What-If Machine and Jerry O'Connell

Sometimes I wonder what it would be like to know how things would have turned out had I made different decisions at key moments in my life. I wish I had a What-If machine like the one on Futurama, or if I could actually visit these alternate realities like on Sliders (one of my favorite shows ever). If only there was a way to peer into the other side and see what might have been with enough time to fix how things are still. What would happen if I zigged instead of zagged. Life is made up of choices each one determines the next, just how would the dominos fall if lined up differently? These are questions I ask myself a lot these days (although I know I shouldn’t). I think about  what would have happened had I stayed in New York back in 2003. Would I have made something out of myself or would I have ended up homeless and alone? Could I have made it as an artist if I would have focused? I mean the two major comic companies were right there. I once took my portfolio and stood in front of the DC (comics) offices. Paralyzed by fear I couldn’t bring myself to go through the doors. I think about what would have happened if I stayed in Atlanta in 2007. Would I have drank myself to death, contracted some permanent venereal disease? Or perhaps I would have moved up in the ranks at the club I worked at, or ended up running off with one of the bands and becoming a roadie or better yet a tour manager? Could I have found something or someone that would support me in my endeavors and dreams and build me up so that I became something more than what I am today. I think about how things would have turned out if I chose to stay in San Francisco instead of coming back here a few months ago. Would I have finally become self-sufficient, or would I have wound up one of the many faceless men on the street begging for change? Could I have found a new love, perhaps some tattooed beauty who nurtured my desire to sit around in my underwear and make up stories? Could I have found myself in my dream job, living the sweet life, if only I’d had the courage to tough it out a little while? Who knows what would have happened? I surely don’t.

I used to think I was smart, that I had (if not all) at least part of the answers. I certainly carried myself as someone who was more sure of ones actions than I actually was.  I long ago tried to tell myself that I shouldn’t think about the would-have-been’s, could-have-been’s, but I can’t help but wonder if I would be better off having zigged when I chose to zag. I told myself a long time ago to never dwell on such things, that looking back in regret was a fools errand. I instead chose to lower my head and barrel on full steam with no regard to the carnage I was causing in my quest to never look back. I did more harm than good to those around me who truly cared about me. That’s why I don’t beat myself up for looking backwards so much anymore. I think you need that perspective to help inform better decisions tomorrow.

I am a broken man

When was the last time that I wrote anything personal about myself? It has been sometime I would have to say. For the last few months at least I have stuck to writing mainly silly little blog post, Monkee stuff, or various subjects. Well t the urging of friends I have sat down to try and write "what I'm feeling". The problem is I don't know what that is. My precious ego seems so battered and bruised; the depths of depressing emotions seem so low each day that I can't articulate them. With each passing hour I fall further into a landfill of hopelessness and despair. I, who profess to have an endless ego, have reached the end of endless. I am a broken man. I feel like the Rock creature from "A Never Ending Story".

"They look like big strong hands…" I don't want to go, but I don't want to go on. At least not like this, this cannot be how my adventure ends. Alone, depressed, feeling trapped and helpless. My pride destroyed, my dreams shattered, my goals lost, and stuck cowering in an apartment in Oakland. I have to believe that I can make it out of this. This was supposed to be different, I keep saying, but it's the same. Only this time I am not the one who couldn't refrain from going around and sleeping with other people. I am the one left crying himself to sleep.

It would figure that California took my powers away. The "Left Coast" as it were, must have somehow revered my abilities to be myself. I had forgotten them during my time in solitude (in the Mid-West). I had also somehow convinced myself that I could be a family man, but I cannot. It's simply not in the cards. The choices of what I can be however are becoming increasingly less. As far as a career as a chef, I will never see it if I don't get hired somewhere soon. As far as being an artist or writer, well let's just say that maybe posthumous at best. The enemy of me this time however is the same enemy I have faced every phase of my life-ME! My own attitude and actions is the cause of my own misery. My lack of faith in myself is what is keeping me there. Beaten and broke down by events, that is at the crux, my own damn fault. I attempt to dig myself out but I keep getting more dirt heaped in my face. The world is crumbling around me, and planes are dropping from the sky every day. It seems the shift into 2012 maybe more than speculation. The real question is; how long before I arise out of the ashes and what will I become then?

With each obstacle in my life I have found the exit, but it is never been pretty. I had to go to prison to get out of Winston-Salem. I had to walk away from people whom I loved, to get out of Atlanta. I was forced out of New York, and to escape St. Louis, I had to move across country. But, of course, these are over-simplifications. The grave reality of my life has been that I have made a lot of tough choices, which have sometimes turned out great, and more often than not they have turned out painful. The truth of it is, is that I need more than anything to have a brain in my head. Yet, that doesn't seem to be in the cards either. My mind is bouncing off the walls now. I feel so trapped in this apartment. I want to go somewhere, but I have nowhere to go. I have nothing to do, and no money to do it with. I would love to just pick up and go-but to where-to what? There is always, turning around and going back where I came from, but to me that has always felt like admitting defeat. I guess I still have a little pride left…

----------------
Now playing: フレーミング・リップス - レース・フォー・ザ・プライズ
via FoxyTunes

Short Timer: Eight Months in Club Fed

Short Timer

Publish at Scribd or explore others: Fiction & Literature eBooks love time

----------------
Now playing: Flogging Molly - From the Back of a Broken Dream
via FoxyTunes

The Pictures Of the last Happy Night Of My Life.

