LYLE: That's LYLE

“Something’s strange
between the two of us
Somehow the stars &
the darkness swirl
the universe”
-OOLYAKOO, “Change”

There are many levels of emotion associated with it. Anger is merely one of the reactions. Transcendence and sorrow are others. Denial. Depression. The insane laughter of the absurdity of it all.

She was a peach. 1996 Acura Integra. Under 65,000 miles. Serviced at dealerships since initial purchase. Garaged most of its life. My brother-in-law was the original owner. I was the second owner. My father took the car on a cross-country road-trip from D.C. to L.A and delivered it to me. This was in early March. Last Saturday night the phone rang. 3 A.M. She had been located by L.A.P.D. I asked what condition she was in. He said he wasn’t going to soften it: the engine was gone. I asked him how the body was. He said it was surprisingly left in good condition. Ain’t that a bitch. I got all the information and tried to process it. At least I knew where she was… we wouldn’t be looking down every fucking street for her anymore. It had only been 4 days, but I took a look at every Acura I encountered for those 4 days. I could tell you where at least 20 of them are parked right now. So for a minute there, I understood what those people feel that have had a family member disappear… and then they get that call. They always seem satisfied, on a level, just to know where she is. I didn’t feel so good about it in the morning.
I had to release the car from the impound yard to my insurance company. They took her over to a mechanic on my side of town. Tracy and I decided to visit. From the street, it was just like seeing my car parked in a lot. Inside the car was in disarray. The steering wheel had been cut. My club was laying on the floor with various parts of the dashboard. There were no gauges in the dash any longer. The air filtering system was sitting in the backseat, which had been pulled up from the base of the car. I couldn’t understand why they would do that (after contemplation, Tracy CSI’d that it’s probably where they place LoJack). I pop the trunk and there are two barrels of waste oil with one of my blankets shoved in the lid to keep it from spilling. Thanks for that. When I had opened the car, Tracy mentioned the smell and I told her that they drain the car when they take the engine. I didn’t realize they had put it in the trunk. They had also thrown the front suspension back there. I open the hood and an amazing void stared back at me. It was like looking somebody in the face, but there’s no face there. It was shocking. I had looked at that engine with pride a couple of times and it was just not there anymore. On the drive home, Tracy was angry. I was exhausted. Last night, I went back to the mechanic’s shop and met with the insurance rep. We went over everything and I gave him my paperwork. I took a few pictures…

I can’t say I was looking forward to the day in front of me Wednesday morning. The day before had been pretty frustrating and I knew that I had a couple more days of that in front of me. My lady and I had unwound with a bottle of wine the night before, so I was relaxed and sleepy when I walked out to my car. Or should I say to the place my car had been the night before. My neighbor’s dog was out walking her owner. “Did you forget where you left your car?” I must have had that look on my face. There is a series of years where this question would have been in place, but I had just come off of a six month hiatus from alcohol and had only recently begun to have drinks in moderation. “No. I don’t think I did.” I was pretty sure I had parked it right in front of our building and at the very least was without question positive that I had parked in the first half of the block. My neighbor starts looking around as well and after walking around the corner and back I am sure it’s been taken. Rock star parking. They stole the fucking car. I had been telling her the night before that I could feel that something was stirring in the force and that major things were going take place. I walk out the next morning to grand theft auto. I call her from the street, but she doesn’t pick up. I walk back to the apartment and tell her my car is gone. My father had driven it across the country for me just a few months before. A peach. 1996. Less than 65,000 miles on it. I owe less than a grand on it and it’s gone. I find irony in the fact that I have to go down to the police station to file the report… wondering how people that don’t have access to another car get down to the station to report their car stolen. As I’m driving over in her car, I zip around the neighborhood to see if I see the car anywhere. I come across one that looks very similar a block over and get the delusion that perhaps someone had just repossessed the wrong car… mistaken mine for this one… and that they’d bring it back in one piece. Is there a part of me that still holds on to this delusion? I drive back to the store that I had stopped by on the way home last night… just in case… I had left it there and walked 2 and a half blocks home without remembering to bring the car home. No dice. I get to City Hall and there is no parking. It’s not even 9 a.m. and I can’t find a space. After driving around and doing illegal U-turns in front of the Court House, I start to feel a flip-out coming on. The universe is trying my patience and I am about to exercise some of my power. I turn left again and there’s an opening and in I go. It’s my first visit to the police station. I had never really planned on stopping by. The desk officer took my information and checked the records to see if anyone had reported towing the car. None had so he sent me to the other window. I had been talking to a guy who was coming in to report his window being smashed in. The officer had told him there had been a few of those up on Washington. We wished one another well.
The lady had to go find a pen, so I phoned into work again. It really is an inopportune time for unforeseen circumstances. 3rd quarter starts this coming Monday. I had been off on Monday when they had entered and approved all the buys for the new-to-me account that I’ve taken over for the next few months and everything needs to go out yesterday… and I was there a couple hours extra yesterday trying to get things to go out tomorrow. When it rains, it pours, even in Santa Monica when the sun is out. She has her pen and is filling out my form. I play back the events of parking the car the night before, coming out this morning to it not being there. She asks if I have all my keys, which I do. Was there any broken glass? No. I had put my club on the steering wheel, taken my stereo face off and set the locks and alarm with the remote. Hell, I was tired, but I probably checked the doors… but I don’t remember. She asks if there’s anything else I want to add. “Find my car.” It was the first moment that I felt choked up.

