Before he went ape shit, I had a friend named Pablo. Relax,
he was a good dude before he went ape shit. How did he go ape shit? I’ll get to
that. Anyway, I met Pablo through Dale and Joe. As usual, Dale had planned an
event, and he invited everyone and their mother. Pablo was a guest, and he had
known Dale’s friend Benedict from The Ball Scene. Benedict had known Chacho,
and therefore we bonded. As I chatted with Benedict, he introduced me to Pablo. We then discovered Pablo also knew Joe from the art scene. The world
is not that big I suppose.
Pablo originally hailed from Venezuela. However, his mother
was Russian, hence his fair hair and other fair features. He had trained as an architect
in his homeland, and had been somewhat successful. However, he had burned out
on architecture and had been quite gifted visually. So when he moved to the US,
he began work as a costume designer. Some of his past clients include Lady
Gaga, Madonna, Nicole Kidman and anyone else in Hollywood. Not to mention he
helped design some of the costumes on Broadway. Once, I went to the costume
shop with Pablo before a dinner date at The Dish. Not only was the experience
amazing, but he was so talented it blew me away.
Right away, I liked Pablo because it seemed he had more
dimension than the Lost Boys and Lost Girls who flew about in our Peter Pan
circle. Before coming to New York, he had been married in Venezuela. Pablo had
always known he was gay, but he was part of the generation where that wasn’t an
option, especially in the country where he was from. Gay, straight, you had to
get married and that’s the way it went. However, Pablo eventually came out as
his marriage was falling apart for reasons having to do with the fact he was
gay. At the urging of Sophia Loren, Pablo remained good friends with his
ex-wife and even helped her obtain passage to America. Not to mention he is a
very dedicated father to his daughter, and loving grandfather to his grandson
and granddaughter. When his daughter Angelica told her father she wanted to get
married, Pablo objected. He told her to just live with her now husband, have
children, and not get the government involved. Most fathers would object to
their daughters living in sin and having children out of wedlock. Not Pablo…
One thing I loved about Pablo was his big heart. Usually, he
was trying to help someone. Through Dale, Pablo became acquainted with our less
than law abiding friend AJ. Before going to jail, AJ had been sentenced by the
court to Haven House for drug treatment. There, his roommate was a kid by the
name of Mohammed, or Mo for short. The disenfranchised and disinherited son of Jordanian
royalty, Mo had gotten busted for cocaine. While he had girlfriends, and some
very beautiful, Mo believed he might be gay now that he was sober. Mo tried to
solicit AJ for sex, but AJ declined because he didn’t want to be the experiment
for some straight boy.
After meeting Mo during a visit to AJ, the two became pen pals. What Pablo didn’t know was his
former jet setter friend had both a girlfriend and boyfriend in the drug
treatment facility. Yes, Mo was dating a homo thug and a 50 year old ex
stripper who had more work done than Lisa Rinna and less human skin than Joan
Rivers when she was alive. So Mo saw the perfect target in Pablo and began to con
him for all he was worth. In between jobs and barely able to pay his rent,
Pablo began sending Mo money. He also bought him a cellphone and an internet
hot spot. Yes, Mo was rolling Pablo like a barrel.
Disgusted at Mo’s behavior and how he was sucking my kind
hearted friend dry, I confronted Pablo with my concerns. Pablo got indignant
and refused to hear me. He explained he consulted his Tarot cards daily, and
the spread he kept getting informed him that his current mission in life was to
help Mo. I told Pablo the cards were wrong, and clearly he was being used by a
spoiled brat who was opportunistically gay or straight depending on where he
got the better deal. Pablo then continued to be resistant, explaining the cards
helped him make all the decisions in his life and they had never been wrong. Yes,
the big decisions that included moving to that discount house in East New York,
dating a man who was heading up an internet scam, and now being ripped off by a manipulative trust funder. Yes, those very bad decisions. I didn’t know what was worse, the
fact he believed so deeply in the Tarot or the fact he actually thought these
decisions through before he made them.
As he chirped away about the power of the Tarot, Pablo
revealed a psychic on the street had also alluded to Mo several years earlier. She said Pablo would help a man with dark hair and dark
eyes. Pablo was elated when Mo matched the description. The scammer also
informed Pablo the devil was after his soul, therefore he was having bad luck. Pablo took out $10,000 in bank
loans so this woman could defeat the devil. Needless to say, he was $10,000 in
the hole and his luck did not improve. Satan 1, Pablo 0.
