lucius_t (lucius_t) wrote in theinferior4,

Miore Old Home Week

The guy my biker friend Gordon and I went to see yesterday, Mike Schluck, wasn’t ever in a band with me, but he was a friend of the band (s), a friend of mine. Mike lives in a forest squat near Tukwilla, the most complex and largest squat I’ve ever seen. Most of the people I know who live in similar circumstances have tiny houses that utilize space as cleverly as a ship’s cabin and are about 10’ by 10’, and have camo tarps draped over them—some of them, you could be standing a few feet away and not know they’re there. Mike’s place, on state land south of Tukwilla, which is a town south of Seattle, a hideous town that includes strip malls around the Sea-Tac airport, is four rooms crammed with magazines (mainly porno), electronic equipment, tools, and so forth. He works in a gas station that he partly owns and doesn’t have to live like this, but that’s the way he’s always lived. I just don’t know how he gets away with it. Sometimes he shoots his food, bringing down a goose flying over, or some other woodland creature. Nobody bothers him,

I hadn’t seen Mike for around fifteen years when I ran into him while teaching Clarion West--a student who was driving me somewhere stopped for gas at Mike’s station and there Mike was. He scared the daylights out of my student by talking about prison life and how the student would do well in the joint by selling his ass. Mike grew up on the streets of Seattle, working as a prostitute while a teenager, eventually living for a while with “a Cadillac salesman with a ring in his dick,” then ran away to Detroit and Ann Arbor. When I first met him, he was living with some people he called the Kung Fu Hillbillies, primitive survivalists whose leader earned a living by selling homemade throwing stars and crank to high school kids, and whom they all believed would be king of the world once the Shitstorm came (This part of Mike’s life forms a portion of a forthcoming novel). The leader, Richard, was ultraviolent, a black belt in some martial art, but Mike kept him under control. He built a laser and other arcane devices in his room, and Richard’s eyes would widen with fear to see all the dancing lights and stuff. I think he believed Mike was a wizard. Whenever Richard got contentious, Mike would solve the problem by giving him a bottle of tequila and Richard would fuck himself up behind the booze.
Richard ended up shooting a black man through the eye. He was a total racist, believing that blacks were descended from apes, whites from angels. After shooting the black guy, he got drunk and took his dog and his bow and arrows, and hid in a culvert, where the cops eventually found him. During the time he lived with the Hillbillies, Mike was in a straight phase and had a girlfriend who worked at the Velvet Touch massage parlor, and endeared himself to the various women who worked there, because he had a foolproof and painless way of removing vaginal warts. I was drawn to him because he had no filters on his speech and talked in a kind of stream of consciousness style, oddly literate and entirely profane. This got us kicked out of a lot of bars and restaurants, because Mike talks loud. Yesterday was no different. We met up with Mike up at noon, and by two o’clock we were drunk and had been kicked out of our first bar. I can’t be around Mike too much—the alcohol consumption is extreme and it just gets too intense; but it was fun yesterday. We took the Mike Show to a wino bar where no one would be offended and somehow managed to get home safely.

Anyway, Gordon’s off tomorrow, heading for the British Columbia Vancouver, and I’m hoping to get a little work done before he wakes up. More later.
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