Jackals and Hyenas
the bottom feeders of mammal-arism
Maybe this post will liven some moods, maybe piss off some dudes. I don’t know, I zoo not care, unless you’re an ape plucking these critters from my hair, do not stare.
It’s Tuesday and I decided to bring an RPG to the broadcast. Totally Schizo.
So now that you’ve made it this far, what is the purpose of this post? There really is not one beyond being slightly narcissistic. Maybe a slight story will benefit the reader.
Now, I am a natural optimist . . but that’s because where I come, you cannot get any lower. Sure, we can say it’s not ‘that low’ - ‘it’s no Gaza’ - or whatever you want to say, it doesn’t matter. “Low” is not a reference to anything beyond vibration, which for me, I was operating at the Alpha Point of Contraction. Shame, Guilt, Apathy. As a child I struggled. I still continue to. That’s the nature of the cycle of life I’ve selected, through my responses to the decisions of others, which brings me to my next, brief asshole point.
The part that pisses me off the most, about my self, is how much Anger and Pride I carry . . a real sickness when I have those parts of me flair up, which can happen for any multitude of reasons, but the triggers are obvious to me so it’s more a matter of correction than allowing the flares any part of me to the ground. Anyway’s, back to an intro story of my time on this plane-T-t-t.
We are all unique and this is my uniqueness. Like most grandchildren of founder immigrants, our familial household was blasphemy to the middle class American standard or the powers desiring to break apart households through external pressures . . Whether we had 5 people living in the 3bd/1bth or 8 people, we always made it a home. It was never a place that felt like what it was then . . . simply 954 sq ft. + a backyard with an abundant avocado tree.
I wasn’t there too long, in my earlier daze. With the garage reno done + the back patio and driveway concrete work, the home become more fun, as a kid. We’re grateful for affordable construction laborers that were picked up each day in front of home depot. They built the patio and driveway, which are still present today, and if I recall correctly, they had no involvement with the garage to studio conversion, that was all Gramps and friends/family getting that all prepared for my mother and I, essentially.
After my mom got a boyfriend, as my father had left before any conscious awareness of my own, we stayed in the studio garage before we started prepared to move out, as my mother was pregnant with my sister. We settled into an apartment in West Covina, 100% lower income was the inherent vibe, not that I knew more then to try and have the most fun I could. Reminiscing, it’s clear that my friends parents were struggling and the gang/race war in that neighborhood was at all time highs then, the violence never ceded there as some decade after we left I got word of my friends older brother being shot at in-front of their apartment at nearly point blank range, luckily this fella wasn’t a real shooter, as bullet holes pierced the sides of the apartment they were still at.
Certainly some obscure moments in my childhood there, in part, feels like a dream thinking about actual events that occurred in our time there and my fairly unrestricted freedoms. In one instance, myself (of Hispanic descent) and my two friends (both of African descent) rode our bikes through an alley where two gangs were about to clash, it appeared, as they were present in a face off where they were appearing to about to brawl, one side Hispanic and the other African. I’m not sure how we rode by that situation casually, and through so many random alleyways and crannies, just pure joy cruising around and having fun, without any trouble.
Once the dangers of the environment were peaking, fists turning into stabbings and negligent discharges, we were presented with an opportunity to move into a home to take care of my sister’s great grandmother, who suffered from diabetes and blindness, and the recent passing of her husband, whom fought in WWII and passed away with a .50 Cal bullet in his spine that ended the life of a close friend of his in the war.
With my mom having the same type of diabetes as her, it was clear that she had an ability to care for her, though she was an 80+ yr old Italian woman with a bitter attitude, strong language, we were able to make it work for roughly a year, and it was a mutually beneficial situation then, as my sisters father’s side family supported the lease for the home in exchange. To this day, still the nicest home I have lived in.
I’m no stranger to making friends, the same way I am no stranger to the developed Guilt, Fear, Shame, and Apathy from the events that proceeded the times mentioned in this post.
