Exodus

My 40 days in the wilderness are over. I leave Raymond for the last time today, never to set foot upon it's bloody soil again. I have spent a large part of my career in this town, essentially for naught. I return from whence I came.

According to quantum theory, nothing takes form unless it observed. By that logic, if I don't see this place, does that mean it's not there? Maybe I should ask Scott Bakula.

Greatest lyric ever.

"I float up the river. I kill all the people. With my laaaaser gun."

-Devo-

Headshot

Headshot
Originally uploaded by The Clipper

It's not soft lit, I photographed a photograph.

An old one

The Nights Are All One.

By Clif Kirkland

I woke up and was about to shoot my mirror. I didn't for fear of striking my brother in the next room. I was disoriented. Thought I was in my childhood bed. No. My bed. My house. I had bought it when I had money and credit. Money's gone. I'm a cop.

Up front, my girls were watching "The Toy." Richard Pryor's dead.

"Hey Daddy, we help you get dressed,"

My kids hand over my duty gear as I get ready for work.

"Sure thing. How about getting me a dollar?"

It was odd. They always seemed to have dollars. They brought me a ten. What the hell?

"We're saving our dollars for Red Lobster Daddy."

Red Lobster? Huh? The day before, my oldest wanted to toss a penny in a wishing well. She did, but took about twenty minutes to make a wish. Lots of thought. She wished for cotton candy. My kids are better than me. I got dressed.

Driving to work, I turn my radio to top volume. I sing along, and hold the phone to my ear. Looks like I'm talking. No one likes a singing cop.

I get cabin fever outdoors in this town I patrol. Just a few square miles. No crime. I'm really just a driver. So I drive.

It's been hours. Nine hours into a twelve hour shift.

Radio squawks, "Nioba S.O. to Nioba 3."

Fuck.

"Go ahead to Nioba 3."

"Perimeter alarm at the courthouse, no keyholder responding."

FUCK.

"10-4 S.O., show me enroute, show me on scene." I was right there.

Upon my arrival, I, Ofc.....Anyway, I get there and see a moving shape. Draw down.

"Out. I want to see you."

He steps out, and I see it's Oscar, a local. I don't know what kind of work he does. He's straight. I know that.

"Oscar, what the hell are you doing?"

He crumpled.

"Oh Lord sir, oh Lord, shole don' want to go jail, shole don' want to go jail, gots to work in the mornin'."

I sighed. "Oscar, what are you talking about?"

"Ohhhhhh!"

"Damn it Oscar, no one said anything about going to jail. What?"

He began to smoke a cigarette with fury and vigor. It seemed to give him his balls back.

"I was sittin' on the conner down to the Chiveron when he come up an' I stobbed him. Then he ax me could he use my phone call 911, but I warn't gon' let him, uh uh, no way man, ain't got many minutes lef' on it. He kep' on axin' me, so I tol' him I'se gwinter stob him agin'. I tol' he gon' use the phone, he could crawl on back to his house and use he own damn phone. He say it got cut off an' he cain't, so I stobbed him agin' 'cause I know he a damn lie, an' I'se gittin' tarred of him hollerin'. He still ain' shut up, so I drop a brick on his head, that make his ass shut up. I feel bad fo' his mama, but I cain't stand that sumbitch what he done, so I kick him in the nuts 'cause I still gots rage on him. What he did, you know what he did, he done!"

Well. Arrest. Reports. Overtime. Oscar's kids, wards of the state. Fuck that. I did know what "he" did, what "he" done. I knew who "he" was.

"Oscar, where is he?"

"He between the Chiveron and the Post Office."

"Was anyone around?"

"No sir."

"Did you see anyone else, see any cars?"

"No sir."

"Then get your ass down to the bar and tell Lynn that your baby's been done right and to remember that you've been there all night."

"Yes sir!"

He was gone, I didn't even see him go. He was never there.

"He." I found him right where....who had told me he was there? No one. Right. Found him on routine patrol. He was dead, for sure. But...no stab (stob) wounds. No bricks. Cell phone in his hands, numbers nine and one dialed. I kicked him in the balls because he had murdered Oscar's little boy. I kicked him in the balls because he had died a natural death.

Sun up. Go home. More singing. My girls are up.

"Morning, Daddy! We got more dollars for Red Lobster, see?"

My kids are better than me.

Ah test.

I think I like posting pics this way over the Flickr publishing. Anyway, more to come.

More Napoleonic Code

More Napoleonic Code
Originally uploaded by The Clipper

Giving the photo blogging thing a whirl. Photo blog will probably update a bit more regularly.

By the by, this is from "A Streetcar Named Desire."

Elucidate

I work in a place where the uninformed and out of touch try to dictate my work procedure. While they believe that my job is to sit in their driveway all night and watch over them, it is not so. My job is:

Working a fatality car crash where one of the victims is a little girl the same age as my own that is wearing the exact same outfit I dressed my child in that very morning.

Cleaning hepatitis infected blood and vomit from my uniform.

Telling a three year old child why mommy is going to the hospital and daddy is going to jail.

Letting off of my halfway pulled trigger because the sixteen year old I was aiming at finally dropped his gun.

Standing knee deep in water while I pull a drunk from his vehicle that he ran into a ditch. On my birthday. My birthday is in December.

Entering an un-air conditioned trailer in the middle of July and finding a dead body that had lain there for two weeks. (Dead bodies swell and bloat with gases until they finally rupture from the pressure. The smell of the escaping gases in unbearable. Yeah, he exploded while I was there. Not to mention that he was partially cooked due to the extreme heat.)

Should I keep going, or have you had enough?