinite smaller businesses and offices lurking inside, yet somehow still looking semi-abandoned, and quiet.. On the other side, the city jail, definitely intimidating, and not somewhere anyone wants to end up..But looming there, as if saying “welcome, come on in, you’ll enjoy your time here,we’re more than happy to accomodate you”! Luckily, I've never had the displeasure of visiting that particular location, thank goodness. Lots of steel(of course) and quite well fortified, almost looked like a modern day equivalent of a keep, and I suppose that'st true however,but not to keep others out, but something within.
I imagine it was very effective at that particular duty.
So, across from City hall and the circle is a short wide street, and within a block or two is perhaps the deadest mall in america.. If its not that, its close to that. On the right side of the street it starts, a totally unadorned building, colored drab grey, looking derelict, with no signs whatsoever indicating its actually an indoor mall… Only one recessed double glass door about half a block down from the central street I mentioned… Still no signs, and very few folks going in and out..Yet it still exists today, with fewer open businesses then its ever had before, but it pushes on, hooked up to life support only, but no one pulls the plug.

Should you happen to take the leap and actually enter this nether realm, you wont find much to look at… The main business at one end of the mall is a large bank(no surprises there), with a few shoe stores scattered here and there, a free small dead eateries, a few More shoe stores, a clothing store or two, and a lot of empty spaces, with “this space for rent” signs all over the place. Welcome to the main place mall, home of the damned, except for the bankers of course.
They seem to thrive almost everywhere. Must be a banker thing.
 
Last edited:

Lordgoro

LordGoro has SPOKEN!
So, if you keep going down that wide street instead of heading to a dead mall, you come to Main st, which has a train line going all the way down, past the mall on the one side, and on the right side a lot of old abandoned shops and empty windows. In the old days they called this the “theater district”.. Back in the early 80’s I remember only one movie theater there, with a thriving McDonalds next door(who doesnt love cheap american hamburgers right?).
Main street also had an actual theater with real plays once upon a time, but I dont remember ever seeing one there. It was merely another quiet and forgotten street in my memory. Places that used to be busy, and made profit somehow, but which times have LONG past.

Follow the train line far enough down main street, and it dips down into a black tunnel, travelling into other dark realms that are known to adults, but unknown to a 12 year old. Might as well lead to the other side of the planet, for all I knew. At that time period, the train was completely free to ride, as long as your trip was above-ground only. Once you descended, all bets were off! Whether you paid for a ticket or no, you already owed someone regardless.
I don’t remember ever actually paying for a ticket, not once. They relied on the honor system, which as far as they were concerned, by never paying, I had none! So, follow the tracks in the opposite direction, and at the other end, theres the tallest building in Buffalo, and of course, its a Bank. Or at least it was at that time, the HSBC center back then.. It also had the longest escalator i’ve ever seen in the main lobby.. With a nice slippery rubber bannister for sliding down at a suicidal speed(which is another story in itself). It actually extended up three full floors, very fun to play on, as long as you didn't mind being chased by bank security guards.

The dead mall, the train tracks, and Main St are probably considered the center of Downtown Buffalo.. Cross Main st and keep going, you come to a large open area, with a giant statue(of who, don't ask, someone important enough to actually have their own statue, must be nice). Usually semi-filled with yet more of that most abundant species, the office workers eating lunch.. I actually preferred being downtown on weekends mainly because they were wonderfully absent on those days.. I've always enjoyed empty streets far more than busy ones, from my earliest times.
 
Last edited:

Lordgoro

LordGoro has SPOKEN!
Go past this large open area, and it starts to slant downhill.. About a block down, you come to the main central branch of the buffalo public library. The building seems an odd shape, its a very long thin triangle, like a slice of pie that has been stretched out.
Right in front of the glass doors, there were two statues of stone lions. Ive noticed a trend across america. For some strange reason, there is a connection with public libraries and stone lions. Not every library, but many central libraries across america have stone lions in front or next to their main doors. If this is some type of symbolism, I never understood the meaning. I merely noticed it.

