Civil Association

Flat white boxed into an uneven wooden geometrical anomaly accentuates unearthen red framed frosty glass windows, one of which is double sided black centering a wall. This place of fortitude is where I learn about a Brit named Bradley Bradford; when people ask of him I tell them he is my father which is quite believable. The better of my self stays with an Irish woman named Cindy Druid at a location I am exhaustively unsure; navigation is an unnecessary instinct for the aptitude of consensual senses.

Vega is a visitation of rolled green leaf bellowing smog; he speaks plainly with me about a neighboring child. I acquire a clean human skull from a mortician my father knows; he is an instructor for forensic surgical procedures, his specialty is removing bones. A monstrous vehicle parks in the driveway for several memories; I splatter painted enamel over a sanded triple primer to attempt artistry, teal, silver, crimson, indigo.

We meet with Romeo and his mother at a bowling alley dressed in retro black to yellow center striped button up jerseys matching slacks to discuss privacy. Our agreement is a further review of legal or illegal provisions, whichever for a serious delay, we prefer not to be tagged or numbered however this is the overall condition of a dying nation.

Braid literally walks into my backwards back outside a culturally repressed restaurant; she came to see the elephant with three arms.

"A neighbor told me there was a railroad worker who had an affair with a B.P.L.O."

"What is that again?"

"Nothing, anyways she said he was a large charcoal mahogany pillar the size of a cubicle."

"What is a cubicle?"

"A walled invention to trap a person for unconventional communicative practices involving institutions or workplaces."

"Dearest me."

"We will be joining them shortly."

"What was the woman like?"

"Something about ghosts in the machine."

"Really....."

"The child resides with a band of pink rockettes."

"Punk rockers?"

"Oh."

Boo Boo is a skateboarder who sleeps at her friend's house whenever they desire to shred through a washed out cement drainage passageway behind the masonry a few blocks adjacent to the main thorough street.

"Give this to him for me will you?"

"What is that?"

"A blunt."

"......"

"It's got a lot of weed inside of it."

Screens wrap around my dad's eyes for a zone of apprehension while I venture outside to see a man flying a kite; his amusement attracts smaller humans we call children. They settle next to a tree as I speak with him about the rolled complexity of induced mentality. He gazes at the atmospheric man made device, looks at the grassy fringe inside my palm, spins a twine, waves goodbye, we walk inside.

"Tastes a lot better than that other shit."

"Did you give them the skull?"

"They ran away like pussies."

"Was the child there?"

"Mary Jane?"

"Yes....."

"She liked that damned head, touched it and everything."

"Does she stay there often?"

"Got no choice I reckon."

"Who cares for her?"

"We all do."

"Yes but who takes care of her....."

"I didn't think about that. They get her all the stuff she needs. Got the kid dressed up to look like one of those prepped pralines for people pie."

"What of her guardians?"

"I heard they was kidnapped."

"By whom?"

"Some real assholes."

"I see."

"You must got a bunch of kids."

"Our eldest is a woman now."

"That happens....."

"I don't know how."

"You want that kid to be raised by you and your guy?"

"Yeah....."

"I think that's a damn good idea myself. Better get a paper for it."

"I suppose they wouldn't allow such here."

"Bunch of assholes."

"It's the same everywhere except for a few clauses."

I invite mohawks, bald heads, frayed cargo pants, militant patches, thrift store hunters, and pagan parishioners for tea; my father is a watchful set of eyes peering from a hallway. They are concerned the child will be taken away by people with flat feet, snouts, and fuzz.

"Are you British?"

"There are no legal citizens of Great Britain."

"Really?"

"We come and go as we please."

"What about the law?"

"It's a little different."

"You going to adopt her?"

"That is what we desire."

"So that guy over there is going to be her Grandpa?"

"Yes."

"Shit......that's funny."

Grandpa phones the division of family welfare for an outlined procedure; we must simply send a picture, all other information is kept inside a vaulted portion of discarded majesty.

"What would you like to call this one?"

"This one is going to be our daughter."

"What is her name?"

"Marijuana!"

"Mary Jane!"

"Excuse me for a moment."

Three way conversations baffle me; Rolf picks up my confusion for clarity. We prefer the child to be without scrutiny for the deliberation of man and machine. Cannabis Sativa is mentioned by Boo Boo; she writes the words on a piece of notebook paper. The operator is laughing hysterically dropping paper clips, pencils, and sticky pads as she falls to the ground.

"What about Avitas?"

"It's wonderful Rolf."

"I'm going to be a grandpa?"

"I'm going to be a grandma."

"What am I going to be?"

"Boo boo you can be her.....what is a womanish uncle?"

"Aunt?"

"Yeah that's it."

"Kick ass!"

Lucidity engages Rolf's eyes for much of my guilt; I failed to recognize her as a title. She is purposely disassembling our reasoning while acknowledging Cindy with a small package of disposable napkins.

"I'm a fucking grandma!"

"What am I going to be?"

"I don't know."

"I need a title Amethyst."

"Why?"

"It's only proper."

"What is another thing they call people.....Brad.....Dad?"

"What about Mum?"

"Yes I think that is appropriate."

"I will get you for this child."

At a moment we wish to be ever rid of Chester and Thaddeus, Ruby and I talk candidly about a plan which thus far has been obliviously implemented. We are quite aware whatever we suffer our sons and daughters will as well yet there is no other choice for propagating enlightenment; if we desire immortality for each of us this is the demise of social deviation.