Post by Nick Fudge on Apr 20, 2011 2:01:16 GMT -5
Home. It’s not a location, more a destination. Nick Fudge has found himself in search of “home” his whole life. Constantly searching for home in every form of salivation he can requiem. Nick Fudge’s journey has not been the typical journey. In no way was it a textbook American conquest into the life of riches and fame. No, quite the contrary it was an American Nightmare. Filled with all the classic clichés that fill the silver screen. Heartbreak, sorrow, triumph and tragedy complimenting years of euphoria and years of desolation became the tale of Nick Fudge. Weaved together by determination to succeed and equally unwove by the constant reiteration of failure.
Nick Fudge had long gone in search of the American Dream. An idea, that in reality, that was a lying fuck around. The light at the end of the tunnel diminished years ago for Nick Fudge. Yet, not phased by the tribulations, Nick Fudge continued down the same path. Head first or was it feat first? Regardless Nick Fudge knew at this point in his life the future was a much shorter time frame then was his past. He’s traveled America. Every highway thrice over Route 66 was as much “home” as I75. In fact if their was one thing Nick Fudge did know for certain that was that every destination he had traveled to had clear cut directions.
So why was it that Nick Fudge could not find happiness? Why was it that he could not settle? Why did he stay up every night and replay his life in his head looking for mistakes. The tragic case of a beloved figure becoming irrelevant had transpired. Nick Fudge lacked the feel of belonging. He once thrived from the success and respect he gained as an in ring competitor. The great triumph in Nick Fudge’s life was his spotty success as an entertainer. He often wondered though: How could something bring such great joy but leave him a hollow man with nothing left to live for.
“Should I return? Does my body have enough left for one more tour of duty? Does the last gunslinger return at high noon one more time to test his luck? Or do I retreat to the land of the lost and fall by the wayside like the last of the gunslingers and rebels. Do I go out there one more time? Or do I go curl up and die?”
Nick Fudge had aged mentally and spiritually more then he had physically. An elder lived inside the shell of the 40-something year old man that was Nick Fudge. Wisdom often times did shine through the dry ramblings of Nick Fudge. He though, was often times to narrow minded to pick up on his own words.
“I wake up in the morning, and I have nothing. I have no home. I have no family. I left my friends before they could leave me. I left my one true love, entertaining, before it left me. I have lost it all. I have seen the devil and he spit fire and told me my time is not over. So I wayfarer from place to place from coast to coast looking to fulfill what is left of my destiny.”
Where does he sleep and eat? Wherever his Ford Econoline van stops for the night. The van has pushed over 200,000 miles since Nick Fudge purchased it almost two years ago. White side panels and standard trim the van is nothing special. It is if anything ordinary. Much like the life Nick Fudge is living. An ordinary life of an extraordinary individual, who had the power to build a temple and to tear it down, to sum it up that was the backstory to Nick Fudge’s life.
Nick Fudge travelled nowhere particular. He was in search of his calling and a place to call home. Not in search of something to special or exotic. In fact the only place he recalled being to more then once over the past two months was to the burial site of his beloved mother. That is where he was now. He parked his van on the concourse of the cemetery and walked out to the lone tombstone in the Fudge plot of the cemetery. He stared down at his mother’s resting place. He knelt down. As to share a conversation with the granite tombstone with his mother’s name etched into it. One hand grazed through the brown blades of grass near the headstone. Nick Fudge than began to speak softly but with confidence.
“Ma, I don’t know how’d you feel about me now. If I have one worry that is constant in my life it is trying to not to let you down. These past few years have been hard. Real hard, harder than any other part of my life that has come before. I have nothing. No one I can turn to, no one to tell me what is right or wrong. If I could I’d join you in a heartbeat. Truth is though, I can’t right now. I have a cause Ma. I don’t know what that cause is and I don’t know how I pertain to it. But I know I have one. If their was a God I’d sure appreciate a sign. Anything.”