Now, being that reading was one of my first loves, when I discovered this enormous building downtown filled with endless tomes of stories, teachings, guides, great works, I was in reader heaven. All my favorite authors at the time, plus hundreds of new ones, all freely available for my perusal, and I spent a lot of time there. When other kids were out playing, usually with their friends in the streets, bike riding,baseball, etc.. I was indoors at the library, immersed fully in my beloved stories. Like a thirsty vampire finding a glut of blood, overdosing on knowledge. Not just works of fiction, but teaching myself every subject I felt a fascination for, book by book.. From astronomy, geology, history, biology, parapsychology,entomology, theology, I absorbed it ALL, and always wanted more. I was like a human sponge, soaking it all up, and yet never fully satiated. Like I my mind was an enormous mansion, and I was trying to fill it with tiny sticks of furniture. Too much space to fill. Well-stocked quiet libraries are my personal versions of Heaven I think, and always will be for me.
 
Last edited:

Lordgoro

LordGoro has SPOKEN!
Chapter 2: An Introspection of Past

Let me ask something, to myself and to my brave readers. Why does our past hold so much appeal to us? This effect seems doubled in those of us who have lived unfulfilled or unhappy lives. Ive noticed a tendency for those souls who have been through traumatic experiences, or lives with less happiness to dwell and even bathe in thoughts of the past.

Ive noticed this far more in the folks who are deep thinkers, and often, they do not live happy lives. However, people who have fulfilling normal lives dont dwell nearly as much as us for some reason. These are people who are social, who smile, who laugh, and go out in public almost daily to social functions, and seem truly more joyful, at least on the surface. They make money, own homes, have families, kids, maybe a white picket fence. Their lives seem full somehow, and all the evidence seems to show they actually avoid deep thought, maybe because they dont require it. Theres no need for them to look past the surface of things. To venture into the deeper waters of existence. They are perfectly happy to doggie paddle in the shallows, where their feet touch the sand, never needing to go further. They live their lives, have families, and die content, believing they have fulfilled their only purpose, cradle to grave.

So since they are already pleased with their lot in life, they have no real desires to give their own existence that much thought I suppose. Necessity is the mother of invention right? They never need to look back, because their lives are complete, and happy.

However, some of us are tortured souls. We are loners, outcasts, pariahs, misfits, and various forms of weirdos, and for us, retrospection is not just a desire, but the very stuff of our existence. Without our inspection of our past, we cannot understand who we are, or in some cases, what we are! As a fish needs water, and a mosquito needs blood, we need our depths for our very survival. Without it, we surely perish mentally and spiritually.

For souls like us, the past has an undeniable draw, an allure, a captivation. We cannot help but look back, not to pine for the past, but to understand it, and maybe learn something.

In a game of chess, you don't just move, you think, you scheme, not just for the moment, but for the future. You have to create a plan,learn from watching your opponent play, and think many moves ahead, at least if you are a worthy player. Why can't we apply the same mentality to the past? We can look back, to many of our moves, analyze, absorb all the lessons from past events and actions, and use that knowledge to understand ourselves than just acting in the moment. The past is behind us, but in a way, we are our past, a perfect product of things that have happened to us, and the reactions we’ve had to those events.. Sometimes events occurred to us, but we also made events occur as well.
Perhaps are BOTH cause and effect, the action, and the reaction. The universe created us, and is created in turn by us. Perhaps that's where this fascination actually stems from? To understand ourselves, we need to understand our origins. For what is the tree without its beginning seed? The ocean without the drops of water? They are nothing without them, they wouldn't even exist, and we are the same. To understand ourselves, we have to see the path behind us, and where we came from, and what motivated us to take this particular path, to end up here, now. By understanding ourselves, we can understand our reality a bit better. After all, we are the same.
To understand ourselves, we have to see the path behind us, and where we came from, and what motivated us to take this particular path, to end up here, now. By doing this, we can understand our reality a bit better. After all, we are the same. The world made us, and issues from us as well. We are all true creators in our hearts, with a need and a desire, a longing to shape things as we see fit, including ourselves. Perhaps its not conscious, but unconscious.
.
 
