The object I am going to describe in order to let you know who I am is a girl who is now 26 years old… In August of 1993 I walked into State Street Brats to have a Leinie’s Red. A pretty red-headed girl served me. While she was serving me I noticed her big brown eyes seemed to be shifting restlessly relative to some extraneous thoughts she was getting from the place we get all our own extraneous thoughts, which we later discard. I asked her if her hair was really red. She said it was. I asked her if she was Irish. She said she was French. I asked her what her name was. She said Jeanine Jakes. I asked, “Is that J-A-K-E-S??” She replied, “No it’s J-A-C-Q-U-E-S…” I said, “Oh!?” and continued to drink my beer and decided to drink there all the time.
I went in one Tuesday, she served, and I asked if she worked weekends. She said she worked Friday. I asked her if I could come in at 7pm and talk to her. She said sure!!
The Rose Bowl was coming up. I took a personal interest in going because in high school I had run the ball 9 times and scored 7 touchdowns during my senior year. I figured Jeanine would be going also {I didn’t then know that her father was offensive coach for the Badgers.}. One day I had decided that I would write an opera and write an opera theme for her for the opera. I went into State Street Brats.
Jeanine didn’t serve me this time. A week ago she had arranged for us to talk and get to know each other, but I didn’t show because a guy I didn’t like acted like he was going to push me around if I didn’t go to the nude dance place the same night. He never showed up.
After observing the customers away from Jeanine sitting, talking, and drinking beer, and not looking at Jeanine, I turned to look at her hand expressions to gauge the opera piece and suddenly and unexpectedly she came literally stomping up, told me other guys look at her and that she didn’t want me looking at her. I replied somewhat like a psychiatrist observing a patient, “You mean other guys do this to you???!” I was a little shocked, amused, and felt sorry for her if she had a boyfriend that he would put her through this strange gymnastic performance and even sorrier for her that she would go through this strange gymnastic performance for him.
One night I went in to ask her to a Dan Fogelberg concert. A man was sitting there with her and she was eating. She kept staring at me for a good 30 minutes. I played her “Black” off the Pearl Jam Ten album on the juke. She walked out with the guy waving sadly at me.
I thought about it awhile after she left. I could feel the incorporeal working up my mind. I kept telling it no. Finally it was so insistent in my mind that I got really jealous and yelled out loud, “Stupid fucking bitch!!!” Then I wondered what's the use of this and said it again questioningly. The bar-tendress kicked me out. I told her before I left that I really had a heart of gold.
I wrote her letters explaining reincarnation, starships, and my belief that she and I had been the Irish romantic legend Deirdre and Naoise. Deirdre was a red-headed beauty. A few weeks later I told the girl at the bar to tell Jeanine I was coming back to apologize on Friday.
On Friday I went to the Flamingo cause I thought I was being set up by this prick boyfriend.
After waiting ‘til I thought the coast was clear, I walked over to State Street Brats, saw I was right, walked quickly through to Jeanine, said excuse me, she did a Natalie Merchant spin and began gazing into my very concerned, but caring, eyes. 1 ½ minutes we gazed. She suddenly turned away. I asked her if she got my letters. She said no. Then she started gazing into my eyes again, this time for another 2 minutes until we both felt drained and she was looking at her feet as sheepishly as I was.
A guy grabbed me and led me out. A different redheaded guy met me outside. He said I shouldn’t come back. I thought telepathically to him, “You were Jesus’ son in Ireland…” and left. I never went back to see her.
It became clear that she was going to the Rose Bowl with this monstrous boyfriend. I called her at 3:30 am and gave her two choices {Lady’s Choice} either I would kill her now or at the end of her present life, she would no longer be existent. I also sent her the CD “Hello, I must be going…” by Phil Collins. The song I wanted her to listen to was "Do you know, Do you care?" followed by “You can’t hurry love…” The lyrics went, "You said you would, you wouldn't, now why did you lie? You make it look so easy... You want it, you've got it, now take it and ruuunn!*#! I'll hide how much it's hurting..."
