Sometimes I do or say something that isn't like blatantly autistic (to most people) but it's still something I internally take note of like "oh righttt I probably should know if this isn't normal"

Jigsaw // Blue: Part Three

Painted Ponies

A/N: This is the final part to Blue...but is it the end of the road for Billy? (side note, this is number 16/19 smooches!! three more for Billy, and then a special bonus one to make up for all  the heartache I’ve caused.) 

Warning: language, violence, graphic descriptions, murder, character death THIS ONE IS ROUGH.

Word Count: 4,112

Prompt from: @luminex3 

Vision obscured by the thick warm blood dripping into his eyes, he curled the shattered digits of his left hand around Frank’s bruised and broken knuckles, and around the handle of the blade held to his throat. His right arm hung limply at his side, radius, ulna and humerus completely snapped from the elbow joint after the forceful blow his former brother delivered to the fulcrum of his arm, making it bend 180 degrees in the wrong direction. He could hear the haunting sound of the carnival music as the horses continued to prance on their poles, garbled as though he was three feet under water. The blue lights were meant to be bright and cheerful, but all he saw was the hazy halos around the bulbs, throwing a ghoulish glow over everything. It was over, done. That last ditch punch he’d thrown was more of an involuntary response than one that he thought would land any damage, and he wanted the end, wanted the peace, something he never thought he’d long for. 

The glass before him was cracked in several places, and the reflection was one he couldn’t recognize. So much had gone wrong, so much had been broken well past the point of repair. It took everything in him to blink, to raise his eyes to the hate filled pair looking down on him in the mirror, but he did because it was all that was left to do. Frank’s nostrils flared and his chest heaved as he tightened the hold he had on the back of Billy’s head. But as the lights changed from blue to red in his blurred and fading field of vision, he thought he saw something other than hatred in that glare; he thought he saw hesitation. Go on, do it Frankie… I got nothin’ left. 

“Kill me.” He choked, throat and lips slick with blood. 

Billy woke with a gasping cough, half expecting red stains on the pillowcase. Heart racing and adrenaline high, his thoughts threw themselves against the walls of his skull. Frank? He squeezed his eyes shut tying to guard against the onslaught. Frank? Why...why would… The last memory he had of Frank was from overseas, making jokes and giving him shit about settling down with a girl...with you. Frank wouldn’t… that’s...he’s my brother. Pain cut through his head, between his eyes, splitting his brain. I need to know. I need to… to know if… He looked to his left and out the window, quickly noting the sun’s position in the sky. Judging by where it sat between two neighboring buildings, he could tell it was a few minutes earlier than normal, but not so early that he would have to wait. Close enough. “KRISTA!” 

He bellowed her name, voice sounding foriegn to his own ears as it cracked and broke. He hated how reliant he was on her to confirm or deny the things he saw and felt and remembered, despised the way she made him struggle to decipher his dreams while she held all of the answers in that fucking folder. Enough of the fucking games. I need to know. He repeated his shouts until footsteps echoed quickly and he heard the distinct sound of keys jingling in a pocket. Focusing on controlling his breathing and stilling his jittering thigh, he pulled himself up to sit back against the pillows, eyes trained on the turning door handle. 

The last two weeks had been different, memories coming through with more clarity, more detail. He’d found a way to tell the difference between things that happened and things that only happened when he slept. In the dreams, things had a glow around their edges, a misty haze making everything softer. He’d stuck with that theory and had been proven right twice, though he’d been tempted to ignore it when he had the dream about the airport; leaving the terminal alone with his bag, the automatic doors opening up and the gray light of morning hitting the sidewalk...where you stood, the breeze lifting your hair and your smile lifting your cheeks. He tried to forget the shine as he wrapped you in his arms and devoured your sighs, pulling you as close as he could. But that’s not how it happened.

The memories had sharper edges, more refined, more realistic. The memory of a bright screen casting a soft blue light in a semi-dark tent, his badly bruised fingers moving over the keys as he fought the urge to delete the words, staring at them for long minutes before moving the cursor and clicking the send button, then logging off. It would be better for both of us if we don’t see each other for a while. I’ll call you when it’s okay. He couldn’t remember if you’d sent a response, couldn’t fathom a reason for sending you such a curt, final message. But he knew that was what had happened, knew it even before a print out was pulled from that fucking folder and placed in his shaking hands, the exact words he remembered typed out in 12 point font. 

“Why...why do you have this? Why do you have this and, and and the pictures? Why? How do you know about her anyway?” He curled his fist around the paper, crumpling it in his sweaty palm. “Why do you have all this?” 

“Billy, I’m trying to help you put everything back in order.” She answered with a slight tilt to her head as the morning sun streamed in between the cracked window blinds. Bullshit. “I didn’t know you before your accident, didn’t know what your life was like.” You still fuckin’ don’t.  “I needed to know as much about you as I could so I could help you try to understand what happened to you.” Her eyes were calm and her smile was unchanging. 

“Does she know?” He sniffed, nose twitching as he raised the mask, letting it sit on top of his closely cropped hair. “Does she know you’re...you’re digging around in her life like this? Huh?” He widened his eyes and raised one eyebrow, nostrils flaring. “Leave her the fuck alone, Krista. Leave her alone!” He seethed, balling up the email and throwing it forcefully at the floor.  