Last edited:

Lordgoro

LordGoro has SPOKEN!
We may not know how to put it into words, but the need is there, at least for some of us. Growing and learning are both parts of creation, and ultimately that's what we all want to do, create. However to ever even have a hope, we must understand ourselves, in every way possible, so we look behind us. We don't really have a choice. In order to move on, to make progress as thinking unique beings, we must understand ourselves, our past, and the past even before we existed, because it led to us. “Know thyself” as Socrates said, that is our path to happiness, and for many of us, our only path.
 
Last edited:

Lordgoro

LordGoro has SPOKEN!
Chapter 3: Being poor in Western New York,circa early 80s

So, I grew up in extreme poverty. We’ve already established that. Very little food, no clean laundry, ridiculed in elementary school, being resentful,rejected by other kids in every way, resulting in a very unhappy young boy. Not exactly a recipe for a normal life. In hindsight, maybe it truly was destiny that I was to become who I am? Perhaps, in the words of Thanos, I was “inevitable”. I wonder this often. Like I was gambling, but the game was automatically rigged against me from the start. Playing with loaded dice, always coming up “snake eyes”. The house always wins, therefore, logically, I have to lose.

They say that the victors write the history. What's known is therefore skewed, and biased, and definitely not the truth. Rarely do we hear from the losers, their voices are silent, and unheard, which is a great shame, because to hear the real truth or any event, whether it be a war, a battle, a conflict, or merely an argument, we really need to hear all sides, every view, otherwise we are deceived, or misinformed, and the reality of the situation gets buried, and will never be known. So, maybe that's what my story is, a losers story, a unique one to be sure, but still one of the losers of our society. Either an underachiever, or a damned unlucky guy, take your pick! No purpose, no goals, no reason to exist except to continue existing.
I knew early on that I wasn't considered “ordinary”. As a very young kid, I had an amazing ability to read early, and comprehend what I was reading. I was reading authors like stephen king, clive cussler, gary jennings, and others from the tender age of 8. Definitely not normal kid material. When I was older, my mother mentioned I had a very strange habit. To this day I have no idea why I would have done this as a little tyke, but apparently I used to like to cut off power cords from discarded appliances found in the garbage, bring them home, strip the wires, plug it in, and zap myself with electricity on purpose! She knew about it because once in a while, this would actually blow the power fuses for the apartment we were living in. I suppose I was addicted to being electrified. Of course, I have no memory of any of this, but ive also heard from other members of my family of my mothers complaints that “little johnny was blowing out fuses again.” her words. So it was definitely true. Since i cant remember this at all, I cannot explain why I did this, or what motivated me, but a strange habit certainly
.
 
Last edited:

Lordgoro

LordGoro has SPOKEN!
My real memories truly start much later, as a young teen. Perhaps around second grade? My mother got remarried, her third husband, as well as her third failure. His name was john as well. Turns out she had a fetish for that name. Her first husband was also named that, as well as my own name. From what ive been told, my actual father left her well before I was born into this planet. Knowing my mother as I did, I completely understand why he did, although I may have turned out different if he had stuck around. Who's to know?

Alternate pathways in life may be a fun diversion, but there's no certainty as to how things truly would have ended up. I know only a few small things about my true father, and of course its all hearsay. He supposedly had an amazing talent for drawing by hand, so good in fact, he could have made a lot of money from selling his work. Not paintings, but uncolored hand drawn works only, using pencils, nothing else. Also, he hated paying taxes, so much so that many jobs he refused to even work unless the pay was in cash and off the record. Of course this aspect, I completely understand, and sympathize with. Taxes are not my favorite thing in modern existence, they seem unnecessary, and punitive to me.

