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3/11/04 Revolt Into Style
Hey Holy shit, only 11 days between issues, I must be bored or something. What's Bill been up to? Not a hell of a lot. What I have been up to, we'll get to. Been spending a lot of time in Huntington with that Alzheimer's client I have, he actually has some interesting stories to tell, if he only wouldn't tell then 17,000 times in a row. He was crewing on a troop ship that docked at Hiroshima in late '45, he said "you couldn't see nothing but flat," I have no doubt. Said you could look at the ruins and see things moving around in the rubble, at first they thought they were rats, eventually they could tell they were people, scrounging there through the ruins. I guess his Captain was a pretty nice guy, he off loaded a bunch of food to give to the locals, Alder said they just swarmed it, they were literally coming up out of holes in the ground to get this food. Starvation was a big problem for the Japanese after the war, there's
this well known recent anime, "Grave Of The Fireflies" all about
it, I've never seen it but it's supposed to be a real tear jerker, about
these two Japanese orphans trying to survive in bombed out Tokyo after the
war, who don't. I hear about stuff like that and I start feeling truly
sorry, but then I think of Pearl Harbor or the Which is typical Bill overreaction, but that kind of shit pisses me off. And don't say the civilians weren't responsible, EVERYBODY'S responsible, if you live there, you're part of it, just like we all get our feelings hurt as Americans cos so much of the world fucking hates our guts, we think, I never did anything to them, no, not personally, but we continue to elect the dog ass pieces of shit who send people all over this planet to do evil in our name, so it is on us. It is. And I'm not talking Bush and Iraq, there's a whole lot more to it than that and I don’t really want to get into it, but if a bomb with your flag on it blew up my kid, you'd better goddamn believe I'd have a beef with you, whether you were flying the plane or not. But that's just me.
What's Bill been watching? Well, as noted last issue, I love my Famke, boy, do I, I'd like to just swallow her whole, but she really does need to get herself a new agent, cos she is truly in some shit stinker movies. She was wasted in "The Faculty" the other night, she wasn't in it much so I didn't watch it much, but from what I saw it was just a horrible movie, another one of those, "let's just string things together" type deals, fuck logic or reason or sense or TRYING TO MAKE A DECENT MOVIE. She was also in the remake of "House On Haunted Hill" which we struggled through at a Movie Club a while back, I passed this time around. Man, if I could just cast her in a movie, I'd respect her damn talents. She and I would have sex for about a half hour, then we'd talk some smart talk for a couple minutes, then we’d have sex for another half hour. Then we'd talk a little more smart talk, and then have sex . . . Watched "The Last Run" from '71 with George C. Scott last Friday early am, very good, witty writing, lots of quotable lines but my favorite was when George said "My wife left me to go Switzerland to have her breasts lifted. I thought she meant by surgery." "Mr. Majestyk" was on right after, classic old Charles Bronson shoot 'em up, more good writing, this was Elmore Leonard's first screenplay, which I did not know till Mr. Movie Information Man told me. Listening to? Various old Bill Nelson stuff, he was in Be-Bop Deluxe in the 70's, since then he's been too prolific for his own good, he's released tons of crap, but tons of really good stuff as well, time seems to be his fixation, as it is mine, so I identify a lot with what he does. And he can play a wicked guitar when he wants to. Which I can't (but I can make a guitar sound like a cat in a fucking microwave with the best of them). The posters on your wall Just like poor PKD and his obsession with what is reality, this whole time thing just kicks my ass. But I'm telling you, I can close my eyes and see my old room as a kid, or one of the apartments at Fairmont, or the house on Carriage Way, or any of a dozen other places, I can see them in my mind as clearly as the room I'm actually sitting in, I can see the face of my grandmother who died in '86 in as much focus and detail as I can Joe's face, which I saw just a few hours ago, I remember most of my life LIKE IT JUST FUCKING HAPPENED. And I always feel