Still unflinching, Dr. Dumont sat straighter, tilting her chin slightly in the opposite direction. “Alright, Billy, I promise I’ll leave her alone.” She adjusted the file in her lap, neatly tucking the pages back inside before she rose. “I think that’s a good stopping point for today.” Her smile spread, filling her eyes with an almost ominous gleam. “Try to work on connecting what you know, now, Billy. Let go of the things you can’t change, focus on the things that will give you the answers you’re looking for.” With that she’d turned on the ball of her foot and held herself at her full height as she exited the room, the door barely clicking closed before a nurse and an orderly were coming through to keep up with the daily routine.

But this vision with Frank on the carousel, this was in heightened definition. This one sliced through like a razor, no glow, no doubt. Why would Frankie do this to me? Why did I think I had nothin’ left? He knew she had the answers, and he wasn’t letting her leave without getting them this time. 

She burst into his room, eyes wide and lips parted, breathing slightly labored from running down the hall. “Billy?” She was flanked by two guards but she continued walking towards him, ignoring their attempts to stay between her and her patient. “Billy, are you alright? What’s wrong?” 

“You tell me, doc.” He popped his shoulder with a little twist, cocking his head to the side. 

Taking a step closer to his bedside, Krista turned to the guards and waved them off, like she always did. They looked to one another before heading for the door. Billy could still see the backs of their heads through the small window, but for now it was just him and Dumont, and he grinned to himself as she pulled the keys from her pocket. “What do you mean, Billy? Did you have another dream?” She held up the keys as she asked, indicating to him that she was going to undo his cuffs. He nodded slowly, and as soon as one hand was free, he used it to pull the mask off. 

“Yeah. I did. And I got questions for you, Krista.” She unlocked his other wrist and he stood quickly from the bed, crossing the room to the window. He thought he caught a gasp of surprise at his abrupt action, a slight unsettling in her fearless facade. Reaching up, he pulled the chord to raise the blinds, exposing the room to more light, and opening up the view of the bustling street far below. He turned back to the chairs, permanently positioned in front of the window, gesturing to them in a welcoming manner. “Take a seat, let’s talk.” He sat in the seat he always occupied, looking straight ahead at the empty one across from him for a few seconds before turning back to where Krista still stood, watching him closely. “Oh, I’m sorry,” he pointed to the gaping glass hole in the wall. “This...you don’t like this, do you?” 

Krista cleared her throat and came out of the light trance she’d fallen into when he’d sprang from the bed. “It’s fine, Billy, if you want the blinds open, that’s okay.” She walked slowly to her seat, eyes on him as she sank into it, crossing her legs. 

“Bullshit,” he almost laughed through the grin. “I’ve seen the way you don’t get too close. I notice how you never look out. I see these things, Krista.” He watched as she swallowed, a lump moving down her throat. “Sucks, havin’ somethin’ like that right in your face, doesn’t it?” 

“Facing our fears is important, Billy. You’re...you’re right. I am afraid...but I’m working on that fear, just like you’re working on what’s haunting you.” She looked quickly towards the window to prove her point before turning back to face him. “Now, you wanted to talk about something?” 

Another near laugh. “Yeah.” 

She opened her hands. “Where do you want to start, Billy?” 

“Let’s start with Frank Castle.” He noted a flicker of recognition, of alarm cross her eyes. Yeah, that’s what I thought. He brought two fingers up in front of his face, pointing out the jagged scars. “Frank did this to me, didn’t he?” 

“Is that what you remember, Billy?” 

“Enough of your fucking questions.” He gripped the ends of the arm rest, scooting himself closer to the edge of his seat. “Tell me. Tell me Frank did this to me.” 

She had the nerve to shake her head slowly. “You know that’s not how this works. Tell me what you remember, and I’ll tell you if it’s true.” 

Anger rose in his gut and his knuckles strained at his skin as he tightened his grip on the chair. But before he could respond, the memory from his dream cut back through his brain. He tried to blink it away but it kept playing out, blocking out the present and immersing him in that blue light, that blood soaked moment, surrounded by painted horses, Frank ready to deliver him a fatal blow. 

He tossed the knife aside and released his grip on Billy’s blood soaked hair. “I’m not gonna let you die today, Bill. Dyins easy.” With less than half a second’s pause, a boot sole landed squarely between Billy’s shoulder blades, forcing him forward into the shattered mirror. Dull pain erupted across his head and down his spine but before it could fully register, Frank was readying to throw him into the glass again. “You’re gonna learn about pain. You’re gonna learn about loss.” Two more times, Frank slammed Billy’s head against the mirrored wall, his face butchered and sliced, chunks of jagged mirror stuck in the deep lacerations. The music, the lights, everything was gone, replaced by a high pitched ring and the low, gravely sound of Frank’s voice as he stooped down beside Billy. “Every day I look for ‘em Bill. Every morning...and then I remember.” 

Billy blinked. The cracked glass was falling from the frame in front of him, but for the briefest of moments he saw something in what was left of the mirror- he saw you, your arms reaching for him, a sad look on your face. I’m sorry…  He blinked again and you were gone. 

“It’s gonna be the same for you.” Frank threw him hard against the glass then, leaving him slumped in the corner. The crunch of Frank’s boots receded until there was nothing but silence, and Billy closed his eyes, feeling himself letting go. Something on his shoulder stopped him, and he recognized the distinct weight of your hand, the sound of your voice as you sobbed his name and held him close to your chest. “Billy, hold on…” you pleaded. Anything you want.

