The Wolf

"Uh, Collin? Tell me you didn't see what I just saw..."

"Fuck yea, I saw it! You better call everyone back. That's some scary shit!"

A clear, bright, spherical flash of light with defined edges and a dark opening in its middle, swirled on the ceiling above me while Collin and I were laying on the beds of our hotel room in Los Feliz, California. I would've blown it off as my eyes just fuckin' with me or as an acid flashback had Collin not have seen the same exact thing. Minutes previous to the appearance of this flash/portal above my head, I had coached Collin into telling some of our acquaintances back home that I had been shot and killed in a brave attempt at saving an old lady who was being mugged by some terrible thugs. Why? In our twisted reasoning, Collin and I had figured that if everyone thought we were dead we would be forced to start over, leaving ourselves no option to "puss out" and no other choice but to make it in L.A., harshly severing all possible ties. It was my dumb idea and in many ways it would come true. Again, be careful for what you wish for, as it goes.

The story was originally told to only a few fairly insignificant people in our lives but, of course, (and as planned) the news was too juicy to be kept silent for even a minute and through the gossip loving grapevine the self-induced rumor spread to closer friends and then unexpectedly to our parents. It had worked better than we had thought it would. After the strange phenomena in our hotel room, I was supernaturally motivated to contact everyone, including close family members, passing the blame that it was someone else's vindictive lie, in order to avoid my own embarrassment. Regardless, our first night in the Los Angeles area was over and our second day continued with a small tour of Hollywood and a reunion with my mentor, "M."

"So yeah man, do you think me and Collin could get into the apartments that you're living in? We need a place soon. That hotel's too fucking expensive."

"Look over there! That's some nice fuckin' shit bowee (boy). Look at those big fuckin' fat fuckin' tits!"

"You been there a year right? So if we use you as a reference we should get in with no problems, yeah?"

"Check it out! She's bending over to pick something up. Ooh! Lookadose tight ass shorts. Whoo! That's some shit! That's the motherfuckin' shit right there. Damn! Now what were you saying? Some apartment shit somethin', what?" If you were in public with M, you would have to work around his nymphomanic commentary and in-between get answers to your questions.

"Do you think you could help us get into a 2 bedroom in your same complex?"

"Yeah, just give me the application. I'll help doctor it up and you'll be in," M finally answered, finding a gap on Hollywood Boulevard with no hot bitches awalkin'.

As it turned out, M had hooked us up as his next door neighbors and Collin the Juggernaut and myself had a headquarters to set up our dirty work...though, what we wanted our dirty work to be and what it had become wasn't quite the filth we were looking for. With relentless effort, we had tried our best to get hired at some male dance clubs and also tried to hook up with a chippendale caliber type dance troup. Instead, we ran into the infamous Hollywood supergang of freaks, flakes, bullshitters, backstabbers, energy vampires, perverts, and other random extraterrestrial con-artists and clowns, not to mention the almost divine distraction of dysfunctional payphones, gas pumps, washers at the laundromat, or any other machine that we needed to work for our convenience. Even the nonhuman objects participated in L.A.'s full of shitness.

Mundane tasks in Los Angeles made our lives a living hell. Store clerks would only give us change if we bought something and when asking if we could use their bathroom, we would get no response but laughter, not even a "No." If you were stupid enough to ask for directions, good luck not getting purposely sent to some nasty hood as a joke, let alone getting any kind of competent answer at all. The little things in L.A. are the things that make everyone there all fucked in the head, I swear. The lines in the post office, in the grocery stores...the traffic...the every man for himself, cold, fake, smug attitude is enough to drive anyone's brain into utter chaos. When we were in a hurry or had a lead on some potential gig, all the objects, such as our car or a payphone or the key to our apartment, etc, would simply become nonfunctional. The objects in Los Angeles were a projection of the city's mind and had a consciousness of their own...and they hated us.

During one routine frustrating day, Collin in a steroidal rage, pulled a payphone receiver out of its steel base, snapping the wires and the metal cord they were enclosed in. Standing there, staring at me and panting with a ridiculous, wrathful look on his face and a dismantled, fucked up phone in his hand, the Juggernaut looked like the anger-ravaged Tasmanian Devil from the old Warner Brothers cartoons. He was pissed, disgruntled, and whirling out of control! I laughed my ass off. For that moment, he was an unreserved and complete crazed lunatic, not having a hint of who he was otherwise. It was terrible and ludicrous how his total personality was blindly saturated with the rage he had sunken into. He looked so stupid that I had to join him, if that makes any sense. Though not nearly endowed with the brute strength of my psychotic gremlin of a friend, I still succeeded in ripping payphone receivers off their bases using the proper torque, angle and shear force, fueled by pure unadulterated anger that had overcome me as well.