Having been enrolled into the local elementary/middle school, my first year of bus riding during schooling began, although it would not resume for sometime after this experience. Here, the fun resumes itself with each morning starting with a walk to the bus stop at the end of the street, which sat on a large, empty lot. There was likely 5-10-15 of us there to board, it’s hard to remember exactly, as I found myself mesmerized by these kids that appeared to be above the rules, constantly horsing around.
As this new home was in the desert, the shift in climate and scenery provided a new set of rules. These kids would be smoking cigs, riding dirt bikes, skateboarding, and living a cool existence then, at least in my eyes. I never smoked a cig with them and declined offers from them throughout our friendship. Their older siblings/their friends would also offer them and would provide the favors to my friends.
I was the youngest of the group, which would be the common trend in life from here on out. This shapes a lot of my personality, retrospectively speaking. This also triggers me in other ways, which will be my next deliverance, post desert/childhood. 🏜️🤬😤
I’m not sure how our friendship came to be or when, whether it was in the early mornings or the sun-filled afternoons, we became a clique, or maybe I joined a pre-existing click, unsure as I was ~7 or 8 yrs old and the blurs, blur.
Luckily, because my sisters dad has always been a supporter of me, likely the only one to go to such lengths to support me, that is not blood to me, but is also the closest thing I’ve had to a genuine father, provided me with dope shit and experiences as a kid, things that were not reflective of how I had lived before. I had a Redline Racing bike, which I had gotten before moving there, a Super Nintendo & PS2 with Star Wars Battlefront, after moving there, he got me a 50CC Honda Dirt Bike, Red Ryder BB Gun, a basketball hoop, skateboard. Various items that contributed to making it a great time, on top of living close to all of his family members, many of whom lived on the same street.
I was LIVING!!!
As a kid, life was dope. These experiences helped raise my vibration, from whatever doom and gloom I inherited from my mother, whom, to no fault of her own, contracted Type 1 diabetes at the age of 12. As a result, my childhood was filled with memories and occurrences where I had to assist in giving her orange juice / regulating her blood sugar, which I’ve mentioned in a much earlier blog. Some of this info may be regurgitated from earlier posts, I’m unsure, but I’m confident I’ve yet to mention any of my childhood or primal years, which this post won’t cover in entirity.
Continuing, we rode and jumped bikes, we leapt off cliffs into soft sands (~3-5-10 ft. lil sand ledges, contributing to a few ankle sprains), we battled with lightsabers on the below fence at our then home, we swam in the private, loitered the man-made beaches, on the man made lake I was privileged to tandem jet-ski, boat, and tube on.
I was so much cooler back then than I was in my teens/am now, except the ‘Am’ me gets to share these stories, spend time writing, and relive them in the process, so how could I be upset.
One thing I can admit to, is that I was afraid of riding this 50CC Honda Dirt Bike, I’m not sure why, maybe it was me just being a kid or the noise, either way, closest thing to what I had then is what’s pictured below.
Ironically, my intro to learning to ride a bike was fairly easy, I went from being push started off my training wheels, on a satire ‘dirt bike’ to hitting jumps that I was consistently eating shit off. You would think between my first bike that I went from training wheels to jumps on, and then a Redline (which I’d already been to a track to at the point, also jumping) that I’d be ready for a dirt bike my whole life, right?
I avoided riding this thing solo for probably 3-6 months after purchase, unless it was tandem in-front of my step-dad, which was great, 10/10 recommend as a lil baby.
What I didn’t know with the tandem activities, was the active grooming for deception.
One day, we go out to the dry lake bed with my step-dad and Johnny, a certified legend, as he is still to this day (and so are his kids) but anyway, I’m thinking it’s a casual day with the dirt bike racer / stunt man and the rest of the boyz, nope . .
So I hop onto the bike anticipating to be chauffeured by the legend Johnny himself, as I had many times with my step-father, except my step-father is only 1/3rd as wild as Johnny, at that time . . Johnny gets to driving us, my hands placed on the middle of the bar, as usual, except Johnny decides to move my hands onto the left hand grip and the throttle grip, below his hands after about 10 seconds. I hadn’t thought much of it, until not more than 30 seconds later, I am on my dirt bike alone and there is a ball of dust and man rolling across the lake bed behind me, waving his arm in a forward motion and yelling “keep your eyes forward! don’t look back!”