Twelve fifteen in the afternoon and Nick Fudge had long since left the cemetery. Nick Fudge had made today’s journey down US-23 to go see an old acquaintance in Columbus, Ohio. He had long since given up on the radio. The FM waves couldn’t speak of the experiences in which Nick Fudge had undergone the past two years. So he sat in silence, but as always he had a constant ringing in his ears. The sun hid behind a cold front. Nick Fudge though kept his sunglasses on. He hadn’t drunk in days, but his eyes showed the wear of alcohol and drug abuse. The Ford Econoline van housed every one of Fudge’s belongings. He had no more then twelve articles of clothing with him at a time. He had begun to make a habit out of constantly buying new clothes and throwing them away. In the glove box though was Nick Fudge’s desperation possession. A colt .45 with only two bullets either meant for himself or for self-defense. Nick Fudge remember the last time he had the weapon out of his glove box.
That was the last time Nick Fudge tried to end himself with his choice weapon. He was high on amphetamines. He fell out of consciousness and awoke twenty hours later being horrified in a nightmare he constantly tried to wake from. He was drenched and near an exit ramp on I95 in Miami, Florida. This is where Nick Fudge seen the devil. The humbling experience of being poked at by a stick from a hobo set Nick Fudge on his current moral quest. He put the weapon in his glove box and locked it. He shot it once previously to scare off two gangbangers who wear attempting to break into Fudge’s van while he was in Detroit, Michigan. Other then that the gun remained buried in the glove box. As a symbol that there was no easy way out of life for Nick Fudge.
Nick Fudge arrived in Columbus at four PM. He parked his van in a Wal-Mart parking lot. He had planned on resting before meeting his acquaintance later in the evening. He reclined his seat and took off his sunglasses. He couldn’t help but feel delighted in himself. If anything Nick Fudge knew he did one thing right and that was speak from the heart.
“I know that there is no easy way out of this life. That exiting this life is the great reward that life grants us at our penultimate moments. I’m looking for one of those moments right now. Because right now the moments I’m living are useless. Pointless. I’m searching. I’m searching everywhere. My calling is out there and I’m closer to it today then I was yesterday.”
Nick Fudge closed his eyes. He fell asleep after a few minutes. He woke himself up every twenty or so minutes. To afraid to dream out loud. Nick Fudge had become accustom to this style of sleep. His REM debt was up to an incredible amount and when he did allow himself to dream he slept for days. Three hours passed and Fudge un-reclined his drivers seat back to driving position. He got out of the van and stretched. He wasn’t in particular good shape, but he was fit. It was noticeable in the way stretched. He stretched the way a champion athlete stretches. Perfect form and full lateral movement. As people walked by in the parking lot they stared at Nick Fudge stretching, and they thought nothing of it. They thought nothing of him. Nick Fudge knew this, and that is what he had sought out to change.
…..to be continued.
Nick Fudge had long gone in search of the American Dream. An idea, that in reality, that was a lying fuck around. The light at the end of the tunnel diminished years ago for Nick Fudge. Yet, not phased by the tribulations, Nick Fudge continued down the same path. Head first or was it feat first? Regardless Nick Fudge knew at this point in his life the future was a much shorter time frame then was his past. He’s traveled America. Every highway thrice over Route 66 was as much “home” as I75. In fact if their was one thing Nick Fudge did know for certain that was that every destination he had traveled to had clear cut directions.
So why was it that Nick Fudge could not find happiness? Why was it that he could not settle? Why did he stay up every night and replay his life in his head looking for mistakes. The tragic case of a beloved figure becoming irrelevant had transpired. Nick Fudge lacked the feel of belonging. He once thrived from the success and respect he gained as an in ring competitor. The great triumph in Nick Fudge’s life was his spotty success as an entertainer. He often wondered though: How could something bring such great joy but leave him a hollow man with nothing left to live for.
“Should I return? Does my body have enough left for one more tour of duty? Does the last gunslinger return at high noon one more time to test his luck? Or do I retreat to the land of the lost and fall by the wayside like the last of the gunslingers and rebels. Do I go out there one more time? Or do I go curl up and die?”
Nick Fudge had aged mentally and spiritually more then he had physically. An elder lived inside the shell of the 40-something year old man that was Nick Fudge. Wisdom often times did shine through the dry ramblings of Nick Fudge. He though, was often times to narrow minded to pick up on his own words.
“I wake up in the morning, and I have nothing. I have no home. I have no family. I left my friends before they could leave me. I left my one true love, entertaining, before it left me. I have lost it all. I have seen the devil and he spit fire and told me my time is not over. So I wayfarer from place to place from coast to coast looking to fulfill what is left of my destiny.”