I have worked as a reader, and I quit for one reason, the
people who go to psychics. However, my mentor Kathy, a Roma woman who has been
doing this for 10 generations, still reads people. I sent Pablo to Kathy, who
is not only a skilled psychic but actually tries to help her clients for the
greater good without swindling them. Kathy gently tried to tell Pablo that one
should not read their own cards, because it would and could make a person
crazy. Eager to get Pablo on track because he clearly lost his mind, she persuaded
him to let his feelings, gut, and faith do the talking. Kathy also predicted Mo
would turn on Pablo. Granted, it didn’t take a psychic to see, that. But we all
felt it didn’t hurt for Pablo to hear it from yet another pair of lips.
While Pablo didn’t believe her, the fallout was bad. Mo
tried to blackmail Pablo, and told anyone who listened that Pablo was trying to
use Mo for his money. Meanwhile, Pablo had the stealth of Frankenstein. To
boot, the workers at the rehab facility took no mercy on Pablo and laughed at
him when he revealed what happened. Again, no crystal ball needed.
Soon after the Mo disaster,
Pablo began to take a series of classes in consciousness reaching. He sent me a
link describing the curriculum, and the concept seemed promising. Pablo spoke
at length about how his Tuesday evening class changed his life. For the longest
time, Pablo dreamed of opening his own costume shop and getting away from his deranged
alcoholic boss. Now with the help of his classes this dream might become a
reality. Perhaps my friend had found something after all. When he talked about his new found educational endeavor, he
seemed to make sense for a minute.
A minute......
As Pablo progressed into the consciousness reaching program,
his overall manner changed. Before, Pablo had a variety of thoughts and
feelings. Now he was a wide eyed, smiley, warm and fuzzy, one note automaton. Pablo
believed consciousness reaching held the key to existence and the future. As he
spoke, my skin began to crawl. Pablo began to sound vaguely like the founder of
Heaven’s Gate, the leader of the Kool-Aid drinking space ship suicide pact sect. I still remembered that man as a child from newscasts. Now his likeness
was staring at me.
Pablo chirped about not only consciousness reaching, but
expanding his mind and astral projection. He claimed now that he had reached
the “new evolution” he was capable of anything. Pablo explained before he had
been a victim. Several years previous he had been gay bashed in a deli by rowdy
teens. Bruised and bloodied, he had gone to the police. The people in this consciousness
reaching class explained that his mistake was going to the police and
disrupting the lives of these young men. He should have not complained and kept
going. As Pablo explained, “There is no good, there is no bad,
there is only existence.”
My mouth hung open. Pablo had lost his fucking mind for real
this time. Then Pablo explained that I needed to attend a class with him, and
that it would change my life. I asked Pablo how much the classes were, because
I was curious. He said $500 a semester. I pointed out to Pablo that I was too
broke for such a thing. Pablo explained, “If you visualize the money, it will
appear.”
Meanwhile, Pablo was living off unemployment in between
jobs. Plus he was still paying off the bank debt from his psychic friend
debacle, and Mo had put him in the hole as well. Currently unable to pay his
rent, he had to bargain with his landlord not to be evicted. As I sat there
shocked at the anti-logic, he attempted to coax me again. Then it hit me, my
buddy Pablo had wandered into a new aged cult.
My mind exploded and my heart broke at the same time. I had
grown up around cults, and knew exactly how they operated, and Pablo was the
perfect target. Yes, I can still see the mega church, it’s monolithic
structure. I still remember how people joined, and were told they couldn’t talk
to others unless they were “Christians” aka members of this church. When
questioned about their beliefs, they were defensive and explosive. Members were
forced to give a third of their yearly income to support the organization, and
if they would not and could not contribute they were ex-communicated.
Additionally,
their youth group encouraged it’s members to bring children not associated with
the church. If so many new members joined at the end of the month, there would
be a pizza party.
Determined to take over the town, this same church stated an
in-school youth group. They claimed it was only a Bible Study in the summer. Each child in my family was approached by a member at one time or another with
a mission to save our heathen brood and bring us to Jesus. The student leader
would gather others in the group around the flag pole each morning and lead a
prayer circle. There were promise rings and interjecting of Jesus and doctrine in
class arguments.
Their adult leader, a man named CT wandered our cafeteria
looking for fresh blood. Half way through high school, we got a new principal
who was creeped out by CT and his Children of the Corn. He had the Pied Piper
expelled from the cafeteria. The principal was correct to be suspicious.
Shortly thereafter, CT was arrested and convicted of molesting children.
Touching and healing in the name of Jesus, I know.
My instincts were dead on. I Googled the group Pablo
belonged to. Others who had left the organization wrote about their experiences,
and claimed that yes, this was in fact a cult. During their seminars, no one
was allowed coffee, cigarettes, or cellphones. They claimed the coffee and
cigarettes were mind altering. Translated, it was their job to screw you up.
Oh, and the contact with the outside world would connect you with friends and
family members who would scream, “Are you out of your fucking mind!”