With a gasp and a cough he shook his head, eyes flying open to take in the white room, doused in daylight. Breaths coming in shallow gulps, his chest heaved under his shirt. Nausea roiled in waves. Was she there? Was she there that night? “Frank...Frank did this...I...I betrayed him...betrayed his family...this,” he pointed to his face, poking at the bullet hole in his cheek. “This was payback...punishment for…” The poking stopped and he scrubbed one hand over his face. Why would I… 

“Frank is the one who did this to you, Billy, yes.” Her voice snapped his focus back up to her face. “He did that to you...and...and you remember why now?” 

I got his family killed… I… He winced, grabbing at his ears as more pieces of memories came tumbling out of the gash in his brain. A phone call, a quickly scribbled note. That email wasn’t the last correspondence that he had with you. 

“I can’t talk long.” 

“Billy?” your voice sounded the same, all those months later, but tinged with a sadness that he wasn’t familiar with. 

“Yeah, yeah, it’s me, listen, I needed to tell you somethin’...you...you get the flowers?” 

He’d dropped them off himself that afternoon- blue irises, your favorites, his note simple and without his name attached, only three words : I love you. 

“Yeah, Billy...I...they were on my doorstep when I got home, I...Billy, where are you? Can I see you? You...you said you’d call when it was okay and…” 

“No, listen, I need you to stay put, okay? Things are...fuck, I got into some shit and it’s bad. I’m gonna finish it tonight but you...I needed to make sure you knew… in case I...in case somethin’ happens.” 

“Billy, people are asking me about you...police...homeland agents and...and…” he could hear the tears behind your words, and the fear and hurt in your voice twisted his insides. “I haven’t said anything, Billy...I...I don’t know anything...you just… you disappeared...Billy, don’t do this...don’t disappear again, please...please, Billy, I… I love you and...just let me see you, please?” 

“I’ll call you when it’s over. Stay put...okay?” 

“Yeah…” you whispered. “Yeah, Billy… okay…” 

“I told her I got into trouble...somethin’...somethin’ went wrong and I told her I had to…” he squeezed his temples, trying to force the rest of the memory from his mind like a tube of toothpaste.

“What kind of trouble? On deployment?” Krista leaned in, her focus sharp. 

“Yeah… it...we…” he was suddenly hit with a barrage of facts, rattling them off as though he’d had them in his back pocket all along. Operation Cerberus, assassinations, dirty missions, Rawlins, betrayals and killings on U.S. soil...The room spun as he fought to keep himself upright. 

“Billy,” Krista was scribbling hastily on her notepad, eyes wide with shock. “I...we’ll have someone look into all of this right away but..if…” she finished writing, closing her note pad and giving him her full attention, even reaching for his hand. He snatched it away as soon as she made contact. “If any of that is true, we might be able to get some charges against you dropped...if the government is involved in any of this… if” 

“Homeland. She said...she said homeland agents were…” he tapped his fingers against the top of his head. “Were callin’ her and…” 

Krista nodded and the room stopped spinning. “They were...well...one was. Do you… Billy can you recall the agent’s name?” 

He was almost there, approaching the gates around the colorful attraction, the silver moon shining down to light his way, when he heard a pair of hurried footsteps behind him. Gun drawn, he spun, eyes scanning the shadows, quiet save for the gasp in response to his turn. What the… 

“Billy?” You whimpered his name as you stepped closer, hands in front of you. 

He holstered his weapon immediately, crossing the distance with long strides, your name falling from his lips as his heart thundered in his chest. No. No, she can’t be here. “What are you doing here?” he asked, unable to keep his tone steady. “I told you to stay put...I told you to stay home...what happened?” 

Your tears fell as you let him wrap you up, as you let him swipe them from your cheeks. “Billy, I...that agent, the homeland agent...Madani? She, she called me again just...just after you did...said she traced your call to me...said she tracked your phone here. She’s gonna come after you… I...Billy, I had to see you, I had to...I had to make sure you were safe I...I love you, Billy, I...I” 

He cut your words off with his lips, pressing them to yours with the longing that had been building since he left you. The hands that had just held his gun now cradled your face between them, one sliding to the curve around behind your head, the other traveling around to your back, pressing you closer. He gave you everything he had in that kiss, all the love he couldn’t give you, all the things he wasn’t able to say. Tongue moving with yours, he felt that same need rise in his chest that he felt when he’d kissed you in front of the Alice sculpture, felt it fill him completely. Both of your hands were on his face, one earlobe between your fingers as they slid up his jaw. It felt so right, kissing you, holding you under the stars, under the moon. It felt right loving you. But he had to end it, because you shouldn’t be there, shouldn’t be there with him, not when he didn’t know if…

He pulled back, resting his forehead against yours for the briefest of beats while you both took a breath. He whispered your name once more. “You need to go...get out of here, get somewhere safe. Stay there until I call you.” His thumb came to brush your lips as he laid another kiss to them. “Please. Please, you need to go…” 

“Billy...I’m scared, I…” 

“Please!” his voice was louder than he meant for it to be, heart hammering. Someone’s gonna hear us...someone’s gonna see… 

You choked but nodded. “Okay… okay Billy...I...I love you...I needed to see you...I…” 

“I know. I know...Now, go...please…” He kissed you one last time and waited until you disappeared back in the direction that you came from. 

