Sunday, March 25, 2012

Plain Old Blog

Wow ... have not posted anything since January. Can't hardly believe it. I'm logged in direct to the "post" dock. Slamming it in the main vein. Shooting form the hip. Rambling freestyle. No ho's barred! I mean holds, excuse me. Putting the boots to it in the corner.

WCPE (Raleigh-Durham, NC) is pledging hard this morning. They must have taken a whole fist full of tribulus terrestris. The blood is pulsing. They've got their veiny cock thrust across the internet airwaves! Give us money! Support classical music! Music is mind control. Sex is the magic wand. The unfortunate thing is that they keep playing gregorian chants. I'm not a big fan. I don't hate this form of music. It just doesn't help me write. It helps me not in anything ... hahaha! Except maybe doing triangle push ups. It makes walking to the mail box seem more epic.

Why am I associating sex with classical music? It makes no sense. Must be the slow, Sunday sand spread out across the Mojave desert. It has seeped into my skull until my dopamine pathways are filled with dirt. The synapses can't fire. Just now, I got a text from my buddy in Cinny, Ohio. He was partying with all barrels firing last night in Indy. Got high as all hell on this medical marijuana called Death Star. Him and his pals were also hitting this other killer bud (according to him) called the Green Wookie. Some street grade shit that makes you feel all "hairy." You might even bust out with that Chewbacca scream after the first bong hit. The whole point of his evening was to attend a Pirates of the Carribean Live Orchestra Concert. Enhance the experience, perhaps? I don't know. One must assume. I didn't get all the details yet. Some heavy rum drinking was mixed into the equation. He drove across the state line this morning on two hours of sleep feeling extremely green and hairy. I guess that is the type of thing law enforcement is accustom to in Indiana. Manic-wheel-gripping-hairy-green-fuckers in dark shades with extremely high BAC's barreling down the 74 at Harrison in the wee hours of the morning. Making a last ditch attempt at salvaging their employment status. He made it to work. The man is a true warrior! A breed of human the likes of which I rarely encounter.

Man, I remember a very precarious position of the same circumstance that I was involved in. I was going the opposite way though. This was back in 2005? Anyway, I was partying with the aforementioned friend. It was the weekend that speedway Ron closed up the gas station and mini mart in Loveland, Ohio at 11:00 p.m. Told all the customers that the filing station was closing. Going out of business. That was it! No mas! He was off to Florida to test time travel portals. Some top secret NASA shit. My buddy, my then girlfriend from Chicago, and myself bought a 24 pack of Bud and helped him lock the door.

I got gas there the next morning. Apparently the Speedway corporate office didn't get the memo about the branch closure! I was driving a rented Chevy Impala and I was extremely hungover, sleep deprived and disoriented. I had to be at Chicago O'hare that evening to catch my flight back to Palm Springs. It was a mad dash West then North in the middle of December with snow covering the land and black ice laid invisible across the asphalt. It was a true test of endurance. Both physical and mental. I remember when I got over the state line into Indiana I pulled over at a rest stop. Went inside to drop a load and fell asleep on the toilet! My girlfriend was pissed! To a large degree! I don't think she ever forgave me. Oh, well. D.J., if your out there, I am sorry ... really baby.

By a mother-trucking wing and a prayer I persevered and made my flight. I don't think I managed to drop my girlfriend off at her house though. She lived way up on the Northside, almost to Evanston, and I was in a hurry. She had to take the L-train home from O'Hare. Which is like an hour or so ride on the train. With all her luggage and shit. Total dick move on my behalf. No wonder the gentler species hates me!

Really though, not much of a "night-lifer" these days. My Saturday evening (last night) was about as eventful as nothing. I laid in bed in my underwear watching Keira Knightley in the motion picture Domino. I tell you  what, short hair even looks good on that woman. Not to many chicks can pull it off. Mickey and Tom were great in the movie to. Even those Jabroni's from Beverly Hills 90210 were slightly amusing. Man, what is becoming of me lately. I have been down in the mouth but really, Shawn? I am about as threatening as a wood sliver these days. All kinds of shame in my game.

Well now ... let me see ... what is it I am doing in this "blog" today? I guess I am just checking in. Trying to figure. Throwing some memories up into the air. I've been away from this to long. Been playing gigs. Burying bodies. Chasing love around. Getting burned in the process.

My hairdresser is moving to Austin, Texas in a few months. I heard the news yesterday. Out like a porch light in the ghetto. She is just going to hang out with friends for a bit. Needs a change of pace. A new couch to crash on. A change of scenery. New faces and new possibilities. Maybe, she will never come back. I am a true fucking fan of those "dangerous maybes." A co-worker of mine down at the mortuary wants to go back to college but doesn't know what for. Not sure of her career path or money ambitions.She just needs a catalyst. When you have no direction you just got to start walking. Get on the bus and see where it takes you.

Me on the other hand, I have always known exactly what I wanted out of life but I could never attain it! I've been hitching my horse to the wrong post for as long as I can remember. Strange paradox my existence. Maybe I am scared little shit with serious commitment issues. Perhaps I just attract nothing but failure and bad luck. Or, it just might be that I've planted my seeds in the wrong soil for all these years. Maybe it is time to light out for the territory ... parts unknown ... dangerous maybes?!

I've been locked down in the "dark desert" for a long spell now. So long in fact that I can no longer see the possibilities. I can no longer reach out and feel for a dream. My roommate said it best, "Shawn, you gotta get out of here man! I always think to myself that one day I will come home from work and find that you hung yourself in the garage!" Whenever he is not at the job he is leaving the desert. Down in San Diego for the rest of this week. He will transfer out of this sand trap in the near future.  

I fought against the "dark desert" my whole life. In the last year it has owned me completely ... mind, body and soul. All men enter ... no man leaves. At least not alive.