I was arrested, locked up in a Mental Hospital and found a book entitled Roxanna about a Virgin Island buccaneer named Dirk Courtney and his mistress and later wife, the red-headed Roxanna Marshall. The painting on the cover of Roxanna looked exactly like Jeanine. The painting of Dirk on the cover looked like a short-haired me. I doubt the buccaneers had short hair, ever. I thought she was a reincarnation of Roxanna and Deirdre and I was a reincarnation of Dirk and Naoise.
Wisconsin won the Rose Bowl, barely, on a gambit play.
Before court, I was drinking my beer silently in Joe Hart's Tavern when I turned to the right and noticed Jeanine at the bar rocking up on her toes and landing solidly on her heels like she was extremely enraptured to be there. I was happy to see her but was depressed. I didn't know what to do so I turned away and sipped my beer hoping she wouldn't see me there. A bit later, I turned towards her table to see if she was enjoying herself that night. She seemed to be alright. I turned back and sipped my beer.
I feel a tapping on my shoulder. I turn around on my barstool to see what's up. Suddenly her finger is shaking in my face and she's railing at me that she's got an injunction.
I calmly and firmly say, "I was here first." and turn away in a very disappointed fashion. She turns to go back to her table and says, "O.K., you can stay. Just don't be looking at me!*#$!!" I think, "What an awful woman."
In court, she cried because of the loss of her afterlife, glared at me, and then finished by saying how enraptured she had been when I spoke her name in French on one of the three phone calls. Strange girl.
In 1994, I suddenly heard a deep-space voidal sound filling my apartment. Christ’s voice suddenly appeared above my world map. He asked me if astrology was my nemesis, conundrum, or catharsis. I said no. He then asked me if I wanted this to continue. Again I said no. I had come to the conclusion that Jeanine and I were the final reincarnation of the Virgin Mary and Joseph her husband. I had also determined that, out of the two redhead boyfriends presented to me, the main one was Jesus’ son in Ireland 2000 years ago and that the earlier highschool boyfriend was kind of a Judas from Ireland related to the Naoise-Deirdre legend.
I had been following reincarnation in my life now for 30 years.
I decided to chalk the sidewalks with rock and roll poetry and try and win her back. I will quote what I wrote. If you are familiar with Alternative Rock, you may be familiar with some or all of these lyrics from 1994-95.
Also a song came out by Smashing Pumpkins called Disarm. The lyrics went: "The killer in me is the killer in you...My love...Send a smile over you...It is buuuurrrnnn. What's a boy supposed to do?? What I choose is my voice...My love." I didn't chalk this on these lyrics on the sidewalk.
I also chalked the sidewalks in 1996. One football field. Tori Amos had a new song out called Caught a light sneeze.... The lyrics went: "Boooyyyss to the left of me, boooyyysss to the right of me, booooyyyss in the middle, and your not here. Right on time, you get clossseeerrr and clossseeerrr. Call my name. Made my pretty hate ma-chine. Mr. Saint John...Just bring your Son." Saint John wrote Revelations in the Bible. Mr. Saint John is God.
In fall of 1995 a song came out by Joan Osbourne called “One of Us.”
I saw Jeanine in September sitting outside of State Street Brats after having hauled boyfriend out in the middle of his shift to tell him something very important. She had had her hair cut so that she looked like a monk. When you are listening to the lyrics from this song, try to imagine yourself Jeanine recalling gazing steadily at my face and then turning back her eyes to gaze again.
On the Saturday after Thanksgiving 1995, I answered the ringing telephone. “You can’t hurry love…” by Diana Ross and the Supremes was playing for about 30 seconds before the thought occurred to me I was being set up and hung up.
These phone calls have continued for 2 ½ years now in 1998. Once I heard the enraptured sigh of a girl who sounded just like Jeanine in 1997.
My aspirations are to find out who is making these phone calls.