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"

Kissing His Roughed-Up Butterfly Wings Still

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Press Play To Listen To Mazzy Star "Into Dust" For The Soundtrack

  It's been on my mind. 

  My thoughts go back to wonder what would have been if two paths were meant to cross again for a 3rd time to try to connect.

  Timing made it seem seem possible. The laws of attraction and cycling had potential to make sense. I do remember feeling let down after the long shot proved it was too far off the mark.

  He didn't know of the show. He didn't know I would go.  But if he did, would he have gone?

  The year mark has passed. I was reminded about wanting to count down to it to ask him out to a melon-pineapple agua fresca since it would have been his first year sober. But the Universe had different plans.

  I'm back to now.

  The night ticks down to sun-up, and I type out the notes of a story make believing there was no delay, and yet for it, I feel like I held my breath after letting it go and feeling dizzy. I see him and yet know not to fight resolving the unresolved. The sweet serenade seems to fit wanting to leave post script marks on the wall to be found and followed down the pathway to my little house in East Los, Califas.

  I imagine he may have appreciated my hospitality. 

  Offering him something to drink and describing his options, which none included alcohol. I would then ask if he was hungry, and another round of describing all I could make for a homemade meal, if he would so indulge me the company to cook for.

  The extra care I would take in to preparing a meal that's a well wish of soul nourishment. He struck me starving for a home cooked meal that wanted to comfort him as much as feed him.

  He did look like a butterfly with roughed-up wings. 

  How he fidgeted in the most charming way, lanky like a pixie sitting awkward on the over sized patio chair throne. He made me want to invite him out for a walk more for him then for me. I hope he didn't forget what I tried to impress on him, "You're more on schedule than you think."

  I don't remember listening to someone be under as much pressure as he placed on himself to 'show' what someone his age he would think, would have to their name. I don't think he realizes he was meant to be a late bloomer, much like myself.

  He seemed like he would have appreciated my hospitality, inviting him to sit with me outside under 'Juanita' the guayaba tree in front of my little house in the barrio.

  Listening to the sounds of the birds singing and airplanes flying by, as we see the sunlight playing with her leaves creating dancing shadows where pixies prance. I may have even convinced him to join me in giving her a hug barefoot on the wet ground where her roots are.

  I think he would have appreciated my hospitality playing music to add to the mood of taking it slow to enjoy a moment not in a rush to be somewhere later. To be still with the gran simplicity of visiting with a fruit tree. I think he would have enjoyed it knowing the guayaba cream cheese danish we made was made with the fruit of the tree he's sitting under.

  If there is still a chance we may meet again to catch up on the since and then for when it was they began to read, he may reveal he was waiting to feel welcomed, to which if he's read all along he would know he has been.

  It just seemed he could appreciate a friend in me if he had a sense of what would wait for him when I open my door. I hope he can remember I smiled at him with sincerity at seeing he was a kindred spirit that also knew how to speak healing and recovery.

  But what is there left to say that has not been said yet?

  My thoughts I don't want to scatter as much as I hope they would and I can focus on resting my mind over wondering if he's been reading them as I leave them out in the open where there's a chance he'll find them.

  What message do my words have for his tired and weary eyes?

  It feels like it's one of seeing I could use the company of someone that would appreciate my hospitality understanding I would appreciate his company from looking like our roughed-up butterfly wings match the other's.

  Perhaps being alike in how we feel makes up for being different in how we pray and yet it's to the same force that he leans on as his higher power.

  All I know is, he seems like he would appreciate my hospitality that brings with it a new beginning of two paths crossed for a third time to connect and he gets to vent and feel heard, as his unanswered questions I'd approach to help him create his sense of being at peace with how things turned out, for the blessings in disguise they must have been if he emerged a different person, the better one he envisioned himself as being.

  I'm not sure what it is completely that made me linger as long as I have other than what stands out time and time again. He seemed like he would have appreciated my hospitality from seeking the genuine kindness of someone that is generous in wanting to make him feel welcomed as he is, not who he could be in a few years working non-stop to rebuild his fortune.

  Perhaps he would see that the positive impression he made when he was at his most vulnerable, was so good, he was worth wanting to remember and catch up with. However flawed he felt didn't matter when what I heard was the voice of someone whose therapy sounded like it sunk in and they created for themselves a clean slate. His mistakes from before didn't have to hold him back as I imagine others hold them over his head.

  May the Universe work in mysterious ways and get word back to him, he's welcomed to stop in to still his roughed-up butterfly wings and linger at ease, for he as he is, was worthy of wanting to root for make it in the world with his integrity intact.

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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"