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.

Back To The Top Where It Starts

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"

"So you think you could tell...."

Press Play To Listen To Pink Floyd "Wish You Were Here" For The Soundtrack

"Hey."

"Hello."

"How have you been?"

"Doing my thing. You?"

"The same."

"Right on. So what's up Doc?"

"I know what I want to say and at the same time I don't. I'm sorry for my 'tude but I was on the defense."

"I'm sorry I put you on it. You put me on it too so we're even. Are you okay?"

"{No.} Yes."

"Cool. Why after all this time?"

"I could say the same to you. Why?"

"Head's up I elaborated....

  You scared the f*ck out of me a**hole! You're f*cking emotionally bleeding and I know where you were coming from with the Sandboxes and back stateside from seeing it up close in Monkee's dad and the rest of the Corpsman. I seen it with the Marines and also Army. The wars in Iraq and Afghanistan were killing off the G.I.'s on f*cking delay. And you're a Doc with a grasshopper personality. You were raising red flags.

  I adopted you after you saved your hide when I wrote you off as a flake and aloof. That's when I named you Spooner after the quip you made about spooning with your partner in the back of the rig, but he was the little spoon. You opened up about wanting to go back to school which I cheered on.

  You showed you were a kool kat, but then I seen your drunk pics where you're hooked up to an IV because you were hungover which is an extreme. I began to read your expressions over 2 1/2 years with two deployments, your "babymama drama" and one girlfriend with breakup, that after it was over you checked the f*ck out.

  You were acting f*cking emo and I just sensed it and dude, you're a greaser punx just like me. You're a parent. We had things to relate on but for the time we were in contact, you were a walking statistic in the making. You were Frank from "Bringing Out The Dead" d*ck!

  I sincerely tried to let it go and leave it in God's hands though it was Our Lady of Guadalupe that I prayed to for you to be okay regardless of it being one sided. I'm sorry I was difficult and insisted but I kept getting gut feelings and the red flags just kept on flying; that basically I remained loyal to the notion that in times of great stress and moments of crisis, those you interacted with that got to know you for a bit, you don't forget them completely, even when there's a bad taste left behind. You're a f*cking survivor too!

  It was a circus on both our ends when we were cool. I opened up to you because I'm like that with punx paisanos, especially those that went Kustom Kulture to retire. Add the military and civilian emergency medicine connection and you also knew EXACTLY where in the Hell is Twentynine Palms, so you sympathized and were kind in return.

  I honestly couldn't tell who was no longer on my friends list since it was small. I figured whomever they were had a reason to remove me off theirs or deleting their own account without stopping to ask for alternate contact info. I let it go but then you message asking me in a telling me tone, to add you back. You said you didn't recognize my handle or default pic when I was acting emo myself and changed them to something expressive.

  Why you wanted back in my circle only you know, but for asking I take you back in, you were very flakey. I'm flakey myself because of my bipolarism, so I recognized it in you. I also recognized you have a grasshopper personality with how you cant be still for too long in one spot and need to hop off where the danger and adventure is. And after you start to burn out on that, getting a bit more jaded is next. Then all your other problems combined, you were a few straws away from having your back broken and collapsing! I felt compassion, excuse me for caring.

  And you confirmed it when you reached out with stating you feeling like a pinball in a pinball machine. You gave me such a f*cking scare and tortured me with standing by my computer to wait for your reply letting me know you didn't f*cking kill yourself and those weren't you last f*cking words to me A**HOLE!!! And you drop it asking me to do that same. It doesn't f*cking work that way Doc.

  That's where you f*cked up and I got locked on your frequency, that trust me, I tried to unlock for the burden it became. You fit the profile of the type that halfa**es asking for help and shuts in and others out. I was the 'safe' one to reach out to because I couldn't do a wellness check by calling 911 on you since I couldn't exactly drive over to pound on your door to check if you were still alive and not dead from overdosing, hanging, gassing, slitting your wrists, or gun blast to the head since you had access to a gun.

  Okay, I'm sorry I got sensitive about it but you f*cked me up by putting me on guard and you being passive aggressive about asking for help by listening to start with. I had to get f*cking proactive to cope after sh*t hit the fan on my end which you became part of. I'm sorry I felt I had to work myself in to a frenzy to be able to go through with pushing you out of my ex's sight because he wanted to start sh*t with all dudes that were active duty, that were kind to me after I left him.

  We weren't officially separated on paper yet. We still lived together for two more months and shared a desktop. It was a matter of time before he hacked my accounts to see what you looked like, find your name and unit information.

  He had already cheated on me and was shopping around with h*ebags waiting for him to show up in uniform. He already had changed his online statuses to "divorced" and had no wedding band tan line to worry about because he wasn't wearing his ring all the time.