the same, I don't feel 47 anymore than I feel 6 or 18 or 32, I just feel like Bill, and I have to tell you, sometimes it really fucks with my head. I've read some books about the theoretical plasticity of time, and they REALLY fucked with my head, because I knew exactly what they were talking about. As the years slip through my hands This is issue number 98 of this thing, by the way. In Death Falcon news, still booked for the Tag Team tournament 3/20, it’s still looking like the biggest deal in WV wrestling this year. As for stats, the DF and Jack are the second biggest, going by combined weight, team in the tournament, the DF is the third biggest individual- there are two 6' 5", 280 pounders entered. I don’t sweat 'em. I looked at the time Pretty pounded myself, I'm going to append "Billy, If You've Killed Your Sister!" to this, read it and weep. Look at your watch Later Bill For gosh sakes. I'm worked, and I included "Billy etc" twice and can't figure out how to get it back to only once. I'm going to bed, Joe, you fix it, okay? Okay. "Billy, If You've Killed Your Sister!" Hey, let me start out here by saying I never tried to kill my sister- either one of them. I've been far, far more tempted to do in Tina, my youngest (9 years, 7 months my junior) sister, but it's Lori, my older (4 years, 6 months my junior) whom I've actually almost killed. Twice. It's not because of any resentment about her fucking up my only child status, actually I was kind of thrilled to have another child come along to sort of spread the spankings around a little- not that it ever worked out that way, in fact I ended up getting my ass whaled on more than once for things she did. Also, my parents, appearances and recent behavior to the contrary, were no dummies. My dad comes home from the hospital after seeing Lori for the first time, and hands me this stack of comics, and doing that Bill memory thing that I do, I can see them as clearly as if they were here on my computer desk, there was a Blackhawk on top, and then a Wonder Woman, whom I didn't care for- my dad apologized, but the newsstand in the hospital didn't have the widest selection- and an Our Army At War with the invincible Sgt Rock (and Easy Company, and easy they made it look, too, no Saving Private Ryan's here) and a Star Spangled War Stories, which was sort of the best of both worlds, cos it always had soldiers fighting dinosaurs which I thought was just the damn pip. Still do, actually. "These are from your sister," he said. Would that she had stayed that cool (and generous). Lori was always a good sport, the original crash test dummy. "Get in this wagon and I'll push you over the hill." "Ok." Rumble, crash, bang, "Waaah!" Fortunately these mostly happened before my wound pissing on days. Later, during the inevitable spanking, "But she said I could!" "You still should have known better!" "ME!?" Anyway, my point is that I had no reason to try and kill her, what happened were just accidents. Sort of. The first incident occurred sometime during the summer of '62, Lori was a toddler, and toddling she was, around in our front yard, while my parents sat on the front porch steps, smoking- they smoked like they were on fire in those days- my Dad drinking Ballantine beer and listening to the Senators on the radio. Nice, pleasant suburban scene. Briefly. You know, toy makers were crazy back then. Any guy from my generation will tell you, boy's toys in those days were all about shooting, guns, guns, guns, that was all they advertised and all we wanted. I had every damn weird ass super hyped gun out there, your Johnny Seven O. M. A. (One Man Army), all of it. I also had this bazooka that was as damn close to the real thing as you could get. A cardboard tube about 3 and a half feet long, a metal rod running down the middle inside it with this incredibly powerful spring attached, you ran the hard rubber shell- they had a hole running through their middle- down the spring till it caught, then you could shoot. Hard and far, you could shoot, little buddy. Hard and far. "If you shoot anyone with it I'm gonna spank you and take it away from you." "I won't shoot anyone with it." My Dad goes back in the house. My friend Ronnie was standing there. I immediately turned and shot him in the side with the bazooka "Did that hurt?" I asked. Apparently it did, cos Ronnie was crying to beat hell. "No, gosh, stop, don't cry, I'm sorry, really, NO, don't tell, (this was when 'I'm gonna tell your Mom' held weight) it