2002-05-22 - 9:55 a.m.

Scars from Electric Fences

Nearly 12 years ago my family moved to California, but I stayed behind in Texas and lived with Bane�s family. They had just moved into a new house in a new wooded subdivision. In the 1970s and 1980s it was common for new subdivisions to knock down any and all trees and build new homes from the ground up. In south Texas that was easy, many of the fields were already stripped bare when the landscape was used to farm or drill for oil (there was lots of oil in Houston). By the late 1980s people wanted new homes, but with the older feel of subdivisions with trees. The end result was that the new subdivisions were built around the existing trees.

Bane�s new house was pretty damn cool, though the two of us, his cats, and his dogs absolutely destroyed that house in no time. OK, my contribution was only to really make the cats and dogs hyper. Animals aren�t sure about me, largely because when I was in my prime I�d jump around � they don�t like creatures with more energy than them. And I don�t blame them.

The thing I remember most from his new house was his step-father�s gardens. Nothing special about them, except for the fact that his dog Sambo would dig all the flowers and vegetables out. Naturally that pissed his step-father off, so his step-father did what any good civil engineer would do � he trapped the gardens. He bought wire and electrified it after running it throughout the entire garden. When a human worked on the garden you just had to turn off the electric fence. But poor Sambo! He�d dig in the garden and get a very mild shock � at least it never did anything serious to Bane and me when we�d push each other into the wire.

After a few months of this, Sambo wanted nothing to do with that patch of ground, so Bane�s step-dad removed the wire. It worked. Bane and I noticed Sambo still did not want to have anything to do with the flower gardens, even though there was nothing there anymore that would shock him. Apparently the memory of pain was so bad that when Bane and I would push Sambo towards the garden, that the poor dog would cry. (He was a sweet dog, wouldn�t have bit either of us, but crying was his way of saying �Stop!�)

It is only now, years later that I�m wondering what that shock felt like to him. It tickled me, but since I walk upright (most of the time) electricity doesn�t scare me that much. But what did Sambo feel? Why was the pain of the memory so great that two teen aged boys couldn�t push a mutt into a flower garden?

Now I know. Last night I went to Frys electronics to buy some blank CDs and jewell cases so I can duplicate my music collection from home here in the office, but I realized that I was walking a bit more. Normally the pain from such a trip would have hit by now, but it hasn�t. I honestly think I�m getting better � and yet the scars of my trauma remain.

Like Sambo, my groin will never be the same. Will I ever plant a booted foot into the gut of a cute synthpop girl again (nothing like leaving your mark on a girl easily your size who�s boyfriend is twice your size and smiling and saying, �I love noise!� only to have her pick you up, swing you through the air and scream, �You ROCK!�)? It is strange � I�m so afraid of the pain returning. There are still moments of sharp pain, but they only remind me that the pain I�m in now is significantly less.

Hmmm � the new Sony headphones I bought just aren�t working out for me. They are comfortable as all sin. But the sound quality would probably be better if I was listening to my music through my tummy. It is so muffled. I just need to buy a stereo here for the office.

Whaw! I want to crush again. To destroy. To hear crunchy music.

All in all, it is a shame that a person every discovers that they have energy. To feel super or bulletproof or simply to exist in another level of existence (as a spaz) makes it all that more depressing to be pulled back into the world of the living. OK, maybe it would be a good idea for me to put the Power Music back down. My body is screaming for ethereal, but my mind is ready to dominate a dance floor again.

I think I will be dancing soon. And I think that everything I once had will return. But that new layer my grandmother talked about will be the �electric fence� that will also keep me in check. I�ve traded a bit of freedom for the knowledge scar that will forever have me wondering if maybe a part of Sambo is now in me.

Suicide Commando Mindstrip

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