Pauley's Tavern and Pool Hall

Daydreams to cope with sometimes take on lives of their own....

al·le·go·ryˈ (aləˌgôrē) noun

plural noun: allegories

   "A story, poem, or picture that can be interpreted to reveal a hidden meaning, typically a moral or political one."

   “An Allegory is a form of extended metaphor in which objects, persons and actions in a narrative, are equated with meanings that lie outside the narrative itself.

The underlining meaning has moral, social, religious or political significance of abstract ideas as charity, greed and envy.

Thus an allegory is a story with two meanings, a literal meaning and a symbolic meaning.”

   Yes, I looked it the f*ck up and with that you know what is needed to be known to understand what the Pauley’s Tavern and Pool Hall book series is about.

  Oh I should add that the censor is pretty much off most of the time. PG this story is not. PG13 neither. R yes; but beyond that?

Shhh....

Now some background info on the place ”The R*tards" go to play.

(Pauley’s term of endearment for his patrons that don’t act their age, especially when sh*tfaced.

Think about what "r*tarded" means, then how it's used in every day language to be an insulting description.

Just like calling a child a "b*stard", some words should be questioned as too f*cked up to use like they're whatever.

"Wh***" is another one with an edge, and yes these words among others will be questioned, but you as readers decide the fate of these words as they apply to your personal vocabularies.)

   Pauley’s Tavern and Pool Hall is a sort of 'speak-easy' name for The Iron Horseshoe Tavern established back in 1974 by Paul "Pauley" Kelly.

It’s called this to keep what are now known as 'hipster' invaders away, and its whereabouts only known by word of mouth.

Is it elitist?

Perhaps.

Or it is about self preservation and preventing as long as possible, their haven from being taken over by those that do not honor tradition, nor would uphold Pauley's Code of Conduct.

  New folks are welcome, as long as they can respect the School House Rules and don't complain when Lucy gets unplugged; otherwise foos are getting their a*ses expelled!

   Over the years The Tavern has become a home away from home club house for old timers and mostly blue collar roughneck man children with its latest motley generation currently in their 30’s, give or take.

Some married with children or divorced with visitation on the weekends.

They have bills to pay, money to save, jobs to not f*ck up in order to do both.

Occasionally these a*sholes may brawl and Pauley’s shotgun Grace taken out to dance, with Jukebox Lucy playing the soundtrack; but overall the place is mellow on a weekday afternoon.

   The crowd that made The Tavern its watering hole is loyal and there is a sense of kinship between the boozer drunks.

Stories this tavern has no lack of thanks to the antics of the patrons, which also include my own.

   I wrote myself in as a character using my real name because all this stemmed from a daydream I had, to keep me company while I went for long walks with detours, in my new town of residence;

Boyle Heights, California.

   Though home for me will always be my beloved

East Los Angeles, Califas

   One day I thought of a man that didn’t exist to help me move on and let go of the past, by focusing on the existing hope of the present and lessons learned.

  Perhaps it was my way to prepare myself mentally for the future because I don't have much to my name other than my imagination.

 “Mikey, Jacob, Bobby, Joe, Paul, Davey, Alex, Dennis and Lou”

   Names of made up men that are a close knit pack of pals I will never forget.

They all represent an aspect of the men I have known, both in the good and bad; but they are human, even if fictional.

They are part of the details to the symposium full of zanies.

   This story experiment at times is a sort of open love letter to men that have shown their integrity even as they also try to get things right.

These men are strong but also weak.

Happy but still stressed.

Hopeful but discouraged at times with what they feel is out of their control.

It’s a mix we all endure, but with them; I feel how unequal men still are when it comes to expressing their feelings on it all.

How do I know?

I'm a daughter of one that expressed them regardless.

   The women in this saga also are shown going through their own life roller coasters and attaining their triumphs for they too are strong and capable.

It’s just with them, the way their stories are told is different.

How different?

The goal is to show we could use a little bit of understanding from the fellas.

With their stories, I hope to tell men that not all of us are their enemies or psychos, that more often than not, there was an issue with communicating and emotions go on edge.

We can be worthy of trusting and also respecting.

I hope to tell, we can have our bad days too, even if our hairstyles look nice; and we don't always know what the f*ck we're doing either.