Classes in consciousness reaching could be as many as 12 hours. Some teachers did not even allow for water and bathroom breaks
because it delayed and interrupted the process. Then I found out the founder
was living in France as a fugitive. During one seminar, a woman who was a
diabetic was denied her insulin because it was “mind altering” and “interrupted”
her consciousness reaching. She went into shock and died. Oh, and this Messiah
also embezzled his own organization for a few million so he and some babes
could eat and drink all day on a tropical island. Then again, we all reach a
whole new level of consciousness when we are getting a lap dance by a Penthouse
Pet and slipping $20s in her G-String.
Pablo had made some shit decisions before, but this loaded
cow pie took the cake. Yes, he had joined a Jim Jones like cult, and I worried
he would be forced to go to a Jonestown. Not even L. Ron Hubbard was as
creative as these assholes and he wrote science fiction. That is when I decided
I had to put a stop to this.
I went to my friend Dale, both with my suspicions but also
for backup. Like myself, Dale has had close and personal experience with cults.
While I grew up on the periphery, Dale had grown up in an actual Waco-like
compound. Yes, Dale was a cult child. His parents joined a sect that separated from
the Catholic Church. Started by an ex-nun who believed she was The Virgin Mary
reincarnated, she claimed to meditate and God sent her orders. Due to this
connection with The Holy Spirit, she claimed all should obey her. Women were
not allowed to wear makeup, men were not allowed to shave, and children had to
attend church 3 times a day as to prevent promiscuity, drug addiction, and
homosexuality.
When Dale was 15, he ran away from the cult during a church
service and became a street kid in LA. He already knew he was gay, and in order
to support himself he escorted. In order to deal with his life he did drugs. Looks like the 3
church services a day backfired on The Virgin Mary reincarnated.
Dale confirmed my findings, but assured me an intervention,
no matter how well intended, would fail. “You need to let him see these
people for who they are.” Dale explained. We both agreed this was only going to
end badly.
As time went on Pablo was promoted from passenger on the
crazy train to conductor. Pablo continually tried to convert myself or anyone
else he met, and preached the importance of consciousness reaching. With a wide
eyed enthusiasm of someone being fitted for a straight jacket, Pablo explained
because of these seminars he had the ability to expand his mind, read the minds
of others, predict the future, and he even knew the day the world was ending.
Pablo also confided in me that he was learning to use his powers to teleport
and levitate. When I called balderdash, Pablo explained the leader of the group
claimed levitation was possible. The worst thing was, my friend was not only
serious but sober as a judge.
Pablo informed me of the date of the world’s end, and how we
would lose our power. At the time, I had just written my book. Pablo apologized
for not buying a copy. He told me he knew I was a good writer, but if the world
ended he might be dead and therefore would have no use for reading material. I
had no words for that other than, “Good luck with the end of the world. See you
on the other side, Pal.”
So Pablo invested in about 300 jugs of water. He also build a
shelter out of firewood in the court yard of his apartment building, a fortification
for the fire storm that was to come. Pablo explained while he might be taken,
he would not be destroyed but go to the next level and evolve. He then
explained to me that the only way I could join him was to start attending
weekly class. I declined. The world did not end, and Pablo was stuck with 300
big jugs of water.
Several weeks after the end of the world failed like I a quadruple
amputee climbing Mount Everest, I got a call from Pablo. Attending an advanced
consciousness reaching seminar, he informed me he had been “inauthentic” with me. Pablo read me the
letter explaining he had behaved this way because he felt I was “crazy.” It was
a look who’s talking kind of moment. My friend was gone, and the gravity of the
situation was worse than many of us had suspected. He was on the spaceship
headed to a nonexistent astral plain. However, underneath was still my buddy,
the one I had long talks at The Dish with. Yes, the one who told me to call my
mother so she wouldn’t worry because he was a parent. The one who designed costumes
and made the world beautiful. I loved that person, and not the brainwashed
creature he had become. So I told him I loved him and it didn’t matter.
Then I hung up the phone and stared into space for about a
minute with the nagging question of “What the fuck just happened?”
Pablo soon became promoted to Director of Education, and
started to recruit everyone in our circle with increased zeal. The pitch for
membership had failed on Dale and I, but some of our other friends weren’t so
lucky.
One was Rodney, who is an intelligent fellow with a degree
in computer science from Carnegie Mellon. Rodney went to a consciousness reaching
class because Pablo had spoken so highly of it. No to mention he was at a
crossroads with his life, and thought this might give him what he needed. When
Rodney went, they tried to recruit him for more classes. Reluctantly, Rodney
signed up. Before his session, a cult representative called him and tried to
get him to sign up for a complete package explaining it was the only way he
could reach the new evolution. Rodney explained the seminar made him feel good,
but he also had a hunch there was something terribly wrong with this group of
people. That is, especially since they assured him that he was wrong for
mourning his grandmother’s recent passing from cancer.
