F a t h e r L u k e ’s dot Blawg

I miss him.

 It’s been two years since he died and I still look for him and wait for his laugh. I still look over my shoulder for the glimmer in his eye understanding what I am going through, because he’d done it all before. He would not be able to help me, rather He’d only offer his experience with a kind and wise old smile.

When I met him he was depressed and at the end of the work day he would casually say to me, Well it’s time I go home and measure rope to hang myself. Okay, I’d say. See you tomorrow, Donny. The next day at the end of work he’d say, I’m going to go home and sharpen up a razor blade and cut my throat. Okay, I’d say. See you tomorrow, Donny.

Friends are good medicine and Donny and I were great for one another.

I was coming around the corner one evening, on my way to Old Man Johnson’s Rodeo Palace and I saw Donny in the Pizza parlor. He was wiping beer suds from his moustache.

“Care to join me, Padre?” Don said. “I’ll be calling out for a few hookers and dropping some acid.”

“Sure. Why not,” I said. He knew I’m sober and he loved kidding me.

We walked together to Old man Johnson’s, talking the whole way there. That’s when I think our friendship really began.

From that night on we sat next to one another in the phone room. We sat next to one another for two years. Can you make me ordained, Padre? Don wanted to know. Sure I said. I printed up a certificate and ordained him on the street right outside Johnson’s Rodeo Palace. “Don’t step in the flower bed,” Old man Johnson was worried. We waved to him that that was okay.

Donny and I had several adventures.  I am getting chills rememebring the good times just now.

Now Donny is dead. He died two years ago July 9th. I will never be able to tell him how much I miss him.

Not ever.

Fresno has been hotter than a fat man’s ass
in rubber underpants at a summer bar-b-que.
Twenty two people have died in three days.
I’d asked Andre what I was doing in Fresno during
the summer, like this:

“What the Hell am I doing in Fresno in Summer?”

Andre was cool. He went like this:
“What are you doing in Fresno during the summer?”

Waiting to go to trucking school is the obvious dumb
answer. Santa Cruz doesn’t have any Truck Driving Schools.
Which brings me to my point…

It has come to my attention that certain people are waging
a letter writing campaign (hand written and e-mails), on my
behalf to Governor Schwarzenegger.

(koff)
People, puhlease.

Can you imagine my embarrassment when Governor Schwarzenegger
finds me at the shelter one day, during lunch, maybe discussing the
world at my leisure with Andre.

“Fazzah Look? My name is Govahnah Schwarzenegger.
I need to tawk wiss you. NOW.”

Gulp.

It would upset my whole day, not to mention the Governor
would have to chase flies off his suit.

“Do you promise to go to school, become a truck driver
and make something of your miserable life, finally, and stop
harassing my over-worked staff during an election year?”

Really.

While I do appreciate the love, concern and intent,
I will be fine. Most fine, without the letter writing campaign.
I will admit, however, it would be fun to shake hands with
Governor Schwarzenegger.

- -
Okay,
Father Luke
 

Instead of people reading my

“Poems”

and wondering if what I’ve written about is about them, I am giving everyone a whole, brand new adventure. I am now writing a blog (pronounced - “blawg”).

Now when I write about you, you will know that I am writing about you. I will mention you by name, and I will quite possibly link to information about you.

I”ll not care a whole lot about what you think about what I write about, even if it is about you. You try and do the same now, eh?

- -
Okay,