The Friday Night Fights

The 'law of the jungle' holds that “Might Makes Right”.

Political, Corporate and Personal disputes are often resolved to the advantage of the more powerful combatants even when it's clear that such a resolution is wrong-headed and harmful.

Millions of people have suffered intolerable abuse at the hands of tyrants who exclaim,

“It Is So Because I Say It Is So!”

The histories of nations, corporations and interpersonal relationships are rife with examples of powerful foes applying main force to bring weaker yet defiant opponents under their control.

Mark 13:7 assures us that,

“ye shall hear of wars and rumors of wars. . .”

War begins where reason ends. The challenge is to know where reason ends. And who's reason? The powerful seldom acknowledge the reasonableness of their weaker foes’ arguments if those arguments tend to obstruct the purposes of the powerful.

“I’ve had about enough of your sniveling backtalk, sir.”

So It's War!

We didn't call it war in our 'RUN'(Riga User Net- a network of public spaces exclusively occupied by Rigamorphs aka Morphouse bka Morph{person place thing}).

We called it "The Friday Night Fights,"

and we watched it on “Wonder-Vision.”

There we had ring-side seats to some of the best

'Man vs('Beast') Woman fights ever.

Wonder-Vision was our 'Window To The World' of disembodied beings;

it gave us ‘Live’ entertainment, infinite knowledge and an invaluable education in the Fine Arts of “Signifying and Trash Talking”, which our puritanical 'saint-of-a-mom' would chidingly condemn if she only knew.

There we learned how to respond to vulgar curses and we learned the perfect retort to popular signifying attacks such as

"Yo' mama so dumb . . .",

whose ONLY acceptable response was

"Yo' mama is my mama, let's talk about the bitch!"

That answer would score 'major points in the Signifying Game, 'which was all the rage in those days.

But I'm sorry; first, allow me to introduce the combatants, our neighbors, Alonzo (Sampson) Clanton and Willa Dee (Delilah the Delighter) Bennington.

“I don't know who you think you talking to, "Rigamorph!" (highly insulting term for a 'Morph' having a Long Time Out of Body experence:'LTOOB'.

Note:LTOOB experiences occur in roughly 1.5% of all disembodiments and can last from hours to days to weeks to months. Less than .15% of all LTOOB experiences last one year or longer however , due to the billions of "free spirits " allowed to roam in search of new embodiment this .15% is the reason Morphouses exist; a second consideration are the .025% who become full-fledged Rigamorphs.

'Full-on Rigamorphs' are considered to be irrational, unstable and dangerous)."

Morphologist believe Full-on Rigamorphs become trapped in unrequited memories of pleasures, pains or fears that inhibit evolution or re-embodiment. These kind have been known to intentionally or accidentally manipulate the thoughts and emotions of susceptible souls. The reactions to such manipulation by susceptible souls as well as the Rigamorph's reactions are always disturbing. When disembodied souls and "free Rigamorphs" interact the outcome is inevitably catastrophic.

Like all Morphs, Rigamorphs are spiritual beings in a temporary state of 'disembodiment.' As such they are incapable of caring for themselves; The 'Universal Caring Council' established RUNs - Riga User Networks to attend to and care for Rigamorphs . This service is extended to most long-term disembodied spirits by default but Full-on Rigamorphs are required to wear a heart-shaped pendant and they are tattooed for identification and security; the heart-shaped pendant serves two purposes: it alerts the public to beware should the Rigamorph begin showing signs of distress, and it provides the public and the Rigamorph an 'early intervention' option if needed.

Back To The Alternate Reality . . . in "Beast"-mode

"You betta check 'yo'se'f' 'fo you wreck 'yo'se'f !'

“I'mma show you who gon' get checked you keep on runnin' off at the mouf!”

“Yea, yea,Really? I know! Look at me over here shaking like a leaf!”

“Keep on back-talking, ya'heah?”

Rigamorph Please! You talk a good fight, but you fight like a bitch!”

Sampson was 6'4” and weighed 240lbs ; Willa Dee was 4'6” and weighed 240lbs. We never knew what part of her ample body his mitt-sized hands landed on when we heard the explosive slap of skin upon skin.

The whole universe seemed to pause in silent anticipation: traffic stopped moving along the main artery that connected our two RUNS; birds paused in flight and stopped their twittering; the sad stream known as "The Utopia River" seemed to stand still, and certainly the fish were not biting.

Then pots started flying and glasses started shattering and suddenly "The Irregularly scheduled Friday Night Fights were officially “On!”

We lived on the river's edge in the last RUN on the last street in Dystopia, USA; they lived on the river's edge in the first house on the first street of Utopia, USA. The dividing line was the same narrow street, Division Street, but they lived on the “upside,” we lived on “the other side.”

Living on 'the edge' was not a sign of prosperity in either RUN, but somehow they tended to give the impression that they were 'privileged'.

To be fair, we had never met any Morphs before, never even spoken with one of them, but you can learn a lot by observation, and then you just add your own biases to that and shake vigorously. Then, should strange behavior ensue one could adopt the air of a wizened veteran and be heard to mutter 'sotto voce, "they're just who I what they would be!"