Their words, “A body is just a body, and death is just
death. She went to the new evolution. Don’t be sad. She is evolving on another
plain.”
Then Pablo talked my two friends, Brian and Olivio, a gay
couple who has been together forever, into attending the seminars. While not
gullible, both are open minded. Within seconds of entrance, both described
having an eerie feeling and left. However, somehow this cult obtained their
contact info, and was calling my buddies multiple times a day in order to sell
them classes. When they failed to pick up the phone, these people would call
under another number. To say Brad and Olivio were spooked out is the
understatement of the year.
After a lengthy vacation from Pablo, I saw him at a get
together our friend Jason was having. A satellite in Dale’s circle, Jason has a
normal office job and is not involved with the art, party planning, or music
world. At first when I saw Pablo, he sounded better than he had in a while. He
mentioned he had gotten a new design job, and actually liked this boss. Pablo
had also lost weight and joined the gym. Perhaps he had left the cult too.
Maybe I had my friend back.
No such luck. As we spoke, we both revealed that we realized
the anniversary of our dear friend Joe's passing was approaching and we admitted we were
both thinking of him quite a bit. Pablo admitted he had been dreaming about our
departed comrade, and we reminisced about the good times we had with him.
Then
in the next sentence Pablo said, “You have been thinking a lot about Joe
because he is getting ready to transport you to the next level of
consciousness. Do you feel dizzy lately? It’s because Joe is expanding your
mind. This was revealed to me in the last seminar.” At that moment, I knew I had to cut Pablo out of my life on a permanent basis. While I loved him, I didn't love what he had become. This was farther out there than the rings of Saturn.
When I disassociated with him, most of our friends followed
suite. Either he was trying to recruit them to have their consciousness reached
and expanded and it weirded them out, or they were tired of hearing about the latest cult teachings. If
that wasn’t the case, Pablo’s terrible decisions based on cult teaching or
Tarot Card readings left his support network of friends tired and drained from
his hair brained antics. So after he declared he reached the rank of
Metaphysical Wizard on social media, the last remaining members that still
spoke to him backed away appalled and frightened.
I received no updates on Pablo until yesterday. Brian and
Olivio called me and told me our favorite conscious reaching and mind expanding guru had turned up on their
doorstep puking his guts out. Apparently one of his fellow cultists convinced
him a mixture of acid, crystal meth, and mescaline would help him reach a whole
new layer of evolution. This cultist explained these drugs were not meant to be
abused but simply to get in touch with the deeper meaning. Well, Pablo’s body didn’t
get the memo, and Brian and Olivio were forced to take him to the ER. As the
staff gave him his much needed straight jacket, Pablo screamed he was a
Metaphysical Wizard and could levitate and teleport. He yelled, “No Earthly
matter can tether me!”
As this information was revealed, I was rather aghast and
disappointed to say the least. I told Brian and Olivio that Pablo was so
trusting and kind. Fed up, Brian snapped, “No, he’s a freaking goon and a gullible one
at that.”
I told Brian I had not wanted to say that. To which Brian
said, “April, we need to call a spade a spade, and when we lose that ability we
are fucked.”
This latest development in the life of my cowder headed
compatriot upset me and shook me for the rest of the day. Especially in the
next breath when they revealed Pablo had been urged by the cult leader not to
pay rent, but to actualize his existence instead. They informed him rent and money were material things and he was bigger than that. Housing Court of New York
City had yet to encounter consciousness reaching, mind expanding, and new
evolution. Translated, they evicted him.
Later, that evening, I saw my friend Wade and told him what
happened. Wade is a former Ford model who is as beautiful as he is wise and
kind.
He said it best, “When will people stop paying for God? Why
don’t they take a look, take a breath, and realize that He is right here all
around us?”
My friends are committed. They have been committed to me in
times of disaster, and when they make a bad decision, they are committed to
that disaster as well. Then there are times that they should be committed. I
believe Pablo is enjoying the cuisine of the psych ward as we speak.
Recently a perspective suitor read my blogs and ran like he
saw Godzilla. Sure, my friends go to jail and my friends join new aged cults.
They can be dunces. But they are my dunces and when they fuck up, they go big.
There is something to be said for that. It makes us all real. It gives us all humility. Best part of all, even at his worst, Pablo still had my best interest in mind. Like the rest of my friends, even as he is being led away screaming on a gurney in a psych hospital, he's true blue.
So when Pablo is out of his straight jacket and decides to
return to Earth, I will be right here waiting with an ice cream sundae we can
split at The Dish like old times.
www.aprilbrucker.com