But thats the full extent of what I know of him, besides the fact he was 100 percent Spanish, supposedly actually from Spain, at least from what I was told.
Since my mother’s side was scottish, that makes me 50/50 scottish/spanish. Technically a “mutt” I suppose. Interesting mixture certainly. Best and worst of both raсes. I have the spanish hot temper, and the stubbornness of the scots. but the intelligence is all me!
So I was brought up with a single parent, and not a very good one. My mother was considered a “black sheep”, and I was always at her mercy, however, she was not known for being very merciful. I would regularly get beatings, and rough ones too.
I would regularly get beatings, and rough ones too. Everything from extension cords to smacks, and even an attempted murder with a sword.
Of course, I probably wasn't considered a “good” son either, however, as ive said, we are the products of our pasts, and the results of those pasts is almost inevitable, like a train on a track. We cannot turn, all we can do is follow our preset tracks, with varying speeds, but limited choices. We are who we are, and must act accordingly, as I did.
Choice does exist, but we still are limited to acting within our own natures, as we do. So our paths are set, to a great degree. Determinism at is finest! We can choose the speed and timing to meet our eventual outcomes and fates, but they belong to us, we must meet them sooner or later, regardless of our choices. Our destiny awaits us.
Whether we welcome it is another discussion altogether.
 
Last edited:

Lordgoro

LordGoro has SPOKEN!
So, as a young american boy, living in abject poverty, from a broken family, my eventual fate was already sealed, maybe long before I was ever born? All I can do is describe the path I was laid on, and followed up to now. I have cloudy memories of being moved from place to place, one dingy apartment to another so often we could almost qualify as gypsies. Just business as usual for my mother and me. I didn't make friends, nor acquaintances, but I was good at making borderline enemies for some reason. I didn't do anything bad enough to qualify for all the hate I acquired from other kids, just being different seemed to be enough for them. Never stayed in one place long enough to accomplish anything socially. Friends take work and time, but enemies are easy, and take almost no effort. Just kinda happens for some of us, like rain, no control, no stopping it, yet it happens all the same. All we can do is deal with it, and hopefully bring an umbrella.

So, never popular in school, and even less popular at home. I was friendless, alone, except for my mother, whom actually despised me. For what, I could never figure that out. Maybe it was the fact that personality and intelligence-wise, we had nothing in common, nothing at all. She had a lot of emotional problems,extreme psychotic anger, and other serious mental issues. Towards me, her attitude was either rage, ignorance, or complete apathy. No love lost there, and it went both ways of course. I was a unique kid, with a quirky intelligent aware mind. My mother was just the opposite, blunt, crude, prone to lashing out, without thought or consideration. I was a scalpel, she was a blunt sledgehammer in comparison. Total polar opposites in every way. I never understood her, she never understood me. We just tolerated each other out of necessity. Whenever I came back from one of my very long walks, there was a 90 percent chance she’d be on a couch watching sitcoms, or just staring into space. Never a kind word, only complaints or anger at who I turned out to be.
 
Last edited:

Lordgoro

LordGoro has SPOKEN!
Chapter 4: Welcome to Buffalo Public schools, AKA: Hell on Earth

So ive never been a fan of authority, any authority really, even from my earliest existence. I suspect I figured out why that is, but we’ll get into that later trust me. For now suffice it to say I was more than a rebel, I was a complete defiant type of boy. Just my nature by that time. So I resented any control over me and my ways. I outright refused homework, and had little interest in school assignments. Dont associate this with willful ignorance, I was never ignorant,just stubborn. I learned what I needed, but at my own pace, and on my own terms.

For many years, teachers I had was under the impression that I was a “slow learner”, or impeded in some way mentally.
However, looking back I realize the opposite was true. I had an interest in what I wanted to learn, and felt was needed, but zero interest in anything other then what I wanted. To say I was a “willful” boy would be a complete understatement. My “mind” was my own country, I set my borders, and I had tight border control at all times as far as what id tolerate! I was adamant, and knew what I needed to learn, and what I liked, and stuck to that, no matter what the cost, or how detrimental to my academic record! My being, the essence of who I was, had already been set, which was fine with me. Ive always loved myself, regardless of the opinions of others. After all, If one doesn't love oneself, who else can be counted upon to do that hmm?
 