was an accident, honest, here, you can shoot me with it, okay, then we'll be even, just DON'T GO TELL, jeez, here, just let me load it for you, okay, and then you can- oh, man, I'm sorry, it just went off, I didn't even pull the trigger, I SWEAR, gosh, it really leaves a mark . . ." After I talked Ronnie out of telling, or going home (and telling), we went around back and started shooting various inanimate objects with the bazooka, which I rapidly found unsatisfying. We start back around front and that's when I see Lori wobbling around in the front yard. I hold my hand up in approved Indian scout fashion to halt Ronnie in his tracks, then start creeping up against the side of the house, getting in firing position. Ronnie was quite rightly appalled. "Oh no, Billy, NO." "It won't hurt her, I'll shoot her in the diaper. It'll be funny." "No, Billy, I'm gonna- " "You're gonna be quiet or I'm gonna bazooka your head off." Let me say for the record, I wasn't trying to shoot her in the head. Seriously. I was aiming for her diaper, which I honestly didn't think would hurt her (many a Bitner has been shot in the ass by someone aiming for their head, and vice versa). But, in the evil way that so many things do, that goddamn bazooka shell aimed at her little diapered ass hit Lori dead bang square in the forehead, and ricocheted about 15 feet straight up in the air. Her little head snapped back and her feet flew up toward the sun and down she went. The shell plopped softly into the grass beside her. Ronnie starts making this noise somewhere between a whine and a moan, and I'm thinking, "this is not even a little bit good . . ." when my mom notices Lori lying there in the front yard. "Bit, what's wrong with the baby …" She gets up to check. "Bit, she's not breathing, the baby's not breathing," she snatches her up, "oh my God, she's- what's this?" She picks it up. "This" being that damned bazooka shell. My Dad was up off of that porch like he had a bazooka shell up HIS ass. Ronnie curled into a fetal ball on the ground and screamed, "Don't kill me, Mr. Bitner, it was Billy, OH PLEASE, DON'T KILL ME!" I don't blame Ronnie one bit, cos if ever a man looked like he had murder on his mind, it was my Dad, and I was quite genuinely terrified. I threw the bazooka up straight up, and ran like a scalded ass little motherfucker. I looked back over my shoulder to see my Dad snatch the bazooka out of the air and, without breaking stride, bend the damn thing in half. That metal rod was as thick as your thumb, I've never seen anything like it, I remember thinking, if I live through this I'm talking Daddy into joining the circus. I jump the fence, which normally would have slowed him down, he HURDLES the damn fence, oh dear God, I flash in the house mere feet ahead of him, run into my room, try to shut the door in his face, but he's right there, he's caught me. Give the man credit, he realized he was too mad to touch me and not hurt me. We both stand there panting and out of breath from our little scamper, he screams, "BILLY, IF YOU'VE KILLED YOUR SISTER!" and slams his fist not only all the way through the door, but into and through my bedroom wall behind it. The only thing that stopped the man from putting his fist through the entire house from one end to the other was the length of his arm. Of course, there's a happy ending, my Mom comes in the house carrying Lori, "Bit, DON'T KILL HIM, the baby's okay, she just caught her breath," well, she wasn't exactly okay, she had a purple knot on her forehead you could hang a picture from, but she was breathing. And do you know, I never did get spanked for doing that? My Dad never calmed down enough to do it. Seriously. Years later, shit, I was an adult, I mentioned it- "If I ever spanked you for that I'd kill you, even today. Every time I think about you shooting that baby in the head with that bazooka I GET SO GODDAMN MAD-" "Okay, Jesus, sorry I brought it up." There was one consequence, however. "NO MORE BAZOOKAS FOR YOU, YOUNG MAN!" my Dad bellowed as he was retrieving his arm from the wall/door. And he's kept his word, that was over 40 years ago and he hasn't bought me a bazooka since. However, bazookas aren't the only deadly weapons available to a kid. Fast forward ahead about three and a half years, to the winter of 65/66. We're living on Acorn Court now, in Camp Springs, and by God did it snow that winter. I'm scanning in a picture for Joe to include with this, that will show you just how much it snowed.
