THE RAMBLEMONIC ESSAY:

(happy little note: This is a rough draft, I need soem help with, I think it seems a bit to ramblemonic "rambly" and if anyoen has any suggestions for that IM ALL EARS)

Now, since I am so egotistical, and you are at my literary mercy, our story shall begin with me, shall involve me, and shall inevitable end with me. That being said let us begin.

It was a day unlike any other, a phrase which ironically describes any other day, as each day is different from the next. The sun was shinning behind a haze of gray clouds, the air was crisp with the scent of something foul, and I was waiting in a heavy sweat laded jacket, for Phil to round a corner and follow a young, panicked me, home. We had been running for a good 5 minutes or so, hastily trying to find a coffee shop, or some sort of safe haven from the outside world, which had recently become a very, very unpleasant place. We had been running from what I can only describe as a coalition of angry homeless men.

It all began when I and buddies-old-pals had gone into the city of San Francisco. I had always been intoxicated with the prospect of entering the metropolis, and drinking in its entourage of hobos and hippies, seeing the gimmicky shops coated in cheap plastic apparel, the graffiti marked walls that stretch on for miles and miles, the troves of oddly dressed trend setters and scantily clad women. That….and the alternative had been to watch my little brother. This being the case, we had decided to take a trip down town. “I’ll be busy from 1:00 to 4 guys ok?” stated Jonnies mom as we sat neatly in the car seats “remember not to leave Height Street, all right Jon?” We all nodded, bobbling our heads in unison.

From the moment we were dropped off, our mini vacation began, we ran rampant on the strips, talking pictures and pointing at oddities that passed us by. Like some sort of cliché group of bloated America tourists, ravaging around the world as we saw fit. “Were young and stupid” I shouted to them, eagerly scanning a trail of spray painted letters on a wall. “we might as well enjoy it”. Failing to notice any of the odd looks from the locals.

The hours passed by with the minutes, and with them the seconds, each filled with a different image of what Phil would say “we’d been missin”. Passing by a group of people under some sort of influence, asking for autographs, watching a man with an absolutely massive Mohawk soar past us, singing some song about a toy dog and a duck.

We traveled the streets some more, trying to soak in the life and subculture of the city. Everywere we went their was a new group of crazies and strangers, and as a group we loved every moment of it. Still, something was wrong, these strangers we passes did not look at us the same way they did back home. Their was a sort of bewilderment within then that brought forth a sort of guilty feeling in us. I could’nt explain it at the time, and tried to walk by faster.

Eventaully the day wore on, and we found ourselves running out of time to roam this odd place, soon we would have to meet up with the mother, long done with her shopping excursion, and begin our decent back to the quieter lives we had in our homes. It was something the we all unanimously agreed was truly depressing, as we began back tracking, trying to spy out of the corners of our eyes, some little pit stop or side ally we had’nt defiled yet.

“See anything good?” I asked my friends, scratching my head pondering the question. No answers, only different “mmmmmmm” s and a an assortment of “hhhhhhhhhhhhm”s. Without a decision, we began to trot our way toward are pick up point. Their was a dryness in my mouth I could’nt explain, the world which had seemed so vivid and new a few moments earlier, had changed into something dwindled and faded, everything that was new and exciting was gone, replaced by oddities I no longer felt an attatchment to.

And out of the corner of my eye, I saw it. A small, almost tunnel like path of trees, and behind them, noises and sounds. I nudged my counterparts, showing them my find.

and then, what to my wondering eyes should appear, but a park full of hippies, hobos, and people most flamingly queer. It was as though we had tumbled into some sort of demented wonderland. Outstretched before us was a thick patch of green. I smelt a sort of broth in the air, and noticed a line of men and women being served food. The smell was revulting to say the least, and we quickly set our sites on a different location.

We saw them, a group of six or seven men in a circle, laughing hardily, Dressed in tattered clothing and a haze of smoke surrounded them. I Wanted to approach them, wanted to see what was so very amusing and laughable. But common sense and Phils 40- sit-ups-a-day arms, kept me at bay.

“What in gods name do you think your doin buddy?” he whispered quickly in my ear as Jonny pretended to stare off into the void of tie die shirts and folks on the grass. “Nuttin, nuttin at all man, lay off” I grumbled shaking him away. “Damn right” he chugged out, pointing at the group before us “They are NOT the kinda people we want to associate with,c omprende?” “phil…Phil I got it rea-“ “no….No you don’t man, you grew up in a happy lil home” “Yes Phil I know, but” “no BUTS! We’ve had are fun, were not gonna screw it up now dig? “I dig I …..I …I dig but.. Phil!!” “WHAT!!”

