Memory Motel: A Rock And Roll Fantasy, Part One Section 9- Many Lives, No Masters

Written by | September 5, 2017 15:00 | No Comments

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Part One: The Crash (Continued)

Chapter Three: Blue Eyes

The difference between After Math and this life is best understood like that: it distills everything into one and back out again and that is what I was doing, I was distilling for the greater good.

As mammals evolved and with no dinosaurs and ice ages to send you back to the drawing board, the first man came along. This was not the big deal you think it was. It was not a big deal compared to the first trees, stuff like that, but for me it was a bizarre thing to see, big stuff, like how fire spread (get it!) and small things like , well it wasn’t considered marriage, but marriage. And friendship. The way you began to wonder what was going on here. Trees don’t wonder. Dinos never wondered. You guys did. Nobody planned it that way, you would have lived on whether you wondered or not, but my earliest years of man was filled with extremely extremely close friendships. Wife, husband, children, the child, growing up with my true nature completely hidden and unknown and unknowable. These ages were the ages of man never to return. By my standards, even just on earth, they lasted barely a moment. They came and they went and people lost their naiveties and became something else.

Your oldest ancestors were cooler than you are, they were also violent and stupid yet still much closer to nature and much much closer their true nature: a consciousness that is part of a larger and deeper consciousness both completely alone and among an infinite number.

Those earlier years were fun for me because they allowed me to communicate on a more complex level with other things. Cro Magnum man was not a dinosaur, they were not substantial different than you are today: same thing, same concerns, but a different life of course. You have no idea how weird you lot are –even by infinite universes levels you are weirdos. A mix of too much and not enough knowledge leaves you in such a state of fear and you express it so many ways.

Well, I was everything myself, a dog, a cat, an elephant, human,, a fish, a tree, everything you can imagine, every point of view, every sex, and I worked the landscape from the Greeks to the Ancient Romans, all the way to modern times, to today. I live and I interact completely as the species I am, and I die. I chose where and when and I chose Blue Eyes. I’ve cut back on being human. I had a bad experience and I’ve tried not to go through the worst of it. That was a coupla hundred years ago, my tenth incarnation as a Native American, a big time Chief named something like Blue Eyes. A minor player killed off when I discovered that Western man’s rifles were way more powerful than my bow and arrows. A messy, sad life that was the harbinger for the end of Native Americans. I didn’t enjoy it, I got sick of people, I remained observing stuff without having to watch my entire family and friends being picked to death. When A FLOWER GETS PICKED IT DIES, TRUE, BUT IT DOESN’T FEEL ANYTHING.

Neither do I, really. Except that part of me that is experiencing the information it is transmitting can get a little tired of it. When my six year old daughter was raped and killed, I felt bad for her pain but not for her pain because I knew she was just going to the After Math. And at the same time I felt sorry. I really loved that girl and her memory, a memory I could assuage any moment by going to see her, is painful to me. It makes me wanna cry. She was a sweet girl and would have been a great woman. One of my favorite things, favorite consciousnesses, ever.

But consider it a rarity, most of my life I was between the two and sometimes people, even animals, would think there was some type of empathy or compassion missing. I could fake it, but if I was really well known I guess there was just this overwhelming sense in which it was obvious I wasn’t as deeply involved as I might be.

But you want to know about when I was human. Would you have heard of me? Nah, I kept to the background though I remained in the midst of life. I would experiment, a baby girl who dies of starvation in Ethiopia quite as likely as a Roman citizen who eats himself to death: where the action is, that’s where I’m at.

All my other lives as a Native American were fabulous. I would live on every continent at some time or the other, but this was an important time for me, it made my information more powerful and while it didn’t improve my understanding of everything, it improved my knowledge of one thing: how to be conscious and human.

Not that the Native Americans were all that either. With no written history and no way of battling against the Europeans, they couldn’t figure out how to regroup and got annihilated in the process. Bad but nature, that’s the way nature works. Now they run gaming casinos on land they “own”.

Other lives: so many, but back before people I would often become a wild stallion, that was a life of pure emotional freedom, I was built to run in herds with my brothers and sisters, stampeding for hours on open plains, wild and free, without any thought or any care or any concern, just the feel of my hooves in the sand or grass or green, made for this one moment. The great thing about being a horse was your mind wasn’t constantly clouded with misgivings, and unlike being, say, a hawk, you were not about survival as such.

As a human I was constantly looking for the right place at the right time and I was getting there occasionally. I did cool things, like… Ron, you’re strangling me, yes, you’re gonna die, relax already and let me breath. I jump out of his arms and go scurrying to the safest place on the plane, near the furthest exit door. Something bigger than death is about to happen and I have caused it, never bet on immortality, it’s a suckers game. And during Jesus time? I was in Jerusalem when s a soldier when we (I mean the Romans) ran stuff.

