PHILOSOPHY of JOHN WICINAS

PHILOSOPHY -- Lesson #1 on how "to be" John Wicinas

John Wicinas Sr. (My Father):

It is necessary to live up to the expectations of others who "suppose" John Wicinas is a person of considerable intelligence and creativity. Regardless of this fictional construct, it is to your detriment to ever appear as if you are not constantly thinking i.e. bored. I always found the timeless classic --"Hand married to Chin" -- the most effective. Regardless of any spatial circumstances in life -- libraries, coffee shops and especially shady bars -- (BAR LOUIE not inclusive in the latter), if you find yourself looking bored (and thoughtless), you will become boring.

As an overall note, also demonstrated in the remaining three lessons, it is best to minimize direct contact with cameras. Look away, if at all possible. Only permit those with Unconditional Love and Trust to peer into your eyes.

Many Thanks...

...for the kind words. -Thor

IT IS ALL ABOUT YOUNG LOVE AND HOW YOUNG LOVERS CAN’T BOTH BE PRESIDENT SOME DAY

IT IS ALL ABOUT YOUNG LOVE AND HOW YOUNG LOVERS CAN’T BOTH BE PRESIDENT SOME DAY

This is a story about a note that a young Jack Winsome “passed” to his love and soon to be “flapper” Louise in the halls of Norwin High School sometime back in 1928……….. IT IS ALL ABOUT YOUNG LOVE AND HOW YOUNG LOVERS CAN’T BOTH BE PRESIDENT SOME DAY………high school notes don’t use grammer or spelling so hot……..

Dearest Louise,

Oh honey I will miss you so. Though I may be gone only a day it will seem like forever. Because...(you know I don't want to say it too much).I hope you don't forget what I look like(thats why I gave you pictures)
I remember you ,take it from there. I want to remind you, that reminds me of a story... It is about our future, I guess…..

-LOOK MAN, WHEN YOU ARE IN LOVE, BOTH LOVERS CAN’T BE PRESIDENT-

In the future, There once was a man and a woman (hear her roar). They were in a contest to be class president. (This girl we will call Loiuse- this guy we will call, Jack). They were lovers, but when school started the class presidency campaigns they(Louise and Jack) started to bicker furiously. The contest came to a tie. So Louise,( who was beautiful, intelligent, and preppie) and Jack (who was winsome, he was msart, he was a walking work of art).

Since it was between Louise and Jack, they noticed they both started to become enemies but since they were in love they realized it. So evern though being class president meant a lot to each of them they both dropped out (After Jack saying I'll quit you run and Louise saying she'll quit).

This is love.

I hope that wasn't too stupid. Hey look I'll have fun, but be safe. Don’t worry about me, NO CHICKS(my heart couldn't take anymore loving, I get my love from you) I totally trust you and I don't think but totally know I trust you(one more reminder and I'll verbally tell you a couple times, Louise).

Bye-bye babe,honey,sweety
I love you
John the dreamer

In Love with Number 13

The EMAIL from MADELINE RAVENNA to THE MOOD SWINGER -

"Hi and Hello"

FEBRUARY 24, 2007 - Early on TUESDAY

Hey, Jack, just in case you didn't get the other email...SO GREAT TO SEE YOU!!!!
Keep in touch...I'll run into you when you come back to State College. :) We ALWAYS seem to do so!

AGAPE,
~Maddy

p.s. How did the Psych Eval go?

The EMAIL from THE MOOD SWINGER to MADELINE RAVENNA -

"Fucking Shrinks -- Stupid Peasants"

FEBRUARY 24, 2007 - Later that DAY

My Dearest Maddy,

I must confess that I shall not embroider the facts, even a little, in regards to my Psychiatric Evaluation, at the Western Psychiatric Institute (in Pittsburgh), this past Monday.......

Truth to tell, the whole episode would have appeared to be a complete debacle, by ANY fly on the wall (strange enough to rest in such an "uncivilized" and sterile environment). Really.... So barbaric in "that" place.

As you know, Emma immediately seduced me upon my arrival (the night before Valentine's Day), at good old STATE...... Mad love rekindled and overwhelmed me....I was in a state.....and it was "blockbusters" every day for over a week and a half! So, as you might imagine, the threatening issue at hand was how hot my blood yet burned (in love).... for the Psych Eval. yesterday morning.

Please allow me to digress for a moment.......

I thank you in advance for your attention to detail.....

As a Franklin of sorts, I normally follow my same routine when visiting vapid pedestrians such as "Doctors of Psychiatry." As you know Dearest Maddy, in private, I refer to them as "welders." Such peasants......

