A Prospective Suicide

The ‘Money Man’, if you will, or in the nature of things during a negotiation was taken aback by his dealings with an artist. While vacationing in San Francisco, California in the early 1900’s I overheard the almost diametric conversation between these two men.

“No, nope, not a chance,” the artist said, and also, “will I have anything to do with this ---‘money talk’.” He would gladly, he said quite enthusiastically, “Torture myself for free!”

So their ‘dealings’ were done without a close, before an opening, before a start ---and or a beginning.

The deal between the ‘Money Man’ and the artist was completed immediately. The two men stared blankly at one another. But it was the ‘Money Man’ who’d finally close the ‘close-less’ deal as he reached his hand to the artist, with moisture collecting in conspiciuous areas now spreading througout his shirt, and then, “Very good,” was heard.

The ‘Money Man’ got a mallet, and directed the curious crowd to this so-called Torture Chamber he just built. The anticipation was palpable, felt all the way from San Francisco to Reno, Nevada. But it was an instant success, or, solely for art’s sake?-Because it only lasted a few minutes.

After pounding a five pound mallet on each and every digit of the artist’s hands, he quickly became overly ambitious, removed his pants, and then dropped the five pound mallet on his genitals ---followed by him going into shock, and his death the preceding day.

The ‘Money Man’ counted his money, and then put an ad on Craigslist. It read: Looking for an artist who can handle a five pound mallet!

The End

Scar Man

It’s unbelievable to me that for the last decade of my life, and that’s every single day, I’ve awoken at four in the morning and have gone to bed at ten in the evening. You’ll see that I could never be at peace again.

For I believe that no one would voluntarily subject themselves to such a ridiculous sleeping pattern, to be so completely idiotic, unless of course you’re voluntarily in the military, which is a completely different gig, or completely self-tortured, which I have been for the last decade of my life.

But …it was late in the evening right next to the morning when he walked in. Right away I could see he was a man not to be reckoned with. He looked as solid as an Oak Tree with shoulders that never seemed to curve downwards. For some reason he sat down right next to me and told me that earlier in the day, “I was at 325 feet above the ground cutting boughs or branches off a Giant Sequoia Tree,” and, “It saddened me so,” he said.

He hated to cut into the tree, and he told me how the tree had responded back with bites of his own. Then the man right then and there in the middle of our rest stop took off his shirt and started to show me all wounds he had received that day, and then he showed me all the scars he had received earlier ---on millions of other trees, many (many) years ago, starting with day one when he began his life as a malicious tree trimmer.

The scars all seemed to connect together and he was without any question: A Scar Man! “Wow,” I said. He was the toughest son of a bitch I’ve ever seen or had dreams of meeting. And for some reason I said it ---I did! and I can never forgive myself.

Since we were in San Francisco, California and the Golden Gate Bridge could be seen from our rest stop I said, “I bet you could survive a fall off,” I pointed to the bridge, “The Golden Gate Bridge, huh?” “Yes,” he screamed. He quickly showed me how he’d do it, how he’d stick his feet together when he’d hit the water, how he’d breathe on impact, and where he’d swim afterwards. He started challenging himself, not me, and it became quickly adolescent only to change its beat to infantile. He had to prove to himself that he could do it.

We started walking to the Golden Gate Bridge. He was walking fast and I had to do my best to stay in beat with, ‘Scar Man’. Finally, and without another word, when we were half way across the bridge he jumped over the railing. I ran over to the railing and saw the ocean engulf him completely. He was never seen or heard from again. I walked back home to go to bed, since nothing else could be done, and when I began to pull the sheets over my head I turned to look at my clock and it was ---ten. It was 10:00; or, ten o’clock in the P.M.

The End