Where does he sleep and eat? Wherever his Ford Econoline van stops for the night. The van has pushed over 200,000 miles since Nick Fudge purchased it almost two years ago. White side panels and standard trim the van is nothing special. It is if anything ordinary. Much like the life Nick Fudge is living. An ordinary life of an extraordinary individual, who had the power to build a temple and to tear it down, to sum it up that was the backstory to Nick Fudge’s life.
Nick Fudge travelled nowhere particular. He was in search of his calling and a place to call home. Not in search of something to special or exotic. In fact the only place he recalled being to more then once over the past two months was to the burial site of his beloved mother. That is where he was now. He parked his van on the concourse of the cemetery and walked out to the lone tombstone in the Fudge plot of the cemetery. He stared down at his mother’s resting place. He knelt down. As to share a conversation with the granite tombstone with his mother’s name etched into it. One hand grazed through the brown blades of grass near the headstone. Nick Fudge than began to speak softly but with confidence.
“Ma, I don’t know how’d you feel about me now. If I have one worry that is constant in my life it is trying to not to let you down. These past few years have been hard. Real hard, harder than any other part of my life that has come before. I have nothing. No one I can turn to, no one to tell me what is right or wrong. If I could I’d join you in a heartbeat. Truth is though, I can’t right now. I have a cause Ma. I don’t know what that cause is and I don’t know how I pertain to it. But I know I have one. If their was a God I’d sure appreciate a sign. Anything.”
Twelve fifteen in the afternoon and Nick Fudge had long since left the cemetery. Nick Fudge had made today’s journey down US-23 to go see an old acquaintance in Columbus, Ohio. He had long since given up on the radio. The FM waves couldn’t speak of the experiences in which Nick Fudge had undergone the past two years. So he sat in silence, but as always he had a constant ringing in his ears. The sun hid behind a cold front. Nick Fudge though kept his sunglasses on. He hadn’t drunk in days, but his eyes showed the wear of alcohol and drug abuse. The Ford Econoline van housed every one of Fudge’s belongings. He had no more then twelve articles of clothing with him at a time. He had begun to make a habit out of constantly buying new clothes and throwing them away. In the glove box though was Nick Fudge’s desperation possession. A colt .45 with only two bullets either meant for himself or for self-defense. Nick Fudge remember the last time he had the weapon out of his glove box.
That was the last time Nick Fudge tried to end himself with his choice weapon. He was high on amphetamines. He fell out of consciousness and awoke twenty hours later being horrified in a nightmare he constantly tried to wake from. He was drenched and near an exit ramp on I95 in Miami, Florida. This is where Nick Fudge seen the devil. The humbling experience of being poked at by a stick from a hobo set Nick Fudge on his current moral quest. He put the weapon in his glove box and locked it. He shot it once previously to scare off two gangbangers who wear attempting to break into Fudge’s van while he was in Detroit, Michigan. Other then that the gun remained buried in the glove box. As a symbol that there was no easy way out of life for Nick Fudge.
Nick Fudge arrived in Columbus at four PM. He parked his van in a Wal-Mart parking lot. He had planned on resting before meeting his acquaintance later in the evening. He reclined his seat and took off his sunglasses. He couldn’t help but feel delighted in himself. If anything Nick Fudge knew he did one thing right and that was speak from the heart.
“I know that there is no easy way out of this life. That exiting this life is the great reward that life grants us at our penultimate moments. I’m looking for one of those moments right now. Because right now the moments I’m living are useless. Pointless. I’m searching. I’m searching everywhere. My calling is out there and I’m closer to it today then I was yesterday.”
Nick Fudge closed his eyes. He fell asleep after a few minutes. He woke himself up every twenty or so minutes. To afraid to dream out loud. Nick Fudge had become accustom to this style of sleep. His REM debt was up to an incredible amount and when he did allow himself to dream he slept for days. Three hours passed and Fudge un-reclined his drivers seat back to driving position. He got out of the van and stretched. He wasn’t in particular good shape, but he was fit. It was noticeable in the way stretched. He stretched the way a champion athlete stretches. Perfect form and full lateral movement. As people walked by in the parking lot they stared at Nick Fudge stretching, and they thought nothing of it. They thought nothing of him. Nick Fudge knew this, and that is what he had sought out to change.
…..to be continued.
