Raver on the Run

Posted on August 1st, by Unknown in 20. No Comments

Raver On The RunHello kids.  I was asked by Matt Massive to write a column for you on the fun and adventures I have had over the last year.  You see, I am a fugitive.  This began about a year ago when I refused to go to jail for my umpteenth offense of driving after revocation.  The state saw me as a threat to the public well being, and upon decision, sentenced me to 5-7 years in the pokey.  Mind you, I ONLY have traffic offenses, and not even any drunk drivings; no accidents.  I asked the DA for work release, and she said no – said I wasn’t trustable, and I had repeated my crimes several times.  I’m an obvious threat to the establishment, I guess.  Since I had already done a couple of brief turns, I knew I didn’t want to go back, and the refusal of work and education sealed my decision.  Fuck this!

I had the notion for awhile that jail would be in my future, so I had planned to make my getaway already.  The bulk of my possessions were being held by a trusted friend with a farm in the sticks.  I had everything I needed to survive in a duffel bag, on my back.  After hearing the decision, and given three hours to report to jail, I went to an ex-girlfriends house.  She was down with my problems and agreed to keep me at her place for a week or two until I could get a ride from a friend to Minneapolis, where another friend would let me room with her awhile.  Only a couple of people knew my master plan, and they didn’t know the details.  Nobody knew the entire story, just in case the heat came sniffing around the corner.

Upon getting to my ex’s place (a place where even my good friends wouldn’t have looked for me), I met her current boyfriend.  He was a truck driver and was leaving the next morning for California with a load.  He asked me if I wanted to go- the deal being that he would feed me and hook me up with cigarettes, and pay me $100 a week cash for loading and unloading the truck at our stops.  There was a small comfortable apartment in the back of his cab with two bunks.  I realized this was the best luck I could have asked for as people have been known to disappear for years on the open road in a semi.  Since the first priority any new fugitive has is to hide out immediately, I knew this couldn’t get any better.  I left for Cali the next morning and told the State of Wisconsin to eat my balls.

The driver (who I guess I should give an alias to, umm… Bill) turned out to be really cool.  I was a bit nervous at first, hoping he wasn’t a sodomizing freak, but he turned out to be a straightforward hesher dude.  I am pretty hesh myself, so we got along fine.  As soon as Bill and I left the state, I called a couple of people I was tight with to let them know it was all good.  We toured America together for about two months before something came up and I split.  The bulk of that time was spent driving wherever we decided to go.  Bill owned his own truck, so he just got shipments going wherever he wanted to go to, and we went.  Our highlights included the major cities in southern California, all of the Southwest across the desert, through Texas to Florida and all the way north to NYC.  Just about every major city in every region, minus the Northwest and the extreme Northeast, was hit.

We spent my birthday drunk on Milwaukee’s Best in Santa Barbara.  Boy, was I thankful! I thought for sure I would be looking at cream-colored bars from a cement box, but instead I was drinking crummy beer, puking in the gutter of one of the most expensive sidewalks in America!  I passed out under a palm tree that night and woke up to sunburn; much better than hot dog night in the county pen.

In San Diego, Bill had a friend who worked for a big corporation.  When he heard we were in town, he came out and picked us up in his Jag and took us out on the town.  The beaches out there kick ass, and Tijuana is only a half an hour away.
We blasted across the desert for days at a time.  There is something undeniably spiritual about the vast expanses of nothing surrounding you.  I couldn’t take my eyes off the landscape and slowly realized that this is where I need to move to someday.  I smoked a lot of dope and listened to Enigma.  The tribal feeling was alive and nearly orgasmic at times.

We passed the White Sands missile range out in New Mexico.  That was sketchy.  There is a section of the interstate 70 miles long that runs right through the damn middle of it.  At the perimeter is a warning sign telling you traffic could be halted up to four hours if the lights on the sign were flashing.  Next to this was a big picture of some sort of missile.  They also recommended for your own safety to turn off cellular phones, ham radios and CBs.  Hmm…  We beat ass for Roswell.  Unfortunately, I slept through it, but according to Bill, I hadn’t missed anything.  Oh well.

We got lost in Brooklyn.  That has to be the dirtiest city in the world, burying Chicago easily.  I did like the people though.  They all have this attitude like they aren’t afraid to tell you exactly how you stand in their eyes, or how you drive or anything else for that matter.  Refreshing.

I got propositioned by a fat trucker somewhere in Pennsylvania.  Bill and I were having some coffee at a truck stop up in the mountains.  This guy comes over and asks if he can sit with us and buy us a cup.  We were bored, so we said what the fuck.  Discussion was of the very liberal kind, ranging from politics to music to drugs to sex.  He eventually asked us if we wanted to come back to his truck and have a soda, and play some cards.  OK, this is generally where the warning signs go up from all those times your mother told you never to talk to strangers.  This guy was definitely strange.  He told us he thought incest was “kinda alright, if everyone was consenting.”  And he had a thing for electro-erotic stimulation.  Hmm…  Well, we were looking for a little excitement to break up the monotony of the day, so we said fuck it.  There were two of us, and one of him.  We had knives on us if things got a little hairy.  So we went back to his truck.

He dealt a few hands of poker, and made small talk.  In the close proximity of the truck I realized this guy smelled funky.  He had that smell fat people get when they can’t wash between their rolls, and this guy had more rolls than a jar of E.  After a while he asked me if he could blow me.  Even offered me $25.  I turned him down, telling him politely that I don’t swing that way.  The card game went on.  A few minutes later, he asked me if I would do a nude photo shoot for him.  He said he would pay me.  I asked him how much he had in mind, and again offered me the $25.  I laughed and told him I wasn’t destitute and certainly not a cheap whore.  We finished the hand and left.