Where was I? Yeah, like touring with the Stones, or watching Socrates taking down arrogant fools on the sidewalks of Athens, or being Cleopatra’s hand maiden: fun, lotsa lesbian sex, and lotsa feeling superior to men which to be perfectly honest we weren’t often enough. Plus boatloads of the worst stuff imaginable, you know, to round myself up. Sometimes I was that six year old daughter with leukemia. Sometimes I’d break character and comfort my parents, you know “don’t cry Mommy, I am going to a better world…” Well, I was going to the After Math –which I go back to all the time whether I’m living or dead, whenever I feel like it. They think I am talking what a friend we have in Buddha but I am not at all. Just as well, they don’t believe me.

I am hiding behind a portal and the way it looks I should be fine once we crash except there is an unconscious black guy lying down right where I want to be. I guess that makes two of us who will make it, and I sit on his head whimpering and crying like I’m meant to.

The thing to keep in mind about living over and over again in time, and always for always out of time, and knowing it, your sense of the life span is completely different and what interests you in life, since you know you are gonna go through it again and again, is much the same as what interests you about the changing of the seasons: it isn’t the big picture but the nuance of moment, so like you might compare one July to another, I might compare one lifespan to another, the way the aging process can differ on me, the way I can age at different rates and the way I can have a great life, a real fun time where everything goes well, and also a terrible endless night, life without myself being very much different from one to the other: I know you probably think that whether I am a lion or a gazelle will affect my character in some way but it doesn’t. I am the essence of what I am, quiet, introverted, careful, patient, and, yes cruel though not on purpose. God, if you will, the first, the last, the everything hoping not to end up bored to stupefaction. Not intentionally cruel at all. I am like a girl you’re obsessed with who never calls you. Does that make me bad? Of course it doesn’t, I am not ignoring you, I’m not being cruel, I’ve forgotten you. And so it is in the midst of life after life, I am not indifferent to your suffering; it is more like I am not quite cognizant of it.

Young or old, happy or sad, rich or poor, human or platypus, deep inside I don’t really care about what you care about. I have something you don’t: absolute knowledge. Nothing scares me, life and After Math: neither matters to me. Pain will pass, happiness will pass, you will pass on, and I will return to give information to myself, for only one reason, to see what happens, to keep interested.

It isn’t immortality that makes you and I so different, it is the feeling of love (or hatred, or anything), for a fellow traveler going through an experience that begins and ends in the same way. The deepest of human connections, the passages of not just human, but any living things life, so important to them, to you, doesn’t mean a thing to me. Love, hate, pride, success and failure, a child’s first steps, a death, a bat mitzvah, god knows all religious to bring you closer to me, anything that you would think would connect you to the world, doesn’t even nearly mean a damn thing. I couldn’t care less. I am neither lonely not company, I am none of these things, I am not adrift in time, I am moving steadily and forever in one forward direction: for me time’s arrow is always forward and never ending.

I was a woman who supposedly loved a man, a married man, I had an affair with him, and eventually when he didn’t leave his wife, I killed myself. This was is the 1720s.. And if you looked up the story, if I gave you my name then, well, there I would be, a suicide. But here is the kicker, here is the weird thing: I didn’t love him, I didn’t care, it was just the way that life unfolded. A 34 year old suicide, that is what I chose to be. If I had chosen to live, I could have just not killed myself: I was never fated nor willed to, I just, at that time, liked the way it played out. It was a tasteful and clever piece of information that I could pass into or backwards or around to me and back to me.

In the very next life (also a woman), I married my high school sweetheart when we were both 19, and we had a good life, I died at the age of 64 from cancer that time, but it was a fun life as far as it went, and here is the kicker HE KNEW I WAS DIFFERENT. Oh, he didn’t quite understand it, maybe he thought it was just that I didn’t love him, or, the way I was just the slightest bit off with the kids, at least he thought it was because I didn’t really love him while it was really because I didn’t love anyone very much. Like I said, occasionally I loved them just not often.

In Ethiopia, I am 15 years old, again a girl, cradling my dead daughter before dying herself –these are the lives I’ve lived, this is the thing I am, a thing so alone that any human contact is filled with weirdness, with a complete inability to be ever certain that I am doing the right thing. Yes, my daughter is dead, yes, my life is slipping, this is what I look like, this is what I feel: there is nothing anything there, no life, I have whittled my life away to simple need and yet even so, I flip back and forth to the After Math, outside this true distillation of what life is.

Why am I telling you all this? Because something is going to happen to me for the first time in some 13 billion years and it will help if you understand what I am: I am a radio transmitter with a soul, but a soul that functions differently than yours, I am the first soul and the last soul, I created it to kill time with.

