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"

"Nameless Preview 1"

Book #1 PRC

"Nameless"

By L.G. Flores

****Mikey and Gina build up to making out for the first time. It had all the signs of something enjoyable, except that Gina began to cry. A memory was triggered. More clues for Mikey to make sense of.****

{Tell him. Tell him. Tell him. JUST F*CKING TELL HIM!?!}

  Mikey isn’t sure what’s going on, so he asks to find out. “What’s going on? Are you okay?”

  Simple as that but the complications came later. Yeah I know it sucked to be him. He likes the girl. The girl likes him BUT he’s still getting to know her and she starts crying the first make out, not even 4 minutes in. Something is wrong. {Is it me?}

“I’m sorry. I just flashed back to something, I didn’t anticipate that kissing would trigger. But I am okay; I just need to breathe a little.”

“Oh. Okay. Breathe………….You sure you’re okay? Did I do something wrong?”

“No. It’s jus, it’s just that I wasn’t prepared to have this reaction. It’ll pass.”

  Mikey isn’t as clueless as he allows himself to be made to feel like. He heard me say “reaction”. What am I reacting to?

“Bullsh*t.”  He says as a matter of fact and to the point of challenging the self denial. He went to therapy too. It’s coming back to him.

“Don’t.”

{Why don’t?} “Bullsh*t.”

“Why bullsh*t?” {Back Off.}

“You said you flashed back. What did you flash back to?” {What am I getting myself in to?}

{Tell him. Tell him. Tell him. Just tell him so he knows it’s not him but also not you. You want to keep going, you just got reminded and you’ll process it later. Like later, later.}

  I’m not focused right because it felt like a bit more died. It’s just intense and it’s been a while. I feel like I’m challenging myself to forget and think of who I’m with now. Can I repeat that please?

  I chokes up again. My bottom lip tight pressed closed against my bottom teeth leaving a mark, I release and it trembles, it doesn’t want to come out or I am preventing it?

  Why am I holding back?

{You want to move forward, not back. So you saw him, it doesn’t matter, his name is Mikey now.}

“I’ve been grieving what I felt was a bad call, and it had affected me, but I dealt with it, I think this is just me realizing, I’m telling my past good bye. I rather be here with you.”

“So it’s a guy?”

{Sh*t!}

“(Pause) Yes.” (Exposed)

“Was he your ex?”

“No.” (The Truth)

“Then who?”

“A martyr.” (A Puzzle Peace)

“Huh?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Tell me the short version.”

“I don’t think I can.”

“So it was a guy you were in to?”

{Sh*t!}

“(Pause………………….) Not exactly.”

“I don’t get you.”

(Flip)

“Don’t worry about it.”

“I’m not worried about it.”

“Then what are you?”

“What am I what?”

“Exactly.”

“WHAT!?!”

“Never mind.”

“Gina seriously this cat and mouse sh*t got old.”

“What do you mean?”

“You did it again.”

“Did what?”

“And again.”

{Silence. Sit up. Wipe your mouth with the back of your hand and get off my bed. Go to your bathroom, lock the door behind you and go to back up plan NUMB.}

“What do you want to know?”

 He thinks about it. It’s about another dude. {Is she really letting go or is she holding on?}

“What’s his name?”

{There’s not much point in giving it importance I decline the opportunity to revisit a blunder Home Coming party I did learn from. I’m not ready to repeat his name to Mikey. I’m trusting him but not there yet, there’s still more filters for him to pass, I’m sure it’s the same with me.}

“He doesn’t have a name.”

{She doesn’t want to say his name. Why?}

Ok. So this “nameless” where you in love with him?”

“No. I didn’t know him well enough for that. I was fond of him, yes, but it was nostalgia that got me through a difficult time. It was me being creative with handling the a*s ripping my son’s dad still gives me every time I ask for pictures and an update. In reality, I don’t recall a time he’s ever asked me about my children or sent greetings. And it took him 2 and half years to tell me Kiddo’s name. He was on his own trip and I was on mine, there was a learning lesson and I made a decision a while back, I wiped my slate clean.”

“It sounds like you don’t want to admit you were.”

“It wasn’t real. I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Then what do you want to talk about?”

  And this conversation didn’t happen either. Minutes pass in silence except for the sound of my fan. I hear a knock on the bathroom door my back was up against. It vibrated through and hit the back of my head. I stand up and realize this is the Divine Timing opportunity I face it. I closed one door behind me and opened it again for another; but I’m all of a sudden wary of the door knob. He speaks through the door. That gave me a start.