Somehow we got down to Daytona Beach, right in the middle of spring break.  We took six days off, got a hotel and a bong and played rock stars.  I have never seen so many bikinis and low-riders hopping down the beach on hydraulics in my life!  It was like being in an MTV video.  People drove past us in pick-up trucks with loud systems, as the girls in the back shot at us with squirt guns filled with beer.  We dropped the trailer and went pimpin’ around in the cab, blowing out the Revolting Cocks.  At some point, we wound up in a tattoo shop, where Bill offered to get me a tattoo at his expense.  I graciously got my first tat to immortalize the adventure that was changing my life.

During this time, we swung back through Wisconsin a couple of times to visit.  I became paranoid each time we did this.  I refused to go out for the most part, and holed up at my friend’s place.  I told my other friends to come and visit me there if they wanted to see me.  At one point, somebody talked me out of the house assuring me that it would be OK to go over to his woman’s pad to chill out and watch a movie.  I let my guard down and went.  Big mistake!  We had a run-in with the cops, because of sheer folly, and got questioned.  When asked of my identity, I gave an alias and claimed no ID.  This got me yanked out of the car and extensively interrogated, because there was no record of my existence.  They assumed I was lying, which I was, but they couldn’t prove it and I hadn’t done anything wrong, so they let me go.   Afterwards I realized the virtue of a good solid alias.  I also learned that an alias is always better than an ID.  I guess people actually serve entire sentences in prison under assumed names.  When they get out they revert to their old identity, with no record of prison to prevent them from employment.  Since that first incident, I had to use a friend’s name and date of birth a couple of times because someone I was in a car with was speeding.  This was OK because I hadn’t done anything wrong, but they wanted to check for warrants.  The alias has saved me at least four times, that I can remember.  Never underestimate the power of Murphy’s Law– if you think something may happen, it probably will.

I got done with my trip and cooled my heels in WI.  The heat had chilled out after two months with nothing, and I felt confident in my new alias.  I couldn’t get a job, because the second I did, I would pop up on computer screens everywhere, so I did a couch tour.  I can’t stress enough how important it is to have good friends who will help you out in a jam when it comes to running.  I owe an easy dozen people my ass, and I don’t forget my debts.  Word to all those who helped me in my struggle: what goes around comes around.

So I began to formulate a plan for my life.  I have to be deliberately vague at this point; otherwise I may divulge some info that could be damaging to my future.  I have been trying, hit-and-miss, to establish a new ID to live by.  At one time I thought this would be a relatively easy thing to do.  I had read a few books on the subject, and figured I could do it.  I was wrong; all the info I had was severely outdated.  So now I have to fight a battle alone, drawing on my own instinct to establish a new life.  No one seems to be able to help me here, but I think I got it just about nailed down.  If I succeed, I will print my findings.

Part of my new life is luck.  I found some nice people who were leaving the state, and said I could come along, and even use some space on the moving truck for my own stuff.  I promptly relocated to some place warm.  Some place with no extradition to WI.  Traffic offenders aren’t high on the nation’s Most Wanted list, so I am relatively free.  I got a job making $9 an hour right off the bat, and college is in my near future.  I plan to get a high-paying career job, and never return to WI again.  I have been isolated since I moved, which is good for me.  I need to get away from people for awhile so I can get my life on track without distractions.

For the last two months, I have been running two miles each night.  I was doing push-ups and sit-ups too, but I just got hooked up with a gym and started weight training today.  I lay out and catch a tan in my spare time.  My eating habits have also improved.  I went from pasta and greasy burgers, to salads and home cooking.  I tossed my phat pants and punker gear, in favor of nice clothes and suits.  I read relentlessly, mostly books on sound reinforcement, acoustics, chemistry, survival, occult lore, quantum physics, and of course the occasional novel (Clive Barker, usually) to keep it varied.  I quit smoking, took drinking to a minimum, and stopped my drug intake entirely.  I got a nice, respectable haircut.  I am saving $1000 each month, and at this time next year, I am going to buy a classy car.  I have no social life to distract me from my priorities.  This is by design; I do well alone, and I can completely focus on the issues at hand.  To release my creative side, I am getting into fire-breathing and body-piercing.  I have all my tools and assorted gear here, so I can sculpt with sheet metal and Bondo.  I have plans to build a Tesla Coil (for those that don’t know a Tesla Coil is a machine that generates 1-2 million volts of lightning.  The one I plan to build should throw 3 to 4-foot strokes).  And finally, I want to get into hurling.  This is simply the art of constructing a catapult, and hefting large objects into the atmosphere.  In Texas, it is a gentleman’s sport, and I guess that the biggest one they have is called Thor.  Its arm is 100 feet long and takes a bulldozer to cock its 55,000-pound counterweight.  When fired, it is capable of launching a ’69 Buick over a mile!   All of these hobbies I discovered surfing the Net.

To sum up, I’m making a new life for myself.  The only part that has been a constant hindrance to me is the total lack of a license.  This can be temporarily fixed, but I am still debugging the master plan.  However, I know it can be done.  Where there is a will, there is a way.  Again, I wouldn’t have gotten far without my friends, who have an equal dislike for the system.  I love you guys and I will never forget the debt that I owe you.  You gave me food, shelter, drugs occasionally, and most importantly, support to do what I did.

And to all the people in jail for things that the bureaucracy has deemed threatening, stay strong!  I think that the system is wrong for putting the people in jail who were only giving the people what they want.  They piss and moan about overcrowding, and then give the guy selling the quad a longer sentence then the guy raping the women.  Fuck them!  Don’t let them pull you down, and always remember who you are.

If anyone out there wants to ask me a question, or share an opinion, send your comments to Massive, via e-mail or snail mail.  They will see that I get it.  In the meantime… don’t let the bastards get you down!!!