That isn’t why I decided to return as Ronnie’s dog, at least not consciously. As I noted the powers that be in the After Math sometimes try and interfere, so I didn’t think: oh, yeah a coupla laws were gonna be changed, cool, when I came back, butI knew there was. There was a bet and if I didn’t win the bet the great experiment was over. I cheated myself. I chose the Stones to have my bet because I have always been a Stones fan and I thought it would be fun to be with the band, I’ve met them any number of times, I was a groupie in the 1960s and slept with Brian Jones once. So, I’ve just dug their music. And I wanted to hang out with them without being too in their face, like a wife or something. I guess I thought of being Ronnie’s dog as a way in and so that’s what I was.

Ronnie had been sober for a while and had a beautiful young wife, who really loved me and I had a huge pedigree and I knew –like not KNEW KNEW… it could have happened otherwise, but the chances were excellent. I’d place myself in such a way that the sole reason my mom was breeded was to make a dog for Ron. Breed: I am a Pomeranian. If I could do it again, I might have chosen something else, my character and and a Pomerian’s don’t mesh at all –we are these jumpy playful little things that look like a lion stuck in Despicable Me’s miniaturizing weapon. We are also bubbly and pleasant and Karolina (Ron’s gal) picked me out of the litter and immediately and cooed in her somewhere between sexy and little girlish voice “Awwwoie Ronnie, zees one” (I can’t do accent)

Ron peered over his fringe and blew smoke into my face, his hand trembling a little though I knew he was off the sauce at the time. “Cute little fucker, innit?” he said in that mock cockney accent he believes to be charming.

The couple were in a good mood and here I should say something about age and power: power annuls age for people, so despite his being something like three times older, all the power and the money and the private jets? And the Rolling Stonesiness of being Ron Wood had more than made up for everything else. Karolina Woods, being young, and pretty, and, I said young, didn’t have much concept of the Faces, or Mick Taylor leaving the Stones (or Brian Jones –who is doing very well now, of course) but the Stones were iconic and when they met at a diner in the Czech Republic on the Stones previous tour, she recognized the rock and roll gypsy artist star whatever weird, richer than you’d imagine man well into his 70s.

Ron was flirty and droll and when Karolina went back behind the counter, her best friend, Lucie: “Do you know who that is?” Karolina nodded. “This is it, girl. This is the one.”

Karolina had a boyfriend at the time but so what? She had thought to herself. If life wasn’t what the old timers said it used to be, it sure wasn’t Hollywood either. It was a gray place with limited ways to move ahead and if Ron liked her maybe he could like her more and more? Karolina had the rarest of good fortunes, by anybody’s standards, the chestnut haired, long limbed girl was a beauty and if she didn’t find the concept of bartering her looks for bread appealing, could have made a pretty good living.

“Is he married” she asked with a conspiratorial look.

“I don’t know, let me check.” Lucie reached for her cell. “Yes, but not very…”

Karolina pulled up her skirt a little, checked her reflection in a toaster, licked her lips and went back in and two years later I was going to be their prize position. The couple had moved to New York and then to London before settling in the Hamptons where Karolina lived a life she had never really even imagined and that was good but Ronnie was just as good. Being with Wood was like being with royalty but a beloved royalty. Everybody liked him, everybody wanted to get close to him and Ron handled it very well and taught Karolina how to handle it. “The thing is,” Ron had told her one evening after she had been short with a fan at the tail end of a very busy day, “Now she will always think you’re an asshole and tell her friends you’re an asshole and before you know what’s hit you the world hates you. I know it is tough, but you have to be kind to everybody, you have to be nicer not less nice….”

Ronnie was always nicer, always, and it reflected on everything they did and said and lived. He even made love nicely. Even their mansion, a biggish ten bedroom affair plus the usual whistles and toots, was nice. How such a big place could be homey Karolina never understood but even her parents were pleasantly surprised that such a comfortable house could be a comfy home. Mom would’ve settled down forever and Ron would have let her, but Karolina would only give them their summer holidays, a month a year, and that was it.

There was a staff but they were a nice staff and there were Ron’s friends and they were nice friends, big, like superduperstars, Eric Clapton here, Paul McCartney, would visit and they would be down to human size and these musicians her parents loved so much and who were singing with Kanye West or playing guitar with Kings Of Leon, were really approachable and the word is normal. It is strange because, did Karolina want her heroes normal?

Ron had stopped drinking alcohol and taking drugs a long time ago and Karolina had never done much of either so that was alright as well and it was the sort of life you dream of and then when it happens you feel like you’ve won the lottery of life. So many concerns Karolina had never came to pass. Ron has four children, and they were all very kind to her –it made no sense, shouldn’t they hate her? Perhaps, though there was something she didn’t quite understand about herself: Karolina was a good, easy going kid: she expected very very little from life and so she was always appreciative of what she got. She had expected to live her entire existence in borderline poverty in Prague and she didn’t. And she was happy for that, to live the life she had read about and watched on TV and all that with, unlike most things on the planet, no side effect.

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