Good. Good, she’s gone, she’s...she’ll be safe… 

The fight with Frank. Guns and knives, fists and attacks. A ricochet in his peripheral as he spun to see the agent you’d warned him about, taking his shot, aiming for her head. Another ricochet as Frank misjudged Billy’s location, a trick of the mirrors and lights, of the bobbing horses and the painted dragons. A moan, then and the call of his name… too soon after that second ricochet...too soon after Frank had fired. He looked in the direction it came from and saw. His heart thudded to a jarring stop. No. No. No, no no no. He shouted the word and it became an unintelligible scream, it turned into rage, into blinding, red rage and he recklessly threw himself into the fight. He killed her. He shot her, she’s…

You were laying on the ground, close to Madani, and he could see the wound he’d given her on the temple. She was still alive, though bleeding badly and unconscious. But when his eyes dropped you, he saw the hole in your chest, saw the blank stare and the stillness of your body. He saw you and he knew. 

She’s gone…   

He stood, stepping towards Krista. “You knew.” 

“What?” She looked up at him, questioning him with her words and her eyes. “KNew...knew what, Billy?” 

He pointed to the file in her hands. “You knew...you knew she’s…” he tore the file from her grasp then, pages flying from it as he tossed it into the chair he’d vacated. “She’d dead...she’s…” saying the words aloud made his throat close, made his vision blurr sent searing, burning pain through his entire body, emanating from his skull. “Frank did this to me… he killed her he…” he turned on her. “And you fucking knew.” 

“Yes...yes, okay...okay, Billy, yes, I knew...I-” 

“Get up.” He snarled the words, tears in his eyes and hatred in his heart. She stood, hands shaking. One came up, tentatively reaching for him, but he wasted no time in wrapping his fingers bone crushingly tight around her wrist, yanking her towards the window. She yelped quietly, knowing that now that he had a hand on her he was in charge. She could call for the guards but not before he snapped her neck. “Tell me what you know. Now.” 

“She was found a few feet from the carousel, Billy, a few feet from where forensics determined that Agent Madani had been shot...she was probably right behind her she… they said she died instantly...there was no suffering…” 

“You knew. You knew she was...she was dead...all this fucking time…” his voice was uneven but he kept it quiet, kept from drawing unwanted attention through that window in his door. “And you made me play your games...you made me…”

“We needed to get as much information as we-” 

“Fuck your information, Krista,” he growled. “You knew… you…” 

Something broke in him then, as your face filled his mind, smiling in the sun, streaked with tears in the moonlight, splattered in blood and staring, unseeing at the ponies. With another yank on her wrist, he pulled Dr. Dumont close and spun behind her, muscle memory aiding in his swift motions. His free hand covered her mouth so she couldn’t scream as he walked her right up against the window, forcing her to look down at the street. Letting go of her wrist, that arm snaked beneath her chin, elbow tightening as his forearm and bicep crossed her own arm over her windpipe. He gripped his own shoulder and squeezed, keeping his hand over her mouth as she spasmed against his chest, as her nails clawed at his arms. He squeezed as her wild eyes grew wider and wider before she went limp, squeezing a few seconds longer, counting in his head to that magic number he’d learned back in boot camp: the magic number of seconds it took to kill someone with a blood choke. 

He dropped her body in a heap as his rage crashed and flowed and ebbed and diminished. 

You were gone... he was right...he had nothing left. But Frank didn’t even let him have that. He didn’t even let him fail. He didn’t let him go with you… 

He bent to pick up the pages that had flown from Krista’s file, sticking them inside the folder and tucking it into his sweatshirt. The door opened and the two guards burst in but Billy made short work of them, adrenaline high and fists and arms moving on their own. In no time at all he found himself on the street… his file in his hands and a new mission in his mind. 

He’d been trying to find you, and he did. 

Now he needed to find one more person. 

Now he needed to find Frank. 

@something-tofightfor @its-my-little-dumpster-fire @suchatinyinfinity @thebbtongue @lexxierave @thesumofmychoices @gollyderek @zaffrenotes @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @lysawayne @audreychaz @roses-in-your-country-house @traeumerinwitzhelden @luminex3 @songtoyou @songforhema @ymariejp @belladonnarey @breanime @stories-you-wont-hear

*thank you for tolerating this madness. there’s more to come, as always. ;) RED coming soon.*

"Record a lecture, name that song: Pixel 4 uses on-device AI"

Pixel 4 is our latest phone that can help you do a lot of stuff, like take pictures at night or multitask using the Assistant. With on-device AI, your camera can translate foreign text or quickly identify a song that’s playing around you. Everything needed to make these features happen is processed on your phone itself, which means that your Pixel can move even quicker and your information is more secure. 

Lens Suggestions

When you point your camera at a phone number, a URL, or an email address using Pixel, Google Lens already helps you take action by showing you Lens Suggestions. You can call the number, visit the URL or add the email address to your contact with single tap. Now, there are even more Lens Suggestions on Pixel 4. If you’re traveling in a foriegn country and see a language you can’t read, just open your camera and point it at the text, and you’ll see a suggestion to Translate that text using Lens. For now, this works on English, Spanish, German, Hindi, and Japanese text, with more to come soon. 

There are also Lens Suggestions for copying text and scanning a document, which are processed and recognized on-device as well. So if you point your camera at a full page document, you’ll see a suggestion to scan it and save it for later using Lens. 

Lens will prompt you with a suggestion to translate foreign text, which happens on device. Then, you’ll see the translation in your native language.

