Ok, this must be a joke–a cosmic HA-HA to LOL me clear around the bend, like rolling through the intersection of Monroe and Knox in Spokane with Gold On The Ceiling playing. My synchronicity buddy put Monroe on my radar, and Knox is the last name given to the Natural Born Killer, Mickey, with the association to Fort Knox making the gold reference resonate. If only it stopped there. But it never steps, it just keeps getting crazier and crazier.

The day after Valentine’s Day I hit publish on a post I was particularly proud of, so proud I texted my buddy that I had just hit publish like a CHAMP! I even capitalized the word for emphasis, then put my phone down to deal with some of the books and boxes I had stacked everywhere from my travels. What did I find at the bottom of the first box I grabbed? A thin, thrice-folded pamphlet of poetry in an otherwise empty box, which I grabbed and took a quick look at. When I saw the name attached to the first poem, this was my first thought: are you fucking kidding me? Travis CHAMP?

It get’s better. Let’s take a look:

Gunfire in the quarry
Startles the crow
From its stone

Isn’t that fun? The poem is titled Dinner Bell, which itself resonates with me, but I’m trying to pace myself, because the last poem, about a panther, ends with this:

Wrap yourself in silk
Empty the souls from the room
Now time for the knife

The knife, you say? Ok, let’s talk about the knife, because it’s the knife I initially said NO to before leaving town in January, and it was the consideration of this blade trade at the pawnshop that resulted in me leaving Zoom Town at 11:11am on 1-11-24, so what about this knife? Well, I’ll tell you, because obviously this is the year of TRAVIS being a CHAMP (right, Kelce?).

The knife is a Ruana from the 80’s, and Ruana’s are well-known to collectors, originating from the appreciation that led Rudy Ruana to become a full-time blade-smith after moving from North Dakota to Bonner, Montana in 1938. The blade I traded for was made by Vic, Rudy’s son-in-law, and my hesitation came from the name etched into the handle: Chuck.

When I hear the name Chuck, I think of a very unstable woman who fixated on me years ago when I worked at the homeless shelter in Missoula. This woman was convinced that CHUCK Norris had inseminated her by raping her, and that I was the product of that rape. While you may be tempted to chuckle at this obvious delusion, I was certainly NOT laughing when her crazy letters started coming to my HOME address instead of just my work address.

Also, there is an echo of this occurring to me right now, but instead of being protected by an order of protection, I’m the supposed threat requiring legal intervention by the courts. Cool.

Back to CHUCK, but not the on-screen karate clown, CHUCK. No, this Ruana blade, made by Vic, went to a man by the name of Charles Williford, and it was given to him by the EMT class of 1985. WILL-i-FORD? Does that have resonance? Yes it does, and not just because WILL is a way of saying WILLIAM, but ALSO because of the name FORD, and how it’s related to my family surname, Mateer, and it took writing THIS POST to fully appreciate how deeply I am being trolled.

When I was in Pittsburgh, where Sean was born, I visited the Carnegie Museum and was VERY surprised to see the FORD-MATEER classroom. This is crazy even BEFORE you know that my Grandma, on my Dad’s side, came from a FORD family, but I’m getting ahead of myself.

I went looking online for any proof that this classroom has this odd name combination and found that…wait for it…some CRITICAL RACE THEORY has been taught in this space! From the link (emphasis mine):

The December 16 Empowered Educators session will provide an overview of Critical Race Theory (CRT), examine standard tools of museum interpretation, and engage participants in a written discussion on CRT and the current climate in K-12 education.

This free workshop will take place in the Ford Mateer classroom and the galleries. Please register below. Carnegie Museum of Art will provide dinner and waive the parking fee for each participant.

Ok, so there’s that. And then there’s this: my phone call, as I’m writing this post, to my mom to inquire about my Grandmother’s Father’s first name. Her reply? I think it’s CHARLES FORD, Travis.

Ok then.

