The key to your healing is pleasureBAAAAANG!!
so I am driving down the highway, and I am thinking to myself: when it comes down to it the key to your healing is pleasure. In that very moment, I feel a massive jolt through my body, there is smoke EVERYWHERE and there is a pink bag in my face, the windshield is cracked on the drivers side and the entire passangers side. Apparently I have just crashed and the destinies of three people collide.
The first is me: playing the role of Diarmuid Brannick here in LA to heal after discovering that chasing the money for healing is a spiritual trap, the second character is a man of between 43 and 53 (who can tell?) driving a less than new pick up truck..it seems Brannick has run into the back of it and him….lets continue
He gets out of his truck and passes by me without even acknowledging that I am alive much less asking if i am ok, presumably because the incident is my fault it doesnt matter. He checks the licence plate on the back of car and then goes about calling on his walkie talkie his boss or whoever…it seems he needs to make a delivery and now he can’t.
I give him my licence and ask if he is ok, he tells me “yeah I’m ok”. Next thing a booming voice is saying something, turning around I see a cop car, the white and black, and a young female cop directing me through the window with both jestures and the booming amplified megaphone voice to pull in off the highway. (I was smoking weed in my car in venice beach a couple of weeks ago when I heard a cop doing that directing someone to pull in and I instantly thought ‘I need to get one of those loud speakers for my car’ and I think I will)
Anyway she is the third character, a young gorgeous latino woman playing the role of the cop. She has us pull into a gas / petrol station and then she commences to take the mans details first. Before this and in between this, the man begins his pantomine:
he is talking on the walkie talkie and then talking to the cop but he is saying the same thing:
“this always happens when I try and do something for someone” “I was going to change my insurance and now I can’t” “I need to get to xyz and it looks like now I won’t be able to” blah blah blah
As he is talking to the cop giving the details of the incident from his perspective, I go to get my camera from the trunk / boot…this is real art and I want to record it (obviously ‘on the sly’ as we say in Ireland) I want to capture the mans pantomine.
His pantomine is his insistance on putting the incident into a context that justifies why he cannot do something and reinforces his way of seeing the world. My pantomine for the past 11 years has been: the reason I cant heal is because I dont have the money, i dont have the x, the y and the z
Anyway it seems my battery is out and so i get the other one to put in the camera, after doing this I see that i dont have tape…at this point the cop walks a few feet over to my car to get my information and licence. She has beautiful legs and and that weird tweed cop uniform material with its weird brownish color is tight around her legs, but it is not tight around her crotch where my gaze has set, I move my eyes to see the contours of her hips…beautiful…I look to her face, she has beautiful tanned skin and dark hair combed tigh on her head, American female cop style.
And so it is my turn to reveal myself: she asks me for my licence and I give it. She asks me where I am going and I tell her the Venice exit. She asks me do I live in Venice and I tell her I am just visiting, which is technically true. She asks me do I live at 1201 East Drachman street, I tell her I do and it is a lie.
I felt the fear of telling the truth and the imagined consequences and in response to the fear I lied…what more needs to be said?
To be continued
