Monday, August 18, 2008

What would Conan do?

Help me out here.

Through my travels in the underworld, I have met a character very much like Beetlejuice from the old Eighties movie.
Remember him? He was sunken--eyed, hair spiked up like an Alice Cooper rocker, and sraight out of hell.

Yep. Betelgeuse The Bio Exorcist.

As in the movie, he may as well have put an ad out:

Troubled by the living? Is death the problem and not the solution?
Unhappy with eternity? Having dificulties in adjusting?

Call Betelgeuse,

Well, there are characters like that in real life, certainly, in all irreverrance, like Deepak Chopra, but those franetic, hirsute, sunken-eyed freaks seem to abound everywhere, especially in the homeless shelters and out in the street.

I met my Beetlejuice while living in an old car in a parking lot. He was parked next to me in a red 1980 Toyota pickup,
His vehiccle could still go. Mine couldn't . This gave him an edge, something like control.
Though he was abviously mad, he seemed intelligent if you kept him off the drugs. We made a contract.
Since we had so much time on our hands, I would now write my book right out of the car. He would edit.

I was surprised that the endlessly talking, cajoling, drug-addled Beetlejuice could actually edit. Preacher's son. Fond of standing on the corner, just for laughs, telling all they would be saved by the Blood of the Lamb, and "Repent!" Aping his father.

But the witch's brew of chemicals in his brain led him to more chemicals and the tranquil, intellectual side of him would give way.

I had no one else to turn to for company or editing, so was forced to hang around with Beetlejuice.

Soon I got something like a life story. Preacher's son. Into the drug scene of the Sixties and Seventies. He met a woman one night, said she wanted to make love, he said he did not, and they made love anyway and as it turned out, they produced a child. A little girl.
Who knows what happened next. There was a separation. Visiting rights and ll that. There was trouble with family court, over visitation rights, and again trouble with Family Court. His daugher had turned six, and there were serious accusations of molesting by this errant father. Damn ugly actually.

It was this fact that made me keep a certain distance between me an Beetlejuice.

But he was entertaining, always talking, always manic, always frenetic, some kind of neo-Hippie who thought it was still cool to have Jesus Chirst haira nd beard at the age of 50, and truly believingin Timothy's motto of " Tune in, Turn on, Drop out. "

Yet it was l989. He was still in the Sixties and proud of it. I called him something of an anachronism and he was insulted. He kept still for an entire five minutes.

I went on to finally get my own house. Beetlejuice stayed in the parking lot, fuming, toking and dropping. He's stll in the parking lot.

I got the call last night. Beetlejuice was " f*cked-up, lonesome", and though now employed as a house wrecker, still homeless. And then a rare moment of candor:" What in fuck is wrong with me?".

I offered that the way out of a midlife crisis was visual, phychological, fraternal. It's almost done with mirrors.

"Fraternal? My brother won't even talk to me. None of my family will. They think I'm an asshole."

I avoided to comment, even in an inversion. "If the foo shits..."

Well damn. What am I going to do now?

Now Beetlejuice wants to reenter my life.

I now have clothes, home, family, car.

I know that Beetlejuice is seriously going to cramp my style, but he knows my ways, all about me, and is still complimenting me on my recent achievements. He'd been keeping track in the papers. He was, after all the editor of some of my books, he knows who and what I am, and I fear he has my number.

But at the same time, I know the guy is sinking I may be the only "friend" he's got, and if I don't give him some sort of leg up, hes going to either do something classy like choke on his own vomit--or worse--off himself.

Oh Jesus. What would Conan do?

I am a sucker for these fast-talking, drug-addle people.
I just got over an affair with a female of the species.
F*cked me up for twenty years. Giving me company and the other guy all the B.J.'s.

Ended up doing a Jupiter and Semele number (I can do those things) and searing the two of them. Outraged ego. You say you love me and your blow the doorman.

Lost hair and teeth getting to the heart of the matter, who was Italian. And a pimp.
How did a nice Ukrainian boy get into such a triangle, which was really a rectangle?

But she loved the pimp, even though they are no longer together. My Samson trick, getting between the pillars and wrecking the temple.

But now my head aches, right between the pillars, and now a male version is coming over to wreck my head all over again.
There is a psychic connection because of my writiting which he had helped process; the work was eventually published and reviwed in the local paper. He flatters me by citing my accomplishments and connections.

And yet the guy is a stoner a loser and he doesn't know it.

Jesus. I am only part-way back and out of the maze.

Jakob the foot-gripper is yet going to pull me down.

Yet what if he suicides and me having to live with that, the one time I refused to lend a hand?

Something I head in the hole-in-the wall bar where I was in his position and somebody had to drag me back out.

"Everybody has to support an asshole."

And yet, as these thing go, I know Beetlejuice a better writer than I am.

But I have the connections and the publishing credits. He was unlucky. And drug-addled.

Never mind Conan or Jesus.

What would Ivan do?


Lana Gramlich said...

I'd suggest you use the rational part of your brain, not the emotional part. That's all I'm going to say. Good luck.

Midnight said...

Heh. How different life would be, for many of us, perhaps...

Midnight said...

Personally, I may have been saddled with 'sensible' women, instead of the the crazy ones, that I kinda really love...

Donnetta Lee said...

Well, I'd think it through, as Lana suggests--sometimes its better not to be a nice guy.

Midnight said...

Actually, my comment may be interpreted in two ways, but I've always been fortunate enough to meet crazy women. Life has never been the same. said...

Lana and Donnetta,

You are both so right.
I just emerged from Full Moon Fever and realize I was building up a "hate-on" for nothing.
The emotion was all moonshinge indeed. said...


Yes the off-the-wall women are really the most funn

Midnight said...

Yeah. If it wasn't for them, we'd just drink and smoke and jerk around all day.

Charles Gramlich said...

That Jesus Hair and beard at 50 sure did hit home. I actually had a little girl call me Jesus at the park one time. It was hilarious.

eric1313 said...

Ivan! Beetlejuice is one of my all time favorites. Awesome that you found the real life exhibit.

Or not...

I think I have to go with the sensible folks above--be careful. He just might be a bio exocist.

Man--this just made me want to smoke down. Good thing I quit doing that. But I tell ya, sobriety is a strange thing.

Good thing there's vodka! said...


Yep. A long time without a relationship and you're suddenly living in your own head, making love to your TV and really gettting into the morning exercise shows, doing the exercises right along with her.

Tom Waits: "All by myself. Nothing else to do. Took advantage of myself." said...


Yeah. When I had long hair a designing mistress would walk around with a miniature pair of scissors, taunting all the while, "I know the secret of your strength."

Some doggerel from Newfondlad, "i don't care if it rains or freezes
I'm ticked-off with the works of Jesus." said...


Sobriety is a strange thing indeed.

Everyhing is grey, grey, grey.

LIfe is more exciting when you're a drunk.

Half a quart of liquor in me I think I am some kind of god.

I look into the bathroom mirror and say, "If only Martha cold see me now!"


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