Recorder

Remember that time you were in a brainstorm, and everyone had good ideas, but no one could remember them the next day? Or that meeting when you weren’t paying attention because you were too busy taking notes? With the Recorder app on Pixel 4, you can record, transcribe and search for audio clips. It automatically transcribes speech and tags sounds like applause (say your great idea was met with cheers!), music or whistling, and more, so you can find exactly what you’re looking for. You can search within a specific recording, or your entire library of recordings, and everything you record stays on your phone and private to you. We're starting with English for transcription and search, with more languages coming soon.

Introducing a New Kind of Audio Recorder

Now Playing

Now Playing is a Pixel feature that identifies songs playing around you. If that song gets stuck in your head and you want to play it again later, Now Playing History will play it on your favorite streaming service (just find the song you want, tap it to listen to it on Spotify, YouTube Music and more). On Pixel 4, Now Playing uses a privacy-preserving technology called Federated Analytics, which figures out the most frequently-recognized songs on Pixel devices in your region, without collecting individual audio data from your phone. This makes Now Playing even more accurate because the database will update with the songs people are most likely to hear (without Google ever seeing what you listen to).

With so much processing happening directly on your Pixel 4, it’s even faster to access the features that make you love being a #teampixel member. Pre-order Pixel 4 or head out to your local AT&T, Verizon, T-Mobile or Sprint store on October 24. 

Source : The Official Google Blog via Source information

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Gmail SMS Alert 

Aapko Yadi Lagataar apne Account ki alert pana hai to aap ko ek aisa naayaab tarika bate hai jisse aap jab bhi koi login karega aapke id se OR jab bhi kahi par bhi log In karenge to aapko mail send kareta rahega.

आप इनसे अपने गूगल अकाउंट की सुरक्षा रख सकते है आइये आपको ये ट्रिक बताते है |

आप सबसे पहले गूगल में Google SMS Alert लिख कर के सर्च कर ले 

पहले लिंक पर जाकर आप एक्सटेंशन वाले पेज को ओपन कर ले , 

अब आप अपने ब्राउज़र में ये एक्सटेंशन इंस्टाल कर ले और जब आपका इनस्टॉल हो जाता है तो आप को सीधा आपके मेल में ले जायेगा जहा पर आप को Create Account पर क्लिक करना है |

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आप Otp डालकर वेरीफाई कर लीजिये बस आपका काम हो गया अब आप sms alert पाने लगेंगे |

Gmail Account Ko safe rakhna ho to aap Aap hamare dwara Bataye gaye tips ko Follow kar sakte hai. Dhyan rakhe ki bahut se third party websites ko access dene se bhi hamara account hack ho sakta hai isiliye jab bhi access dena ho aapko parh leni chahiye ki Wo aapke account me kya kya access karega. To Friends Hame Bataye ki Aapko Janakri Kaise lagi , Hamare Facebook Page Ko Like jaroor Kare. 

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Busted For Fake Jordans With Gwen

Gwen joins Brett & Bryan for our first vacation show!.. // Snapchat Content // What The Kids Are Into // Too Nervous & Poor To Be Billie Eilish // Busted For Fake Jordans // History Teacher Mostly Talking About White Guys // Foriegn Language Teachers Are Weird // People Talk About People Behind Their Back // Be Like Water Go With The Flow //

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    Busted For Fake Jordans With Gwen was originally published on Street Fight Radio

Joe Gould’s Secret

So, I just finished Joe Gould's Secret, and I loved it. And before I start polluting my mind with all sorts of other media, I think perhaps I should take a break and reflect on what I just read, because I found it especially meaningful.

First, it's two excellent contrasting profiles of an interesting character. The kind of character I am both intrigued by, and slightly wary of. I was immediately reminded of my friend Mark.

He had a voice that could bellow, he had no problem being the center of attention, he was bold and committed to seemingly ridiculous quests for no discernible reason. I found being around him both completely energizing and scary. I would leave with stories, and I never regretted hanging out with him, but I always had anxiety when I knew I was going to see him. And thinking back, I wonder what he was getting from me? I certainly couldn't keep up with him, but I was a willing participant in his chaos, and a willing audience, and I suppose he was always looking for an audience. And I was an old friend, a high school friend, one of the few who maintained an occasional correspondence with him after high school, via email. He would occasionally send me poems. I didn't like poetry, but I liked his.

I started to dig for this poem, and found some of our old correspondence. I talk about working on a script for my next film, something that I am hoping will get into a festival. He talks about trying K, becoming a minister, and making wine in someone's basement.

Then I found what I was looking for.

I glanced in the mirror before I left the house to make sure I looked alright....

Everything was fine so I went for a walk down to the beach. I sat for a while wondering about the way electrical outlets differ from country to country. It really is interesting that they couldnt devise a universal system... Almost as inpractacle as foriegn sign language. I mean think about it, here you have a chance to do it right but do we take the opportunity to make something simple NO! we set up 50 different versions. Well that got me angry so I decided to get up and take the streetcar home. After 20 minutes of sitting on the cement smoking cigarette after cigarette the tram came screetching in.

I entered and handed the driver a dollar

"lovely night" he said

I said to the man "sure is, did you see that horse fall in the bay?"

"well no sir i didnt"

"good thing, it was pretty sad"

I sat down next to her, she was wearing a black skirt and a plastic safeway bag with a hole cut out in the bottom, It looked just like a plastic tank top. I said to her

"Nice night for a bath"

"I already ate she said"

I could see right away she wasnt one to be outsmarted, I grabbed a handful of grapes from the waiter and ate them while staring into her eyes.

"this is my stop coming up here"

"So"

"I just figured you might want to get ready"

"for what"

"to get off"

"oh"

I pulled the stop request cord and we got off.