I never deviate from my sacrosanct routine:

a. I lie through my teeth for an hour;
b. I procure several prescriptions (some of my choice i.e. "a score" in our book -- others "prescribed" specifically for my supposed ailments);
c. as I exit stage right (at the end of the session), I selectively destroy the malign Rx.'s;
d. I have my choice "meds" filled at Pitt's on-campus pharmacy;
e. I saunter across campus to Hemingway's to wash down an overdose of ativan (via a few flutes of champagne);
f. I visit the WC (of course, in all gentlemanly refinement) and proceed to crush and snort 60 to, perhaps - depending on my consideration of schadenfreude at the moment -90 mg. of addies;
g. I enjoy considerable (and delicious -- if I may add) interlocution with the local junkies and soon to be doomed collegiate drunks before taking my leave;
h. I sit in the 72' Lincoln, marvel in my deviance and savor the Blue Drip......

Hmmmm.....SASSY!

In the past, I would sit in the Lincoln and smoke several Reds as I jotted down all of the lies from my session in a "fictional" journal (Dear Maddy, consistency in manipulation is, well.... oh so important, you know). However, with the advent of electronics, I currently enjoy recording my "therapeutic sessions" via a small (battery driven device) in my left boot. I never need worry about remembering ALL of my anymore..... How grand?

At this point, I find it necessary to apologize to you for the description of my monthly banal need for therapy. Please forgive my error and let us continue, henceforth, with Monday's Psychiatric Evaluation. Upon reflection.....I do suppose the information presented above is relevant.....perhaps I should have simply presented it as a footnote?

As you often stress, my skills as an actor/anti-social personality normally serve me well. However, after chronically/daily blacking out for over a month before hitting State, hopelessly falling in love with Emma on the 14th loving her to the very moment I left, driving for five hours (through a blizzard and in complete silence just to barely make my appointment on time), and feeling a touch of amphetamine psychosis while walking into "that" insane asylum.......well there was no need to "act a bit crazy" in order to "pass" the Psychiatric Evaluation.

I was rather twisted (although, quite winsome) for it by 9:00 on Monday......

Yet, for whatever reason.....

I felt it necessary to play the part of Raskolikov anyway......

As you might expect, my attention span was a bit limited at this time and, if not for the recorder, I honestly could not tell you what this "welder/peasant" said.... that is.... with one exception. I was so bored with his bantering that I finally had to reveal that the "rules of society" do no apply to me. They just don't!

Immediately thereafter, I was informed no "habit-forming" vitamins would be prescribed to ensure my safety and welfare; moreover, an immediate drug screen was necessary, without question. Of course, I agreed this was a stellar plan; I readily took his script to have my blood drawn with great alacrity! As I parted for the on-site lab, I stressed that "I would be right back."

Jerks............

I swaggered out of the facility. Fired up a Red and hit it hard. As my head went light, I burned the script on the street.

I smiled while thinking of my dear Number 13......

I felt really good about my life. I called my PCP. I explained that I needed an urgent appointment because this "new" doctor "scared me" (everyone at his office knows my plight -- I am very pleasant and intelligent -- but... sort of shy/frightened by meeting new people).

Nitwits.......

An hour later, I met my PCP and he documented the "facts" for my file. Thereafter, I had him contact my State/Medical investigator to explain why I simply could not complete my Psychiatric Evaluation that day: "Mr. Winsome, is not comfortable in new environments etc......."
How fucking hilarious is that?

How about.......CRAZE is a "crazy" substance abuser and is not jazzed about the idea of unexpected drug screens....and TODAY would have sucked because he ate morphine EVERY DAY for OVER a WEEK since he arived in "Happy Valley" on February 13th......

As I stressed my state of duress, my PCP found it prudent to "temporarily" double my ativan script AND handed me a baker's dozen of "melt in your melt" clonazapam samples as ell! Yummy.....

Idiots...........

Although I ended up having to pay $9.00 in parking that day, I found this expense to be somewhat acceptable. The entire day was rather amusing, indeed. In a twisted/exhausted state, I fucked the system and scored anyway. Fucking idiots......Why do they determine I need their "help" because of my delusions of grandeur? Why can't they just realize the rules of society DO NOT apply to me? What evidence do they have? None, but I have my Number 13, Man. Fucking Number 13, Man. I love HER, man. My lovely Number 13......Idiots.... I have it all on tape and...

oh sorry - Emma needs me......bye

EMAIL from MADELINE RAVENNA to THE MOOD SWINGER -

"Observation and Memory"

FEBRUARY 24, 2007 - Late that Night

Oh my.

