KnowRevolution

At the age of 12, I was kidnapped/abducted, whatever you want to call it. Recently, hanging out at my shop while I repaired a fog machine that I had screwed up- side story- so I own a small entertainment gig. The general DJ thing except that I also do photography, light videography, and officiate as well. A bit more fully rounded. Anyway, as I am constantly looking for methods to add a vibe or change the game just a little, I test ideas. Many times in my attempts, the excitement of the ‘what if’ pushes me out of the intuitive and into the stupid. So I added glow in the dark latex paint to the fog machine juice. I knew it was possible, but initially the intuitive side told me that I should get the base UV reactive soluble liquids and follow the process. Take a breath and let it happen. But, in my stupid mode I basically screwed the pump up.

At this point, where most people would just buy the cheap machine again and not spend hours repairing, etc. I instead, even though the expense is of no consequence, spend the excess time (where by all rights I should if I were running on logic spend that same time working- I am an independent contractor and a few hours of work would not only buy a new machine but also make more than double the cost anyway) messing with the item in question. As a mechanical guru by nature, nothing takes excessively long to repair, but it is still more time than clicking the buy now button on Amazon. But, there is something relaxing and therapeutic about it, otherwise I would not do it. This causes some general tension in my friend who came to hang out. He is all about efficiency, I tend to dig the process more. Either way, I enjoy his heckling and the shop gives us a place to discuss ideas. The main topic of this site is dedicated to one of these conversations. An ongoing conversation about the inductive versus the deductive.

But any topic comes up from time to time. Sometimes in the conversations about why things are a way, or to give background information as to why certain reactions are what they are, past experiences are a way to give a bit of color as to present processes. And why, perhaps as a grounding mechanism, the concept of going through a process can bring someone to a peaceful place regardless of how terrrible their present moment may be. Had I not created this process as a child, every moment that should have been terrible instead allowed a focus of becoming one with the process of repair, or at least having a vision of being in one place or version of a place in the moment to knowing that it does not have to end there in that same state. And if it did, one did everything they possibly could, including the mental mindset that one explored every mental avenue as well that may have changed an outcome instead of just hitting the buy button every time.

In the sharing of a person, myself, with my buddy- we are basically overgrown children as a general enjoyment factor- I mentioned to him a memory of being 12 and getting in the truck with a total stranger who saked for some help he never needed. Thus, follow below for the outcome::::

I was about 12. Somewhere around there. My mother and I, and maybe others, it’s quite vague as there were so many things that were so screwed up in the family that my own personal awarenesses were very tight, but the connections of the rest were highly severed long before then. Anyway, my grandmother (by then my grandfather was dead) was still living on their property on the edge of Superior Wisconsin. This was, for those that know the area, right next to the overpass that you would enter were you to head to Bayfield. Hwy 2 east is the main highway and heading east, this would be the first overpass you encounter while exiting Superior. Her property was on the adjacent corner of Hwy 2 and the intersecting county road, specifically to the left if you were on 2 heading east.

At some point late morning, I decided to walk down to my cousins place about 2 miles down the road. This entails crossing the overpass and continuing down the county road. I had mentioned to my grandmother or someone older that I was headed to my cousins (and aunt and uncle’s) place. They were aware that I had left. Shortly after leaving the house, but before I crossed the overpass (I had been walking for maybe three minutes at the time) a truck pulled up alongside me, window rolled down, and the fellow inside (rough looking but like he head been working on something, very blue-collar type to those that don’t work on dirty things) asked me if I knew how to drive a manual truck like what he pulled up in. I told him yes, I did. I was dressed in blue jeans and a denim blue jean jacket. Actually, the jacket had the label of Zookies Flying Circus with a biplane on it. Anyway, he asked if I would help him out. He had repaired a truck of his and just needed a hand getting it from one point to another, and everyone he knew was busy. I said sure and hopped in.

