AF1: The Man I Came to Know As “Air Force 1”

AF1: The Man I Came to Know As “Air Force 1”

One of the most mysterious and interesting people I have ever met, I call AF1

I was posted up outside of a coffee shop at 4:30am on a day that you might call “any normal day where Max Osiris is still awake but I’m in deep sleep and about to be roused out of REM to go to my meaningless job where I spend all fucking day pretending not to want to kill myself”. So let’s call it like… a Tuesday…

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So it’s, I dunno – Tuesday or a Wednesday, it’s 4:30am. I’m waiting for the coffee joint to open while sitting on the bench because like most nights, i’ve been awake and walking ALL over LA for the past – i dunno – few weeks or a month – or whatever – time is hella gay* so let’s pretend it doesn’t exist…

(*not like that, you fuck. like “OG meaning” minus the homophobia. I had my dick sucked by a dude once, so don’t be tryna throw that “homophobia label” at me)

anyway, so I’m outside, it’s hella morning time, and I feel particularly awake because I just real-time processed a whole bunch of shit that I just went through…

and here comes this man…

this TOWERING ginormous black man that looks like a cross between Predator, the metal dudes from the beginning of 5th element, and like some sort of fucking 7D ship, housed in a single man’s body…

We see each other and BAM it’s like instant “hey buddy” what’s up – like INSTANT brotherhood. So we start walking, talking, like we’ve known each other for ever.

So we go on the walk…

We walk down Lincoln Rd. and just start sharing information, sharing out recent (and more extended life stories)…

Here’s a few things I *can* remember from HIS story… He’s the real life living MEMENTO guy. One of the things he remembers is being BLASTED by friendly fire in Afghanistan. I intuit it’s a tomahawk missile. Basically he has 3 fused vertebrae in his lower spine. Every 3 days he’s in so much pain that he has to just lay up and do nothing.

But we keep walking, because this is interesting.

He says he’s been “back” to the sites where he’s left clues for himself about what happened. He’s “trying to piece it all back together” but his memories from his missions have been erased.

He knows he has a wife and hasn’t seen his children in a while. Every time – in order to see them – he just needs to do “one last mission” – and he’s had a good number of those.

We keep walking. He tells me he’s not usually able to walk this long. He tells me of the way he’s been taught to change his appearance. He’s been able to change the color of his skin, his eye color – whatever the mission demanded… He’s been all over the world.

And he recently saw some hand prints of his that he knows he left for himself to help remember, in front of a building he was to blow up, destroy, whatever.

His memories linger.

I just keep listening. And collecting.

Collecting roses along our path, flowers – and fruits. Whatever calls to me from the scene – I just put them in my bag. I fasten roses to my clothing. I keep putting flowers and fruits that I find on the trees and in properties on my path into my bag and all over my body, I also have some palo santo around, and a few different “items” that are important for me to hang on to.

We get to a coffee shop in Mar Vista. I show him the cactus I’ve been eating that’s growing nearby. “This is why we’re able to have this conversation” I think to myself.

He whips out a canister of white powder to mix with water to drink – he has a few things that he’s figured out will keep his pain at bay – the powder is some analog to Niacin, I suspect. But before he downs his cocktail, he remarks to me at how miraculous it is to have walked – I’d estimate 10 or so miles – he’s never able to walk this far without excruciating pain setting in. I nod. I understand.

We keep walking.

While crossing an intersection, I remark that hey, we should head to the Hollywood Hills. I’m almost certain we’re glowing at a level that’s Hollywood-able and I probably know a few people who might be able to plug us in. I feel like I’ve met these people…

We also both wonder about the Marvel Universe – how we ALL are a superhero of our own making within the franchise world.

Is this how it happens? We recognize it and we ARE it, and then it’s all too obvious…

We keep walking. The curious thing about the “Pagan DMT” I’ve been making along our journey … the entire time … the roses (mostly), some other flowers, the fruits and the juices from these fruits, they somehow wilt rapidly and compress into smaller and smaller spaces in the bags I’m carrying. Like they start to vanish as soon as I add them to the mixxx… like they’re here holding the vibration of whatever is actually happening.

But here I am, walking with Air Force 1, collecting the flora, and talking of our grandiose fantasies… of the ability to represent ourselves as the heroes of our own journeys, that are about as unfathomable as any superhero movie you last watched…

<<< fast forward 2 weeks later>>>

Penny: *looks at me as I tell her parts of this story*
me: “…so yeah, he was friendly fired and is trying to recover his memories…”

Penny: “this is very dangerous. he’s in serious danger. be careful with him…”

(up next… how I met Penny)
(update: nah, it’s too sensitive to put my and Penny’s interactions online. Maybe in person over a beer sometime, if you care enough)

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