Frustration had derailed our stability to the point of near lunacy. On one weekday afternoon we had single-handedly destroyed over two dozen payphones deeming "them" responsible for our personal chagrins. We had become serial killers! Public phone serial killers and righteous ones at that. We felt justified in our acts of vandalism because we came up with the brilliant idea that we were doing the city a service and that the city owed us money for destroying their property. After putting a half-functional phone out of its misery Collin would yell into the air, "Good! Now they'll have to fix the motherfucker...and the city also owes us for doing their dirty work for them as fucking well!" We were actually fairly serious but after bruising, breaking, and cutting our hands and knuckles, we were physically forced to finally give in to the fact that murdering inanimate objects would not solve our problems so, instead, we resorted back to what we knew would work--being a couple of thieving and trifling, semi/pseudo male ho's.

After running an ad in the local fag mag with our pictures and bios, calls came flooding in. Again, the procedure was quite simple and moronic. Collin would basically collect the money, flex his muscles, pose for 5 minutes and leave. If the client would not be satisfied with the service and try to get his money back, the Juggernaut would simply impose fists and leg kicks onto their bodies. I'd hang out longer, pose, give them a jack-off show, let them grope me as little as possible and look through their shit while they were in the bathroom or retrieving me a drink from the kitchen. On occasion, men would call to see us with their wives but the procedure was basically the same. We didn't judge or discriminate against race, gender or sexual desire--we would open-mindedly and with all liberalness gladly take anyone's money. We would never have to worry about them calling the police on us for not giving them "proper" service because...well, what were they going to say? "Officer. He wouldn't let me suck his dick that I paid for." We had made the fact that prostitution was illegal a benefit to our game. A game that pulled us in about a grand a week each for starters.

On occasion, I would give some money back if I felt the person was real and had good intentions. It was hard for me to scam someone I liked, in other words. Most of the time, the client would want to steal your energy and use you and on many instances would somewhat succeed. They were sexual energy vampires who were trying to find love, or an energy resembling it, in a male whore. I felt drained by just being in the room, at times. The whole thing was pathetic and ridiculous...on their part and on mine as well for subjecting myself to being there but what the hell else was I going to do for money? Work? Think not.

A good amount of the male prostitutes in Hollywood are straight or, at least, started that way. It makes sense because it can affect a truly gay male more so due to the fact that he may take the situation more personal because it is something he likes and is a part of even outside of the game. In other words, a "straight" man can separate the game from his personal life much easier, though it's still fucked up, nonetheless. I mean, it's not exactly something you call home and tell your mother about--"Yea, mom, L.A. sure is going great! I found a job and everything. What kind of job? Well, I show my cock to men in their private homes, then I bolt the hell out of there before I get molested! I flopped my cock out and horked some cash off a couple celebrities, once, as well. Cool huh! You should visit mom." Yikes, but fuck it. Ain't nobody innocent anyways. Cast the first stone if you think you are. Fuck 'em--gotta do somethin' for a livin'.

The shit I've witnessed people do and the twisted desires I've been a part of in not only L.A. but in many cities across America....I'm talkin' black folk, white folk, men, women, men of the cloth, judges, cops....well, maybe it's just me for pulling it in, but let's just say for now that this is one sexually debilitated, twisted fuck of a country and it's really not that surprising if you think about it. I mean, if you suppress and cage a simple harmless desire long enough, judge something natural as morally wrong long enough, believe in the lies about our sexuality long enough, you will breed an unstoppable horde of perverted freaks...a horde of freaks that me and my broham took a lot of money from.

Living with Collin the Juggernaut had become a humerous yet intolerable situation. His constant, unyielding flow of anger and neuroticism was driving me fucking nuts and my own bullshit wasn't making him any the happier. We bitched at each other like a married couple. Our arguments would start out with tough guy, I'll kick your ass type shit talk and would end up with something like, "Dude I just don't think you care about my feelings." We were starting to feel like we were not too cool anymore. Seeing naked old men waxing their dolphins all day long without getting any pussy in-between, was not quite doing it for our self-esteem and quite the blow to our previously over-extended egos.