We walked a block or two and then I saw a look in her eyes, one that I cant even begin to explain.... So I did the only thing I could. I punched her in the eye and threw her into a pile of garbage. I kicked her for about 5 minutes then I sat down next to her. She looked at me and understood. She picked up the umbrella from the garbage and proceeded to pound me with it. When my nose started to bleed and I couldnt see straight she stopped.

We looked at each other and shouted in unison

"YOUVE READ BAUDELAIRE!!!!!"

We both got up and walked to the corner diner where I ordered us both burgers and 2 bowls of water so we could clean our bloody faces.

We talked for hours,

I told her all about my experiences during the war and she told me about her brief stint as a clown.

Then she got up and said she had to go to the bathroom... It was then that I knew what I had to do.

I quickly put both burgers in my pockets and ran out the door so she could pay the bill.

I thought about her for hours that night.

How she smiled, how she cried, how she made balloon animals.

she was amazing.

Even when I went and set the Bank Of America building on fire I could only think of her.

The next day when I was running after a kid on a big wheel I thought for an instant that I saw her but I knew that could not be, the Germans took her away... I think she's dead now.

Mark wasn't a tortured artist, but he was most certainly a bohemian. He didn't have a great work, but I think Joe Gould helped me to clarify our friendship a little bit.

I also think of Andrew, another weirdo artist. I was blessed to have so many weirdo artists in my orbit early in life. Why am I not a weirdo? Did I think I would always be blessed with weirdos around me? Because I'm not sure where they've all gone.

I think I need to get a little weirder.

But I digress. Joseph Mitchell certainly sees something in Joe Gould. Mitchell is the straight man, the artist seeking inspiration from the fringes of society, and Joe Gould seems to embody that perfectly.

After reading the first essay, the worst word that might be used to describe Gould is irascible. He is someone proudly occupying the fringes of society. These are qualities that you root for because you're a frumpy old sod if you don't. You want to support him because if you don't you're not cool.

The first essay left me a little sad about New York in its current incarnation. Where are the opinionated poets and painters? Are they in Bushwick?

I loved the story immediately. It was familiar and it wasn't. It was New York, and I love New York stories. It was about an artist on an impossible quest, which is the thing I love so much in Paul Auster's stories.

It's also about life on the fringes, in Bowery flophouses, in the now gone diners and dive bars of the Village. And as sort of a straight man, I can relate to Joseph Mitchell's fascination (and later annoyance) with Gould.

So, we have this character who is a larger than life character writing a larger than life book in a past New York. Struggling artist, old New York, and an author who is himself a bit of a tortured artist. And the writing is so sharp and flows so easily. Mitchell is an incredible wordsmith, and Gould is such a fantastic subject. I found myself highlighting so many sections. Here's how the founder of a poetry event described Joe Gould:

“He isn’t serious about poetry. We serve wine at our readings, and that is the only reason he attends. He sometimes insists on reading foolish poems of his own, and it gets on your nerves. At our Religious Poetry Night he demanded permission to recite a poem he had written entitled ‘My Religion.’ I told him to go ahead, and this is what he recited: ‘In winter I’m a Buddhist, And in summer I’m a nudist.’

He seems to rankle all the right people. Knock down the people who are a little too self important. He's some weird patron saint of the intellectual underworld. He embodies the spirit of some sort of troubled yet resilient artist we want to believe exists.

But he's more of a symbol than a reality. The more reality intrudes, the less fun the story is. And this is where the much longer follow-up essay picks up.

The first story feels like it's a polished little gem. The doubts we have about Gould are "good" doubts. He's a character, he's rubbed many the wrong way.

But in the second essay, written years after Gould's death in 1957, the ugly truth is told. Mitchell becomes a character in the story, and through his relationship with Gould, you start to see cracks in Gould's facade.

Gould's presentation of himself seems rehearsed. He seems to have routines that he draws on and reuses, like a standup comedian who doesn't ever develop new material. People that interact with him regularly, such as the counter man at a diner, seem to hate him.

At one point, he describes how a poem he created may have turned a lot of people against him. It was a poem against the anti-capitalists, who were having a moment in the 1930s, and he felt like it was a trend, so he wrote a poem called The Barricades and took to reciting it at parties whenever possible. It would always make some laugh and others upset. Gould goes on and on about this poem. I kept wondering if we'd get the poem, and we finally do, and it's only a few lines with a cheap gag payoff. About the death of comrades (behind the barricades at a fancy restaurant) by over-eating. It's funny in a throwaway sort of way, but in Gould's mind it was this was a large, impactful work that hardened hearts against him.

More revealing is what happens when Mitchell starts to read his notebooks. He finds that they are all the same couple of stories, written over and over again.

Ah, I haven't even talked about The Oral History of the World. This is Gould's master work, introduced in the first essay, and it does seem to ignite the imagination when described. He wants to give voice to the underprivileged on New York, to share the lives and the words of everyday New Yorkers, so that in the (apocalyptic?) future, we might see in them hints of what was to come. And supposedly, his manuscript is over 8 million words. Doing some quick math, at novel size that's 32,000 pages. It's something fantastically long. 14 publishing houses have rejected it for being obscene or unreadable. He is working on it constantly. It is at the core of his identity. And when he cadges (what a great word, bring it back!) money from acquaintances and strangers alike, he says it's for the Joe Gould fund, which will allow him to keep working on it.