I pointed one slender finger toward the men, slowly approaching from their circle, assembled like some sort of demonic alliance. I turned and saw Phils eyes widen, as his grip on my shirt released. We stared thunderstruck, at the approaching group, all smiling and laughing in a somewhat menical tone. Hold for one, who led the group, approaching us with an empty, ghostlike face that froze us with a spell of sheer terror. He approached me, locked his eyes with mine, looked into my very soul and spoke. “what the hella you boys doing up here?”

Now, being a long time fan of cable t.v. and of dated sitcoms. I felt that, under normal circumstances, I could have found something that sounded legidimet to say to the man, that would leave him to wander away to inhale what ever form of illegal narcotic he so chose to use. However I forgot one specific detail.

I’m not perticularlly bright.

This being the case, I sputtered out the first conceivable phrase that my small cranium could concoct, a spurratic, stuttering sort of phrase that went something along the lines of “…oh…..well, w-we.we…….We are here….on an educational trip!...T-ta-taaa…to….Discover t-the…the REAL…San Francisco..for….for” I grabbed a notepad from out of my pocket and flashed it in front of him, wondering how the damned little thing had gotten in their “For art……We are here to observe the world around us….for ART!”

In that moment the, everything went silent, The hippies stopped dancing, the sun stopped shining, and my friends bad breath stopped reving down my neck. Me and phil just stared, smiling the widest, whitest grins we could muster. It was in this moment that I really got to look at the man. He as tall, and grungy looking, his clothes were tattered and coated in filth. This was a man who had seen trouble, and had inherited some of its worst qualities. I finally understood why so many people had stared at us so strangly throughout the day. I understood that sense of guilt that had stealthly worked its way into my post pubescent body. I was not traveling around a wonderland of happy go lucky livlie hood. This was’nt some classic folktale about a boy traveling off to slay some god forsaken dragon. This was life, this was how people lived and breathed, not a display, not a zoo for other peoples amusment.

The man, widened his eyes, slowly lowered his jaw, and then uttered a phrase so vile, so disconserning, so nerve wrackingly prophane, that this particular narrator would choose not to have it associated with any part of his work. He then followed this up with another louder phrase “Boys you betta be jokin!!” Me and Phil starred at each other and rambled out “no no really” “yeah really” “its f-for art” “YEAH …..THE ART!” the man looked down at us, his face still as vacant looking as it had when he had first appeared. He raised his voice and howled “DAMN IT BOYS!! YOU BETTA NOT USE ME IN NO DAMN ART PROJECT!” We again, returned to our state of blankness, minds so concentrated on staying convining that we didn’t even bother to notice how far away Jonny had happened to slide away. “hey, hey we know i-it’s a lame asighnment, real bull sh-“ “IF I EVER!! EVER HEAR BOUT ANY THANG THAT GETS PUBLISHED BY YOU SNOTS BOUT ME!!” “hey, hey. Sir seriously we were’nt gonna do-“ “I WILL FIND WERE YOU LIVE! I WILL BURN DOWN YOUR SCHOOL!” “sir, sir that wont be necessary, see wre j-just” “ I WILL FIND HOUSE!! AND I WILL DECAPITATE YOUR FAMILY!”

The man siesed his shrieking, and the next thing I hear was the cackling of his group, who had reformed their circle. Laughing hardily, and I could hear then sounding off strange little phrases “hey…..hey …hey. We should like, get those hoodies and like….cat ears man!” the group unanimously snorted, appearantly finding the anonimus mans sense of humor hilarious. What he ment by cat ears we never found out. For the instant the man had started talking to his assemble of ignorant brethren, Me, Phil, and, now two steps ahead of us Johnny had bolted out of the park, like bats, flapping their wings about from the pits of hell. We rounded corners, dived under the low hanging branches of the trees, and ran right back up the rabbit whole, we’d so carelessly crawled out from. We rounded every corner feeling as though we were trapped in a sort of horror movie, every time we saw a man that looked remotely of the homeless persuasion we shrieked and twirled off in the opposite direction. Reality had come crashing down on us like metaphoric moderate, and we sure as sunshine didn’t want to stick around for another.

That day, I learned something somewhat important. It was in that strip of land, that we had been the outsiders. This was not a magic wonderland for gusto explore at are will. It was a new world yes, but it wasn’t ours, it was how others lived, breathed and survived, and though we came in with high hopes, what else could we expect when reflecting upon our actions.