To deal with our annoyances with each other and our resentment for what we were doing, Collin and I resorted to immature, 8th grade, lewd and lascivious pranks. Who ever would gross out the other more would win. One time, Collin was taking a shit while we were exchanging "fuck you's" on each side of the bathroom door when, suddenly, he came out with his pants around his ankles, chuckling with evil laughter as he charged me with toilet paper that he just wiped his ass with. I moved so ridiculously fast that I broke all laws of physics and to someone watching, I must have appeared to look like a sped up old black and white film in fast motion. I screamed in a high screaching pitch for help. Collin put the toilet paper down knowing by my comical actions that he had won the battle and that if he actually touched me with it he would have to face the consequences that I would do something even more disgusting back. He was the victor for now but the next day, I got him back...I guess. When he opened the apartment door, after already being disgusted from a call he just did, I had positioned myself in a spot that he would be forced to look at for at least a second. With my back facing the door and my body bent all the way over, I swung my balls back n' forth and spread open my ass cheeks. I expanded and contracted my anus as if it was talking, while in unicen, asking him how his day at the office went. I know it sounds disgusting and degrading to even myself as well, but you don't understand! I had to win!...?...!

Shit got worse and less funny. The humor was replaced by small hatred for each other and things got ugly...well, almost got ugly. The result was, of course, the authorities. Suffice it to say, with the physical help of the police, physical help meaning that the police actually helped carry out his boxes and belongings, Collin was moved out of my apartment. It was the result of events that took place one night while Collin was showing off in front of an innocent girl he had just met. As thuggish as he was, he would always meet very simple and kind giving girls. The only girls that the Juggernaut would not disrespect were those who he seen as potential virgins. He felt that nearly all women were "dirty whores" unless they proved to him otherwise and if he found out a girl slept with another guy even before he ever met her, he would somehow still consider that cheating....but only if she liked the sex more than with him. He was a strange prick, alright. A prick with one bent set of morals.

One night after an argument and while Collin was cutting up some steaks with one of his large butcher knives, he began screaming at me to "get the fuck out" gesturing and flailing his arms with the razor sharp blade in his hand. He had no intention of stabbing me but it was intimidating, nonetheless. I left and he had locked me out. My wallet, car keys and everything I had owned were still in the apartment. "That motherfucker's gonna pay!" Making a decision based purely on emotions, I regrettedly called the police on him. My present belief system and code of honor would have never allowed me to make such a decision but at the time, I hadn't yet learned that code...a code I broke, nearly with a vengeance. When the police arrived, I told them that this crazy fucker I had just met had pulled a knife out on me and was going to kill me. Though after seeing me outside and half-naked with some of my stripper type clothes on, the officers assumed that we were having a lovers quarrel. Great.

By chance, Collin had left the largest shiniest cooking knife out on the kitchen table standing alone in its glistening scariness amongst nothing else but itself on the table. He couldn't have put it in a more perfect spot for the po-po to see. The fucked up thing was that the police, for some reason, had no intention of pressing charges. They seemed afraid of us, especially Collin, thinking possibly that we were two muscular, wacked out, rough gay dudes or something that they didn't want to touch or deal with. We either intimidated them in some way or just got lucky because they ended up helping Collin put his boxes and bags of clothes into his girlfriend's car, making several trips. My theory later, on the cops, was that they were gay themselves and very understanding to their assumption about the situation. Then again, I think all cops are homosexuals in hiding, using their uniforms and their authority as a subterfuge to their gayness. Who knows what those night sticks are really for.

Collin called me later that evening to quickly tell me to, "look in the closet you little prick," before abruptly hanging up the phone. I looked to learn that before he was escorted out of the apartment by the police he had sliced up all my expensive dance clothes with the same knife I had gotten him almost busted with. "The bastard!" I yelled before breaking out into laughter. I figured I deserved it for calling the cops on my asshole friend regardless of how much of a dick he was. It was a small lesson in a long string regarding the idea of "karma," which I have found, over the years, doesn't always work through itself in the way we may think.