So, as part of his research, Joe Mitchell wants to read it. He is able to scrounge some notebooks entrusted to a friend, and is dismayed to find a discursive essay about his father's death, a tongue-in-cheek story (with lots of bogus and unconvincing statistics) about how tomatoes are ruining railroad conductors, a memoir about measuring the heads of Native Americans as part of a eugenics experiment, and an essay about his mother's death. These all take long journeys away from their source material, but as Mitchell turns up more notebooks, he finds only these four stories, told with different discursions, over and over again.

Gould explains that this is the essay part of the Oral History, there are also the interviews, but they are locked away safely in a basement in Long Island, since America is at war (it's 1942) and he doesn't want them to be destroyed. Mitchell wants to see them, and there's a story about how the owner of the house where they are kept is away in Floria, possibly for years, and won't allow access to them. Mitchell is about to kill the story, so Gould tells me that he has a fantastic recall of them, and they start meeting, night after night, in Gould's local dive bar, and Gould imparts more and more of the contents to him, until, after several of these 8+ hour sessions, Mitchell is satisfied. Wasn't this the framing narrative of Arabian Nights? The protagonist must keep telling stories so she is allowed to live another day.

Now, I've certainly had doubts about the existence of Gould's text for most of the essay, but it becomes clear what's what when Mitchell, in hopes of finding someone else to receive Gould's constant, exhausting visits, tries to fix him up with a publisher. This person is willing to go the extra mile in every way possible to clear all obstacles in the way of Gould having his manuscripts ready for publishing. Gould has nothing but excuses, with his final one being "I'd rather it be published posthumously." Which angers Mitchell, rightfully so, who has worked to get a publisher to meet with Gould (Gould skipped out on the last one Mitchell set up).

And in the end, it's clear there's no manuscript. But Mitchell doesn't want to shatter this thing that is so intrinsic to Gould's identity. So he keeps his mouth shut.

And it's too bad it wasn't real. It makes me think of the things that have come since that sound similar. There's Overheard in New York. And Humans of New York. Joe Gould was on to something, but he was incapable of following through.

In the end, I think I side with the author. While Joe Gould's would-be book sounds like it could be incredible, the real thing would likely fall short of everyone's imagined version. Even so, I want a world with more Joe Goulds in it. He invented a personality that worked for him and seemed to inspire outsiders to some degree. He put on a show. And I guess when you start to really know someone, the reality will always be disappointing.

Is this a cautionary tale? No, I don't think so. But learning that this was the last thing Mitchell ever wrote was sort of eerie. He was such a talent. Maybe that's the real story here; Joe Gould's undoing was also Joseph Mitchell's undoing.

Josh reminded me when we spoke on the phone today, he sees me as having a high level of talent. I'm not doing much with it either.

I did just uninstall Clash Royale from the last device that still had it, we'll see if that helps. Feels like kicking a heroin habit. I just threw it all down the toilet and flushed it.

"Henry Wadsworth Longfellow translates perfectly into sea gull," he said. "On the whole, to tell you the truth, I think he sounds better in sea gull than he does in English."