We do know we could be wrong also.

No really.

Women are capable of knowing they can be wrong. Getting us to admit it, now that's something else.

*cough*

I want to show the men I was able to reach through to, women can be their friends as well, and shoulder part of the old burdens that say a man must bare these alone.

Even as women, we can relate and be more than arm candy hood ornaments, "Honey can you bring me a beer?".

  But this is to reassure the males that are willing to read, they'll have a place in what is usually considered female terrain.

  Yes this is a quirky soap opera Spanglish novela, for a subculture of those that bought in to what a friend called:

"The Rockabilly Retirement Plan for Punks, Skins and Goths".

And what was surprising, the guys did get in to it as much as the gals. I mean, how can I write an open love letter to men, if I don't include what matters to and interests them?

  From the serious like Erectile Dysfunction or even the car not starting and being already late for work.

To the "Are you f*cking serious!?!" and the latter said in two manners.

One with enthusiastic glee like they scored, and the other in BOHICA despair.

Espeakin' of which....

This is a bedtime story dedicated most of all to Our Troops and 'Docs' green side or civilian; for I do know the power of a reality break, if not reading oneself asleep.

And this because I want to "Play It Forward" and yes I do mean play.

  The man I would spend countless silent moments, wondering about his happiness and safety; he was the life lesson I needed to get me out of a bad place; even as I felt helpless knowing which bad place he was headed back to.

This Army Coptor Doctor ridding one of Anansi's spiderweb threads, tied to the foot of a Dragonfly Dustoff back in Stan; reminded me why being able to control your focus, makes dealing with difficult things, easier to cope with.

The chaos will still be there, it's how you allow it to affect you, that makes a very important difference.

You either learn how to hold on and fight or you don't. That "don't" had been my concern for him.

There was a reason his story began to stand out to me.

"Yet for me that also came from the desert, compassion I also knew how to show...."

  Eyes like his and lack of smile, you don't forget.

He had the face of many that aren't returning all that well; but his face comforted me when it would look silly; but haunted when it was a stoic with unintended, resigned grace.

  So this allegory that aims to be a cult classic, does have its soul, as that odd daydream of mine, found a life of its own.

And it became a Shoretale Fable of Therapy in Motion and thinking up the answers that become the solutions.

It's all just rhyming for the reasons, that carry us through the seasons of change.

Suggestion: Look up Grandiose, Ostentatious, Pretentious, Narcissistic, Delusional, Self Absorbed Motor Mouth, but most of all Ironic Catharsis. Thank you.

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Copyright ©2017 Rev. Mother L. G. Flores. All Rights Reserved.

Heaven Please Bless All That is "Pauley's...." and May No Harm Come To This Therapy In Motion, Adult After School Special, What Happens Cuando Nos Ponemos Las Pilas, Mark In Miles Stones, for This Dreamer and Music Maker Shake, Rattle n' Roll!

Amen.

"Siempre Fiel En Lagrimas Y Sangre"

As The Cold Rain Falls....

Press Play To Listen To Tiger Army "As The Cold Rain Falls" For The Soundtrack

Tiger Army "As The Cold Rain Falls"

  It's not raining outside, just a bit overcast inside. I once was lost in what this song said. I wanted to be the one singing, it was just how it was. "And I'll wait for you as the cold rain falls... then falls away, but my heart is true."

  I don't know this, I'm not singing this; this is just a hope that one day, I would. This, it's a longing to be a romantic that is free to live in a moment of poetry. My kind is a particular breed. We wait by the chorus of a love song.

  Perhaps I can sing this song and apply it to all the names from a lifetime of waiting. Perhaps not. I'm not waiting, there is no one I picture when I hear this song on replay for the last 20 minutes. I imagine if I was, they would let me know if they liked the serenade....

  This goes back to being crazy without anymore doubts. Men don't want women that are Romeo's in Black Jeans asking them to dance. No, men don't like it when a woman is sentimental and puts meaning in the most mediocre. It's more like something to tolerate. So if I would wait by the sound of cold rain falling, who comes to mind? I know the answer to that....

"And I'll wait for you, as the cold rain falls, and falls away; my heart is true."