The Juggernaut, of course, would remain my friend but after sticking it out a couple more months in Hollywood, he headed back to the Twin Cities. He decided a bigger fish in a littler pond was the better option. His parents called me in disappointment, not because they cared about the well-being of their son, necessarily or at all, but because they knew, once again, that they would have to deal with the stresses of their problem child. They loved me for taking Collin off their hands. Though we did our dirty deeds, Collin didn't get in trouble nearly as much as when I wasn't there to keep him in check...in check enough, that is, to at least keep him out of prison in which he was ultimately destined. I remember his mother shedding tears of joy when Collin and I told her we were moving to California. Well, now that malcontented, little, demon-child was...coming home. Farewell ol' chap.

Directly after Collin had left the state, communication had increased between myself and M and my mission for the ultimate truth had once again resumed and become the main focus of my existence with M now gaining my full attention. Part of M's income in L.A. had consisted of deprogramming former scientologists for a generous fee, and reprogramming them for his own church of beliefs, so to say. Through document heisting, extensive rewording, and possibly some of his own creativity, M had developed what he called the Total Freedom Rundown costing only a mere $4000. Not a bad price to be a powerful god, huh. Here is what was written in his advertising promo and this is verbatim (I can't believe I fell for this shit):

TOTAL FREEDOM HAS BEEN PROMISED NOW DELIVERED This rundown delivers at least 10 End Phenomenas:

1. End of any and all case.

2. Truth revealed.

3. Total freedom.

4. Exterior with full perceptions.

5. Operating (outside the body).

6. Ability to postulate one's own reality.

7. Ability to be in and communicate to alternate realities. (Heavens, Hells, dimensions, densities, entities, etc.)

8. Space Travel.

9. Ability to heal yourself as well as others.

10. Plus 5 other confidential EP's including..."There isn't anything you can't do!"

And it's true whether you choose to believe it or not!

In this rundown, we take you to absolutes which are attainable in the theta universe.

Now available in many areas internationally!

$4000.00 DELIVERED (SATISFACTION GAURANTEED)

Now, what my question is, after reading this myself for the first time in years, is this: Considering all the above 10 promises are possible, what quality and ability in the above list do we not already possess even at birth? I've experienced all of the "end phenomenas" above to some degree or another on even the weakest mushroom or acid trip and throughout my childhood and otherwise on several random occasions with no hallucinogens, doing nothing but being alive. There isn't any power, ability, or tool this rundown or any rundown could give that each and every one of us doesn't already have. Beware of the over-priced guru and specifically the one who claims to own the "truth" or any supposed "absolutes."

The above may seem to be obvious bullshit to some but what needs to be understood is that M and those like him feed on the weak, the lost, and those who are desperately searching for a "way" and these wolves such as M justify themselves in one ridiculous way or another. M will hold the stance that ethics can be abandoned if the person agrees to the conditions--meaning that if he can manipulate the person into agreeing to getting fucked over than he is free of all karmic repercussions. I partially disagree. I mean, does a hooker, who is or was at one time someone's daughter, who was once a beautiful baby lose all rights and compassion after "agreeing" to her lifestyle with a pimp who plays off her low self-opinion, who plays off her broken childhood, who plays off her lack of love from her dysfunctional early family life? Does karma disregard any energy return to the pimp because the hooker "agreed" to being used? They are both in the game and the game has consequences. I'm not necessarily putting a judgement on pimping, claiming it to be "wrong." I believe in the obvious that prostitution should still be legal, but I will argue the fact that no matter how you justify it, agreement or not, this game and any one like it still has a price, obviously for the servant whore but even more so for the temporary master.

M was more subtle and artistic in exposing and playing off of the weaknesses of his clients which to me makes him an even more dangerous type of pimp--one that is at first funny and likeable throwing, as scientology would call it, "affinity" at its prey to soften it up--call it mind-lube, if you will. He was patient as well and would sometimes plant mental seeds that he knew wouldn't sprout until months or sometimes even years later. He was very sneaky under his smiles. A ruthless asshole would be more honest but either way I see them both as truly weak and as unbalanced, power-needing cowards torn up inside by a deep-seeded belief and stench of self-hatred that can only express love in the form of control. The most clever at this game is the weakest, deep down, and M was very clever.

M also used a belief system of "pseudo-love" because he knew of its power yet his mind was full of empty caverns void of anything even close to the resemblance of love. If any belief system was truly taken to root assumption by M it would have been the Darwinian system which attempts to justify the natural right that the so-called "strong" have on preying on the "weak." But in a monsoon the weak reed bends and lasts while the strong thick tree becomes broken and torn, I say. Nature is cooperative not competitive. Most Americans would disagree.