DOVAL sir, so you were the one who get entangled in the controversy in Delhi; in the moving car.● And got arrested.● You also got smashed by BLAST 06 SYN.● It is my request to you that when one is not able to find sol to a problem; logical wisdom says - look it at from a different angle.● When one searches for the criminal, do not entangle the possible fugitive with any type of social demarcation.● I stand on the inf send about BLAST 06 SYN.● The incident which happened at Delhi was a "shagun" to D-company from blast 06 syn.● The person to whom you were talking came from south east asia to Kolkata and then to Delhi. ●Dawood never had that clout in our truncated BHARAT to track someone of CHOTA RAJAN aide and that too when he was talking to you in a moving car.● It was more a ploy to fix you. ●Just see the change which happened to D-company after the deal with BLAST 06 SYN : He expanded his illegal output to a African continent and invested heavily in real estate in Europe & America.● Is there anyone in Pakistan with that clout ?.● I had send to MNS CHIEF that SA is the foriegn base of BLAST 06 SYN & then Italy and their foreign boss in USA.● MINING, DRUGS and controll over government formation in those African countries where there is large scope mining beside kidnapping, hafta collection etc. are the main activities of Blast 06 syn in the African countries & employing local people.● Blast 06 syn did not let D-company enter SA.● Please do not let the conventional theory to play in the mind.● The BLAST 06 SYN played thier game in weakening the D-company by putting their moles in D-company as what they are doing to various political parties in our motherland - BJP, RSS, CONGRESS, SHIV SENA, SP, MNS etc - divide & rule.● PLEASE DO NOT TAKE THE STEP TO GET DAWOOD BACK TO BHARAT - better bargain the name with whom deal was signed.● Dawood will divulge the name when there is danger to him; otherwise he will point to a daily labourer if asked about the name.●If it makes sense then please put the persons who are directing the various "RANDI KATHA" out of favour from the present govt.● If the concerned females can not stand for a " mutual verbal narco test" infront of JUDGE & directly telecast to the public, why hear to those nonsense ?● If these females do have any sense of truth in their claims, they & their influential backers will at once be ready for these test.● If not why waste time on such type of degraded people ?● Do you think it is possible for a male to have such no of romantic linkages - majority, I do not know who the he'll they are ?● As I got inf about blast 06 syn, I got to know that on 3rd Jan, 2001; it was attempt to murder me devised by ASHOK KUMAR SINGH & then the names of AMIT AGARWAL & CHANDRASHEKAR GHOSH got added on. Then the blackmailing by ABHIJEET SINGH, my 9th or 10th class student who was a relative of V K SINGH ( who ? You knew it all ) - "if it is told to police." ● Blackmailing for the crime AYESHA SAEED brainwashed me to do in Mumbai in 2004.● The then CM of Maharashtra, KRIPASHANKAR SINGH and SHAHID GEHLOT are destroying the career of IQBAL ( super patriotic law enforcing officer )● For that crime which was output to brainwash by AYESHA, I am blackmailed in 2007.● From where it goes to V K SINGH and being blackmailed by my student ?● If I am thrown out of the moving train because of a so called affair with the student SIMRAN SINGH & I get tuitions in relative circle of ASHOK KUMAR SINGH ( Shreya Diwedi, Sharvateshwari Singh, SHUBHAM SARAF, ABHIJEET SINGH ) AMIT AGARWAL ( Umag Jindal, Harsh Jaiswal ) & CHANDRASHEKAR GHOSH ( Riturick Shaw, Ananti Bainik ) - the 3 some who planned the attempt to kill me.● There are more to the list of students but I am not able to recollect now. ●All three of them accuse me of affair with their daughters - 1 month of tuition ( app as per the inf ) with the baby daughters of first 2 and the 1 meeting ( pre planned meeting by BLAST 06 SYN ) with SHUBHRA - that lasted 3-4 min and 2-3 calls from my side● It was a clear case of frame up by BLAST 06 SYN.● Then GHOSH have the courage of marrying his relative to my own brother. ● Even after marriage, employing people in stalking me.● One have to agree that boxer do have a lot of courage.● THAT IS NEEDED BECAUSE BLAST 06 SYN KNEW that SUPRAOTEEM PAOL will niether get sold or get subdueded.● And as I was sending the inf to MNS chief, BLAST 06 SYN used the various RANDI KATHA to get my family & relative circle act as their slaves & spoke person.● Not only that my parents & some of the relative circle are not concerned to that fact I was tried to be murdered on 3rd Jan, 2001.● NOT ONLY THAT; LIKE A SET OF IDIOTS THEY TOOK THE DECISION TO PUT ME UNDER MEDICATION FOR MENTAL STABILITY, without asking me anything & the inf I was sending to MNS chief went to drain● What I was brainwashed to commit the crime in Mumbai, 2004 THAT ANUBHA DAMANI came to know - 7th / 8th class student of mine and get falling in love with me ( 1 way ).● Now it appears to me that DAMANI family is one of stalkers.● The tuition of ANUBHA DAMANI; I was stopped after 2 months because of the reason I have described in emails to the few leaders of various political parties.● The tuition of ADITI AGARWAL, I got after the trio failed to murder me on 3rd Jan, 2001.●Similarly, I do not know who VARSHA is or MINAKSHI is or the female from KURLA ( if she is not dummy )● THESE PEOPLE WANT TO GET THEIR DAUGHTER MARRIED TO ME !● Then came the last straw of NIKITA JAIN - an influential backers in RSS & BJP.● I will not stare that if this NIKITA JAIN family are in accordance with TODI - the father in law of RIZWANUR.● DIRT AT ITS BEST.● Just change the law which I have suggested - I will legally put them under punishment●●●● "We females are speaking the truth but never appear in "mutual verbal narco test".● "In narco, we will be speaking the lies that is why we should avoid " mutual verbal narco test".●●●● I will suggest to PM saheb that kick V K SINGH out of cabinet - beside the blackmailing portion, he might have godfathered the attempt to murder me on 3rd Jan, 2001.● Not only that the next 2 army chiefs have serious legal problem with him.● BUT YOU HAVE TO AGREE THAT TOI group, D mart group, Vedanta group, DLF have become international players - from low levels to very big something.● SO many big scams and nobody knows where the money is ? ● the owners of these esteemed organisation should think & analysis, where the money of the scams goes to ? AND my motherland●●●●● As far as inf send on mumbai train blast 2006, I am not deviating. Change the law suggested by me I GIVE YOU THE NAME OF THAT HINDU BENGALI - no need to torture him, in one day the good persons in various law enforcing agencies will know the validity of my inf.● If proved wrong them I am going to face punishment.● The late you are doing that person will be finished off by accident or any other method. ●WHO THESE BASTARDS ARE WHO DO KNOW WHAT I AM TYPING ?● One have agree quantity of bastards polluting law enforcing agencies is increasing.●PL KEEP IN MIND THAT I MAY BE KILLED ANY DAY.● JAI AKHAND BHARAT ● VANDEMAATARAM● - Supraoteem Paol ( AUID - 9870 0323 5720 ) ●●●●●●●□□□□□□□□□□□●●●●●●● The above portion is the exact email being send to these email addresses. ●[email protected] ●[email protected] ●[email protected] ●[email protected] ●[email protected] ●[email protected] ●[email protected] ●[email protected] ●[email protected] ●[email protected] ●[email protected] ••••• to add AIMIM; may be due to pressure from blast 06 syn had told me not to send them emails. If there is some other reason, I do not know. ▪□▪▪□▪The public should know the true picture of certain bad elements in various law enforcing agencies. Do not use slangs till these bad corrupt people are exposed to logic & Science based changes in working of law enforcing agencies which I have suggested to the persons related to the above mentioned email add. WAIT and gather support for the changes I have suggested - it will help good people all across our motherland; in respective of political leaning, language, religion or colour.