----------------
Now playing: The Mountain Goats - Going to Bristol
via FoxyTunes

The two last happy nights of my life

5:31

Preparing for the "Last Happy Night of My Life", I kneel before the altar of he who has no name. I anoint myself with oils and perfumes and ready my nerves. I sing hymns to light my way. I hope to become one with the sound and fury. I'm going to kill everyone in this room and I am alone. I feel the urge to dance and yet the music is so sad. We are one tonight this is our moment. Here in this city before our lord and savior. He is the one who spells cast the way for us all. "What about the blackbird?" There is an invisible gun in my hand. We are Ronan who have found our master. The true, the devotional, the faithful will blast through the speakers and into our hearts. The mind of a God trapped in the shell of mortal. The coil tightens. It's all streams of consciousness, but I thought about it before hand. I am a vessel, and the Satanic Messiah has arrived in the form of a troubadour. You see I told you I thought of it ahead of time. I do not know what will happen to me on Saturday but tonight I am alive with heretics' pride. The banquet for the stray dogs has been set; every moment has led to this. I kneel, I sing, I make light of the feelings that well up inside. My eyes are but boats which have capsized in tears, you do not understand if you have never experienced this yourself. I am on ecstasy I am on mushrooms; I am making my way through a crowd to see the one who has sung the stories of life without ever meeting me. I am Alpha and he is Omega. Praise Be!

In Transit:

The journey to the altar was arduous and long. The bus I was scheduled at 6:07, but did not arrive until 6:19. The train on the way across the bay was stopped due to a fire on the tracks. And when I arrived my Love was already drunk (or at least buzzed). The second bus was packed and a well dressed lunatic sat across from us bemoaning the state of the Manhattan housing market. When we finally arrived we had to make a detour to a BBq joint for some potato salad. The two opening acts were horribly boring and anti-climatic. When the Satanic Messiah hit the stage though, all sadness melted away. The pint of whiskey we snuck in had lit the fire in our souls and now the master stoked the embers.

Set list;

1. Love, love, love
   
2. How to Embrace a swamp Creature
   
3. Moon over Goldsboro
   
4. Heretics Pride
   
5. The House That Dripped Blood
   
6. Wizard Buys A Hat
   
7. Get Lonely
   
8. Thank You Mario, But But Our Princess Is In Another castle
   
9. Mosquito repellent
   
10. SuedHead (yes a Morrisey Song)
    
11. Bring Our curses Home
    
12. Palmcorder Yajna
    
13. San Bernardino
    
14. Love Craft In Brooklyn
    

I'm sure there were a few more but By this point I was blind with ecstasy and Un able to write down any more. The mixture of booze and the rapturous voice of our lord and savior combined to a joy so rich and pure. My hand long since unsteady and my voice hoarse from singing every word to every hymn. My love took the helm of the camera but I neglected to learn how to focus the damn thing.

Sadly we had to depart the presence of (he whose name need not be mentioned) In time to make it back across the bay by train. I vowed that the next night would be different. I would not allow myself to be denied the encore presentational of the sacred word.

The Second "Last Happy Night of My Life"

The trip to the venue was less perilous than the night before. Though due to circumstances, I was forced to arrive alone. Yet I created the occasion with the same vigor. I aggressively snuck in another small pint of Whiskey and since I was alone I consumed the entirety of my elixir. By the time my beloved had arrived and the master took the stage I was well into a drunken haze. There were an older couple of new initiates to my left, who shared some of their herbs with me and a young neophyte to my right who struggled to mimic the words of older hymns. I was too deep into the throws of religious fervor to write out a set list and too timid of words marked on a website to bring my camera. I instead let go any responsibilities and sang out with the Messiah till my voice was as gravelly as a truck stop waitress in 1973. The night was beautiful and we made it all the way through the encore before trekking back to the East side of the Bay. Time had eaten away my energy and I slept like a child for a few hours before heading back to work in the kitchen, Day dreaming all the while of the revival that had taken place. How the music and words moved each and everyone within ear shot. The presence and grace of the one. How he actually danced and gave response to my own cat calls. The heaven I glimpsed was brief but one day I know I will be blessed to gaze upon the visage (of he who has no need for set list), for five nights in a row. The lord and savior of us all has left the area but never fear. I learned from a fellow devote where to obtain the first rare tapes. I am as you read this most likely downloading them all now.

----------------
Now playing: The Mountain Goats - Alpha Omega
via FoxyTunes

Life After 30: Where are the drugs?

Life After 30: Where are the drugs?

After 30 years you start to wake-up everyday and ask yourself; “What have I done?”, “What am I doing?”, “What did I do yesterday?”, “What am I doing tomorrow?”, and most importantly “What am I doing today?” Surely it's more than just jerk off to internet porn and check your My Space. Certainly it's more than get high and go to work, come home drink and pass out. You start looking for answers in everything. Suddenly the TV shows that happen to come on everyday, are sending you signs and signals. You receive hints and messages from magazines and billboards. The lunatics on the buss are making more sense. I feel like I'm doing more work now. Getting more done than just “getting wasted”, or “hanging out”. Not that I don't miss those times. They were great, and I learned a ton. I learned that I'm thirty-years-old, and I haven't climbed a mountain. I haven't discovered a cure for anything, or saved a single life. I haven't written the great American novel, or started a business of any kind. I haven't even recorded an album, at least not one that any lage amount of people have heard. I haven't changed anyone's life or even created a life. I have friends who've been married nearly ten years. I have friends working on their second or third child. I don't necessarily want children or a wife (right now)! I do however want something that will live on beyond me. Something alive by my very thoughts. Something that will show that I have been here and that I knew a few things at one time. So each day I get up and try to write or draw or do something that lets the world know that I was once alive. It sounds silly I know. I can't help it. I never thought I would make it this far. Now I've been thirty for thirty days. The real question is-