Along with playing the role of the new age soul pimp, M was also doing the old school literal pimp n' ho thing running a successful escort service with various Hollywood runaways, lost souls, and a variety of other lonely and maladjusted scally wags and freaks. Hollywood was his perfect playground and my need for money and love of lust put me right into the game. After all, I needed more money in order to pay for the Total Freedom Rundown regardless of its price for what would it matter once you could create your own reality? You could simply just create the money you just spent! Good god.

Needless to say, I began driving M's escorts to calls and collected money from clients serving as a run around boy for him and as a bodyguard to his girls. My pay would be given to M towards my Total Freedom Rundown fund which M gave me for the low, low half off price of $2000 dollars. Not bad, yet a bit expensive for buying something you already have. I was also paid with sex, ie "interviewing" new girls for the job. I would end up screwing or playing around with one out of every two girls who were looking to get with the service and this was done with no pressure or manipulation on my part. Girls in Hollywood were so used to the casting couch that they just came to the interview expecting to put out, plus, the nature of the business made it par for the course, as well. They wanted to show me how "experienced" they were at their work, apparently. It was perverted and fun and right up my young, hormone driven alley.

In a fairly short time, I had acquired the money for M's rundown. I went through a short series of counseling sessions with M (termed "auditing" in Scientology) as well as listening to various tapes. According to M, he had accidentally given me one tape that he said was the "wrong" tape and one I didn't need to hear. I felt it was the only tape containing any enlightening type of phenomena on it. The tape spoke of densities that would lighten as you traveled "up" through different dimensions.

I only listened to it briefly and just once but after recently studying and diving into other sources of thought and tapping into the collective pool of knowledge that we all have access to, on my own and with a big but obvious cognition, I discovered what the tape was all about...or trying to be all about. This is the cognition and only truth that can even be considered close to an absolute: THOUGHT CREATES, meaning we create our own reality which we always have and always will, and we do this in the "forever now." This, I don't mean only symbolically, but literally. Nothing exists outside of your thoughts or a groups shared thoughts. Thought creates matter. Matter is focused and concentrated thought slowed down to a certain frequency of vibration to the point where the thought becomes manifested to the senses in whatever reality it was intended to manifest--the physical world of matter, energy, space, and time in our case. In other words, it's ALL in your head, motherfucker! Where else could it be? Prove this wrong and you prove it right. The tape I wasn't "supposed to" hear was designed, I believe, to break down the thickness or illusion of the stability of physical reality, to clear the trees, so to say, to see what was already and always there...ie, in order for the end cognition (thought creates reality) to show itself, stability not being based on any outside permanence but on an internal certainty.

M was either playing a game, making the tape more important than it was or simply was afraid to give me the good stuff. I think, he believed in his shit and wanted my money yet wanted to hoard and possess what he considered his secret knowledge. It was like a con-artist finding the Holy Grail. He didn't know how to deal with it and being of a shallow, loveless and selfish nature, he felt the need to possess and control it like everything else in his life. He was much like the Golem character in J.R. Tolkien's epic, "The Lord of the Rings," possessing the ring and calling it "my precious." The thing he didn't get was that I didn't fuckin' need him or anyone to find my own ring, my own power...my own confidence. This was the cognition I really needed at the time. M was afraid to give me something I had already had, thinking I would use it like he would use it--as power over and against him.

After a philosophical conversation one night in a hotel bar in Glendale, I sensed fear in M's eyes which marked the beginnings of a competitive relationship and the end of a friendly one. The conversation went something like this,

"The rundown will put you at Source, at cause. And from that theta (spirit) "positioning," we'll call it for the sake of conversation, you will be able to have happen whatever you postulate to happen. You will be at Source like the Sun."

"Ok, so why can't I make wishes and make them happen now?"

"Because you're not at Source. You're at effect of another source. It wouldn't manifest," M replied.

"Alright, so you say the rundown will put me at Source similar to the Sun. Then what would that make the planets?"

"What would that make the planets? The effect. Most people are at effect. I only met a couple people in my life that weren't."

"So what would you consider your women and especially your main woman, Kelly?"

