Pauley's Tavern and Pool Hall

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

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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"

(October 18, 2012)

“The Great Debate… “

11:15 pm

So here I am, at it again, something more to contribute. I am faced once again by choice, going back to school. Abby if you don’t know her, but she’s a sweetie on here and is friendly to everyone; she starts school Monday. I texted with her for a bit, and she is nervous about that test. I gave her the best tips I could give and wished her the luck she asked for. Now she got me thinking. Should I enroll myself back and do the school thang?

  I already took I forget what the fuck it’s called, but I think some sort of entry exam for college. For being rusty with a GED I got back when I was 17 yrs old, I passed. I guess the shrink that did my I.Q. test for the run around to qualify for SSDI benefits; he asked me why I am not in school. According to him, I got potential to earn a Master’s and keep going from there. That was kind of him to say, especially when he let me know the drugs I’ve done have slowed me down but I can still go for gold if I really wanted to. This is where my own Great Debate conversation with myself starts.

  I haven’t done well in school in the sense, I get bored and distracted easily.  I was the day dreamer if not the one sleeping with my head on the desk, drooling. I had issues at home and well I got bitch slapped and that caused me to snap.  I went from a Gifted Magnet student and Platoon leader in The California Cadet Corps, to a snotty punker chick. I ditched school but hung out at the library if not the cemeteries. I tuned out and continuation after continuation after getting myself expelled and did face I forget what it was called but basically I faced LAUSD trial because I refused to remain in school. Again another fucking I.Q. test… I think I memorized it by now. Whatever, point! All the potential I was told repeatedly that I had was not enough to keep me from dropping out.

  I considered that I was disillusioned by the sense of “order” that was instilled in me. So like any good kid that was done being good, I rebelled. That got me a probation officer I had to report to once a week. This is the ironic part… it’s fucking hilarious really… my assigned counselor through I forget which of the fucking programs, took me to enroll in to Garfield  East Side Learning Center so I can study for the GED exam. Well yet again I got tested and I missed one question that I later corrected. The only thing and again for the irony, I was told to work on my paragraphs.

Now if you’ve read my emails or broadcasts posts on here while I was off my medication or too medicated or under a lot of stress, etc… I still needed to practice and indent.  I was then sent to the class room, Mr. Estevez looked at my test scores and shit you not he said and I quote “Go home, there is nothing left for me to teach you. Come back when it’s time to take the test.” That almost made up from all the grief my mother and I were put through. Now looking back, perhaps the standards were too low to graduate high school.

 I’ve met some teens that make me think perhaps I’m right. Then I met Kay and Zeke. They are pictured in my “Smell My Middle Finger” shot, here in my gallery. Any-fucking-hoo, kids are smart, but not wise. That I still got over them, but in time, they will be and I may feel left behind in their dust.

  Now this is debate in my head, do I want to keep up?

Do I want to have a certificate telling others I graduated from a school, perhaps one of distinction?

Do I want to excel and join whatever the fuck is the professional world?

Knowing me, I’d milk financial aid, etc and become a professional student. However knowing me better, I have a Library Hall Pass and I am permanently disabled, meaning I am not expected to ever hold down a job again. I live off my SSDI benefits, I got Medicare and Medical health insurance besides Tricare that doesn’t cover squat because it’s secondary to” Medi-Medi” .

It was recommended  that if I do go for a degree, I should consider business management. Now that made sense. But knowing me still, I work at a different speed and interval. I’m more of an independent learner. Now that I got my own net connection, I can research on my own pace. And I could borrow text books if not buy them and learn quietly, undisturbed, with no pressure to be too many things at once. What that actually translated to… my kids are taken care of where they are safe and fed, and aren’t seeing their mother’s mental illness bad days or flighty ones.

What I disagree with but suck it the fuck up, both men that loved me to the point of control, guilt trips and co-dependency in general, have a resentment towards me leaving them cocksuckers. Ah how love flutters away like a butterfly that dies if you trap it. Now only time will tell if my son and daughter will share a bond with me or just acknowledged I am their biological mother, but not parent. Boy how I feel that shafting without the KY and the reach around.

  I don’t have high aspirations to graduate with honors, from an institutional learning facility that doesn’t serve Pepsi , fuckers… My life style is a calm one where it’s enough not getting depressed and have the suicidal thoughts return. I have an issue with commitments, both in tasks such as the chore of school can be, and relationships, especially the romantic kind. Friends, I got good ones here and there and almost everywhere. Truth is though; only in Pauley’s do I do the BFF thing.

  While on another 72 hour 5150 hold, a fellow loonie asked me after I shown my quirky side; he asked “Which one were you in the gang?” That only reminded me of The Breakfast Club. I’m “The Basket Case” which by the way, in case you didn’t know… but feel free to correct me and show proof I am mistaken… “Basket Casket Case” is a term that I want to say goes back to WWI at least. Injured soldiers that had what is now known and classified as Post Traumatic Stress Disorder; was “Shell Shock.”  Yeah, these men that have been pushed beyond the edge of sanity and keeping it together in a trench war battlefield would be carried in baskets because stretchers were not always available. Sad huh?

The wars fought back then, I doubt the modern soldier would survive without the equipment and gear of modern day. That’s me getting off track though. But yes, in the gang I would be the basket case though I’m also known as the writer/poet/thinker… that actually brings me to a book I started reading on Existentialism, aka Philosophy.  I don’t think I could study anything, without some sort of break from academics, with light reading of someone else that rants about what they think about thinking and the proverbial “Walk The Walk, not just Talk the Talk”. I don’t feel right taking financial aid for something my library card can help me learn, while students going their own collegiate route; can benefit most from what I forfeit .

  Since I took on what was a mere idea based on a tangent from being manic again, my vocabulary is returning to what it was, where I could speak with eloquence. BUT I’m too fucking East Los to ever completely speak like English Major Grammar Nazi. I like my verbal personality for the most part. Yet I do agree it would benefit me to be well-spoken again. Sad thing with that… my good chum James advised in a text message, something about my writing style for Pauley’s “Try not to sound like u have such a big vocabulary…its intimidating to guys. Sound smart but not overly so…”

I think I rather visit college campuses just to have a look at one, but the debate ends with these final words. Why should I go, if I don’t want to impress anyone and have the distinction of a good attendance record reward of doing homework; and telling the professor what they want to know and consider correct?

 I am not applying for a job that realistically I won’t hold down. My best bet is independent study and be gracious about what I know and what I don’t. At least this is for now. I’m wise enough not to set things in stone or sign on the “X” with blood.

Yea,

~Gina

 

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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"