  Build a f*cking shrine already! Make a f*cking tradition of remembering certain dates and showing letting go is a concept that eludes!

  It's not that bad, it's right what Von Hardy said, "You are looking to be loved." I am, but not. Then again, it will pass and cheerful f*cking rainbows will brighten the sky that I'll take pictures in the hopes I capture a glimpse in a photograph. The rain isn't that cold after the trembling starts. Actually, it is.

  Who do I think about when this song comes up? Just someone. That's the best answer to a rhetorical question "Just someone." The song is done.

Nope, still on replay...

  Have I learned nothing when it comes to my own intentions? Too difficult to answer. Why am I still listening to this song? I'm not waiting by the cold rain and it falling. I haven't walked in the rain enough this past Winter. It's September, Fall is here and another birthday to remind others of.

  Past that date, the nights will be longer and it will be colder. Jackets will come out and umbrellas. There will be puddles at every corner where I want to cross the street. My shoes and trou legs will get wet, I will however, keep walking.

  I'll probably end up in a cemetery again visiting an alabaster garden of headstones and Angels keeping watch. Is this depression speaking or a realization? It could be both. This guy that's up to bat, he seemed cool enough to give a chance. I'll focus on him soon and not on the sound of cold rain falling. Maybe he wants me to be his Romeo in patched up black jeans that asked him out to dance? I don't know but the song hasn't finished playing. Changing it now.

Thompson Twins "If You Were Here"

  I changed the song. It's back to Samantha Baker and her birthday wish. "If you were here, I could decisive you. But if you were here, you would believe."

  I do this. I deceive and leave a gaping hole for future explanations. It would be easier if I didn't explain a thing.

"What are you thinking?"

"I'm jiving to the song."

"Is that what you call it?"

"You have a better understanding?"

"No, just noticed you are playing songs on replay."

"I'm thinking."

"Of what?"

"I need to learn how to play my guitar and sing."

"You thinking of becoming a rock star?"

"No, just thought I should know how when I want to sing you a lullaby."

"You want to sing me to sleep?"

"Would you mind?"

"I'd like that actually."

"Then pick a song you like and I'll learn it enough to lip sync."

"Can't think of one."

“Then you're stuck reliving a John Hughes movie ending."

"I don't mind."

"Oh."

"I'm not used to having songs sung to me. It sounds like it would be nice."

"Nice is good."

The Cure "Trust"

  I don't want this song on replay. Robert Smith, he's leaving an impression too. Men don't express themselves, they just don't for the generalization. It doesn't matter that it's men that mostly sing about how they feel when they can't just say it without some sort of poet's remorse. Men don't feel maybe? Who the f*ck is waiting for me to find them? Do I want to know that answer?

  His name is.... What is his name?

  I don't remember, but perhaps it's Michael's name. I wonder if all the other Archangels understand why Michael is the one that gets to be kissed. His wings unfold and he's left unsure why I would after all these years. He's the warrior that keeps it together. Michael, help me please forget if not make peace in my heart?

"Why don't you just believe?"

  That song finished too, it's getting replayed. The piano playing, it's melancholy. Why do I insist I go somewhere with a song that has nothing to do with me?

  It's hope's fault. There was a reason why the Greeks included it in Pandora's Box. I still listen and Robert Smith is singing his case that men do feel and want to be cared about. Does he want to be cared about... by me?

  Do men wonder if I also exist?

  Do these men want to know me?

  Do they want me to sing a song for them to hold on and not let go?

  It depends on how many strings are attached.
 

Press Play To Listen To A-Ha "Stay On These Roads" For The Soundtrack

The Cure "To Wish Impossible Things"

  The song title alone says a lot. I asked St. Rita to help me being she is the patron of the 'impossible'. I didn't now she was listening when I would kneel at Mother Mary's shrine. Her statue was present and when I looked her up, I found out she is also the patron for abused women. I found this out at the 'Divine Timing' my Angels keep telling me about. I was meant to learn this about her.

"You still jiving?"

"Yes and you're not."

"How do I do it?"

"Just flow with the music and say something, say anything."

"Like rant?"

"Sure and if you see freedom is having nothing left to lose, you did yourself a favor for having the guts to speak up regardless of worry."