  The son of a b*tch is EVIL and ruthless disturbed and a sick puppy tyrant, that knew how to f*ck with people.He still continues to abuse his children and their mothers.

  He was focused on you and wanted to make false accusations of adultery when we never even met in person. He wanted to put you through an investigation as his parting gift to me, but the bastard hasn't stop punking me through our son with parental alienation. He corrupted the system meant to protect us, and Monkee and I fell through the cracks, and the monster got full custody after he kicked me while I was down and then pushed me over the edge to discredit me.

Press Play To Listen To Pink Floyd "Hey You" For The Soundtrack

  Doc considering it all....

  I got traumatized and you were around while he was causing that. It was friends 3D and online that were keeping me from getting so lost I wasn't going to survive. It got really bad. Point is all the stress created pressure that caused a spiritual rekindling and trippy sh*t began to happen. I was guided towards embracing the natural Mystic I am and that saved me.

  You were a catalyst whether you like it or not, or me me liking it or not. I couldn't prevent caring still. I'm sorry for the inconvenience, but because I did blow up saying I wish I could forget you, I felt serious guilt and that formed pressure. From that pressure I began to cope and after a while I began to write my thoughts down again. Inspiration hit and one poem became a book. Then that book became a series. And that series developed a follow up screenplay.

  But from those books also came a hangout that other friends would visit. Turns out those friends could relate with your pinball analogy that haunted me along with your eyes and lack of smile. They felt sympathy for you and as I began to see my own felt towards you was empathy that became a bleeding heart for military and first responders that are trying to survive their PTSD.

  I then decided to create a nonprofit organization to help deal with what I just began to call the 'Pinball Crisis' in your memory. Since my spirituality grew, I also became an ordained minister through the Universal Life Church because their message spoke to me. From there my sense of service to God and Heaven took on what were 'Grey Zone' concerns and got the vision of a 'Suicide Forgiveness Program', that was showing suicides from desperation for stress relief, mercy. That is heresy that I accepted merits excommunication from the Roman Catholic Church and I'm not sweating it.

  I know forgiveness at the soul level is something Jesus would promote. He challenged the Old Man's law that damns suicides from entering Heaven in the visions I got. So I'm researching how I can put 'The Suicide Forgiveness Program' on the books as doctrine to lock it in. I went rogue Doc as 'Chaps' out of necessity, all because I didn't forget your moment of deep honesty that to me made you come off as a suicide risk. I apologize it got intense. That's why."

"{Oh sh*t.} Wow. I'm not sure what to say."

"Don't worry about it. So why are we having this conversation?"

"We're not. You're pretending and leaving behind a message in a time capsule as a Hail Mary play you pray, that I'm not likely going to read unless I get a wild hair up my a** to look. It's beyond awkward and I don't know where to start expressing how I feel about it. It all going away would mean I don't have to know anymore; but if it goes away others that related to my words wouldn't get the help I do see you want to provide. It's making me think when I don't want it too Cass."

"Then don't think about it. Compartmentalize and just trust that if you don't read you don't have to know. Not knowing means you don't think about it. It's okay Spooner. Do your best to block it out and focus on what's in front of you. We don't talk anymore. I stopped looking for signs of life. If I still care it's from empathy and gratitude I didn't forget. Be at peace there's nothing else left for you to know. Let it go while I keep doing my thing without you knowing, or your blessings."

"That's my dread."

"Please don't feel that. No one will know who you were. Too much time has passed and all the traces from what I've said that you've read, have gone away with the online hangouts that went offline. No one remembers what was a lot to try to. What ever you read got chopped up and not everything made the cut to keep a record of. It's okay Spooner. There's no pinball machine with me you're trapped in. You stopped being a pinball."

"{I still am.} I don't know what to say."

"Hey you.... don't sweat this. Just appreciate I'm trying to back up our war vets, first responders and other 'pinballs' in general, looking for help with dealing with their stress and depression. It's advocacy that's DIY peer counseling and group therapy with spiritual healing that uses folk medicine. If anything your words said to me in your moment of despair will help you keep saving lives. You're the underdog hero pinball others are rooting for."

"But I don't want to be a hero anymore...."

"Sometimes we don't get a say when what we can offer to the world is what would help our fellow man and planet. Accept your words made an impression on me and if anything see, your words set off inspiration of what you yourself called "therapeutic" for me even when it lost you half a time. The only thing for you I hold on to is your memory that I accepted I won't forget.

  I've made peace with this. It's okay Doc, I'm just figuring out what life could mean for me when I told my own 'pinball machine' it can't beat me up anymore. You should do the same if you haven't already."

Together We Stand. Divided We Fall....

And In Between We Redefine What It Means To Be A Pinball

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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"