For some strange reason Lori was growing up as thuggish and tomboyish as you could imagine. The summer before, Steven Hayes, who lived directly across the street from us and was in Lori's class at school, this red buzz cut freckles and GOOFY Howdy Doody look alike, tried to kiss Lori on the cheek and she quite literally beat the snot out of him- green and thick it was- then made him eat dirt, THEN made him eat snot mixed with dirt. I come from mean stock, I'm telling you. . I kept telling my parents she needed to play with kids her own age and quit following me around, but would they listen? Anyway, we have the big snow and Lori and Bobby Davis and I are sledding down the big hill at the edge of the woods at the end of Brinkley Road, this is a BIG hill we're talking, and at the end of one run I decide to be nice, I tell Lori and Bobby to get on the sled, I'll pull them up to the top of the hill. Hard work. We get to the top of the hill, I'm catching my breath Trying to be smart alecks, they jump on the sled and start off down the hill without me. I was genuinely upset by their betrayal of my rare display of good nature. Some of the older teenagers in the neighborhood would often come out sledding at night, and they'd build bonfires up at the top of the hill. There was a circle of stones from one such bonfire right there at my feet. I picked up a big ass stone and lobbed it like a grenade down the hill after them. Yeah. I meant it as a strictly symbolic gesture, I never in a thousand years thought it would hit them, hell, I threw it without even looking. What was it we mentioned earlier about the evil nature of things? The minute I look, I can tell I've got them. It was actually something beautiful to watch, I'm being totally serious here, this big rock arcing up and out in perfect line with this sled going down the hill, and they're both moving at just the precise speed so that eventually- and it seemed like ages while I watched before it actually happened- the paths of sled and rock converge … Actually, it wasn't sled and rock. It was the back of Lori's head and rock. If she hadn't been wearing a stocking cap and her great big coat hood- see photo- it would've knocked her little brains right out of her skull. As it is she has a big scar on the back of her head where no hair grows to this day. Needless to say, she flopped off the sled like she'd been turned to pudding. I run/slide down the hill and slam into Bobby Davis where he's gawping at Lori lying frighteningly still, knock him down, and start kicking him. "Goddamn you, you made me kill my little sister!" "ME! You threw the damn rock." "You snuck off on the sled." "Owww, stop. Stop kicking me. Maybe she's still alive." That happy thought hadn't occurred to me. If you'd heard that crack when the rock hit, and saw her slump off the back of that sled . . . "Yes, Billy, YES, she's still breathing!" "We gotta wake her up. If my mom comes looking for us while she's still knocked out . . ." We tried first by putting snow on her face. Then snow up under her jacket and shirt, and it's a good thing she revived then, cos we were getting ready to shovel snow down her pants. Her little eyes flutter open. "I wan' go home . . . " "No, sweetie, no, you need to stay outside and play some more . . ." "Go home . . . " "Do you remember what happened? "No . . . " "Okay, let's go home then." I probably should have kept her outside playing a little longer. I lead her wobbly ass home by the arm, try to get her to go upstairs and hide, a futile hope, because of course my Mom has to poke her nosy ass into things. She looks Lori up and down. "Honey, are you okay?" "Friday." "What?" "Tomato soup." "Bit . . . "Billy, what's wrong with your sister?" "She looks too much like you? Ha ha, no, hey, sit down … " "I said, what's wrong with your sister, and don't give me any of your crazy talk." "Well, I'm not really knowing what happened cos I didn't really see anything, but what MIGHT have happened is she slipped in the slippery snow somewhere, where I was somewhere else and didn't have anything to do with it, and MAYBE she hit her head on something that could've been hard, like -what? WHAT? Why are you taking your belt off, I DIDN'T DO IT, ow, hey, stop, oww, Owww, OOOWWW!" If I didn't get spanked for the bazooka deal, I paid for it with the rock, cos I took three spankings for that, the one when we came in the house, then the one a short time later when they saw all the blood on the back of Lori's head "I DIDN'T DO IT!"- then still LATER, when Bobby Davis comes to the house and when my mom answers the door the first thing he asks is, "Did Billy kill Lori with that rock?" NO, I DIDN'T.
So there. Later. Bill
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The
video is showing pictures from some other world 
Got into my spring cleaning a little early this year, something I think
I inherited from my mom, when she was feeling tense or whatever she'd
clean house, I used to come home from school and all the furniture would
be out in the front yard, "Having a bad day, mom?" "Shut
up, you little rodent." "Ok. Think I'll make myself a
sandwich." "Make yourself scarce is what you'd better do."
I think it's just the concreteness of it that appeals to me, that was
dirty, now it's clean, and you don't have to think while doing it. Got
both bathrooms scrubbed and glowing, the living room done, halfway through
with the kitchen. I'm talking that crazy, scrub everything type cleaning,
not very exciting, but it's what I've been doing. And I don't think there
are any lady bugs left in the world, they all came to my house and died.
