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      C.O.N.

      CONDITION OTHER THAN NORMAL

      BY G.B.T.

      © Garry Brian Tetterington, 2011

      Condition Other Than Normal: Finding Peace In a World Gone Mad

      By Gary Tetterington

      Copyright 2011 Gary Tetterington,

      All rights reserved.

      Published in eBook format by eBookIt.com

       http://www.eBookIt.com

      ISBN-13: 978-1-4566-0510-0

      No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.

      Dedication

      Betty Rose

      So many times, when I have been frail and helpless, I would drop to my knees and cry out to God above for mercy. Just cut through the devouring fire on high and talk straight with the man Himself. Amen.

      All is well

      G.B.T.

      C.O.N.

      I won’t keep you on the hook. It’s only proper I explain C.O.N. right off the top. C.O.N. was loose and general jailhouse jargon for ‘Condition Other than Normal.’ Covers a lot of space doesn’t it?

      There was C.O.N. in other jails. There was C.O.N. in D.P. The entire D.P. experience was C.O.N. And my whole remarkable life and existence on this marvelous planet has been slapstick C.O.N. comedy.

      I will tell you of C.O.N. I will tell you of the end of innocence and of survival. I will tell you of failure and of redemption and this is what the book is all about. The message is faith and hope.

      All is well

      G.B.T.

      Dark Ride

      After a lifetime of craziness, I truly hope I’m humbled enough to tell you folks a story. I certainly feel like damaged goods today, broken everywhere and not much for it.

      These days I find, more often than not, an objective and silent response is the best defense I can offer, when dealing with stupid people. And I try real hard not to listen to or talk to stupid people. Which means I’m usually to be found doing my own time.

      It seems I’ve run thru all my options and I no longer have need of charge or praise. Today I feel border line isolated and detached and I don’t have many cares.

      What I do have today is a sometimes-deplorable fear of being and a severe passion for anger and I’m going to try and work these issues out with words. Also, deep inside, I have a loneliness and an emptiness, mixed loose with an ache and a dim hope, to say something and these words might be my last chance on this beautiful planet. To say something…

      Words are important. Writing is sacred. I pondered on these great truths and then decided to crank out some quality thoughts and candor of my own. I really do have something to say folks.

      Whatever does become of these exalted words will be not less than a much-needed resurrection of spirit and redemption of purpose. A bold and noble statement indeed.

      After the burden of this undertaking, I suppose I’ll do an inventory and I’ll decide which way to jump. And I plan on being around for a long, long time.

      As I say…whatever. The significant point is for me to be able to say I tried. At least I tried.

      A solemn ditty before I begin to roll. I cherish the truth. Right here and now, with this pen, on this paper. I will not lie. Should I find myself writing less than the basic truth, well, I will have no choice other than to quit. I’ll toss this pen out the window, cover and conceal these words and think for a while. I will not begin, endure or end this narrative with deliberate falsehood. I will not lie.

      Understand further, when I finally decided, at long last, to bring out the pen and paper, with regards to this singular deed, it was only after quiet deliberation, after careful soul-searching, even after burning out a pair of poor - boy sneakers, roaming and wandering, up and down the dreary streets and avenues of this forgotten city, that I knew there was no other way. I knew that if I was to tell this story, I would have to be brutally honest but the truth is vital and precious to me today. To this end I swore an oath to do this very thing. To tell the truth, anything less than the truth would diminish me, something I’m not about to accept, not now, not anymore. And I’m not afraid. I’m ready.

      Fair warning! On occasion I may feel it necessary to bend and stretch, to make certain allowances but most anyone who reads these illustrious words will recognize exaggeration and distortion. Hell, I need to have fun. But, on my honor, mostly I’ll give you the straight goods, the truth. And I reckon I can’t go wrong. I’ll just step to the right now. I do believe it’s about time to stand and deliver.

      All is well

      G.B.T.

      Whitehorse – Briefly

      Only I can tell this story. I really don’t want to because the damn thing appears suspiciously like work but it must be told and it must be as soon as possible. Otherwise, given my chaotic and turbulent lifestyle, I suspect I could find myself bang – dead or quite insane and unable to defend my wayward existence. See, my being on this street is much like walking a tightrope. I never know for certain, which day, which way, I’m going to fall. Also, this book is a necessity, to prevent and avoid this planet from saying about me, ‘He left no footsteps.’

      All my life I’ve been running. From the beginning one might say, Running and hiding, always a careless rush and usually a headlong flight into a greater and deeper danger. I can’t look over my shoulder and remember a time when I haven’t been ducking and dodging unfathomable powers and forces.

      From the coppers mainly, curious characters, who, time and again, took strong and sincere objection to my absolute and unalienable right, to ridicule, to oppose, to thwart and frustrate them and their rules. The courts with their restitution orders, banks and other agencies that wanted their monies back, multitudes and organizations that conceivably may have preferred me dead and buried, rather than suffer my candid laughter. There were people who could have done without me and had dim regards for my cheating ways. Crazy ladies and their outraged and offended husbands, little girls and their distraught boyfriends and the occasional irate mother or father, whom I will be no doubt meeting one fine day.

      There are people who would say I have forever been running from myself and they would be correct. I hold I have forever been fleeing every man’s demons and I too would be correct.

      Certain people would label the following tale as being a doomed and hopeless Odyssey. I would refer to it as being a test and a learning experience. Again both views would be correct.

      The nut of the matter is these words constitute a statement, which must be read and enjoyed with a cold and calculating smile.

      For various reasons, the long road was regularly a defiant freedom or an essential compulsion, a welcome release or a desperate captivity. I have chased many a futile resurrection, if you take my meaning.

      This yarn begins in the summer of ’76. An extremely high – powered run thru the North Country was called for and imperative. It was a flight of dismay and consternation. Crazed on booze and dope, racing hard and fast, crying and dying all the while, not knowing and not caring why. I was alone. I was afraid. I was angry. I was a mad dog and should have been gunned down.

      The only absolutes I had going for me, were a fierce determination not to be taken alive and a

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