I must say, my dear, that as much as my original note was merely meant to be a quick hi and hello (and to check up on your "welders" appointment, I feel somewhat embarrassed by not going to such literary lengths as you in our communiqué...though also quick to admit I am heretofore inspired to do so given your response, and similarly encouraged to regale you via email, to the manner in which you are inclined (if not accustomed), especially since I was unable to do so during your brief and whirlwind visit. (Oh, the surprise I had planned - well, I did tell you what that was - perhaps next time, if you aren't too gaga with your old flame.) But, no matter, we are on the same page now. That being said, let me now put this next bit as perfectly and sonorously as possible:

---What The Fuck??---

Jack, I see more clearly now how you have morphed into an inspired and civilized collusion of intelligence and insanity. I humbly admire your success in this area, and aspire to it in my own way, which cannot be near as animated and intense as your own, as that just is not how I am wired. You are quite a bit mad, for sure. But how this is really any surprise, I do not know. Given your trajectory, how could you not help to end up exactly where you are - not that its a bad place at all; I am just observing, here....like I did in many years past......

I mean, it is no surprise to me: My fondest memory in your regard is one night in your room (above the hotel? -- you ALWAYS liked living in hotels) where we found ourselves as a quick divergence from the (then) pleasant atmosphere of Z's - some sharing of various pharmies had been offered, and you were in haste to arrange and procure the required items, not the smallest of them being a full length, unframed mirror, which happened to be wedged between a dresser and the door frame.

After a few unsuccessful attempts at dislodging it left you aggravated, you suddenly kicked the thing -- shattering it into infinite glittering shards...the most well-shaped of these you calmly chose for a workspace and sat down to begin crushing the pills...calmly, rationally, as if that sequence of events were the most natural and logical thing in the world. Having not really hung out with you ALONE before, I remember being scared for just a moment, until you looked up from intent absorption in the process to say, in a rather fine and pleasant tone:

"What, WASN'T THAT NORMAL?"

before going right back into looking down again. And a beautiful friendship was born. :)

I look forward to its continuance, after a long hiatus.

AGAPE,

Maddy

BEXY D.M. and the ROAST BEEF SUB

Its stupid!!! Gettin' angrier about being angry. Its like, do you want to sit in Ye Olde College Diner, smoke cigarettes, drink coffee and stare? It’s so damn typical. This whole scene is juvenile and I can’t hardly take it, man. I hate “B” movies, especially when I am the Super-Star.

If somebody asks, it’s easy: I think of Bexy. My mind gets all muddled and then everything is clear. Watch the clock and see the time go by. I know it is the time. It is the time and she is thinking of me right now. It’s easy. It is the time and Bexy.

As I sit and stare, sometimes I smoke when I can bear to light another cancer stick. I love Marlboro Reds.... Drink coffee, it makes the heart pump blood and the mind go faster. Time doesn’t increase its speed in motion, just me, myself and I. I dunno… Sometimes I think that I am not just a product of my environment and actually have some influence. Sometimes I think time moves faster as I sit and think. Then again, who cares anyway? I know everyone else is fucked-up because they have nothing to focus on. Of course being fucked doesn’t apply to me. I’m fine because I have my focus. Smoke, drink coffee, and either Bexy D.M. or a roast beef sub.

Sometimes I remember what happened to her. Sometimes I feel like I know why she is not around anymore. Sometimes, when I care to remember Bexy, I go to McClannahan's and order a roast beef sub. At these times, I feel satisfied.

I get really excited as the girl at the counter makes the sub. She opens the bun, spreads mayo on it and asks me my favorite inquiries:

“Lettuce?

Tomato?

Onion?”

“Yes,” I reply, “I want it all.” A smile crosses my face as she cuts it in half, wraps it, and hands it to me. I pay for it and gently cradle the sub. I walk home with a smile painted on my face. Although I attempt to conceal it, I imagine I must be beaming with joy as I reach my front door. I go straight to the living room upon entering my apartment. I think it best to live in the living room.

I place the sub on the coffee table. The room is cluttered with old roast beef sub wrappers. There is a lingering smell of old roast beef. I like it. I like it a lot.

I wonder if the roaches will ever be confident enough to face me in the living room? I wonder if a roach has enough nerve to fight me in the light? I wonder if a roach has nerves?

I stare at the sub as it rests on the coffee table. I open the wrapper and marvel at the beauty of it. The tomatoes are slightly squished from the trip home and the moist lettuce glistens. Pieces of roast beef peek at me from beneath the onions. I tease myself by telling the sub I don’t want her, “No sub, I am not going to eat you.... I just brought you here to look at you.”

The sub looks sad.

The sub speaks, “I thought you once said you would love me forever?” “No…. I will..” I continue to stutter, “Tonight you can just sit on the table and think about it because I am not going to eat you.”

