March 19,1962 † December 25,1992

Randy Trost & Jim Tate ©Petra Maricela Thompson Violetarojo de Cordero

Randy was the kind of man that was most often very misunderstood for several reasons. But especially because upon meeting him or even just hearing about him almost everyone became infatuated with his multiple personalities, reputation, beauty and charisma.

You tried to tell them but no one was listening they didn’t give a damn about you, not while you were alive and especially not after you died. Getting what they wanted was more important then you having what you needed. It might have been that you were born with such breathtaking beauty that it became devastating to anyone who allowed your spirit to penetrate past that barrier. It’s almost as if beauty of that magnitude is emotionally unmanageable.

People became enveloped by the mere essence of you and were quickly addicted to you. Some had only to hear about you, somehow they would become completely infatuated. Many came like gladiators they wanted to conquer you just to be able to say that they had a taste of you. Others tried to insist that you belonged to them and no other, not ever. They somehow thought you to be they’re right of passage to your human bondage; they were going to discipline you. They took a quick look that's all that it ever took and it was over for them. All the time while they were in pursuit of your affections trying to figure a way to completely ravish and consume you they had already lost themselves they now belonged to you. Hooked! In they went searching for their proof of ownership but what they found instead was a blinking neon sign that read, no lifetime warranties available here. Confronted like a used car salesman you stood straight up and pulled your shoulders back and with that big ole Randy grin you greeted them at the exit door. You opened it and with plaid confidence said,

Randy: I’ll tell you what I’m going do for you, I’m going to give you this, A freshly minted one of a kind certificate. I, Randy being of sound mind and judgment (questionable), Hereby declare that you, you are forever Randy’s lover, friend I mean friend.

What I think I want to say is, funny guy but it’s really all so damned pathetic and sad because the thing is that it always worked. Last I heard those certificates were still in circulation quite collectible with a yearly increased value. Seems like anything that belonged to you is still in high demand.

Everyone desired that you not have anything to do with Jim or I, you’re damned so called friends they all knew better then you what was good and what was bad for you. Jim and I no matter what we were always bad but there wasn’t any truth to it, it all stemmed from jealousy. They couldn’t stand knowing how much you really loved and cared for us. There was just a handful around not willing to kiss your pretty spoiled Johnny rotten ass; there was Rome, Jim and I.

The night when you pressed your lips against the back of my head I thought you were just going to hold me or smell my hair. But instead you bit so hard into my neck you tore my skin and made me bleed. It took the palm of my hand against your cheek to make it more then clear to you. I was just a spectator; I wasn’t willing to participate as a player in any one of your debauched games. Still, it was beyond hysteria, I didn’t want to be hurtful, but there were so many times I couldn’t keep myself from laughter. It was just all too comical when they all assembled in one room with you. You found yourself feeling like an attraction at the zoo.

Randy: Please Mari; don’t leave me here alone with any of them.

At first it always seemed oh so sweet like Rome would say “big time”, or as Teness and I might have put it “foxy very foxy”. You were Charlie Browns little Christmas tree. They all wanted to take you home and adorn you with golden ornaments. Like mother hens pecking over you, sometimes just to keep you, they locked you up in the coup. You always got cut up and bruised making your getaway. Still I can’t put all the blame on them because you allowed it to go on, even encouraged it. Maybe somehow it really made you feel more loved having all those men and women pimping and fussing over you. Deep down I know you never confused it and I didn’t care for any of them. Actually though excluding Dennis, Onna and yes even Kal no matter how possessive she thought she had to be with you.

You liked to just show up unannounced sideshow and all. Chaos would just find its way to you. The only thing constant in your life was the drama that would unfold no matter where you went. You looked like Santa Claus walking around Hillcrest with your whole life slung over your shoulder in a giant green plastic trash bag. There you were thrown out into the street again and again. Just another one of those short lived true love for life affairs.

How could you be so content to surround yourself with such odious people who had nothing but self-serving malicious intent for you? I’m being harsh again you don’t have to tell me I know, it’s just my way. There really were a lot of great times between us at least up until we hit rock bottom. For most people its the indicator that its time to find your way back to the light. Not us, instead we all grabbed picks and shovel and dug our way through to one of the darkest places I had ever been to in my life. But that didn’t come right away first there were endless great nights together at The Flame, or as Shannon called it The 7 Lame. Dancing in the corner by the DJ booth. You, Kal, Onna, Stevie, Dennis, Cindy, Dineen, Lisa R, Anne G, Ted, Anne Frank, Linda, Annie, Teness, Shannon, Dodi, Debra, Valerie, Dianne, Lisa W, Rome [when we could sneak her in] and me. When we weren’t there we were at an after hours party or my place at Casa Grande tweaked out of our minds listening to music and talking for hours and days about the stupidest shit that we thought was relevant and profound. Thank God that we were not motivated to try to implement any of those fantastic meth based ideals of ours. What a site that would be if any one group of tweakers decided to become activists, *rubs red burning eyes & smiles*. Comic version of a superhero who can exist without food, sleep, water or common sense who's only great power is to start a gazillion projects at once and not complete a single one. Case and point, that really isn’t a great power is it. It’s the meth that makes you think you’re invincible and causes you to do things like curtain patrol. Or enables you to march your skinny ass out in front of your neighbors at 3:00 in the morning barefoot, in your underwear and open robe to sweep the street nice and clean from one end to the other. Of course this is just your mask what you are really doing is looking for surveillance equipment camouflaged in the asphalt. –Petra Maricela Thompson Violetarojo

Unless Otherwise Stated · All Creative Nonsense & Website Contact ©Petra Maricela Thompson Violetarojo de Cordero