Here is where things get rather interesting. Pedophiles and groomers attempt to make connections with their victims to keep their victims more relaxed. This guy was so far treating me far nicer than my family usually did, so my alarm bells were not going off. As soon as we started driving, the fellow started asking questions about my life- my interests, etc. To start with, my automatic response was that I was a Jehovah’s Witness, and how that created all sorts of problems- not with the core doctrine- but with the fact that I knew that what my dad was doing to me all the time and what my mother turned a blind eye to was illegal as shit. I started asking the guy how he would feel if he were in my shoes- what would he want to do? I shared with him that at the time, the only reason I hadn’t killed myself by then was because I made a solid decision no to, but at the age of 8 had already attempted to kill my father but as I was ready to slice the knife acroos his throat while he was sleeping, the phone rang. I hadn’t prepared myself for that. Note to anyone including myself again- be ready for odd things to happen and don’t let other things take you off your course. Anyway, as I was telling this guy about my life, my struggles with trying to reconcile my immense hatred of everything, how no one is innocent, the insidious nature of apathy, and why did my dad insist I get naked all the time whenever he wanted to punish me (along with outright molestation) I realized we had been driving all these back roads for at least an hour or so. I could also tell the fellows mood had changed. He never talked. He didn’t ask questions. He just listened. In the end, I did finally get around to asking where this truck was. He made some excuses about forgetting he hadn’t replaced the fuel pump which he knew was failing or somesuch bullshit, and promptly turned around and headed back. I was a bit irritated at that, because I had wanted to drive the truck. It, had he not been lying, was a crew cab chevy 1 ton from the late 70’s, early 80’s dually with the 4 speed in it. They were a beast of a machine.

I told him I was bummed, but I understand that people can be forgetful. But I then pressed him to tell me how he would feel were he in my shoes. I could tell the conversation made him uncomfortable. He finally mentioned as he dropped me off that he too would feel like killing the people who hurt him were he in my shoes, and that it wasn’t the wrong reaction to the situation. He said he wished he could help but later I’d understand why he couldn’t.

My friend and I laughed about the whole ordeal for different reasons, and the same reasons. The irony was wonderful as a point, but the absurdity was beyond the pale. To this day, I never felt much of anything about it. DIdn’t register as odd, unsafe, or dangerous. It did however, expose to me something about being on a different level of understanding hard reality.

Unpacking the concept, when your daily life is worse than what parents and authority figures try to warn you about, there is a problem. Not with you, but with them. The amount of people who knew how messed up my situation at home was easily ran into the hundreds. Plenty of people avoided being in close contact with my parents. Lots of parents wouldn’t let their kids come over, not because they thought I was bad or dangerous, but because they knew that something was terribly off. Yet these same people wouldn’t lift a finger to save not just me, but their own children by doing what it takes to protect them. Children connect dots that adults don’t seem to think they are aware of. Anyway, this is not about the apathy of disconnected, damaged society. This is a lesson in how not to get raped by damaged strangers. Tell them stories that are worse than their own. Empathy gets damaged by the apathy of the masses. When you have no heroes, all you are left with is a hierarchy of powerful pains. You cannot expect a damaged person to pity you when what you complain about does not even come close to your own pains. The non-empathetic are most likely just not soft the same way as life when they were young was not soft. And then there are the people who are completely devoid of empathy, but these are easy to spot- they act out regardless of location. They attempt to hold no secrets.

I was abducted once by a stranger. I was inducted to a worse situation by birth. When I returned after being missing for about 5 hours total, my mother and grandmother were very upset. When they told me about all the things that ‘could’ happen to me, I told them that they knew those things were already happening, so what was the difference? Just because it was my father shouldn’t make it ok. I also asked them why they never got anywhere near if at all upset over the same actions when father was the perpetrator. As a young person and a child, I have always been amazed at how dumb and inconsistent adults were. Also, the anger they show when their thought processes are exposed. They got angry at me for exposing their hypocrisy. It wasn’t my fault they are hypocrites. Anyway, its all rather interesting. I laugh hard now at the abusrdity of the concept of adults pretending to know what is best. This incident and many many others are just anecdotal notations in the annals of broken, screwed up humans.

It was two tone blue with white accents, by the way. The dually chevy 3500. Automatic, 2 wheel drive. Power windows. Bench seats front and back. Had the marker lights on the roof along the upper edge of the front window. Some surface rust, but overall heavily used. Never did get to drive the manual one.