My car hasn’t been found… or at least not that I have heard about. I’ve played a series of scenarios in my head… but I am ultimately dancing with the unknown. I don’t know if there are lessons to be learned in every experience, but I always search to find them. Impermanence has been on my mind for the last few days.

In junior high, I was exposed to a band called MARILLION. Jeff had a copy of FUGAZI and his brother was showing it to me. He had told me there was a passage where the guy is singing about a fuck and I hadn’t heard that word much in music at that point. Maybe a “what the fuck, man” in the background of a VAN HALEN song,.. or WHO “the fuck are you”…, but never so casually. “was it just a fuck, was it just a fuck, just another fuck,..” The lyrics were clear and poignant and I remember that moment to this day. I have spent many hours of my life listening to MARILLION. It is not a stretch to say that they shaped me. The lyricist goes by the name FISH. I began jotting down ideas on “to-go tickets” at work while I was washing dishes… going home and emptying my pockets of the paper pieces… and putting on my headphones living out teenage disaffection. The words of FISH were in heavy rotation in my thought patterns. I listened to a lot of music during that time and it has all affected me and my artistic style. FISH affected me as a writer. I indirectly was introduced to KEROUAC through FISH… these are the two that inspired me to take my words seriously… in the way that I take things seriously. Tuesday night, FISH had a show in L.A. He was going to hang out with fans before the show at a bar down the street. Tracy and I parked the car on the street and decided to walk up to look at some clothes. Towards me is walking FISH with a couple of guys. I smile and give a little salute and he nods. We walk back down to the bar and run into my drummer’s wife and I walk out on the back patio. FISH is having a Guiness and talking to some guy. I stand there for a few minutes and he wraps up signing some things. He looks over at me and I tell him that he’s been a major inspiration and I hand him a couple of my CDs. He’s looking over them and tells me he likes the MUZZLELOADER title THE NOT SO SECRET LIES OF BOBBY SCORPIO… I tell him OOLYAKOO is a tribute to Jack… he’s wearing a shirt with Jack and Neil on it… I’m wearing a gorilla in a marijuana field… He starts talking about his rhythm guitarist not getting his visa in enough time and is missing tonight’s show. I tell him I’m looking forward to the show and to knock ‘em dead. He shakes my hand and Tracy and I go to get cash and coffee. After a while we come back by the bar and sit to talk with the drummer’s wife and her friend for a bit. They offer to take my picture with him and I tell them I don’t really do that kind of thing… I like to hand artwork to people in the industry, but I don’t like to ask them for anything… I feel like it puts them above me and I believe we are all on the same level… we decide to leave and I completely change my mind. I think I was nervous. I’m not used to feeling like a fan. I’ve met a lot of famous people, but I was never really a fan… I said I was… “big fan, big fan”… I’ve told a lot of people that, but it was never really true… and here I am, feeling like a fan. Some other people are taking pictures with him and after a minute I change my mind again… but they won’t let me… “Look, man, can I bother you again… do you mind if I get a picture?” “That’s what I’m here for…” after a sip of tequila and he towers over me with his arm over my shoulder… like Neil and Jack. He shakes my hand again and I tell him to have a great show… I haven’t seen the pictures yet… I hope I don’t look like a dork… I felt like a dork… but I finally met my mentor…

(picture courtesy of Shawn Philips)