"Your song is over."

"I know."

"You gonna put on another one?"

"No, I'm done thinking for tonight."

"Oh... So I'm not going to have a song dedicated to me tonight?"

"You will, it's just that the moment passed."

"Oh. Okay."

  He looks disappointed that I'm not in the mood, but I don't know what song to dedicate to him at this moment that I'm not sure how to.... {How-To.} I'm trying to think and tune out but I ought to tune in. At least to show I don't want to become a stranger to him.

"Michael, besides 'Take On Me' from A-Ha, do you know any of their other songs?"

"Not really. Why do you ask?"

"They do a ballad I like. Want to listen to it?"

"Is that the song you're dedicating to me tonight?"

"Maybe for the both of us in remembering what the chorus advises."

"What does it advise?"

"Wait for it."

"Stay on these roads
We shall meet, I know
Stay on my love
We shall meet, I know
I know..."

"If we stay on these roads we shall meet, and this we should both know?"

"Exactly."

"So you are considering me then?"

"You changed your mind on that?"

"No. It's you changing your mind that has me wondering if I stand a chance."

"At what?"

  He looks at me like he's answering through his eyes. My thoughts return to kneeling as I prayed with St. Rita for the long shot. His eyes speak but I don't know if I understand. It hasn't been long. Is there an 'enough'? Can he get through?

  His eyes wonder the same. What he's trying to say he hopes I would know like he doesn't have to say it out loud, I would just know. I don't know....

"It's running its course out of me. You're the one with me in my home with no one else. We listened to music, you read and I jived. You stand a chance more than you know."

"You too."

"I'm glad you could see it takes two to meet in the middle."

"That's nice."

"Which part?"

"There's a middle."

"That's right."

"It's a sweet song. Thank you for dedicating it to me."

"Is that something we would do for each other?"

"Dedicating songs? I think we would. Actually no Lizett. I know."

"It must feel nice to know with such certainty."

"You don't think you'd dedicate me a song again after tonight?"

"I probably would. It's dedicating the type of songs you'd want to slow dance to. I'm not used to dancing with someone."

"You want to slow dance?"

"It seems like it would be nice to do."

"You want to slow dance?"

"Oh you were asking me if I want to! Uhm, I guess so."

"Yes or no? Do you want to slow dance with me right now?"

  I brush hair behind my ear that wasn't in my face. I raise my shoulders and then drop them and straighten my back. He stands up from sitting on my bed and walks over to where I'm sitting by my laptop on my kitchen table in my bedroom. He extends out his hand and it seemed like I did more than reach out with mine to meet with his in the middle; and I accept it feels like the hand of 'Judgement' is lifting me up and away from lingering in a place I could do better with than stay lost in.

  I stand up from my chair with my hand in his and he pulls me in close before putting his other hand on the small of my back and we are now pressed up against each other. This is more than being close enough to hold each other as he leads. I rest my head on his chest with my eyes closed. The hamster wheel isn't turning in my head. He's figuring out how to get me to still my thoughts. {God Bless you Michael.}

"It does feel as nice as it seemed."

"Well it doesn't have to be just tonight we slow dance."

"It doesn't?"

"No. We can slow dance again, even if there's no song we're listening to. However, now I'm wondering which song to make ours where it's a mutual dedication."

"You want us to have a song?"

"Don't you?"

  I hesitate answering.

"You don't."

"I do."

"I couldn't hear you."

"I do."

"Still can't hear you."

  I pull away so I can look straight at him with the volume higher to repeat...

"I do!"

"I wanted to hear you say it again."

  It then registers why. I suppose this is learning that elusive 'How-To'. Thank you St. Rita for making what felt like 'impossible' possible again. Amen.

(Completed July 4, 2017 9:24pm)

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Copyright ©2018 By Rev. Mother L.G. Flores. All Rights Reserved.

Heaven Please Bless All That is "Pauley's...." and May No Harm Come To This Therapy In Motion, Adult After School Special, What Happens Cuando Nos Ponemos Las Pilas, Mark In Miles Stones, for This Dreamer and Music Maker Shake, Rattle n' Roll!

Amen.

"Siempre Fiel En Sangre y Lagrimas"