And that is how I began riding a dirt bike by myself, thanks to Johnny, who was willing to bail into the dirt at 5-10 mph so I had enough momentum to conquer the dirt bike and gain confidence in riding alone.
Truthfully, I never took it out of first gear, I road it out in Phoenix with some family friends and a few times at some mini tracks when we would go and see Johnny do his thing on occasion. The bike fell on me and burned me a few times through riding and I lost interest. There were a lot of good times in the desert and a lot of great father-son type of activities we would take on throughout our earlier days together, like going to the truck show to check out rigs, going to flea markets to buy air soft guns, buying new toys for the house, video games and boxing gloves. We were always throwing down as kids, though never fighting bare fisted. I once got punched by a kid in our clique, over a toy rocket that had landed near us and my interest in keeping it as I had found it. He was sequentially jumped that day by the other friends in the group.
These times with Kevin can be reflected on as some of the best of my life thus far, truly peaking on the highs of childhood and the pleasures only a child in southern California can enjoy. Trips/passes to Disneyland, California Aventures, Lego Land, Seaworld, the Zoo Safari. Going to the beaches of Huntington, Venice, Santa Monica, wherever the best surfing was for Kevin, in his early days with my mom, we enjoyed late afternoons freezing on the beach, watching the surfers try their best to catch a break, and concluding with a bonfire to enjoy some s’mores. Something about that time feels like a lucid dream, a bliss state. For him, he was a man simply driving a dump truck for 8+ hrs a day throughout region, surfing in the evenings, like poetry to sweat all day in a truck moving dirt and gravel, to then shower at the beach, slide into a wetsuit, and hunt waves in the salty ocean water.
After we left the desert, there was approx. a year to two of high to riding, when we found another neighborhood ironically full of kids my age, where I started to pick up the guns and blow down the opps. with whatever .30 I got (I never gang banged for the record 😆)
These days, we were running around that SoCal neighborhood with clear plastic (and replica) air soft firearms, between houses and alleyways, having full-on wars/team deathmatch/free-for-alls (that typically ended with tears from head or face shots).
We would caravan to flea markets for new weapons and come home ready to litter the neighborhood with brightly colored bb’s. I once got an AK-47 that resembled exactly, with wood, weight, and all, it was fully automatic and I broke some function in it after dropping it the same day. A higher power must’ve been present looking out for the kids in the neighborhood that night. I figured out I could still use it automatic if I shot it upside down. I was closer to being a Guerilla Warrior than I was a kid then, the only tie-downs beyond BBs was my love for video games, particularly Guitar Hero and GTA San Andreas (which I had the cheat books for), and of course the infamous Wii. Without those, my life in general, for the coming years would have been miserable.
But that’s more for pt 2 content. For now, pivoting to public displays of adultery and my own strong language.
Why are people the way they are? More importantly, for this piece, why does it piss me off?
With adultery, you’re basically a whore. Let’s keep it real. I look at these social structures on social media in disdain, the behavior choices paired with the infinite human centipede of flattery and camaraderie that can leave a taste of disgust in the avg. users experience. Observing the fraternities and sororities, the continuation of cliques. It takes not more than a millisecond to realize why this may be.
This is where we take a step up in basis, where we distinguish the foes from the hoes and the foes/hoes from the Real fucking Pros.
Big Bros . . No . . you’re either hoe or foe
That’s not it. There’s a huge issue that you’re gonna face in business, and that’s that people want to fuck you up. I don’t need to add to that. Your actions create effects.
There are outliers that spend 100% of their time focusing on gobbling up your market share, in any given market, and creating problems for you, either because you’re visibly wearing out or because you just suck, and treated them like a bottom feeder. No one hates short term vision more than the visionary. Maybe that’s why there’s a mistreatment or hostility towards certain characters, an awareness operators have of potential that is untapped and a hesitance to provide access to their business in fear of birthing a competitor, where as, the approach for said character could be the ideology that they want to expand another persons business from within for the next 5-10-15 years. It’s the mistreatment of others that can turn you into a foe, since you were always a hoe. In doing so, you create runs for real fucking pros to become.