To prepare you for the next part of this madness, let me remind readers of what a ford actually is, and that’s a shallow place in a river or stream allowing one to walk or drive across. Is that firmly in mind? Ok, so what did I find when I looked up the name CHARLES WILLIFORD? I found this from a PDF copy of an old Kaimin issue from 1977:

City firemen rescued a nine- year-old boy from the Clark Fork river near the 800 block of W. Broadway Sunday.

Firemen said Jeff Anderson, 702 W. Pine St., had been climb­ ing on a railroad bridge when he fell into the river at about 3:25 p m adding that he was lucky to be alive.

They said that, when they ar­ rived, the boy was standing chest-deep in the water on a sub­ merged concrete platform. Two firemen, Charles Williford and Chris Green swam out to the boy with an inneriube and a line, brought him safely back to shore, and delivered a little safe­ty lecture.

How are we doing? Shall we continue? Because it’s time to talk about Bob.

David fucking Lynch, who was born in Missoula, named the demon that possessed Laura Palmer’s father BOB–then David’s daughter, Jennifer, tried capitalizing on the on-screen sex-trauma of Twin Peaks by writing The Secret Diary Of Laura Palmer. From the link:

The book begins on Laura’s 12th birthday in 1984, and steadily matures in writing style and vocabulary. It recounts standard teenage concerns of her first period, her first kiss, and her relationship with her parents, alongside experiences of sexual abuse, promiscuity, cocaine addiction, and her obsession with death. Laura’s poetry foreshadows her murder.

In her third diary entry dated 23 July 1984, Laura originally states that she had her first nightmare foreshadowing BOB and his crimes in 1983, at the age of 10 or 11. Two years later, in entries dated 24 April and 22 June 1986, she ambiguously writes that she now “suddenly remembers many things” in detail that she does not want to remember, and cannot tell whether they are real, imagined, or implanted. Eventually, however, she starts to believe her new memories: “I think it’s real. I think it’s real!”.

Remember starting with MONROE and KNOX at the top of this post? Well, BOB Monroe is the one that got my friend’s attention, and BOB is the name of the Grandpa I never really knew, an interesting man who I wrote this post about at the other blog.

Here is some context on Bob Monroe:

According to his own account, while experimenting with sleep-learning in 1958 Monroe experienced an unusual phenomenon, which he described as sensations of paralysis and vibration accompanied by a bright light that appeared to be shining on him from a shallow angle. Monroe went on to say that this occurred another nine times over the next six weeks, culminating in his first out-of-body experience (OBE). Monroe recorded his account in his 1971 book Journeys Out of the Body and went on to become a prominent researcher in the field of human consciousness.

This Bob was interested in things like flying, and Grandpa Bob ALSO liked to fly, which is good, since that is how his life ended. Both Bobs seemed to have moving around in their blood, with my Grandpa driving all around the Northwest for his work in telecommunications, and Bob Monroe deciding to be a HOBO for a period of time, riding the rails.

According to his third book Ultimate Journey, he dropped out of Ohio State University in his sophomore year due to a hospital stay for a facial burn that caused him to fall behind in his studies. During almost a year away from college, a desire to find work led him to become a hobo who rode freight trains. He returned to Ohio State to graduate after having studied pre-med, English, engineering, and journalism.

He married Jeanette, a graduate student and daughter of a lawyer, in 1937, and divorced her in 1938 or 1939. He married Mary Ashworth, a divorcee with a daughter Maria, in 1950 or 1951. They had Bob’s only biological child together, daughter Laurie.

This name game can seemingly go on forever, like how Grandpa Bob’s daughter-in-law was ALSO named Laurie, but I need to wrap this shit up, because even MY head is beginning to spin.

And Knox? Yes, it has to do with gold, but not the kind of gold you might be thinking of. The Knox connection is part of something big I am on to, and if I want to be a CHAMP instead of a CHUMP, I’m going to STOP giving so much away for free.

You’re welcome.