Then my mind starts getting all muddled and I feel very, very sick. I stare at the sub with its beautiful tomatoes (slightly squished), glistening lettuce, and roast beef peeking at me from beneath the onions. I stare and everything is clear. “I love you Bexy!” bursts from my mouth. I know it is time. She is thinking of me right now when my mind is muddy. As I panic, my head becomes clear. It is the time.

I grab the sub and start shoving her into my mouth. I can hardly breathe as I barely chew and swallow it. I can’t breathe at all and my eyes are pouring tears. Within seconds, she is gone.

A huge lump of lettuce, tomato, onion and roast beef is lodged in my throat. I take a shallow breath and hope I don’t die. Slowly, and thankfully, it goes down. The pain of this experience is more than just discomfort. My punishment and ecstasy is complete. I think about how much I loved the sub and how much it hurts now that she is gone. It is a lingering sensation that never quite goes away.

I wonder what it is that I want?

The line between pain and pleasure is not thin. There is no such thing as a “razor’s edge” to distinguish the two. No thin line exists. There is no boundary at all. It is all so very much the same to me.

I look at the sub wrapper. I look at the shell that protected her on the way home. I look at the wrapper all torn-up and defeated. I close my eyes and it appears that I am crying. Once again, I’ve devoured my true love. I feel… I feel, I wonder what I do feel? I hate being in this damn “B” movie.........................................

It is dark outside now. Maybe I fell asleep. Maybe the numbness overcame me and consented to pass time without letting me know what happened. I hope it is the latter. “Spring” one hour forward, “Fall” one hour back. I wonder why I thought about that just now?

It is the time. The invention of medieval man that now rests on my wrist. Without my watch, I would not know how much time passes. I could not possibly know how much time slips away as I wade through Buzzard Swamp. Searching through my murky thoughts it becomes clear that my focus has its very own time…… Then the other thing happens (it is something I fear and dread more than anything). The “B” movie rewinds and old promises flare on the screen. This is all so wearisome…. I go to bed without taking my shoes off..........................

Even with my shoes on, I wake up cold. I listen to my fan hum and think about the last time it ran without electricity. Night passes and, as always, I feel different at these times. I am so very tired, but my mind is far too active to allow sleep. I might miss something if I sanction rest. I think of Gregor and am relieved that my limbs still appear all so human.

I decide that roaches have nerves…..

That is how the “B” movie ended. The time, the thoughts of roaches, and of course, Bexy are now part of my past. You bet I was pretty fucked-up then. Not like now when I hear the girls say, “He’s nice…a little fucked-up, but really nice.” In fact, from what I hear about me is that “Jack handled the whole incident pretty well.” That was then and this is now with no real thoughts of Bexy D.M. or the roast beef subs. I admit enjoying eating a couple of them since then, but it wasn’t the same…... Really…. Honest....

I did not eat a single sub for four days. Then I ate one out of pure nostalgia…. The second was just for old time’s sake… Those first couple of times I went to McClannahan's and watched the girl make the sub, I answered the same old questions about what I wanted in the past….. Of course, it was always the same answer, “I want it all.” At these times, I didn’t go very close to the counter for some reason…..something held me back. Then I decided I had no other choice but to quit eating the subs all together.

Now I find myself walking briskly with purpose.......

I must be headed for something important like a Red Feather at Zeno's. Then it starts happening and I break a sweat. Damn it, I know McClannahan's is on College Avenue. How stupid?

I should have turned down a different street.........

Conversation with Beetle, parts 1 and 2

The Cricket's Dream

THE CRICKET'S DREAM

From Jack's 9th Grade Journal - "The Kid They Called Winsome" August 11, 1985

Lying in bed I was nearly asleep....until I heard The Cricket chirping her song. Oh my, how I loved it! In my bed, in the dark, I admired this creature. I wanted it for myself as I loved her wonderful song....it's magickal song. It lulled me into a dreammy sleep.


I dreamed of a girl I loved. I wanted her only for myself (because I loved her). I finally captured her love, but not her freewill. She quickly became dull and seemed flawed. I knew I had to let her go....

Once again, she radiated her loveliness and owned her own soul.

Then I woke up.

Once again, I hear The Cricket's song. Out of bed, my bare feet hit the carpet and I climbed through the window.

Although a chill ran through my body, I stood very still (I was barefoot and the concrete was rather cold, after all). I listened to her song and realized where The Cricket was hiding. I saw The Cricket's ebony body shining in the dim lamp-post light.

I reached my (seemingly) long arm and captured The Cricket. I thought of how it's wonderful song would now be only for my ears. Then it........


The Cricket stopped chirping.

I knew I had to let her go. Once again, The Cricket started singing. We were both happy.

I realized then that even a cricket must dream....

But, The Cricket already knew that...