{Some suicides attach from intention. The Martyr marched on in to oblivion crossroads. To relive over with someone else. To avoid. To break the chain and listen to some Social D. To face the pain and forgive myself for fooling it so long.}

“Take a chance at trusting me to try to understand.  Unlock you out of the bathroom please.”

(Pause…………………. Reaches for it, turn the lock on knob; grip knob and turn the knob and pull.) I opened the door.

  He steps back under the square hall way light that is turned off. The light on him was from the window, golden as it sets in the west. The bamboo blind was rolled up; the curtains were pulled back. The glass of the window let it in, the screen brought the air out so it could mix and take away with the man made breeze from the upright fan on. Oscillating with its gear sounds, with wire and plastic clacking when its head turns as far as it can go; and then back.

  The shadow play was showing the wires of light, shadows of strings for marionettes. The Ballet of Mother Goose and The Joker named Maurice. Shirley Temple doesn’t play a part in this movie. The black fan toils away faithfully, and works great maintained. It’s relief from the heat of the afternoon turning in to evening. I can see him without needing the epiphany I got anyway.

“I know moving on is intense, I went through it too and I figured we feel better not admitting that wasn’t the original plan to miss someone. Am I close?"

  He’s close.

  Door is open to him. I think I found what I was looking for. Maybe he can. I’d be cool if he can. Then I had to go back to gibberishing, bleh!

  Teary eyed with a red nose, I did choke up that much; I answer him facing me, “I was fond of a moment caught in a dream. What evolved was just healing from the symptom of malice.”

“Explain.” {What riddle this time?} <-----See he’s caught on!!!

“Life sucked. He was Eye Candy and I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”

Mikey drops his head and grins, wide smile he’s so got this pegged. Or does he?

“Why don’t you want to talk about it?” {Chicks push, well right back at you!}

“Are you going for breakthrough bonding moment or are you being difficult to get it bothers me to think about it, so I want to drop it and get back to what we were doing?”

(And did he pick up on the right signal?)

“What were we doing?”

“I forget.”

“I remember.”

“What did you remember?”

“That I was going to hold you while you say goodbye. Look in the mirror. It’s impartial.”

  I face the mirror of the medicine cabinet. He stands behind me with the bathroom door behind him; and he rests his chin on the top of my head. He kept his word.

“What am I looking for?” I ask.

“What you want?”

  I think about it. I have options.

“This.”

  He squeezes tighter and lowers his head to whisper in my hear. “It’s yours.” I turn around, eyes open even if swollen.

   It’s Mikey, It really is Mikey!

   I raise my arms to embrace him like I finally got here. {I’m free! I’m free. I’m free? Was it that bad?}

  Whatever, I feel my chest emanating a transition, inside it throbs, this feeling to the core as my chest was pressed up against his; does he feel it? He feels it. I feel like I’ve healed more. Now to trust and earn respect.

“Mikey?” I pull back so I can look at his face.

“Yes.” He answers, looking back at mine.

“Did you like us kissing how we were earlier?” I somehow ask for the topic change.

“I did, that’s why I wondered what went wrong because it seemed you were enjoying it too.”

“Like I said it’s been a while. Residual anxiety from having way too much time to think.”

“Always analyzing.”

“Always? Have I established a pattern?”

“Well in matter of fact, get over here.”

  I get over there. He pulls me out of my bathroom where I went to be alone and the fan playing with light shadows on us the strings of shadows. Only in cast shadows dance the marionettes. We don’t have strings attached, perhaps a bond for a catalyst, I can also be fond of.

  New memories made. The past can now rest for what I’ll cherish, and what I let go to grow. 3D is much nicer than 2D. He wouldn’t notice. I don’t want to care. I’m here.

  Eyes closed the softness of lips touching in quick, sweet, tender kisses and him instinctively going for my neck and I think to myself I’ll push him off me if he tries to leave a hickey. So dislike that! It looks crude. It’s always more considerate to do it under the collar line where clothes cover. The world doesn’t need to know I’m having fun. I am having fun. Thank you God and you too Goddess, chyeah!

  Lips are firmer, more pressure, more taste; I want to pull him towards me, he wants to be pressed up against me. This is actually a nice turn on. Why I didn’t do this more often was a total shame, or I was waiting for a real good one to come along? I feel like my mind can relax now.

(To be continued...)

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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"