It is worth noting that we were not 'Morphaters'. we just never knew any Morphs; we had heard tales of Rigamorphs taking control of some poor disembodied soul's thoughts and emotions and we had seen memes of souls displaying signs of paranoia, aggression and fear. We were fascinated by what entered our ears and mesmerized by what we saw with our eyes; we literally had no idea what they might say or who and how they might try to manipulate someone.

We were not the the the 'poor dumb Morphs' some people seemed to think we were, and they were not the 'Landed Gentility' that their airs would lead one to believe.

We were the five school-aged children (three:myself age 11, sister Robin 12 and 9-year-old Jenna )of a widowed mother who served on the Universal Caring Council while seeking a 'new' partner to bond with. The other two members of our group were mother's sisters' 13 - year old daughter Nikki and 7- year-old Adam. We all became disembodied when an out of control 'mono-cruiser' slammed into our public transport vehicle filled with the entire 'Free City of Dystopia's Middle School Graduates of 2049.

There was always plenty for healthy and curious children to do maintaining our RUN; even more to explore in and around the 'Free City.' Sometimes we visited with our cousins to watch 'Omni-Vision' to play the latest childrens games.

However, if we wanted “Live” entertainment we had to fend for ourselves.

And then our neighbors, the Clanton-Bennington's moved in. They lived in the newer 21-floor rectangular high-rise building. I've often wondered "Was it Fate, Luck, Serendipity or 'some other force' " that brought The Friday Night Fights” to our Window-Vision to become our primary source of entertainment.

Let me be clear:Window-Vision gave us “The Friday Night Fights” but it was by no means a regularly scheduled program. In fact, it was more likely we would visit our cousins on Birch Street and watch “Shock Theater” then hurry home in the dark, frightened by every sound or movement that accompanied us.

Still, the Fights were regular enough that we could count on at least one within a six week span of time, and that fight would always happen on a Friday night.

Were we inadvertent and (at first) embarrassed spectators invading the privacy of the Clanton- Bennington bedroom?

These fights occurred within the first several weeks of their arrival to River's Edge. Their fights were always about Money, Infidelity or both. By the third fight we had set our chairs in place just out of their line-of-sight at our window-vision observation point, prepped our pop-corn and sodas, turned out the lights and tuned in our ears to observe and enjoy the show.

By the fifth fight we had learned the lingo and were betting on which verbal joust from Mrs. Bennington, (the Delighter to us) would send Mr. Clanton (Sampson)over the edge and incite him to violence. Often it was the Delighter's responses to one of his own verbal assaults.

“Kiss My Ass!” he might shout in frustration, to which the only appropriate response seemed to be:

“You got a rubber neck, Kiss it yourself!”

Big point for the Delighter!

We knew the abuse was about to get real when Mr. Clanton announced;

“I'm getting tired of your shit, Willa Dee!” and she responded with a point-scoring:

“Let the doorknob hit you where the Good Lord split you!”

"Oooh!" we would shout in unison while 'chalking up 'Another Score for The Delighter!

Or, he might lead with the trite but popular “Yo' Momma!” hook-shot, to which she would cuttingly deliver the 'Standard Response: “Yo' mamma is my mamma, let's talk about the Bitch!”

“Oh-h-h!” we would exclaim in mock shock as the Delighter scored again, and we would begin our chant:

“Here comes the hand! Here comes the hand! You better get ready 'cause Here comes the hand!”

We would hear the tell-tale sound of skin-against-skin as Sampson reacted to his inability to argue successfully with his wife.

Their fights were serious, furious, intimate, and, unfortunately, public (though in the assumed privacy of their own home). Both must have considered the outcome of their fights to be of great consequence; they attacked with a savage, feral fury. They kicked and scratched and punched at each other as if each of their lives depended solely on dominating and subduing their foe.

There was a familiarity, a violent intimacy in the way they clawed at each other, and It inspired a visceral response in us. We had invaded their privacy and we were now privy to their intimacies.

Years later, when I had graduated from skateboards and spitballs to cowboys and girls and had begun to appreciate the intricacies of intimacies between men and women inarticulate questions that had settled themselves into the back of my mind began to rise in my consciousness as unsolved mysteries.

“What made these two people stay together?” “Was there any Love in their relationship?” “Why did she provoke him to violence?” “Why did he allow himself to be provoked?” “Was there really infidelity in their marriage, or were their fights part of some strange sexual ritual?” “What gave me the right to call it strange?” That last question was of particular interest to me, because I had noticed that every Friday Night Fight ended the same way – with the shaking of bedposts, the squeaking of mattress springs and the rattling of window panes before our champion, Delilah the Delighter, draped in a flowing robe rose from some area below our point of observation and left the room only to return moments later with two glasses of something presumably cold and refreshing and settle back into that 'out-of-view' area. Then two wisps of smoke would rise in the air and sensually entangle themselves before slowly fading away.

At some point their activities began to seem strange to me. Were they consciously performing their strongly suggestive activities as a kind of 'lure' to entrap us for their own dark ends?

Were they Full-fledged Rigamorphs? I began to feel like a peeping Tom and I began to feel ashamed of invading their privacy. But not that year . . . that year I remained a devoted fan of

"The Friday Night Fights!"