Last edited:

Lordgoro

LordGoro has SPOKEN!
So, at home, due to a screwed up environment, walking on eggshells on a constant basis, extreme stress due to a psychotic abusive unloving mother, and neighborhood kids that would love nothing better than to have me tarred, feathered, and run out of town on a rail, my sleep pattern was not good. I never seemed to have enough, and what little sleepI got was fitful, and lower quality, and unrestful. So I was always dead tired in school, especially the earlier times. In the morning I was a living example of a tired zombie. I have memories of waking up at home for school, and wandering into the bathroom, locking the door, and sleeping on the floor quite often until the door was forced open,and I was discovered dozing on the cold bathroom floor. Just a normal morning for me I guess.
Of course, eventually I either got somewhat slowly motivated to dress, or was forcefully dressed for the occasion of school.. Either way, it usually got accomplished somehow. Thinking back on it, maybe it was angels from heaven, or hidden flying fairies that felt sorry for me at those times, and magically dressed me out of necessity? Possible? Certainly, since my memory of how I was dressed is still a long time blur in my mind, but suffice it to say, it was a done deal. I got to school, for all the good it did in the end.
So, zombie like,I would board the bus, undead, but without the appetite for brains, either literally OR figuratively, fortunately for my fellow riders.
I used to ride those ugly yellow buses, with surly drivers, and because i was one of those “problem children” we had a bus aide, whose sole job seemed to be guarding us troublemakers with a careful eye, and a book full of potential write-ups, of which I accounted for many, too many in fact. I didn't go out of my way to cause trouble, just being myself usually was quite effective at that., No further effort required on my part. They gave write-ups to me like free candy on Halloween, there for the asking, or not. I remember other kids getting written up from time to time, but mostly they dedicated their time and effort to writing me up particularly. Guess I was special, or more deserving, take your pick.
 
Last edited:

Lordgoro

LordGoro has SPOKEN!
Usually, my offenses ranged from sleeping on the bus, to shooting spitballs with a straw, to arguments with fellow riders, crawling under seats, cussing out the aide and/or driver, doing actual homework on bus, and even once famously I was written up for “sewing on the bus.'' Sad but true. As it happened since I was a poverty kid, my mother never got me a book bag for school, she was too busy buying cigarettes and other wasteful vices with her meager funds. So I found an old camo book bag in someones dumpster, but it was ripped to shreds, and unusable as is. So I decided to teach myself sewing so I could attempt to fix it, and finally have a bag for my books. My efforts were not fully appreciated on the bus it seemed, and I was promptly written up for my attempt to sew.

As far as the buffalo public school system was concerned, I was a “lost cause”, and not worth saving, or any positive attention. From their view, I was either a complete idiot, or a sad underachiever, take your pick. They never respected me, and therefore I never respected them. My teachers either ignored me, and exiled me to the back of the classroom, or went out of their way to ridicule and humiliate me, in front of all to see!

The latter was a far worse fate, I can say from experience. To be laughed at, pointed at, made fun of, complete debasement, all by my peers, nothing quite as bad.. Death before dishonor and all that. You dont build a successful productive citizen that way, not at all. You basically build an inhuman monster. Someone with little to no conscience, and no compunctions or moral inhibitions about anything, and who will give no quarter, since none were given to him. The Balance at all times. Evil in, evil out. So i became slowly what I was ascribed to, a loser, a misfit, and eventually someone merciless, because mercy was never something I was familiar with ,therefore I never knew the meaning of it.
 
Last edited:

Lordgoro

LordGoro has SPOKEN!
I was a combination of the class clown, troublemaker, misfit, and weirdo all in one. My clothes smelled because my mother only did laundry ever once in a while, and with a very limited selection of clothing, I had no say in the matter. Most of her limited funding went to smoking, alcohol, or various other vices I cannot remember.
Certainly not much money for food, laundry, or other necessities of modern existence. So my clothes were dirty, smelly, and I was generally quite unpresentable for school, compliments of my mothers carelessness and stupidity, yet I was still forced to attend. A decidedly unwelcome and unwilling guest.
The result? Ridicule, either for appearance, lack of academic performance, or unwillingness to conform. As far as the other students were concerned, I might as well be lined up for a firing squad, they wouldn't have cared either way, as long as I was gone from there, out of sight, out of mind, no matter what my horrible fate.
As for my own behavior, I mainly did what I wanted to do, regardless of the end results, trouble or not, I was always myself. Sometimes my actions were merely annoying, sometimes moreso, and often downright despicable.
 
Last edited:
Status
Not open for further replies.
Top