"They're like the planets and man is the Sun. They're at effect. I've never seen a woman at Source. Their submissiveness doesn't allow it. Their pleasure is in serving men. I mean, look at 'em--their bodies were perfectly built for getting fucked!" M then laughed uncontrollably.

"There's a guy in Switzerland that I gave the rundown to and he gave it to his wife because he wanted her to be at Source. He called me complaining that she became so free that she ended up fucking everybody--his friends, the neighbors. Being at Source also makes you real horny because you have no blocks or inhibitions or beliefs telling you that it's wrong."

"Yea, but didn't she break a monogamous agreement with her husband? Isn't reality and karma based on agreement?"

"Only when you make decisions positioned in a belief system of duality. At Source, even ethics can be transcended like in Aleister Crowley's 1st line in, "The Book of the Law" that states, 'Do as though wilt is the whole of the law'. It's the same info stated in the "Factors" in "Scientology 8-8008" which states basically that there is no truth other than certainty. "8-8008" is a reworded version of Crowley's book and basically they are both saying you can do whatever the fuck you want as long as you are positioned at cause."

"But what if 2 people in the same space are at cause, meaning that what if 2 suns were in the same solar system? Which sun would the planets choose to revolve around? In other words, with 2 sources (2 pimps), who would the women, being the planets, take to? And how can there be 2 sources anyway, if only one source determines the reality? Would it be a war or a union."

M became frustrated with all the questions and his reflective quietness and sudden change of mannerisms told me that something I had said concerned him. Our relationship was never the same after that conversation. I believe he saw what I was saying as an intention of mine to take his women, to take and have what he had if I was "put at Source." That was not my intention. My intention was to question his theories before buying into them though I ended up buying into them for awhile anyway. Looking back, I agree that M was at Source...at the source of his own bullshit.

After denying me a copy of the final tape, telling me he had lost it, M had hurried along his final questioning and knowing a bit about Buddhism I knew how I was supposed to respond for the final answer at graduating from the Total Freedom Rundown, yet I didn't feel or realize what it had really mean't until years later. The final question was simply,

"WHO ARE YOU?"

"I am Adam. What do you mean?"

"That is your name but who are you?" M replied.

"Adam."

"That is your name which is something that you have but you cannot be what you have because someone would need to be there to have it so who are you?"

"What do you mean?"

"You have a car. You are not your car. Right? You have a name but you are not your name. You have a personality but you are not your personality. So, who are you?" M stated this showing relaxed and confident patience.

"I'm me."

"That's close but you still haven't answered my question."

"I'm me, I mean...?"

"That is an idea and an idea is something you can have and not be so who are you?"

"I am a soul!"

"That is a thought which is something that you can have. Who are you?"

Damn, I thought. I'm not even my soul. I searched my brain for an answer and remembering how Jesus was said to have responded to this question I simply replied, "I am."

"Close but that's still a thought and a thought is something you can have and not be so one more time, who are you?"

Again, I searched my head and found this time the Buddha response! This was the only response that would work and the response was no response. Total silence.

(pause, pause, pause)

"That's it! You got it!" M had exclaimed.

I felt ripped off. I was expecting some strange, exciting, wigged out, acid trip type phenomena but there was nothing. Days after the session's final questioning, like other previous Scientology-related rundowns, I felt some delayed effects, to say the least. A feeling of emptiness, a hollowed out effect, had boared out my personality. I felt small. I felt a nothingness. At most, I was a single grain of sand in a vast infinite dark ocean, my identity's cohesion being buttered across a foreboding, languid abyss, void of any love or hate for that matter. It wasn't a comfortable numbness or bliss but an empty chasm of total loss and apathy. It possessed no excitement and I had the feeling of being given the ending to a tragic movie, one with no hope...one that I was trapped in. If this was the ultimate truth, then I would rather commit my whole existence to living it in a wonderful lie. I justified it as part of something from the rundown that I had to go through to get to a more stable and pleasurable end result but the truth of the matter, was that I had become a lonely planet knocked out of its orbit and sent floating into the barrens of deep space, dramatic only in its extreme lack of drama--an unsympathetic and hawkishly cold, amnesiatic neverneverland with no source of stability, no comfort of a mother or a father, no sun to keep me warm.......but then there was the wolf. Then there was M, and I had become a slave planet to a raptorious, rogue star.

(Los Angeles, Fall, 1990 to 1991) . . . . . . aa

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