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Oblivious to Disaster


Tingles vs Tickles

We didn’t have issues when we were a kids, so if getting Davy to the hospital was a priority, I’m sure it was accomplished by some other means, though I don’t know how; a proceeding acting on my hunches to determine how it might be accomplished I suppose, because I didn’t understand what was asked of me, I kept it simple. If there's a need to add issues to my naivety at this late stage of the game to fail Felton, Torres, or Ellison who also seem to be working on the problem, I’d like to introduce you to the members of the ‘I Saw the Indian Gang’.

Fred, the Networking Specialist and Eli, a Specialist in Conflict Resolution are not likely to stand for challenges to the claim that we saw an Indian wearing a full headdress fleshed out in the fall colors of a Maple tree on campus. The fact that we were all tripping on LSD when it happened shouldn’t matter, because we all saw the same thing! See also: Black Elk’s Vision

If it becomes a public problem, I'm sure the police will use a court to keep it private, because that’s what’s being done to keep the story told and I'll do all I can to defend them because the alternative seems to becomming a pig roast (better to eat!)

And I realized when I went online to review the history of the town we retreated to, as recorded by my friend Rick's Dad, it wasn't the same as Rick’s, who told me that the hill by our swamp was the site of an Indian burial ground (His father records the location the plot for an early Methodist Church).

So went to work with Bradly on the control of computers by intention at the Biotech Department for the paralyzed. And I believed we had a permanent replacement in place when I went to work on the repair of the damage that’s been done to my documents.

Fortunately, my Hosting Company had the most recent edit to my website because I didn’t, and Dave Felton's Productions hired me so I can replace my old equipment. And Dave Torres, who heads up Target Center events (where lunch is served up at break time), has kept an open line of communication for me, because my old buddy Dave, who was probably put onto gurney, stretcher, or into an ambulance to get to the hospital after hit by my bad swing, though he might've died....I don’t remember.

Unfortunately, there must’ve been some assumption about our political affiliation as a result; apparently neither one of us had a clear apprehension of what happened. Practicing my swing by the side of the house was routine for me, and I didn’t think that he would walk into its path when he came over to see me! Perhaps it was our blonde hair and blue eyes that helped to form the conclusion, but it was more likely the stupor we were in.

Dave the Seminarian, Dave the Chemical Engineer, Dave the Cyber Security Expert, Dave with the learning disability who sings in a Barbershop Quartet, Dave my old Sponsor Dave, and Dave who looks like the son of Eckart Tolle! Hey! Anyone who looks like Eckart could be inspiring! He doesn't have to say a thing! He just exudes God consciousness by being in the room.

I’ve liked every Dave I’ve ever known, some of whom have been downright inspirational! Dumpster Dave, who was famous for wearing large black yard bags around Telegraph Avenue in Berkeley died in one while I was living there. And Blind Dave, who was frequently found in the same neighborhood was most likely to care about it, but by that time I realized that self advocacy was probably a really good idea.

But it was Dave da-Bear who really shocked me. Death becomes him; still as strong a faculty in my life today as he ever was!  Nuclear Submarine Engineer, Hell's Angel (by nomination), and Bounty Hunter, he headed up a Self Advocacy Network that used direct action campaigns to change the healthcare system forever. And by God, by the time he was done writing by-laws, we felt like we had a new form of government to install.

Then there’s Dave who seems to be Trepanning to provide us all with a daily reminder of how vulnerable we really are. With a hole carved into his forehead the size of an egg; just one false move and his brain could fall out - literally! Perhaps it was his way of pointing to an effort I made for my Step Father, who didn't quite understand how to tingle (he tickled our necks instead) I simulated cracking an egg on his head with the whites spreading out over his scalp so he could experience just exactly what we were up to.

How guys like Dave became legendary is hard to say. I presume, like those who've worked for 'the company', I don’t believe they ever really leave. They just fade away and blend in with the crowd to become like anyone else of us, like Mr. X.

And along the way, we get to be witness to the heroics that attend their lives, like Dave the private investigator, who in confidence with me - brother to brother - confided in me: "I just punched him, but he was dealing drugs to children and he died right there on the spot. I didn't mean to kill him!” he said, “but it did, and the cops let me go."

Like the Cherubim who keep the riff raff out of the garden, they wield an ugly weapon with a hand that’s quicker than the eye! And woe betide those who seek revenge upon them! Even Santa seems to have found his way to our Lockups.


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